Art and culture are powerful tools for city building. Pictured here is a laneway in downtown Detroit that is known as "The Belt." It is called this because of its location in the city's former garment district, but today, it has been redefined as a cultural alley. In it, and deep within unmarked basements, you'll find venues like Deluxx Fluxx, which call themselves a nightclub art house. (You're going to want to click through to their website and get a feel for the place.)

This alley isn't brand new. It was conceptualized by the art gallery Library Street Collective a few years after it was founded in 2012. But I think it remains an excellent example of at least two things. One, Detroit is cool. It really has been going through a cultural renaissance. (You should also know that Detroit is the birthplace of techno.) And two, The Belt remains a perfect example of what is possible with our underutilized urban spaces.

Virtually every city has alleys exactly like this one. But too few are doing something as cool with them.

Image: The Belt & Deluxx Fluxx

This is one of my Christmas gifts. And it is, of course, exactly the sort of thing that gets me excited. Thank you Bianca. You clearly know me.

I am endlessly fascinated by cities. I keep a running list of places I want to explore (everywhere from São Paulo to Shanghai). And frankly, I consider it to be an important part of my job to think about how to make our cities better.

As I was flipping through the book this morning, I was reminded of something that I have been saying for years on this blog. Toronto could use a floating public pool like the Badeschiff ("bathing ship") in Berlin:

Constructed from the hull of an old cargo vessel, the Badeschiff opened in 2004. The Spree itself is too polluted to swim in (or at least that was the case back in 2004), and so this has become an important swimming outlet for the city.

Paris is in a similar situation with the Seine, but it's looking to clean it up in time for the Olympics.

The real benefit of a floating pool is that you're mostly in a big body of water, but now you can also heat it. In the winter, the Badeschiff is covered and turned into a spa/sauna. This would be particularly useful in a place like Toronto.

It's easy to bring people to water in the summer. Apparently Summer-Badeschiff even has a bar and regular DJ sets (presumably all techno given this is Berlin).

The real challenge is in the winter. And if you've ever read an RFP involving a public space in Canada, you'll know that this question invariably comes up: So, how do we, like, get people to come here when it's 10 below?

Hot water, nice views, and a little food & drink. I promise that's all you need.

I’ve written about Berlin many times before on this blog. It’s such a fascinating case study for me because of its history, its urban development patterns, and its famous techno scene.

Last month, Nick Paumgarten wrote a piece in the New Yorker, called Berlin Nights, where he dives into the city’s club culture and its reputation as the cradle of techno music. 

But in doing that, he is necessarily forced to talk about the once divided city and its unique “post-Wall” condition. When the Wall came down, the East became – as a result of its under-utilized built form – a breeding ground for the pent up energy and creativity of the West.

Here is an excerpt that speaks to the importance of those empty spaces and sparsely populated neighborhoods:

The post-Wall abundance of derelict building and excess housing was decisive. “Empty spaces allowed there to be a club culture,” Robert Henke said. “With no empty space, you get a closed-at-2 a.m., restrictive-alcohol culture.” At first, the reclamation seemed slapdash, improvisational, anarchic, as squatters took over buildings and neighborhoods and set off a period of cultural ferment. But the powers that be had been dreaming up developments for years before the Wall came down, and now—amid a boom in real-estate speculation and investment (everyone spoke of the Swedes)—empty space, and the sense of wildness that comes with it, has become harder to come by. “Flats are getting more expensive,” Hegemann said. “But we still have many free spaces. This is the secret for why Berlin is still alive.”

And here is the story of one such building:

Some empty spaces have completed their life cycles. One afternoon, I visited the old Reichsbahnbunker, a five-story fortress of reinforced concrete built by the Nazis in 1942 as an air-raid shelter. The Soviets turned it into a jail for P.O.W.s. Then it was used to store bananas and other tropical fruit. It was abandoned. In the nineties, it became an infamous techno night club, the Bunker. No ventilation, no fire exits. The government eventually shut it down. In 2003, an advertising executive and his wife bought the building and converted it into a museum to house their collection of contemporary art. They also built a glass-and-steel penthouse on the roof, to house themselves. Now the collection is open to the public, by appointment only. I joined a tour one afternoon. The guide, a young art student with a sweet monotone, took us into a cell-like space featuring giant manipulated photographs of the night sky, by Thomas Ruff, and explained that it had been the original dark room of Berlin. “It was very extreme,” she said. “It was hot, damp, loud, and dark. It was said to be the hardest club in the world. I’m sure you can imagine the things.” She gave a coy smile.

If you’re interested in cities and/or electronic music, the essay is well worth a read.