What Makes This Place Different?

The first thing I do in a new place isn't open a masterplan or study the demographic data.

I walk. Usually without much of a plan. I'll stop for coffee, wander into side streets and photograph things that probably seem completely ordinary to everyone else: an old sign, a corner where people naturally gather, a lane that's full of life while another, only a block away, feels strangely quiet. If I can chat with someone about their business, their street or the neighbourhood, even better.

For years, I thought I was simply filling time before the "real work" began. I've since realised this is the work.

Recently I wrote an article for Hoyne about why we're building more homes than ever, but not always places people will remember. The piece argued that identity isn't something added at the end of a project through branding, public art or activation. It's shaped much earlier, through the decisions that influence how a place will eventually be experienced.

But I've found myself thinking about what comes even earlier than that. Before we shape a place's future, surely we should understand what already makes it different.

Every place is already telling a story. Not necessarily the polished version that ends up in a project vision or marketing campaign, but the one that's been developing over decades. It's found in the businesses that survived when everything around them changed, in the shortcuts locals take without thinking, in the café where the owner knows half the customers by name, in old photographs tucked away in a library archive, and in conversations with people who've watched a neighbourhood evolve over generations.

It's tempting to dismiss these things as nostalgia. I don't think they are. They're often the clues to what gives a place its point of difference.

As planners and designers, we're trained to solve problems. We produce frameworks, strategies, diagrams and masterplans. They're all important. But I think our first responsibility is something much simpler: to pay attention, to be curious and to ask better questions.

• Why do people care about this place?

• What would disappear if it were gone?

• What makes this place unlike anywhere else?

The answers are rarely found in an office. More often, they're uncovered by walking, looking closely and being genuinely curious about the place that's already there.

Perhaps that's why I've always been drawn to photography. A camera has a way of slowing you down. It encourages you to notice details you might otherwise walk straight past. The same is true of writing. Both are, in their own way, exercises in paying attention.

The more projects I work on, the less I believe our job is to invent identity. I think our job is to discover what already gives a place its point of difference, and then make sure we don't accidentally design it out.

Looking back, I think I was doing this long before I knew it could become a career. For my Year 12 geography project, while most of the class researched from behind a computer, I rode around Balmain with a camera, interviewed the local firefighter, searched out old history books and tried to understand why the suburb felt the way it did. At the time, I thought I was simply completing an assignment. In hindsight, I think I was following a curiosity that's never really left me.

Perhaps that's where good place strategy begins.

Not with a masterplan. But with curiosity.

Why Australian cities should become vertical, multi-dimensional experiences

“On a recent trip overseas, I finally experienced the spectacle of the city of Hong Kong. Sipping on a beer from an upper floor bar, I was engrossed by immense, vertical cityscape – made even more intriguing by thick layer of fog below. I was guided up narrow stairwells to rooftop parks and podium bars, seemingly hidden from its meandering streets. I watched kids playing cheerfully in inner city parks, next to teenagers during an intense game of basketball. The word “vibrant” sprang to mind. Although I promised myself to stop using it.

I thought back to life in the Sydney CBD. It seemed dull by comparison. Suits by day, commuters by night – scrambling to get home before the peak hour rush. Yes, a few bars with a steady flow into the evening. But surely it could be so much more? I imagined ascending Sydney’s tallest towers for live music, swimming pools with panoramic harbour views, dazzling art installations hanging from grey infrastructure, and colourful playgrounds set in-amongst the buildings ensuring play, fun and joy isn’t just something for the weekends.

Surely, Sydney could be so much more. And why wouldn’t it?…”

Blog post written for Hoyne about Sydney from some recent insights from Hong Kong. Read the full article here.

SMH Article: What Sydney can learn from London's approach to brutalist architecture

"The late 20th century was a unique period in architectural history in which buildings where designed to serve a social purpose. Brutalist buildings used the most basic material to keep costs down, and were most commonly built to house low-income residents or institutions.

Unlike 18th-century houses, their importance is about historic interest, rather than an aesthetic interest. Sirius, just like Trellick, Balfron and the Barbican in London, illustrates important aspects of the nation's social and cultural history."

Last week I had an opinion piece published in the Sydney Morning Herald on brutalist architecture in Sydney and London. You can read the full article here. 

Photo by Jessica Hromas via SMH

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Reminding Sydney of Seidler

For years, my brother, sister and I would take my grandfather to the beach each Sunday. Arriving early to collect him from his eastern-Sydney flat, he would be perched on his balcony with a tea in his hand, admiring the greenery below.

Built in '66, my grandpa’s building was one of the earliest apartment blocks designed by world-renowned Austrian-Australian architect, Harry Seidler.

Like all of Seidler's buildings, my grandfather's definitely has its imperfections: dead spaces, dark corridors and steep stairwells to name a few. But I can't imagine my Paps would have been happier in any other place.

Horizon Apartments in Darlinghurst, Sydney (1990-1998).

The large open-plan living spaces, split levels and north-east facing balconies were bold innovations at the time of its design, and each aided his psychological and physical health right until his final days.

What was important about this building – and any of Seidler's for that matter – was the desire to push engineering boundaries, question planning authorities and pursue modernist design principles in the hope of improving people’s lives. 

Harry followed strict architectural principles under the premise that they were egalitarian, optimised function, or would simply create a beautiful building. And while some of his schemes are, today, viewed as design failures (see Blue Point Tower), each was designed upon a set of values which tried - at least - to make Sydney a better place to live... Even if that meant frustrating his clients and local planning officers in the process. 

Probably the most iconic Harry Seidler building, Australia Square Tower (1961-1967). Photograph by the legendary Max Dupain. 

Harry Seidler in his home office. Photograph by David Moore. 

Since returning to the city from London a couple of months ago, I’ve noticed dozens – or possibly hundreds – of new high-rise developments, which resemble something akin to Ikea furniture, rather than architecture. These cookie-cut designs aren’t only badly built, but very little thought has been given to their design. The core principles which were deeply rooted in Harry Seidler's architecture (as well as other great modernists of the 20th Century) have seemingly been ignored.

Aside from the use of bland materials and repetitive form, which is far from inspiring, the structures are often poorly integrated with the existing urban fabric, don't maximise nature or natural light, and contrary to their promised community benefit, their so-called ‘public spaces’ look and feel like private gardens - dissected from surrounding neighbourhoods.

I guess it was Elizabeth Farrelly who put it best, “we used to think '60s apartments were austere and badly built. Now, they appear as paragons of generosity, grace and certitude”

As large-scale residential architecture appears to have creatively stagnated (perhaps as a result of Sydney's muddled planning system), Harry Seidler’s work remains a reminder that this city's tall buildings can be creative, brave and innovative. 

More importantly, his architecture is a reminder that buildings are not just a commodity, but should seek – at the very least - to improve a city, and the wellness of the people within it.

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What would Ernő Goldfinger think of Balfron Tower today?

Designed by Hungarian-born architect Erno Goldfinger in 1963, Balfron Tower has become a global icon of brutalist architecture.  

Last week I took off down to Balfron to take some photos. Although slightly smaller than its younger sister, Trellick, standing 26 storeys above East London, Balfron's harsh concrete was visible for miles. 

Walking towards the base of the building, the facade overshadowed me like the sheer of a cliff face. But as the building caught glimmers of the morning sunlight through the patchy clouds above, I became very aware of the elegant sophistication of Goldfinger’s design.

Stood taking photos of the towering monolith above, a man yelled, “what’s the intrigue!?” Sensing he was a pissed off resident, I gave him a simple answer, hoping he would move on. Staunchly walking towards me, he asked again, “what is the intrigue?”

Realising that this guy wasn’t about to just walk away I decided to open up explain to him exactly why I was there. I told him of my interest in Erno Goldfinger’s architecture and why I wanted to take photos of this building in particular.

It didn’t take long before the man’s tone of voice lifted, and his demeanor calmed. Suddenly all he wanted to do was tell me of his love for Balfron. As it turns out, he’d lived in the building for 25 years and was now the last social tenant before its sale to the private sector. 

He told me about the ensuing court case for his eviction, which was bound to come to close in the following weeks. The volume of his words increase as he explained his frustration at the powers and processes above him, this clearly wasn't the first time he'd told someone his story. 

For over 50 years Balfron had housed hundreds of families across 146 affordable housing flats. Now, 145 homes sat empty, and he was the last man standing.

“You wanna come check it out from the inside?” he asked.

Minutes later we were sneaking behind security and shuffling into the building’s stainless steel elevator. Creaking up to level 26, and stepping out onto the grey, concrete flooring, I was immediately overwhelmed by smells of booze and urine. Fortunately for us the breeze from the awning-hinged windows helped to disperse the smell through the corridors.

Peering through the horizontal pattern of windows, the view from the top was incredible: Poplar sat quietly below, the city skyline loomed in distance.

As I walked down the long corridors I imagined Erno’s ambition for ‘streets in the sky’, where working class neighbours would socialise and kids would play games. It was too bad, bottles of half drunken bottles of beer and empty NOS canisters now lined the passageways. 

After sometime upstairs, it was a relief to break back into the autumn sunlight. I wondered if I could ever live in a dark, concrete tower like this one. For while I could understand Erno’s ambitions, I could also appreciate where his design concepts had failed. 

In fact, when I first arrived in the UK, I thought brutalist buildings were disgusting. Having grown up in sunny Australia where there's an abundance of low-rise bungalow-style architecture and spacious streetscapes, I often wondered why London’s huge concrete 'ghettos' hadn’t been ripped down and replaced with something more attractive. But over the years, and after some reading, I began to appreciate the ethos behind their design.

Mainly a reaction to the housing crisis following World War II, this form of architecture attempted to help London’s homelessness by creating large, affordable buildings within accessible inner city areas.  While in reality these concepts didn't always work, the ethos - at least - was admirable. 

Balfron's last remaining social tenant is likely to be removed by force in the coming weeks. With few places to go, he told me he will likely be pushed outside of London altogether.

In cities across the world, a lack of affordable housing is forcing young people and those on low incomes to look for housing alternatives. Many are moving out of the cities that they love, whilst others are feeling the impacts of living in a 'rental trap'. 

As the last social tenant is forced-out of one of the world's most famous brutalist buildings, I wonder what Erno Goldfinger thinks of his building, and architecture, today? Would he be ashamed that we now completely ignore the socialist principles of the brutalist era?

I would never suggest that contemporary designers should copy Balfron Tower, or even brutalism, as a concept. But the ambition of its developers, and their architectural boldness, would be something to emulate. 

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Photographs by Dan Young & Tom Oliver Payne.

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Imitate to innovate: Vitoria-Gasteiz shows how cities can address 21st century challenges

A few weeks ago I had the chance to travel down to Vitoria-Gasteiz with the European Commission, and in collaboration with the German NGO for sustainability, Verkehrsclub Deutschland (VCD). Basically, the idea was to get a bunch of urban-related journalists to learn about the city and spread the news about some of it's sustainable innovations. It was for the right reason. The city and the governance model which had been set up to bring about change was seriously impressive.

All I could think was, why aren't other cities using this approach? An article and short film were published to both This Big City and the Sustainable Cities Collective. For your ease, I've also provided below. Enjoy.

"Imitation is not just the sincerest form of flattery – it’s the sincerest form of learning."

– Bernard Shaw

The Spanish city of Vitoria-Gasteiz has recently transformed itself from a congested and car-dominated city into one of the most pedestrian and bicycle-friendly places in Europe. It didn’t achieve this by going at it alone. Its key to success was learning from others.

Cities today are faced with challenges like never before. Rapid population growth, increasing inequality, pollution and congestion are not isolated issues. Rather, they are problems faced by cities across the globe.

While some places are quickly learning to change their old ways and adapt to new circumstances, others are finding it a little more difficult. Perhaps it’s time that those struggling cities to stop simply looking inward, and instead learned from others. After all, if people and businesses copy one-another to succeed, why can’t cities?

We now know that our addiction to the car was one of the greatest urban mistakes of last century. Weaning ourselves off this addiction is now one of our greatest challenges. While some cities reconfigure to prioritise people over cars, others are still stuck in the 70s. Sadly, it’s not only the environment that pays the price. Each year thousands of innocent people are killed because urban authorities can’t seem to re-adapt cities for people, rather than for cars.

Over the past few weeks in London we’ve seen outrage over the death of yet another cyclist. In all six of the deaths this year, the incidents involved a collision with a lorry. The problem is obvious: trucks and cars should not use the same lane of traffic as bicycles. The solution to this problem is also simple: separate the modes of transport.

Although people across London are fuming, there seems to be constant resistance to making logical junction and thoroughfare improvements. Surely the hundreds of innocent commuters dying in urban areas each year is enough for a city to make some drastic changes? Well, apparently not.

Although the city’s Mayor is an avid bike rider, plans to develop new bicycle infrastructure remain futile, and anything that has been achieved is ad-hoc and messy. While many progressive cities are quickly figuring it out, London (and many others), remain a dangerous place for people on bikes and on foot.

A couple of years ago, I did some research into why London was finding it so difficult to implemented Danish-style infrastructure. After speaking with experts in London, I took off to Copenhagen to experience riding in the city and speak with urban designers and government officials. It was obvious to see how a combination of traffic calming measures and separated bike paths create a city that is vibrant, safe and beautiful.

The research findings were simple: despite copying overseas lingo like ‘Cycle Superhighways’, London doesn’t really try to copy anyone. It tries to do things its own way. New designs try to please everybody, but in doing so, the results don’t please anybody. What we’re left with is a surface-transport mess. It simply doesn’t work for pedestrians, drivers or those on bikes.

This year, I wanted to find a city that is doing things properly. I wanted to find a place that knows how it wants to improve and is quickly making the right changes to get there. The city I found was Vitoria-Gasteiz – the 2012 European Green City winner.

In just ten years Vitoria has completely transformed itself from a car-dominated, polluted city to one of the most pedestrian and bicycle-friendly in Europe (and probably the world). Today over 50% of people walk to get around and 12% of people ride bikes. The number of people driving cars quickly continues to fall. Compare this with 21% people walking and 3% riding bikes in London, and 10% and 1% respectively in New York City.

I took off down to Vitoria to see the city first-hand and meet some of the people making this transformation happen.

Speaking with the Director of the Environmental Studies Centre (CEA), Juan Carlos, I learned why the city embarked upon this rapid transformation. “Just ten years ago, this city had a lot of problems with the car,” Juan told me, “but people knew it shouldn’t be like that, so we begun to think about how we could change it”.

The CEA receives funding from the city government but really only has one task at hand: improve the way the city functions. It independently advises the government on how it can improve, without getting bogged-down with day-to-day administration. This is very different to most other large cities, which leave important research and plan-making to oversized government bodies. With a relatively small team of a few dozen people, its no wonder the CEA quickly and effectively gets work done.

Juan told me that just ten years ago, the city decided to get off its backside and develop a progressive Sustainable Mobility and Public Space Plan. Instead of just looking inward, the team decided to see what other cities were doing to overcome similar problems. In collaboration with the German NGO for sustainability, Verkehrsclub Deutschland (VCD), Vitoria joined the European Biking Cities project. This enabled the city to learn from other urban areas with ambitious cycling policies.

When learning from others, Juan and his team didn’t simply implement three-metre wide bike paths like Danish cities, or turn one-way streets to two-ways, like in American cities. Instead Vitoria copied and pasted intelligently. Successful elements from elsewhere were carefully integrated into the city’s own context and adjusted where necessary.

Vitoria implemented Copenhagen-style bike paths on wide thoroughfares (when it could afford to); it used the ‘superblock’ idea from Barcelona to divert traffic and free up space for pedestrians; and it took greenways design characteristics from the Netherlands to create beautiful and attractive pedestrian environments, where people would actually want to spend time.

The Sustainable Mobility and Public Space Plan was then fully integrated with a new public transport plan. The aim was not to get as many people onto public transport as possible, but rather to get as many people out of cars as possible. Just like the caution surrounding Copenhagen’s new tram network, the city was careful to ensure public transport did not detract from people walking and cycling, but rather only detracted from the number of those driving. This was achieved through careful network design.

Interviewing Juan Carlos, Director of the Environmental Studies Centre

Even as its population soars, Vitoria today is probably more beautiful and vibrant than ever. As I stood with my bike on wide, green boulevards, outside bustling cafes I was shown photographs of the same city streets just a few years earlier – they were almost beyond recognition.

Where cars were parked up on sidewalks, gardens beds now thrive. Where trucks and buses queued for hours in peak hour traffic, people walk and chat in a green corridor, which takes trams into and out of the city centre.

With so many people moving through, and spending time in public spaces, the city has a healthy, social vibe, which simply doesn’t exist where the urban grain has been dissected by busy car thoroughfares. I couldn’t help to imagine what larger cities like London, New York, Sydney and Singapore could become.

In just the past five years, the length of bikeways has increased to 135 kilometres. Unlike London’s lycra-covered, middle-aged men racing each other to the office, bicycle infrastructure means that riding a bike is safe for everyone – of all ages. Segregated bike paths have made Vitoria more inclusive for everyone.

The changes however, have not just been about updating the city’s infrastructure. Creative ways of communicating and educating have been crucial to Vitoria’s success.

Heiko Balsmeyer from VCD told me how the city worked to get local politicians on board so that consensus on important decisions could be reached. It was a process of open communication about the widespread benefits of new ideas. With this knowledge instilled, it would have been simply ignorant for councillors to object to projects that would have obvious, citywide benefits.

Inspired by the UK’s Bikeability Programme, programmes are now being implemented into school curriculums where children are taught to ride safely to school. The hope is that kids will no longer need their parent’s assistance to get about the city.

The range of progressive measures in place to support positive change goes on: the city has overhauled parking policies, updated its branding strategy, and helps support progressive local community groups. Many of these measures have been taken from overseas and adapted into the local context.

Vitoria’s clear success has been in clever imitation. As we embark on a new urban era, it’s about time that cities transfer knowledge, communicate, and work with one-another to overcome what are both local, and global, challenges.

Bicycle revolution or urban fad?

Cities across the world are seeing a dramatic increase in cycling. Is this a short lived fad, or are we witnessing the start of a revolution in urban transport?

The rise of the car in the 50s and 60s completely transformed cities – first across the USA, and then the world. Once centred around walkable shopping districts and train lines, cities began to spread into vast suburbs and homogenous landscapes.

Cars didn’t only change our cities, but they also changed our way of thinking. The car became a symbol of freedom, a symbol of maturity and a form of identity in the western world.

Today, we are seeing cities across the globe turn to alternative forms of mobility, and trains, trams and buses are back on the planning agenda in a big way. 60 years ago, one of the world’s most extensive tram networks (180 miles) was destroyed in Sydney, Australia, to make way for the private car. Today, the city is once again investing billions into a new light rail system that it hopes will relieve some of the city’s severe congestion.

We’re also seeing (re) investment into bicycle infrastructure in downtown districts across the globe. Over the last few years, cities like New York have constructed hundreds of miles of bike paths and bike share schemes are popping up in every corner of the globe – from Hangzhou’s ‘Public Bicycle’, to Paris’ Vélib’, to Montreal’s ‘Bixi’.

Pedalling home from work in Stockholm.

Bikes are also having a renewed surge of popularity. Portland hipsters are taking to the streets on fixies, east Londoners are dusting off vintage Raleighs and Sydney corporates are swapping golf clubs for lycra… As a result, the growth in cycling numbers has been immense in many cities worldwide. Italy has recently recorded that bike sales have outstripped car sales for the first time since World War II; the number of commuter cyclists in new York has doubled over the last five years; and for the first time in decades, a London borough (Hackney) has recorded that more people cycle to work (15%) than drive (12%).

Is all of this a revolution, or is it simply an urban fad?

The ‘bike boom’ of the United States saw similar trends in the late 60s and early 70s. Between ‘63 and ‘73 bike sales increased from 2.5 to 15 million, companies such as Union Carbide installed bike racks for employees and more than 50 cities across the country began planning bike paths with funding from the federal government. While there are many assumptions about why the American ‘bike boom’ ended, it’s likely that it had something to do with the end of the fuel crisis and recession.

Sunday morning shopping in the London borough of Hackney. 

Unlike America in the 70s, today we really are beginning to realise that our growth is unsustainable. We’re aware that we can no longer keep producing without recycling, we can no longer all own large homes, and we can no longer all drive to work – not only do our cars not all fit in our cities, but we are also running out of the very resource that drives them. There are simply too many of us. And yes, some argue that in our highly urbanised world, we could spread our wings by repopulating and revitalising rural areas. But not only do we rely on the economies of scale of cities to compete in the globalised world, but the ‘green’ countryside is also very ‘brown’. Those living in spacious rural areas generally have far greater environmental impacts than those in cities. As a result, we’re seeing transit-oriented housing developments, a move towards cleaner energy sources, urban congestion taxes and rising fuel prices. These are all putting pressure on  drivers and making the move to two wheels seem slightly more practical.

Is the movement global? Not every city is adopting bike use in the same way, and some cities aren’t moving towards bikes at all. An array of factors will determine how, exactly, these changes are occurring. Some cities already have a deeply embedded bike culture (Copenhagen), some cities have stubborn politicians (Sydney), some cities are simply too hot (Phoenix), too cold (Ulan Bator) or too vast (Los Angeles). But across the globe we are beginning to witness a shift in the way we think about urban mobility.

The car will not simply disappear and bicycles will not suddenly take over our streets. But as we look for alternative solutions to our current transport woes, cycling is suddenly looking like a pretty smart option.

Rather than just a fad, I’d argue that today’s boom will be sticking about for a while. Just like the revolution of a wheel, we are perhaps, returning to where it all began.

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The world is going two-wheeled: what's stopping Sydney?

Sydney’s transportation network is in crisis. Decades of dependence on the car have left the roads congested, the air polluted and residents - well – fat. Furthermore, with the city’s cheaper housing stretching out into its vast western suburbs, expensive and lengthy commutes have perpetuated the growing divide between the rich and poor. But we all know that cars in cities really are a thing of the past. Over the past couple of decades there has been mounting evidence that building more roads does not alleviate congestion and traffic within urban areas.

On top of research, dependence on the personal automobile is something that millenials no longer value or desire. Unlike American films of the 1970s, young people don’t want a car for their 18th birthday. In fact, an American study has found that driving by young people decreased by 23 per cent between 2001 and 2009. Today, people want to live in walkable neighbourhoods, close to places of work, education and friends. And surely, no one wants to be the designated driver.

Driving a car simply doesn’t offer a person in the city the freedom that your own two feet or a bicycle does.

For a long time, I dreamed that Sydney would embrace a cycling culture modelled on the success of Copenhagen. Copenhagen’s street design allows children to bike around cruise safely and freely, and encourages spontaneous social interaction during the daily commute.

Unfortunately, I began to give up on that dream sometime in my early 20s. I’m not sure if it was the time I was doored by a taxi on Oxford Street, the time I was thrown to the ground by a cop for riding on the pavement, or the time a guy in an SUV tried to ‘intimidate’ me by actually drive right into me. Or perhaps, it was one of the many other times that I feared for my life because a car driver didn’t see me.

After years of abuse on the roads, it’s become hard to imagine that things will ever change.

While the problems faced by bike riders may seem commonplace in many cities across the world, other cities are changing very quickly. And Sydney is not keeping up.

In many cities, we are seeing an urban transition. New York, LA, London, Paris and Mexico City, to name just a few, are all investing heavily into bicycle infrastructure, lowering speed limits and planning new transit networks. Even China is realising the transformational effects biking and cycling infrastructure can play. Hangzhou recently opened the world’s largest bike share network with over 60,000 bikes and almost 2,500 docking stations.

This is more than just a trend. By incorporating best practices in cycling infrastructure, cities across the world are seeing improved public health, a decrease in congestion and improvement to retail in high streets. Forward-thinking local governments realise this and start building segregated bike lanes and other cycling infrastructure – not more roads.

So, what's stopping Sydney?

In most conversation about bikes in Australian cities, you hear all sorts of strange arguments. ‘It’s too hot’, ‘too hilly’, ‘we aren’t dense like European cities’. In his book, Cycling Space, Tasmanian-based architect and academic Steven Fleming has shown us how ridiculous these arguments really are. Cities with some of the most extreme temperatures or have built environments characterised by massive amounts of sprawl have far higher levels of cycling than Australian cities.

The major problem in Sydney is poor communication. More specifically, the problem with Sydney is the Daily Telegraph.

New York has recently invested in miles of bikes paths and a hugely successful bike share system. Yes, there has been a lot of debate about these changes in the media. But the debate has been relatively balanced and healthy in the media.

Unlike New York, Sydney doesn’t seem to enjoy a very healthy dialogue in mainstream media. Particularly when it comes to a conversation about bikes. It’s not a debate when the media is dominated by Rupert Murdoch.

For months on end, we’ve seen article after article in what is a blatant attack on pro-bike politicians, policies and journalists from the Daily Telegraph. And the problem with any democratic planning system is that poor communication easily leads to poor decision-making.

But it gets much more personal that that. The way in which cycling ‘accidents’ are portrayed in the paper is downright disgusting. Roads were built for bikes and people, not cars. Yet cars take the lives of dozens of riders every year. How dare the telegraph misrepresent cycling deaths by blaming improper safety equipment. Cyclists are vulnerable road users and cars are to blame.

Sydneysiders know what’s good for our city. We know that more roads are a not the solution. So why do we put up with it? The generation before us didn’t.

Sydney’s Green Bans of the 1960s and 70s were a struggle that helped to give people in Sydney the freedoms they have today. Glebe, Redfern, The Rocks and Centennial Park, would not be the beautiful places they are today if it weren’t for Jack Mundey and the BLF.

Throughout the 1970s thousands of people joined a movement to ensure that the physical nature of our city was protected, preserved and enhanced, not destroyed by oversized development and inner city motorways.

If we want to see a better Sydney, it’s time we collectively stood up to bad press and poor planning decision. Write news articles, share experiences, tell planners that you wish to ride your bike safely and freely. It’s time to take the development of our city out of the hands of Murdoch and into our own.

No, Sydney is not a European city. But now is the time to make it just that little bit more like one.

Feature image courtesy Amsterdamized.

I wandered around Singapore. Here are my thoughts on the city.

At my past job at a sustainability charity in London some of my friends who had lived in Singapore explained that it was highly ambitious environmentally, giving numerous examples of green business parks and ambitious building standards. But chatting to a cab driver over the weekend in the city, he had a slightly different perspective.

Explaining the ongoing peripheral urban development and housing crisis, it seemed that the island/nation/city continues to grow rapidly to its own detriment. "What's that word?" he said, "Urban jungle! This nation is turning into one big urban jungle!".

While land intensification has been an ongoing policy for development in the city for many decades, it does continue to slowly sprawl into the periphery to accommodate the rapidly growing population. Comprising only 270 sq km in total, land development issues in Singapore can be seen to epitomise land use issues across the globe (just on the small scale). We want urban 'growth' but how do we stop expanding?

I'd definitely need to spend some more time in the city to have a better perspective on sustainable development in Singapore. It's such an incredibly interesting city that seems to be developing very sensibly, but could it be doing even better? And what lessons can other cities learn from Singapore as an example?

Apart from all of the big picture strategy stuff, I made the following brief observations from my quick day of walking about the city: high density, manicured gardens, not pedestrian friendly, ambitious, colourful, beautiful, amazing food and smells and of course, hot and humid! If the city had a little less cars, a few more bikes and made a bit more effort in place making and public space creation, it'd make all the difference.

I'd love to know other people's thoughts!

All photos Tom Oliver Payne.

Sydney’s Barangaroo: Repeating Mistakes of the Past?

Casino tycoon James Packer, is bidding to build a resort-style casino on the Sydney's most central and beautiful foreshores - Barangaroo.

Every city has had its planning blunders. In fact, a number of monstrosities are probably being constructed near you right now. I’m sure you can name a few. Too often mistakes are made today because past errors have been too easily forgotten.

Throughout the 60′s, the Sydney construction industry was booming; skyscrapers were being erected across the central district, new motorways were extending into the vast suburbs and ex-industrial foreshore sites were quickly being developed into large housing estates as industry moved further inland. “Brave new world” masterplanning techniques embedded the development industry and the city saw the loss of some of its oldest buildings and most vital green spaces.

The Green Ban movement of the 70′s changed all of this. Between 1971 and 1974 around 40 construction bans were imposed by the Builders Labourers Federation to prevent the destruction of buildings or green areas. The most controversial was the ban to halt the redevelopment of The Rocks. After years of strikes and bloody confrontations, the plan to redevelop Sydney’s oldest suburb was altered to ensure strict preservation of historic buildings. Today,The Rocks is one of the city’s largest tourist destinations.

So, what did Sydney learn from the Green Ban movement? According to the new plans to redevelop Barangaroo, not a lot. While the bans did reform planning policy and change the development culture of the entire nation, it seems that in 2013, all has been forgotten.

Casino tycoon James Packer, son of the famous Kerry Packer, is bidding to build a resort-style casino (alongside multiple office buildings) on the city’s most central and beautiful foreshores – Barangaroo.

Interestingly, Barangaroo sits just down the street from The Rocks. So, with this in mind one would hope Packer has carefully considered the area’s history but it doesn’t look like it. All Packer seems to care about his how his “iconic project” can compete with Melbourne and China. With so much support for his development, it seems that the rest of the city has forgotten as well. If we’ve learned anything from Sydney’s past, it’s that the preservation of itsnatural features, particularly the harbour and foreshores, are what has made it such a globally attractive city.

Cities don’t succeed by copying others. Rather, they become far more unique and exciting by learning from their mistakes and enhancing their best features. I don’t know about you, but I’d say another tacky casino doesn’t seem to fit that mould.

Click here to check out this article on the Urban Times.

Feature image courtesy aussiegall/Flickr.

The revolution of the wheel

Photo by Scott Schuman 

I was riding my bike the other day, watching the cars stuck beside me in traffic. How crazy is it that the simple 19th century invention of the bicycle is still one of the best (or THE best) forms of transport that we have.

In many ways I feel like the wheel has almost completed an entire revolution. The rise of the car in the 1950s and 60s led to the reshaping of entire cities, first across the USA, and then the world. Once centered around walkable shopping districts and train lines, they began to spread into vast suburbs and homogenous urban landscapes. So too did the car change our way of thinking. It became a symbol of freedom, a symbol of maturity and a form of identity.

So what happened?

Just like in other aspects of modern society, we have begun to realise that growth is not necessarily sustainable. We can no longer keep producing without recycling, we can no longer own large homes on large blocks of land, and we can no longer all drive to work. There are simply too many of us. And yes, one could argue that we could spread our wings and repopulate and revitalise rural areas. But not only do we rely on the economies of scale of cities to compete in the globalised world, but the 'green' countryside is also very 'brown'. Those living in spacey rural areas generally have far greater environmental impacts than those in cities.

Exploring London on my bike

We have begun to see a tipping point. Do we keep consuming, keep producing and keep driving until we can't anymore? Or do we take a new approach?

We have already begun to see a return to a more minimalist western society, particularly through the rise of collaborative consumption and the return of the bicycle.

With and without government support, the bike has begun to make a return across the world. Whether people are sick of waiting in traffic for hours of their day, whether they can't afford road taxes, or whether there is simply no space to park, people have begun to swap the car for the bike. For ten years in a row, bike sales have outstripped car sales in Australia.

Some may call it a trend, but I'd say it's all part of a bigger revolution.

Not every city will adopt bike use in the same way, and some cities won't adopt bikes at all. An array of factors will determine how, exactly, these wheels will revolve. Some cities never moved away from the bike in the first place (Copenhagen), some cities have stubborn politicians (Sydney), some cities are simply too hot (Phoenix), too cold (Ulan Bator) or too vast (Los Angeles). But across the globe we are beginning to witness a shift in the way we think.

Just like the revolution of a wheel, we are perhaps, returning to where it all began.

On that note, I'd like to leave you with a film called Brussels Express. There are a lot of bike messenger films out on the web at the moment, but this one is particularly brilliant. Through the perspective of one courier, we can see a city that is hitting its tipping point. Will the bike be the answer to its problems?

The life and death of purple sneakers, Sydney

The Abercrombie Hotel, sitting on the site of the former Australian Hotel, has been a strong part of Sydney’s pub and live music scene for decades. Every Friday night, Purple Sneakers was for a long time, one of Sydney’s most popular clubs.

Cheap booze, live music and an outdoor beer garden kept my friends and I going for years.

While Sneakers has moved on, The Abercrombie vibe remains pretty much the same. But with the Central Park development encroaching from behind, I've begun to wonder, for just how long.

Image courtesy Music Feeds.

Image courtesy Micromaniac

Central Park is one of the biggest developments Sydney has seen for years, and it'll bring some great benefits to the city as a whole, including open space, independent retail, much needed inner city housing, modern architecture and a much more aesthetically pleasing Broadway streetscape. But as with any new big development, there is a sense of fear that once it is built, the past is gone forever.

Restricted under heritage laws the 1937 hotel is set to remain where it is. It will however, be completely surrounded by apartments - both around and above. It wasn't until I saw this development in the flesh that I really began to think about some of the changes that this mammoth new construction will bring to the area, and more specifically, to the pub itself.

Image courtesy Central Park.

Will people still want to drink there when it’s surrounded by multi-million dollar apartments? Will the new residents complain about late night noise and impose a curfew? Will The Abercrombie still have grotty toilets, sticky floors and the smell of stale booze engrained in its walls?

It’s hard to imagine this place five years down the track. With The Abercrombie buried beneath the floorboards of wealthy financiers, Purple Sneakers will be all but a distant memory.

Our city is evolving right in front of our eyes. Hundreds of years of history can be altered or destroyed in a number of days. While change is good for a city, it's also important to remember that there's nothing wrong with a bit of nostalgia.

As Central Park begins to engulf The Abercrombie, we're in the process of watching history unfold. For better or for worse - Broadway will never look or feel the same.