Brandon Donnelly
Daily insights for city builders. Published since 2013 by Toronto-based real estate developer Brandon Donnelly.
Brandon Donnelly
Daily insights for city builders. Published since 2013 by Toronto-based real estate developer Brandon Donnelly.
One of the least understood aspects of self-driving cars is the extent and capacity to which they rely on remote assistance operators (RAOs).
When a self-driving car finds itself confused in an uncertain or tricky situation (like when one rolled into an active shootout), there are typically two safety valves. The first is a manual override, where someone like a first responder might jump into the front seat and take control of the steering wheel. And the second is assistance from a remote operator.
If the car gets confused, a human can tell it, "Hey, you, follow this path." But how often is remote assistance being called upon? And who is actually responding on the other end? Apparently, the answer is, "I don't know."
According to a recent report from Senator Ed Markey, every major AV company refuses to disclose how often they rely on an RAO. And in the case of Waymo, they rely on overseas operators in places like the Philippines.
This has led to new proposed legislation that would, among other things, limit the number of vehicles that a single RAO can oversee, mandate that the RAO be located in the US, and require the humans to hold a local driver's license. You know, so they're sure to know the rules of the road.
There's a lot to figure out, and it seems a bit messy. But that's what it takes. As one would expect, this is par for the course when you're trying to rewrite urban mobility.
Cover photo by Leo_Visions on Unsplash
I recently came across this for-sale listing from Fantastic Frank for a 3-room apartment in Berlin's new Am Tacheles district. Naturally, I thought to myself, "Hey, this is a beautiful apartment — now let me go all the way back to the beginning of the 20th century and better understand the history of the development site."
Am Tacheles has been called the most controversial real estate project in Berlin's modern history. Previously developed in 1908 as a high-end shopping arcade intended to rival the great galleries of Paris, the Friedrichstraßenpassage, as it was known, was an ambitious undertaking located in the city's historic Jewish quarter.
But only about six months after opening, the project went bankrupt. The existing building then went on to live numerous lives, ranging from an AEG showroom to a building used to house French war prisoners, before ultimately being co-opted by artists in 1990 as a way to save it from demolition.
One of the least understood aspects of self-driving cars is the extent and capacity to which they rely on remote assistance operators (RAOs).
When a self-driving car finds itself confused in an uncertain or tricky situation (like when one rolled into an active shootout), there are typically two safety valves. The first is a manual override, where someone like a first responder might jump into the front seat and take control of the steering wheel. And the second is assistance from a remote operator.
If the car gets confused, a human can tell it, "Hey, you, follow this path." But how often is remote assistance being called upon? And who is actually responding on the other end? Apparently, the answer is, "I don't know."
According to a recent report from Senator Ed Markey, every major AV company refuses to disclose how often they rely on an RAO. And in the case of Waymo, they rely on overseas operators in places like the Philippines.
This has led to new proposed legislation that would, among other things, limit the number of vehicles that a single RAO can oversee, mandate that the RAO be located in the US, and require the humans to hold a local driver's license. You know, so they're sure to know the rules of the road.
There's a lot to figure out, and it seems a bit messy. But that's what it takes. As one would expect, this is par for the course when you're trying to rewrite urban mobility.
Cover photo by Leo_Visions on Unsplash
I recently came across this for-sale listing from Fantastic Frank for a 3-room apartment in Berlin's new Am Tacheles district. Naturally, I thought to myself, "Hey, this is a beautiful apartment — now let me go all the way back to the beginning of the 20th century and better understand the history of the development site."
Am Tacheles has been called the most controversial real estate project in Berlin's modern history. Previously developed in 1908 as a high-end shopping arcade intended to rival the great galleries of Paris, the Friedrichstraßenpassage, as it was known, was an ambitious undertaking located in the city's historic Jewish quarter.
But only about six months after opening, the project went bankrupt. The existing building then went on to live numerous lives, ranging from an AEG showroom to a building used to house French war prisoners, before ultimately being co-opted by artists in 1990 as a way to save it from demolition.
It was at this point that it was given the name Tacheles, which is a Yiddish word meaning "to speak straight." Supposedly, this was a reference to the area's history as a thriving Jewish quarter and a message about political honesty (it is located in the former East Berlin, where that wasn't a thing).
For the next two decades, the site became a global symbol of Berlin's "poor but sexy" identity. The ownership vacuum created by the fall of the Berlin Wall meant that nobody really knew who owned what. This was a disaster for clear property rights and capital investment, but fortuitous for squatters who needed cheap (okay, free) space to experiment with art and techno music.
In my view, this was ultimately a net positive for the city. It created an urban vitality that nobody could have predicted, demonstrating the potential of people and cities when allowed to experiment and take risks.
But then, basically, two things happened: (1) people eventually figured out who owned what, and (2) the development potential of the site became increasingly valuable. This is the quintessential urban cycle. First, the artists and creatives come in to take advantage of cheap space. They then make the area cool. And then developers like me come in to monetize it, completing the cycle.
Fast forward to today, and Am Tacheles (they kept the name) is a new master-planned community designed by Swiss architects Herzog & de Meuron and one of the most desirable (and thus expensive) areas in Berlin. It's also quite a bit tidier there these days, though they did preserve some of the graffiti.
Returning to our 3-room apartment listing, the asking price is €1,825,000 + €90,000 (for what I believe is a parking space). At 113 sqm, this works out to ~€16,947 per sqm or about C$2,529 per sqft (for comparison to Toronto prices). As I understand it, this is well above the average new construction home prices in the area and city.
What is clear is that Berlin is no longer poor. It's global-city rich. But is it still sexy?
Cover photo and floor from Fantastic Frank
Historic Tacheles photo via Wikipedia
Am Tacheless photo and stairwell section from H&dM
One of my developer friends — who I would say has similar design tastes to my own — once said to me, "If I like it [the design], I often assume that the general public won't." What he was getting at is that architects and designers often appreciate buildings and spaces for different reasons.
For us (if I can say this without the OAA sending me another legal letter), it is often about things like the intellectual rigour behind the work, the "honesty" of the materials, and the greater social and historic context, rather than just "this has nice curb appeal."
So with that, I'm now going to go out on a limb and suggest that these converted industrial towers in former East Berlin fall into the category of "probably not for everyone." Built in the 1950s by the German Democratic Republic (GDR) to process graphite, and later abandoned after the fall of the Berlin Wall, the property was eventually privatized in the 1990s to raise money for the state.
Then, between 2018 and 2021, architecture practice b+ — which has made a name for itself transforming old Brutalist buildings into super cool live-work spaces — reworked the interiors to create a workshop for itself.
The two industrial towers are 37.2 and 42.6 metres tall. And since their volumes reminded architect Arno Brandlhuber of the towers of San Gimignano, that became the project's name. The site area is 960 sqm, the usable floor area is around 300 sqm, and the entire property is for sale for €1,700,000. There's also future development potential!
I personally love the project. If Globizen were to have an office in Berlin, I'd want it to be here. But hey, what do you think?
Photos by Future Documentation
It was at this point that it was given the name Tacheles, which is a Yiddish word meaning "to speak straight." Supposedly, this was a reference to the area's history as a thriving Jewish quarter and a message about political honesty (it is located in the former East Berlin, where that wasn't a thing).
For the next two decades, the site became a global symbol of Berlin's "poor but sexy" identity. The ownership vacuum created by the fall of the Berlin Wall meant that nobody really knew who owned what. This was a disaster for clear property rights and capital investment, but fortuitous for squatters who needed cheap (okay, free) space to experiment with art and techno music.
In my view, this was ultimately a net positive for the city. It created an urban vitality that nobody could have predicted, demonstrating the potential of people and cities when allowed to experiment and take risks.
But then, basically, two things happened: (1) people eventually figured out who owned what, and (2) the development potential of the site became increasingly valuable. This is the quintessential urban cycle. First, the artists and creatives come in to take advantage of cheap space. They then make the area cool. And then developers like me come in to monetize it, completing the cycle.
Fast forward to today, and Am Tacheles (they kept the name) is a new master-planned community designed by Swiss architects Herzog & de Meuron and one of the most desirable (and thus expensive) areas in Berlin. It's also quite a bit tidier there these days, though they did preserve some of the graffiti.
Returning to our 3-room apartment listing, the asking price is €1,825,000 + €90,000 (for what I believe is a parking space). At 113 sqm, this works out to ~€16,947 per sqm or about C$2,529 per sqft (for comparison to Toronto prices). As I understand it, this is well above the average new construction home prices in the area and city.
What is clear is that Berlin is no longer poor. It's global-city rich. But is it still sexy?
Cover photo and floor from Fantastic Frank
Historic Tacheles photo via Wikipedia
Am Tacheless photo and stairwell section from H&dM
One of my developer friends — who I would say has similar design tastes to my own — once said to me, "If I like it [the design], I often assume that the general public won't." What he was getting at is that architects and designers often appreciate buildings and spaces for different reasons.
For us (if I can say this without the OAA sending me another legal letter), it is often about things like the intellectual rigour behind the work, the "honesty" of the materials, and the greater social and historic context, rather than just "this has nice curb appeal."
So with that, I'm now going to go out on a limb and suggest that these converted industrial towers in former East Berlin fall into the category of "probably not for everyone." Built in the 1950s by the German Democratic Republic (GDR) to process graphite, and later abandoned after the fall of the Berlin Wall, the property was eventually privatized in the 1990s to raise money for the state.
Then, between 2018 and 2021, architecture practice b+ — which has made a name for itself transforming old Brutalist buildings into super cool live-work spaces — reworked the interiors to create a workshop for itself.
The two industrial towers are 37.2 and 42.6 metres tall. And since their volumes reminded architect Arno Brandlhuber of the towers of San Gimignano, that became the project's name. The site area is 960 sqm, the usable floor area is around 300 sqm, and the entire property is for sale for €1,700,000. There's also future development potential!
I personally love the project. If Globizen were to have an office in Berlin, I'd want it to be here. But hey, what do you think?
Photos by Future Documentation
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