Just over two percent of the vehicle fleet on Slovenia’s roads is electric. Yet after years of lagging behind in sales of new electric vehicles, Slovenia has finally overtaken the European Union average this year. And just as sales finally began to take off — indeed, because they did — the money available for subsidies ran out. This bizarre turn of events exposes the fundamental unsustainability of the current model for transitioning to electric mobility.

Subsidies initially made sense. They helped solve the classic chicken-and-egg problem at a time when there were neither enough buyers nor enough affordable electric vehicle models. But whenever the funding ran out, demand fell sharply, leaving even buyers who had already ordered their vehicles without support. In Germany, the abrupt abolition of the Umweltbonus at the end of 2023 caused sales to fall by a third the following year, throwing the entire automotive industry off course.

The main problem with the transition to electric mobility lies in the structure of housing. Around 31 percent of households in Slovenia live in apartment buildings; in Ljubljana, the figure is as high as two-thirds. Most of them have no realistic possibility of installing their own charging point. Under current conditions, switching to an electric vehicle is therefore financially unattractive for these residents. Relying on public chargers stretches the payback period for the higher purchase price of an electric vehicle to almost a decade. But cost is not the only problem: there are simply too few public charging points. Ljubljana currently has only around 700 public charging points, and meeting its 2030 targets will require a fivefold increase in capacity.

The solution requires a fundamental rethink of national and local policy. Instead of spending most public money on direct incentives for purchasing vehicles, the focus should shift towards co-financing public and semi-public charging infrastructure and the urgently needed upgrading of the low-voltage electricity grid. Purchase incentives should remain, but at more modest levels and with long-term predictability, following a clear timetable for their gradual reduction through to 2030.

For people living in apartment buildings, it would make sense to introduce a right to charge, following the example of the Netherlands, where residents purchasing an electric vehicle can request the installation of a public charging point close to their home, up to a maximum distance of 250 metres away. Municipalities have a crucial role to play here. Their main task is to actively resolve ownership issues surrounding parking spaces in residential neighbourhoods and designate parts of public space for charging. Through public tenders aimed at energy companies, municipalities can attract private capital to invest in charging equipment. At the same time, appropriate parking regulations are needed to prevent charging spaces from being occupied once charging has been completed.

Building overnight charging infrastructure in residential neighbourhoods would ensure equal access to electric mobility for those who do not live in single-family homes. At the same time, it would give municipalities an opportunity to tackle parking management in these neighbourhoods. And that alone should be reason enough for them to take an interest.

Originally published in Dnevnik daily newspaper, 20 August 2026

I’m not one of those people who dislike tourists. Partly because I still enjoy the richness of different languages on the street, and partly because I know that, in other cities, I am a tourist myself — behaving just as foolishly and falling for exactly the same tricks as those gathered around Ljubljana’s Triple Bridge. And yet, for some time now, I have realised that I no longer feel at home in the city centre. I no longer have my regular places where I know all the waiters. I don’t even know the names of the cafés along the Ljubljanica anymore. Food and drink are too expensive, the offer is mostly mediocre, and the shops sell neither things I need nor anything that particularly interests me.

There is a saying about urban tourism: first there is too little of it, and then, almost immediately, too much. For a long time, we wanted our city to become interesting to others and open itself up to the world. Then, suddenly, we noticed that we could no longer make our way through the centre without constantly stepping aside for groups of tourists and wandering amateur photographers. A city that was still a hidden gem yesterday has become, beneath its polished surface, little more than a backdrop for selfies.

Tourism theory describes this as exceeding a destination’s carrying capacity. But the “right amount” is not some mathematical formula measuring how many overnight stays the city’s streets can accommodate. The key dimension highlighted by researchers is socio-psychological capacity: the point at which tourism begins to erode residents’ everyday comfort and quality of life. When local shops, bakeries and small businesses are replaced by souvenir stores and boutiques of global fashion brands, the city becomes a sterile zone of consumption in which residents are not deliberately excluded, perhaps, but are nonetheless systematically unwelcome.

The greatest trap in urban governance is an obsession with conventional economic measures of success. At the end of every season, we hear reports about growing numbers of overnight stays and rising tourism revenues. But the benefits of that income are not distributed evenly among city residents. The profits are largely privatized, flowing into the hands of property owners and multinational chains, while the costs — in the form of overstretched infrastructure, a higher cost of living and increasingly unaffordable housing — are paid by all citizens, through public spending and a declining quality of life.

If we want to save what remains of the city, we must abandon the illusion that the market will somehow find the right balance on its own. Ljubljana has already begun shifting from tourism promotion towards tourism management. But the experience of other cities suggests that even this will not prevent growing tensions between residents and visitors. There is no need to close ourselves off from the world. But we do need to make a firm commitment to shaping the city around the needs of the people who live here or use it every day as a shared common good.

When there is no longer room in the city for a resident who simply wants to have a quiet coffee served by a familiar waiter, or to cross a square without obstruction on the way to run an errand, then a tourism success story has, in reality, become a failure.

Originally published in Dnevnik, 16 July 2026.

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Public transport in Trieste is far from bad — quite the opposite. The bus network is extensive and services are frequent. The local operator, Trieste Trasporti, carries more than 66 million passengers a year and covers almost 14 million kilometres. Relative to the city’s population, that amounts to around 290 passengers and just over 60 vehicle-kilometres per resident annually. By both measures, Trieste ranks just below the very top among Italian cities — behind Milan, but ahead of Rome, Turin, or Florence, even though those cities have trams or even metro systems. Around 20 percent of all trips in Trieste are made by public transport, which places it slightly lower in modal share rankings, but still at a very high level.

Comparisons with nearby cities across the border are perhaps even more revealing. Ljubljana’s public transport system, for example, carries around 35 million passengers a year and covers just over 11 million kilometres. Given the city’s significantly larger population, this translates into a much weaker service — more comparable to that of some southern Italian cities. Unsurprisingly, only about 9 percent of trips there are made by public transport. Much better results can be seen in Graz, Austria, where buses and trams together carry more than 90 million passengers annually — a figure that, relative to population size, is very similar to Trieste’s. The two cities are also closely matched in terms of public transport’s share of trips, even though Graz benefits from a well-developed tram network capable of carrying far more passengers than buses alone.

In several cities, trams have been a game changer, allowing for higher frequency and greater capacity. Florence, for instance, had around 230 passengers per resident before introducing its tram system in 2010; today that figure is approaching 300, putting it on a par with Graz or Trieste. Genoa, on the other hand, has taken a different path, focusing not on a single system but on integrating multiple modes of transport. It recently introduced an integrated ticket that allows travel not only on buses and the metro, but also on funiculars, elevators, and suburban rail services within the urban area. Alongside the extension of its sole metro line, Genoa is planning four new rapid bus lines and an above-ground rail system in one of its valleys. Both Florence and Genoa are planning major increases in service levels by 2030 — around 40 percent in Florence and 20 percent in Genoa — which would allow both cities to overtake Trieste in terms of public transport quality.

Can Trieste further improve its public transport system and maintain its edge over other cities? At the moment, the municipality seems to be placing all its bets on the cable car linking the Old Port with the Karst plateau — a highly controversial project and therefore a risky strategy. What other options are there? In the first half of the 20th century, Trieste already had an extensive tram network, which at its peak consisted of 11 lines and more than 40 kilometres of track. Could the city once again develop a modern tram system, as proposed, among others, by the No Ovovia committee? Could existing railway lines be used more effectively for urban and suburban travel, following Genoa’s example? Or might the right solution lie in rapid bus lines with dedicated lanes and priority at intersections?

Perhaps the answer lies in a combination of all of these — and more. Trieste is a compact city, with most residents living in dense urban areas, which provides good conditions for efficient public transport. At the same time, public transport combined with walking is the most effective way to ensure good accessibility. Trieste therefore has a strong starting position, but clear opportunities for improvement remain. If the city wants to preserve its comparative advantage, encourage public transport use, improve accessibility, and reduce noise and pollution, the time for smart decisions is now. Trams, suburban rail, an expanded bus network — perhaps even elevators and funiculars, as in Genoa — could significantly improve efficiency, resilience, and overall quality of life.

Instead of stubbornly clinging to the cable car project, the municipality should foster an open and lively debate about the different paths available for developing public transport. What is needed is an ambitious vision that goes beyond a single line or a single investment. Public transport is key to a high quality of life and to a future in which streets are filled with people, not cars. Trieste is on the right track — but it must not settle for the status quo. It needs to take the next step forward.

Originally published in Primorski dnevnik, 15 January 2026.

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Last week, the Municipality of Trieste announced the start of a large-scale felling of urban trees — 71 in total. While the city regularly removes trees it deems dangerous, this is one of the most extensive operations in recent years. The largest number of trees has been, or will be, removed along the Viale Miramare, with a significant number also felled along Viale XX Settembre.

Urban trees play a crucial role in improving the quality of the urban environment. They help mitigate the urban heat island effect, filter air pollution, and regulate stormwater runoff. Trees increase cities’ resilience to climate change and provide habitats for numerous plant and animal species. Beyond their environmental benefits, urban trees also deliver major social, economic, and health advantages. By improving air quality and lowering temperatures, they reduce respiratory illnesses, cardiovascular problems, and heat stress. Contact with green spaces has also been proven to lower levels of stress, anxiety, and depression, while improving concentration and overall mental well-being. Trees create pleasant and safe environments for walking and socializing, encouraging physical activity and social interaction — both of which contribute to better public health in the long term.

The trees felled along the Viale Miramare and Viale XX Settembre will eventually be replaced. The situation is very different in Cattinara, however, where nearly 400 large trees were cut down a year ago in a pine grove that cannot realistically be replaced. The destruction of this woodland to make way for a new children’s hospital and extensive parking facilities is particularly hard to understand given the well-documented health benefits of trees, as it significantly worsens the overall well-being of patients and healthcare staff alike.

The city administration is quick to point out that Trieste is considered a very green city. According to the Urban Ecosystem study by the environmental organization Legambiente, Trieste ranks near the top among Italian cities in terms of both the number of trees and the amount of green space per resident. The city does indeed have many parks, most of them well maintained, and its trees are meticulously catalogued. However, nearly all major parks are located on the city’s outskirts, linking Trieste to its natural hinterland, while the central areas — where most residents live — are comparatively lacking in green space.

This imbalance helps explain why a major study published a few years ago in the prestigious medical journal The Lancet placed Trieste at the very top of a ranking of more than 1,000 European cities with the highest number of premature deaths attributable to insufficient access to green space. Just below Trieste were other otherwise attractive cities such as Turin and Copenhagen. The main reason for their poor ranking was not a lack of parks, but their uneven distribution, which fails to provide equal access for all residents.

One of the reference points for the study was the World Health Organization’s recommendation that every home should have access to a green space of at least half a hectare within a maximum distance of 300 meters. A further refinement of this recommendation is the so-called 3–30–300 rule, which has gained traction in recent years as a powerful tool for planning urban public space. The rule states that everyone should be able to see at least three trees from their home, that each neighborhood should have at least 30 percent tree canopy cover, and that every resident should have access to a public green space within 300 meters of their residence.

Many European cities have begun to green their public spaces aggressively in recent years. Barcelona, for example, is transforming formerly traffic-heavy streets into green corridors, and former intersections and parking lots into small parks. Vienna uses every street redesign as an opportunity to plant new trees and encourages residents to create small green oases themselves. Paris has set itself the goal of planting 170,000 new trees by 2026 as part of a broad program to reshape its urban environment.

It is time for Trieste to embark on an equally ambitious transformation of its public space — and to use the 3–30–300 rule as a guiding principle. Doing so would help prevent many premature deaths and better prepare the city for the challenges of climate change.

Originally published in Primorski dnevnik, 18 December 2025.

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A historic photograph of the former Pozzo del Mare square, located between Piazza Unità d’Italia and the Cavana, shows the lively atmosphere of everyday urban life. Passersby rushing about their errands, a group of men chatting casually in the middle of the square, elegant ladies strolling slowly, a cyclist crossing through, and a backdrop of shops and cafés. Today the area is still one of the most vibrant parts of the city — but most of the people there are simply waiting at the pedestrian crossing. Cars entering the medieval part of the city have priority, after all.

Cars once promised easier movement through the city, and for decades cities tried hard to adapt to them. In fact, they still do. But the problems cars create are becoming increasingly clear. Let’s outline a few of the most obvious ones. First and foremost, cars take up far too much space, whether they are moving or parked. A single parked car occupies as much surface area as a small room. If we add up all the cars registered in Trieste, the parking space they would require is almost three times the size of the entire Old Port. Meanwhile, also most public space in the city is taken up by roads. Just imagine what all that space could be used for if there were fewer cars — how many parks, tree-lined avenues, squares, and playgrounds the city urgently needs!

Then there is pollution. Vehicle emissions are one of the main sources of greenhouse gases and air pollution. Asphalt and metal create heat islands that make city centers several degrees hotter in summer than their surroundings. The health consequences are less visible but no less serious: polluted air leads to respiratory illness, lack of physical activity increases the risk of cardiovascular disease, and noise affects mental health.

We should not overlook the economic and social impacts either. Space — especially urban space — is precious, and roads are expensive to build and maintain. Cities that are more car-dependent spend a larger share of their budgets on transport, and the same is true for households. Even more important are the indirect economic effects. Greater distances between services and activities, caused by roads and parking areas, reduce the attractiveness of all other modes of travel, which in turn increases demand for more roads and more parking. On the other hand, in cities where car traffic is reduced and calmed, safety and quality of life increase — and so do property values. Areas pleasant to walk in bring more life to local shops and cafés. Streets become genuine public spaces, enabling social interaction and public life.

Italy has by far the highest number of registered cars per capita in Europe, with the national average close to 70 cars per 100 residents. Six of the ten most motorized regions in Europe are Italian. In this context, Trieste actually fares somewhat better. According to Legambiente, the city has around 55 cars per 100 residents — more than 110,000 vehicles in total. Yet despite short distances and efficient public transport, 44 percent of all trips within the city are still made by car.

Trieste is therefore better than one might expect, but worse than it could be. Graz in Austria, a city of similar size, has just 46 cars per 100 residents, and cars are used for only about one-third of all trips. Ljubljana has shown, through systematic renewal of its city-center public spaces, that a city can thrive without cars; its investment in bike lanes has also made cycling more attractive. In Zagreb, nearly 40 percent of trips are made by public transport, while Vienna is steadily reducing space for cars in favor of public transport and cyclists.

Trieste — with its dense urban structure, limited space, and varied terrain — is practically a textbook example of a “city of short distances,” yet it still behaves as if it must accommodate cars at all costs. If, instead of searching for new parking areas, the city invested in wider sidewalks, tree-lined green streets, attractive public spaces, and high-capacity public transport, it would do far more for urban mobility — while at the same time reducing pollution and improving public health. And for Trieste, this is not a utopia but a realistic possibility.

Originally published in Primorski dnevnik, 20 November 2025.

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In recent years, the cable car project has become a focal point of debate about the future of Trieste. With a ruling by the Regional Administrative Court this September, it has entered yet another chapter. For the past four years, citizens and outside observers have followed the story like a soap opera—full of twists, turns, and unexpected plotlines. The project has split public opinion, deepened the rift between city hall and residents, distracted attention from other pressing development issues, and drained energy from both the administration and civil society.

So what is the purpose of this controversial project? It was conceived as a solution to the difficult road access to the city from the north, from where around 2,000 vehicles enter Trieste every morning during rush hour. The idea is to ease congestion by providing parking on the Karst plateau near Opicina and linking it to the city center via a fast cable car connection.

We tend to associate cable cars with ski resorts rather than urban transport, but the concept isn’t as far-fetched as it sounds. There are only a few urban cable cars in Europe—one of the longest is Téléo in Toulouse, France—but they are far more common in Latin America. The best-known example is the Metrocable system in Medellín, Colombia: six lines, 20 stations, more than 22 million passengers per year, seamlessly integrated with the city’s metro system. The key to the success of all such projects is exactly that integration—fast, simple transfers between cable cars, buses, and trains, allowing passengers to complete their entire journey using public transport.

Trieste’s plan, however, doesn’t seem to follow this model. None of the proposed cable car stations currently offers convenient connections to city buses or trains. For someone driving to Opicina whose destination isn’t right next to the planned stops at Bovedo, the Old Port, or behind the Miela Theatre, the cable car wouldn’t be an attractive option. It’s therefore unsurprising that many see the project as primarily catering to tourism—which, after all, is one of its official objectives.

How did the project end up at the center of public controversy? The first mention of a technical study for the cable car appeared in one European project in 2019. By spring 2021, it was already included in two municipal documents and in Italy’s National Recovery and Resilience Plan (PNRR), at the municipality’s request. Yet none of these documents provided for public consultation once the project was added. The cable car was presented to the public for the first time only in December 2021. What followed was predictable: a strong backlash from civil society, mass demonstrations, and a series of legal battles.

The project thus became part of official city and national plans before it was ever publicly discussed—let alone debated in any depth. That was the crucial mistake, the spark that ignited the conflict. Timely and transparent communication, combined with genuine dialogue that includes everyone affected, is in fact the quickest route to social consensus. It may take time, but it allows all stakeholders to share responsibility for the outcome and move forward together. City leaders may have viewed the cable car as a brilliant transport solution, but the project’s obvious social and environmental implications made rushing it not just unwise, but almost a guarantee of failure.

At this stage, the municipality has very little room to maneuver. There is practically no space left for compromise. If the city tries to push the project through at all costs, the conflict will only deepen, and the legal and political wrangling could drag on for years. The only way to restore legitimacy would be through a referendum—but that carries major political risk, since some polls suggest that nearly three-quarters of residents oppose the project.

Let’s hope those in charge have learned an important lesson about managing major urban development projects: they can’t succeed without broad coalitions, and they can’t bypass the public. The problem is that technocrats often don’t believe this—and for some politicians, conflict can even be useful, a way to shore up their electoral base. But as the Slovenian musician Pero Lovšin once said, “There’s another way.” Perhaps it’s time for Trieste’s civil society to take the city’s development debate into its own hands.

Originally published in Primorski dnevnik, 23 October 2025.

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The identity of Trieste is usually defined through a look into the past, above all into the era of the flourishing of its port, trade, insurance industry, architecture and art within the Habsburg monarchy, and the cosmopolitan blend of cultures and languages that marked that time. But could we, for a change, look at it as a modern city?

It is true that the city’s population has been declining for quite some time and is now significantly smaller than it was a hundred years ago. The average age of its inhabitants is four years higher than the Italian average, which is already far from low. As for development, the city shows little momentum. In recent decades, no major development project has been completed; the renewal of the Old Port area has been discussed for as long as I can remember, and all signs suggest it will be for some time to come. Changes in the city are gradual and barely noticeable, so that at times it feels as if nothing is changing at all. Public space remains largely subordinated to motor traffic, greenery is scarce, sidewalks are often too narrow and in poor condition. Street renovations are relatively rare, and even when they happen, the redesigns are usually not very different from what was there before. Piazza Sant’Antonio, for example, is supposed to be renovated more than ten years after a competition for its redesign—yet hardly anything will change. Similarly, already agreed-upon and much-needed traffic changes to Via San Michele ultimately were not carried out.

And yet, the city is full of life, which is why it is loved by both locals and visitors from near and far—and this has nothing to do with nostalgic admiration of its former glory. What makes Trieste appealing is its people. Even outside the city center, the streets are filled throughout the day with people of all ages running errands or chatting casually. In squares and parks, benches are occupied by the elderly and families with young children, while slightly older children run around with their peers or kick a ball against a wall. Cafés in the center—partly taken over by tourists—are full, as are restaurants and trattorias across the city, where it’s truly easy to find a good meal. Local bars too are lively, where animated conversations flow over coffee or a glass of white wine, often spilling onto the sidewalk. It’s easy to feel that, at least in neighborhoods outside the very center, such as Roiano, San Giacomo or Barriera Vecchia, everyone somehow knows each other.

Especially precious are the many shops, bakeries, butchers, hair salons, clothing stores, pharmacies and hardware stores spread throughout the city’s neighborhoods. They make it possible for most residents to access all the essential services for daily life within just a few minutes on foot. And that is something very few cities in the developed world can boast of today—making Trieste, in this respect, truly modern.

Since the mid-20th century, most cities have sought to adapt to cars through the building and expansion of roads and the provision of abundant parking. Cars promised freedom and easy access to everything, but what they brought was dependency, traffic jams, massive consumption of energy and space, pollution, greenhouse gas emissions, and obesity. As awareness of the problems brought by car dependency has grown, various urban planning concepts have emerged in recent decades, aiming to design cities in such a way that residents can manage most of their daily needs on foot. “The city of short distances,” the “compact city,” or the “15-minute city” are just a few of the concepts describing this vision. Many cities worldwide, including Ljubljana, have set such restructuring as their goal. But they still have a long way to go.

Trieste, however, already has this. Most residents don’t need to get into a car to buy groceries, medicine, screws, or take care of insurance. This is practical, since it saves time; pleasant, since it allows people to meet others; and healthy, since it guarantees at least the minimal physical activity required for well-being. Moreover, more people in public space bring more customers for local services, which in turn supports and expands the range of those services within walking distance.

The question is whether we will be able to preserve and even strengthen this extraordinary feature of the city. Are the planned projects and developments moving in the right direction? Instead of a prohibitively expensive cable car, wouldn’t it make more sense to invest more public funds into redesigning public spaces in a way that is more pedestrian-friendly?

Originally published in Primorski dnevnik, 25 September 2025.

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