Some of you might remember that I grew up going to a French school here in Toronto. My mom had rightly decided that I should be able to speak both of Canada's official languages. But truthfully, I never really loved it as a kid. I started midway through elementary school and so I always felt a little insecure about my French abilities. Which is partially why in the fall of 2023,
Some of you might remember that I grew up going to a French school here in Toronto. My mom had rightly decided that I should be able to speak both of Canada's official languages. But truthfully, I never really loved it as a kid. I started midway through elementary school and so I always felt a little insecure about my French abilities. Which is partially why in the fall of 2023,
Generally speaking, the classes are pretty relaxed (sometimes we learn grammar and sometimes we just talk about delicious cheeses), but at the end of last year I decided to register for the DELF exam. DELF stands for Diplôme d'études en langue française and it's a diploma for non-native speakers of French offered by France's Ministry of Education. It's offered at various proficiency levels and I registered for level B2, which France describes in the following way:
One of the reasons why I registered for this particular level is that it will soon become the minimum level of language proficiency required to become a French citizen. Currently you need the equivalent of B1, but starting January 1, 2026, I understand it will jump up to B2. I, of course, don't know if I will ever need this, move to France, and/or seek to become a citizen, but it became a goal. I told myself that I wanted the diploma that proves one's French is good enough to be an actual citizen. I guess it was a way to conquer my childhood insecurities.
So I'm happy to report that I ended up taking the exam in early March and that last week I received my passing grade. I scored just under 90%. (My weakest section was the handwritten essay.) After I got the news, I came home to the below book sitting on the kitchen counter with a bow and thoughtful handwritten note from Bianca — in French I would add — congratulating me on achieving this goal. One of the first things I said was, "wait, when did you buy this? How did you get it so quickly?" And she responded with, "I ordered it a long time ago, because I knew you'd pass."
The book is called Paris Haussmann and it's a comprehensive look at Haussmann's 19th century plans for the city. It covers every scale, from the city's boulevards (morphological scale) down to individual floor plans for each building type (typological scale). It's a truly extraordinary book and it's also highly relevant to one of the things that Globizen is focused on right now, which is the building of infill housing on Toronto's major streets. The urban context isn't exactly the same, of course, but there's a lot to be learned from this human-scaled building type. So even if you aren't trying to overcome some childhood insecurity related to the French, I highly recommend you check out this book.
Cover photo via Pavillon de l'arsenal
Kelly Alvarez Doran shared this article with me on Twitter earlier today. It talks about some of the work that his design studios are doing at the University of Toronto around embodied carbon. More specifically though, his studios are being tasked with figuring out how to halve the carbon emissions generated by new buildings during this decade.
And one of the big findings from his studio is exactly the title of this post: our buildings have become carbon icebergs. Here in Toronto, we tend to build a lot of below-grade parking. We recently got rid of parking minimums (which obviously needed to happen), but the market still demands it in certain areas and for certain projects. So we continue to build it.
What the above section drawings are showing is the percentage of carbon emissions resulting from the below-grade construction component in each project. And as you can see, the numbers are significant, particularly in the case of smaller mid-rise buildings where you don't have a lot of above-grade area to grow the denominator.
Looking at 2803 Dundas Street West, which is just down the street from our Junction House project, the number is 50%! And sadly, I would guess that our project is probably only marginally better; we're a bit taller up top, but we also have a raft slab foundation and a watertight below-grade.
This is one of the reasons why I recently tried to make the case for above-grade parking. A big part of my argument was that if we want parking that can be adapted to other uses in the future, and if we want to reduce the embodied carbon in our buildings, then we should be building "unwrapped" above-grade parking. That is, parking which isn't hidden behind other uses.
But this is often frowned upon in planning circles and it's not going to be feasible in smaller mid-rise buildings like the ones shown here. We're also just talking about what is less bad. What we really ought to be doing is trying to build our cities so that people don't need to rely so heavily on cars to get around.
Image: Ha/f Studio
Generally speaking, the classes are pretty relaxed (sometimes we learn grammar and sometimes we just talk about delicious cheeses), but at the end of last year I decided to register for the DELF exam. DELF stands for Diplôme d'études en langue française and it's a diploma for non-native speakers of French offered by France's Ministry of Education. It's offered at various proficiency levels and I registered for level B2, which France describes in the following way:
One of the reasons why I registered for this particular level is that it will soon become the minimum level of language proficiency required to become a French citizen. Currently you need the equivalent of B1, but starting January 1, 2026, I understand it will jump up to B2. I, of course, don't know if I will ever need this, move to France, and/or seek to become a citizen, but it became a goal. I told myself that I wanted the diploma that proves one's French is good enough to be an actual citizen. I guess it was a way to conquer my childhood insecurities.
So I'm happy to report that I ended up taking the exam in early March and that last week I received my passing grade. I scored just under 90%. (My weakest section was the handwritten essay.) After I got the news, I came home to the below book sitting on the kitchen counter with a bow and thoughtful handwritten note from Bianca — in French I would add — congratulating me on achieving this goal. One of the first things I said was, "wait, when did you buy this? How did you get it so quickly?" And she responded with, "I ordered it a long time ago, because I knew you'd pass."
The book is called Paris Haussmann and it's a comprehensive look at Haussmann's 19th century plans for the city. It covers every scale, from the city's boulevards (morphological scale) down to individual floor plans for each building type (typological scale). It's a truly extraordinary book and it's also highly relevant to one of the things that Globizen is focused on right now, which is the building of infill housing on Toronto's major streets. The urban context isn't exactly the same, of course, but there's a lot to be learned from this human-scaled building type. So even if you aren't trying to overcome some childhood insecurity related to the French, I highly recommend you check out this book.
Cover photo via Pavillon de l'arsenal
Kelly Alvarez Doran shared this article with me on Twitter earlier today. It talks about some of the work that his design studios are doing at the University of Toronto around embodied carbon. More specifically though, his studios are being tasked with figuring out how to halve the carbon emissions generated by new buildings during this decade.
And one of the big findings from his studio is exactly the title of this post: our buildings have become carbon icebergs. Here in Toronto, we tend to build a lot of below-grade parking. We recently got rid of parking minimums (which obviously needed to happen), but the market still demands it in certain areas and for certain projects. So we continue to build it.
What the above section drawings are showing is the percentage of carbon emissions resulting from the below-grade construction component in each project. And as you can see, the numbers are significant, particularly in the case of smaller mid-rise buildings where you don't have a lot of above-grade area to grow the denominator.
Looking at 2803 Dundas Street West, which is just down the street from our Junction House project, the number is 50%! And sadly, I would guess that our project is probably only marginally better; we're a bit taller up top, but we also have a raft slab foundation and a watertight below-grade.
This is one of the reasons why I recently tried to make the case for above-grade parking. A big part of my argument was that if we want parking that can be adapted to other uses in the future, and if we want to reduce the embodied carbon in our buildings, then we should be building "unwrapped" above-grade parking. That is, parking which isn't hidden behind other uses.
But this is often frowned upon in planning circles and it's not going to be feasible in smaller mid-rise buildings like the ones shown here. We're also just talking about what is less bad. What we really ought to be doing is trying to build our cities so that people don't need to rely so heavily on cars to get around.
Image: Ha/f Studio
This is a photo taken from the base village of Val Thorens. I took it while we were sitting on a massive terrace in the middle of it. But what stood out to me even more than the terrace itself was the buildings that frame it. They are all about 8-9 storeys, have no step-backs, and were clearly orchestrated to create a defined "street wall."
These framing buildings can be just as important as the public spaces themselves; they form the "walls" of the public realm and create a sense of enclosure. In this case, the buildings also follow a similar aesthetic. They were designed to pay homage to traditional Savoyard architecture, which is known for its use of local woods and stones.
The other thing I find noteworthy is that all of this is only about 50-some years old. Val Thorens the resort opened in 1971. And it only became an idea sometime around 1969 when Pierre Schneblelen -- an engineer and developer -- decided that he wanted to build Europe's highest ski resort. (The base of the resort sits at 2,300 m and the peak elevation is 3,230 m.)
As time passes, it's easy to take these kinds of places and experiences for granted. But they only exist because someone, at some point, had a vision. And when that vision was initially presented, it was probably perceived by many, or by most, to be crazy. That's just how these things go, and so I like reminding myself of that.
This is a photo taken from the base village of Val Thorens. I took it while we were sitting on a massive terrace in the middle of it. But what stood out to me even more than the terrace itself was the buildings that frame it. They are all about 8-9 storeys, have no step-backs, and were clearly orchestrated to create a defined "street wall."
These framing buildings can be just as important as the public spaces themselves; they form the "walls" of the public realm and create a sense of enclosure. In this case, the buildings also follow a similar aesthetic. They were designed to pay homage to traditional Savoyard architecture, which is known for its use of local woods and stones.
The other thing I find noteworthy is that all of this is only about 50-some years old. Val Thorens the resort opened in 1971. And it only became an idea sometime around 1969 when Pierre Schneblelen -- an engineer and developer -- decided that he wanted to build Europe's highest ski resort. (The base of the resort sits at 2,300 m and the peak elevation is 3,230 m.)
As time passes, it's easy to take these kinds of places and experiences for granted. But they only exist because someone, at some point, had a vision. And when that vision was initially presented, it was probably perceived by many, or by most, to be crazy. That's just how these things go, and so I like reminding myself of that.
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