From my second-floor apartment in downtown Vancouver, I see a particular dog and its owner on the street every day. The man is in charge of the dog’s stuffie, and the dog is eagerly straining on his leash, oblivious to the wheelchair tethered to his back legs. It is when the dog attempts to break into a gallop upon seeing the dog park ahead that he remembers his limitations. The tail doesn’t stop wagging, however, until they enter the park’s holy gates, and his owner throws the stuffie, willing his dog to chase it as he has always done. A chorus of barking ensues and soon the stuffie is buried under a scrum of wagging tails and playful snarls. The owners are drawn in, laughing as they try to untangle the melee.
Living next to a dog park in Vancouver has awakened me not only to the more endearing qualities of dogs, but to the more delightful features of living in the dense urban core of BC’s largest city. Neighbourhoods that were once colourless blocks of high-rises and congested streets are now enlivened by oases of green and pedestrian-and bike-friendly gathering places. Sidewalks brim with children eager to get to school, dogs keen to get to their favourite meet-up places, and every age and ethnicity stopping to linger at the many benches and garden plots that now dot the streets. Physical landscapes have been transformed into social ones, integrating live, work and play spaces into compact walkable neighbourhoods.
When did this radical makeover of Vancouver happen? Some say the empowering moment occurred when a grassroots movement successfully blocked the extension of the freeway through Vancouver, saving the city from soulless swaths of asphalt and speeding cars. Others say it was the changes triggered by Expo ’86, and how the transformation of a neglected industrial landscape into a dazzling waterfront village awakened people to the power of urban renewal.
Others will say it was the vision of one man: urban planner Larry Beasley, who, in 1990, could see that a peninsula with dense neighbourhood boroughs, no highways, and miles of waterfront, provided the perfect starting point for a dynamic new city plan. With its mix of homes, services and workplaces, downtown Vancouver was already a convenient and functional ‘15-minute city’ – merely enhancing that would be the next step in the city’s development.
Under Beasley’s direction, the unique urban planning model that became known as “Vancouverism” was launched. Within that model, two design principles were non-negotiable: 1) views of the mountains and ocean could not be obstructed, and 2) the synchronous relationship of residential and commercial spaces must be retained. To accommodate those principles, the towers built were tall and thin with maximum window space for residents and minimal obstruction within the view corridors, and mounted on three-to-five-storey podiums customized for commercial use.
In addition to the mixed-use tower and podium style of the high-rises erected, “Vancouverism” promoted development that prioritized sustainable, community-minded practices. One of these was listening to the residents and incorporating their ‘inside knowledge’ into the planning model. Inclusive public spaces with a wide range of activities – basketball courts, dog parks, playgrounds and community gardens – were proposed, along with such ‘tactical’ ideas as pop-up plazas, art installations, laneway murals and outside yoga sessions to playfully nudge people towards imagining the interactive possibilities of shared spaces.
Another of these sustainable practices was ensuring equitable distribution of the city’s ‘green assets.’ Given that trees are sources of shade, beauty and air filtration of CO2, ‘leafy’ streets and public spaces are essential to every neighbourhood, not just the affluent ones.
Using the 3-30-300 rule developed by UBC urban forestry researcher, Cecil Konijnendijk, city planners aimed to ensure that every resident was able to see at least three mature trees from their home, live in a neighbourhood with at least 30 per cent tree canopy cover, and be within 300 metres of a public green space. The myth of the city as a concrete jungle was being dismantled, tree, by planted tree.
Today, strolling through streets filled with maple trees and rhododendrons in the most densely populated area of the city – the West End – I peer through the gauze of green to the towering high-rises, each a small city unto themselves, and marvel at the tranquility around me.
I follow the street through becalmed traffic areas, bicycle-only accesses, and a greenway that funnels pedestrians, cyclists and rollers into a pop-up plaza with terraced outdoor seating and a busy Mobi bike-rental station. A bagpiper stands at one corner of the plaza, strains of “Mairi’s Wedding” filling the square. People carefully instruct their dogs as they pass by him, stopping to drop a few coins into his open instrument case.
From paved parks and forgotten spaces to colourful alleyways and plazas, Vancouverism’s formula for vibrant and liveable communities has captured the world’s attention. Cities are taking up its challenge; in Dubai, for instance, you’ll find a copy of the Yaletown waterfront, complete with a False Creek (truly – it was once a desert!), a seawall and stand of tower and podium buildings. And even though Beasley is not one to rest on his laurels, asserting that affordability, inequity and the climate crisis are issues that need addressing now, I think we can be grateful for this unexpected haven for happy dogs, impromptu socials, and a city that, on this sunny afternoon, is working like a charm.
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