They are not builders taking a break, nor tourists come to enjoy this quiet roof with a view. What they are is a band of handpicked vassals of a little-known organisation called Camelot, a Dutch firm that is colonising Europe at breakneck speed. The company, whose Belgian branch was formerly called Lancelot but now carries the same Camelot name, has posted dapper sentries like these in empty buildings across the land in a bid to protect the properties against squatters, vandals and neglect. For their unsung heroism, the caretakers are rewarded with a fully serviced living arrangement at a rock-bottom rent.
Stroll through the streets of any city in Belgium, and you will find these keepers of residential progress barbecuing in abandoned castles, cycling through the corridors of disused hospitals or playing football in the underground car parks of anonymous government buildings.
One motley crew even took over an empty amusement park. With the flick of a light switch, they dash the hopes of burglars and gate-crashers alike. They might also transform a concrete eyesore into a lush flower garden simply because they want to. Overseeing the transition from ruins to riches, it is no wonder that Camelot’s system has flourished like it has.
“It has been great fun so far,” says Jonas, a 29-year-old architect and guitar aficionado who has agreed to take me on a little tour of the Antwerp office building he calls home (pictured). “Everyone here gets along really well.”
The Camelot concept is brilliantly simple: Young city dwellers, facing today’s inflated and saturated housing market, are able to lease acres of space for the proverbial tuppence. Councils and companies, tangled up in the red tape of urban development and wary of the risks that come with unoccupied buildings, see their disused infrastructure lovingly chaperoned until further notice. Likewise, private owners can breathe easy until their property is sold.
Camelot brokers the deal, providing legal housing for its tenants and safeguarding its clients from the fees, fines and headaches that vacant properties inevitably beget. This has been the business acumen of Camelot Europe, which has been reaping the rewards of this award-winning “antisquatting” scheme since 1993. The company is now active in six countries, with about 200 staff. There are currently 75 sites being rented across Belgium. They operate under one simple motto: “Make Space Pay”.
Jonas’ apartment (or “condo” as he likes to call it) consists of a whopping 2,500 square feet of former office space, neatly divided into separate spaces. Jonas is particularly proud of his fully equipped kitchen, which he built himself from scraps he scavenged from old cubicles in a nearby corridor. Besides a cavernous bedroom, a living room, a meeting room and a makeshift library (with a working copier courtesy of the city’s social services who used to occupy the building), he is the temporary proprietor of a large foyer-cum-dancehall as well as a furnished studio, where he likes to compose new riffs.
Seeing that there is enough room here to accommodate an entire symphonic orchestra, or about half the Tate Gallery, it is no surprise that Camelot is a particularly popular landlord among aspiring artists and musicians looking to broaden their horizons and workspaces. Five of the residents here play instruments, paint or like to tinker in their private laboratories, and they can do so without worrying about the volume of their power tools. Jonas’ neighbour, for instance, constructed his own darkroom.
Jonas shows me the toilet facilities next. There is one for every floor, which is shared by two people. Ever mindful of health and safety, Camelot makes sure its tenants have showers and toilets, even if it means having to fit them. They also are guaranteed heating and electricity.
These amenities are included in the monthly rent, which ranges from €180 to €250 per person, a sum even the most strapped adventurers are able to afford. After taxes and inflation, it is fair to say that King Arthur himself probably never had it this good.
With such a vast and enticing playground at their disposal, the Camelot party I am visiting has not been hard-pressed to come up with new and original ideas for their domain. They oversee: a recreation room (table tennis, snooker, darts, assorted games), a furnished balcony (for summer picnics), a mobile archery course, a bike shop, a basketball court, croquet and pétanque pitches, a multi-purpose parking lot and the aforementioned rooftop hideaway, with priceless panoramas of the city and its world-renowned Central Station.
I am flabbergasted, and more than a tad jealous, when Jonas relates tales of Camelot brethren holding paintball marathons in an empty school in Brussels or sumptuous banquets in a mansion on the outskirts of Ghent.
“But don’t get me wrong,” he says, quoting Camelot’s previous and still popular moniker: “Camelot is not all fun and games. If you want to live here, you have to meet their standards. And there are some strict rules once you’re in and surprise visits from the staff, who run a tight ship.”
Camelot hands out info cards “that explain how to keep the building and surroundings in mint condition. Which is only fair, because one rotten apple spoils it for the whole basket,” says Jonas. “If you step out of line too many times, you’re off their list. But that hasn’t happened here because the thing regulates itself, really. Once Camelot and the owner have taken you on board, you want to stay there, so you want to keep everything clean and comfy.”
Martina Vaessen of Camelot agrees: Belgians have been a safe bet so far. “We haven’t had any problems,” she says. “The relationship with our sitting tenants is seamless, mainly because our company relies on transparency and fair play.”
By the time we return to the roof – or “tanning booth” as the resident women like to call it – Jonas is preaching to the converted.
The ISO-certified Camelot also sub-lets vacant lots to event planners and film crews, along with screening and maintaining a network of responsible lodgers.
By putting affordable fairy-tale homes and former office buildings on the rental market, Camelot has tapped into our shared desire for living large, to be kings and queens for a day, or to feel like we’re sneaking around somewhere after hours. Camelot has flung open otherwise gated properties, effectively socialising the high-end niche of real estate in the very act of conserving it. Call it the twin boons of business development and myth.
If it were up to Jonas and his mates, of course, they would never leave this place. When the day does come – when a given lease expires or a site is sold, reassigned or scheduled for demolition – Camelot tries to put up its renters in tenures elsewhere. “But that would be the tragic end of our little clique,” says Jonas as he cracks open another can of beer. “So here’s to warding off the spectre of the inevitable.”
I raise my drink and return the sentiment, enjoying the picturesque skyline as it streaks off into gossamer hues of red. Looking around at the seemingly careless faces of these young captains of luxury, I resolve to start hunting for vacant dwellings in the morning. Anyone who supplies Camelot with leads they can close has six months of free living to look forward to.
And who wouldn’t swear fealty to this type of royal realty?
On the Belgian portion of the Camelot website, you can browse through the properties currently available and register as a candidate occupant.
http://be-nl.cameloteurope.com
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