“綠城”弗萊堡的煩惱（下）

Before seeing Vauban， I want to know how Freiburg was created from the ashes of a medieval city 1)levelled during the Second World War. “The main employer here is the university，” Daseking explains， “so these are brainy people—and when they say something， they mean it. First they said they would rebuild the city with new ideas—and they did.” The old streets were

widened to take trams， the tramway became “the backbone of the city” and the medieval centre was kept car-free. “Then， in the Seventies，” Daseking says， “the government in 2)Stuttgart wanted to build a nuclear power station 40km from here. The brainy people said， ‘No， we won’t have it’—and when they say no， they mean no.”

With nuclear power off the agenda， Freiburg found itself with a problem: a finite amount of electricity， but a growing population. The only solution， the government said， was for the people to come up with an energy-saving plan to conserve existing resources. In the mid-Eighties， when Daseking arrived， the same spirit of public consultation was applied to the planning of Rieselfeld. First on the wish list was a tramline extension， built before residents arrived so they would not have to buy a car. Next came the idea of small plots with a high population density (the group owner-ship model) so people could afford to buy flats. Because the newcomers were

families， “a garden was essential for every four or five plots，” says Daseking—hence the abundance of play parks.

More enlightened still， was the approach to scale. “From the top floor of every house，” says Daseking， “parents had to be able to shout to their children in the garden—and hear the reply. It was important to get in touch with the ground.” This limited the height of buildings. To reduce theft， small garages (for those who wanted cars) were built every two blocks， rather than large ones every five blocks. “From every corner， you could see what was happening in your garage，” says Daseking. “Criminality had to go down.”

In Vauban， green living is compulsory. Claudia Duppe warned me， “There is a lot of social control. If you walk into the quarter with an 3)Aldi carrier bag， it’s， ‘Sorry， I’m not talking to you; you shop at a discount supermarket and you don’t buy organic.’ It feels 4)claustrophobic， because everyone expects you to behave in the same way—and of course you are not allowed to have a car.”

It’s an overstatement， since Vauban residents can own a car—but they have to pay €18，000 a year to park it in one of the multistorey “Solar Garages” on the 5)outskirts of the quarter. On the main 6)thoroughfare there is a speed limit of 30km per hour—and on Vauban’s narrow residential streets， hemmed in by housing estates， cars can travel no faster than walking speed.

On the day we are due to visit Vauban， the trams are on strike. Luckily， we find a car—owned by Lorenz Wehrle， a local architect. On the way， he tells me there is little support for a car-free system. “It doesn’t work，” he says， “and even here， people don’t really accept it. They want their neighbours not to own a car， but for them a car is important.” Some people in Vauban do own one， but don’t declare it， he says， saving themselves €18，000. “They claim it belongs to their sister，” he explains， “or they park it in Merzhausen”—a village just outside Vauban.

As Lorenz drives across the boun-dary， there is little sense of a transition to a car-free zone; indeed， there are more vehicles than expected， perhaps on account of the tram strike. The first resident I meet is Stefan Westphal， a freelance biologist who looks after his children—Heinrich (ten) and Lennard (eight)—while his wife， Manuela Kohler， works. He admits that five percent of Vauban residents own a car， but pretend they don’t. However， he has signed a declaration saying he will never own one—thus avoiding the fee. If he cheats， or even changes his mind， “they can take a part of our property.”

From his rooftop 7)terrace， Stefan points out the arrays of blue solar panels on 50 percent of the surrounding roofs. These “collectors” don’t heat the properties themselves， since Vauban is supplied by a small local power station， but they feed energy back into the regional 8)grid to make their owners a modest income. At the “Solar Settlement” (or， more

9)prosaically， the Plus-energy Housing and Service Centre) nearby， designed by solar architect Rolf Disch， each of the 60 houses makes €6，000 a year for its inhabitants—an income guaranteed for 20 years by the German government. However， it takes up to nine years to pay for the technology. Built to passive house standards， the homes also have solar collectors capable of feeding more energy into the grid than they waste—hence the name “plus-energy” houses.

Later， we met Barbara Classen， another Vauban resident. At 1 pm， when German schools finish， Barbara and her sons have lunch every day at SUSI—a radical housing association which Barbara describes as “an intentional community where people live in shared houses， using co-op services.” “It’s pretty dense housing，” she says， “and all the 10-year-olds around here are going to be teenagers at the same time. That will be an interesting experience! Some people are very anti-car， and there have been conflicts in some streets.” There is also a 10)stigma， she believes， in living in Freiburg’s most militant green quarter.

Her main 11)grouse， however， is that Freiburg’s “so-called Green mayor” (Dr Die-ter Salomon) is failing to promote social housing and group ownership while supporting big， 12)lucrative developments thrown up by private investors. Like many I spoke to， she sees this is a betrayal of Freiburg’s more enlightened past under a committed socialist mayor.

It is political will， vision and policy， not some mysterious green sensibility， that has made Germany a leader in terms of sustainable living.

在參觀弗本之前，我想知道弗萊堡是如何在廢墟上建設起來的——這個中世紀古城在二戰中被夷為平地。“這里的雇主主要是大學。”達斯肯解釋說，“所以這里的居民都是些知識分子。他們言出必行。一開始他們就說要用全新的理念來重建這座城市，而他們確實做到了。”他們拓寬了老街以保證有軌電車能夠通過，電車軌道后來成了“弗萊堡的脊梁”，而中世紀風格的市中心曾經禁行汽車。“然后，在上世紀70年代，”達斯肯說，“位于斯圖加特的地方政府想在離這兒40公里的地方建一個核電站。知識分子們說，‘不，我們不要核電站。’當他們說‘不’的時候，就真的會阻止事情發生。”

雖然成功地把核電站這項工程拒之門外，但弗萊堡發現自己面對著一個問題：人口不斷增長，而發電量卻十分有限。政府說，唯一的解決辦法是找到一種節能的生活方式，節約現有資源。在上世紀80年代中期，當達斯肯到任并著手籌建瑞斯菲德社區時，同樣咨詢了公眾意見，人們首要的請求是擴展電車軌道，在居民們落戶前就建好，這樣他們就可以不用買車了。其次就是設一些高人口密度的小型聚居區（即前面提到的集體物權所有制模式），這樣人們就都能買得起公寓。由于新居民都是舉家搬遷而來的，“所以每四到五個聚居區就必須設一個花園，”達斯肯說，因此這里供游玩的公園數量眾多。

然而更開明的想法是讓聚居區保持適度的規模。“父母們站在每棟房子的屋頂，都得能叫喚到在花園里玩耍的孩子們，并能聽到他們的回應。……