Human Storage. A Luxembourg Housing Story (Part II):

From Family Home to Human Storage: A Luxembourg Real Estate Journey.

This four-part series takes a closer look at how Luxembourg’s growing room rental market is reshaping our neighbourhoods - and what it means for the quality of life and the future of community life.

1. Good for the Landlord, Bad for the Neighbourhood

On paper, it’s brilliant. A landlord’s dream. Minimum effort, maximum return.

Why rent your lovely three-bedroom home to one family, when you could turn it into six individual income streams? Why settle for €3,000 a month when you could rake in €6,000 or more, without so much as a nod to insulation, parking, or the neighbours’ sanity?

It’s not difficult to see the attraction. Especially when the law doesn’t ask too many questions, and when the commune’s main strategy for managing the issue is hoping nobody calls to complain.

And so, the room-by-room rental model is cheerfully sold as flexible, modern, even socially responsible:

• It provides housing!

• It’s good for young people!

• It’s an efficient use of space!

All of which sounds terribly noble, until you actually visit one of these places.

Because here’s the uncomfortable truth: these aren’t happy, harmonious flat shares full of friends taking turns cooking organic lentil stews. They’re overcrowded bedrooms rented to whoever is desperate enough to take them. New arrivals. Seasonal workers. People between jobs. People between options. Sometimes two to a room, sharing a single bathroom with six, seven, eight others.

This isn’t a housing solution. It’s a business model that works best when the tenants can’t say no.

It’s also one of the few investment strategies where the neighbours end up paying the hidden costs:

The cars, because single-family houses were never designed to accommodate eight adults with vehicles. The noise, because ten people generate a bit more life than one family of four, even if they’re all relatively well-behaved. The rubbish, because more bodies mean more bins or, in many cases, rubbish bags neatly stacked next to the bins because they won’t all fit. And, of course, the slow vanishing of any real sense of who actually lives on your street.

It’s passive income. Very active nuisance.

The perfect business model, unless, of course, you’re the one trying to park your car, get a decent night’s sleep, or raise your children next door to it.

2. The Hidden Costs (for the Rest of Us)

Passive Income, Active Nuisance: Who Really Pays for the Colocation Boom?

It’s easy to get dazzled by the numbers. The landlord’s income doubles, maybe triples. The housing crisis looks - on paper - just a little bit solved. More people housed, fewer vacancies. What’s not to like?

Well… everything, if you happen to live anywhere near it.

Because while the spreadsheet looks beautiful, the street view tells a different story.

Parking? Good luck.

Single-family houses weren’t built with the expectation that six adults, or eight, or ten, would all arrive with their own vehicles. Add those cars to streets already struggling with limited parking, and you get what urban planners like to call “increased demand for shared mobility.”

In practice? Endless circling. Pavements blocked. Bin day turning into an obstacle course. Green spaces mysteriously paved over, all in the name of passive income.

Noise? Naturally.

One family of four makes the usual human sounds. Ten unrelated adults with unpredictable schedules, rotating in and out like flight crews on layover? That’s a different soundtrack altogether.
It’s not about bad behaviour, it’s just maths. Bodies make noise. Multiply the bodies, and the noise follows.

Waste and Infrastructure? Overloaded.

More bins. More rubbish. More strain on the water systems, sewerage, waste collection. And not much incentive, in many cases, for individual tenants to care whether the paper goes into the blue bag or the glass into the green one - why would they, if they might only be there for a couple of months and the bins are already full?

Safety? Optional.

Many of these setups dodge fire safety upgrades by simply not admitting what they really are. Officially, it’s one household. In practice, it’s six, maybe eight, depending on how many mattresses can be wedged in.
Fire exits? Sometimes blocked by bikes. Electrical circuits? Doing their best. Smoke detectors? Let’s not get bogged down in detail.

And perhaps worst of all: the quiet erosion of social fabric.

The neighbourly nod. The friendly wave across the street. The simple fact of knowing who actually lives around you. Because when tenants come and go like hotel guests, the sense of place goes with them. And once it’s gone, it’s hard to get back.

Colocation done well - thoughtfully, legally, with proper agreements and respect for the space - can be part of a healthy housing landscape.

But the profit-maximised version? The one that treats homes as revenue streams and neighbours as collateral damage?

That’s not urban living. That’s human storage.

Still curious? The story continues in [Part III →]

If you’d like to share your thoughts or personal experiences, I would be happy to hear from you.

written by Helen M. Krauss

Human Storage: A Luxembourg Housing Story (Part I)

How the “Room Rental” Boom is Reshaping Luxembourg

Luxembourg real estate promises premium living. But what happens when your neighbour’s family home quietly morphs into a sardine can for strangers?

This four-part series takes a closer look at how Luxembourg’s growing room rental market is reshaping our neighbourhoods - and what it means for the quality of life and the future of community life.

1. The New "Hostel" Next Door

In Luxembourg, we regulate the height of your garden fence to the millimetre, but how many strangers can share a bathroom before it qualifies as a public facility? The answer, apparently, is more flexible than you’d think.

Here’s the business plan:

Take a regular single-family home. Don’t bother with renovations (too costly). Skip the permits (too complicated). Simply cut it up on paper. Forget families. Forget long-term tenants. Instead, rent out each bedroom individually. Charge each occupant between €800 and €1,200 a month. Don’t worry about the parking - the street will absorb the cars somehow. Call it colocation.

Because nothing says neighbourly warmth quite like coming home to a house full of strangers who weren’t there yesterday and might not be there next week.

And no, this isn’t a theoretical scenario. It’s a business model. One that’s spreading through Luxembourg’s towns and villages faster than election season promises. Family home on Monday, micro-hostel by Friday.

If you think this is just a problem for the big city, think again. It's not limited to Berlin, Brussels, or Barcelona.

It's happening beyond Luxembourg City and Esch-Sur-Alzette (the second largest town in Luxembourg).

You'll also find it in Bettembourg, Dudelange, Remich, and even smaller villages close to Luxembourg City - places where you'd expect a bit of tranquility, unless, of course, the rental math says otherwise.

All the charm of small-town life, but with the parking situation of a festival campsite.

The logic is simple: when rental prices are high and regulations are vague, squeezing maximum profit out of every square metre becomes irresistible. Why rent your house to one family, when you can rent it by the slice?

Never mind the neighbours. Never mind the infrastructure. Never mind the question of what happens to a place when homes stop being homes and start becoming revenue streams.

Because here’s the thing: density alone doesn’t destroy a neighbourhood. But turning your street into a loosely supervised collection of bed factories? That just might.

2. What Is Colocation (And Why It’s Not What You Think)?

Let’s clear something up right away: not every shared flat is a “Café Zemmeren Model”. And not every colocation is a problem.

True flat shares - students renting together, friends co-living by choice, a couple subletting their spare room to make ends meet - are not what this is about. Those situations come with a shared contract, shared responsibility, and, most importantly, some kind of social glue. You know your flatmates. You share a kitchen, not just a Wi-Fi code. Maybe you even argue about the right way to load the dishwasher. That’s normal. That’s life.

The model we’re talking about here has very little to do with this idea of home-sharing.

It’s what happens when a landlord looks at a single-family house and sees not a home, but a spreadsheet.

The business plan is brutally efficient:

• Take a family house.

• Don’t split it into apartments - that would require permits.

• Keep the structure exactly as it is.

• Chop it up on paper instead: rent out each bedroom separately, sometimes even with double occupancy.

• Charge per head.

Congratulations! You’ve just unlocked the next level of passive income. Forget soundproofing, parking spaces, or neighbour relations. You don’t even need to know who’s living there next month, as long as the rent keeps landing in your account.

This isn’t co-living. It’s crowd-living. Sardine-style.

Calling this colocation is like calling a sardine can spacious studio living with fellow fish enthusiasts.

And here’s where the local flavour comes in: In Luxembourg, this model has a name with history “Café Zemmeren”. A nod to the old practice of renting out rooms above cafés, often in dismal conditions, to whoever was desperate enough to say yes. Hygiene optional, fire exits negotiable.

Today, the practice has simply moved upstairs, and out into the suburbs.

It’s not just a city issue. Even in those postcard villages where the shutters are freshly painted and the facades still whisper “respectability.” The maths works wherever the demand is high enough, and the oversight low enough.

Why rent your house once when you can rent it six times over?

Still curious? The story continues in [Part II →]

If you’d like to share your thoughts or personal experiences, I would be happy to hear from you.

written by Helen M. Krauss

The Real Battle for Public Space (Part III): The Air we Breathe

A short reflection on particulate matter and the joys of “fresh” air.

I used to think opening a window was a wholesome act. A symbol of fresh starts. Morning light, crisp air, a hint of birdsong. When I open my window these days, I inhale a curious blend of exhaust fumes, cement dust, and what I can only describe as eau de construction fatigue.

It turns out “fresh air” is more of a nostalgic concept. Like handwritten letters or neighbours who don’t guard parking spots like medieval fiefdoms.

And so we arrive at part three of the “Battle for Public Space” saga. First came the pavements (turf wars via turds), then the streets (parking roulette with bonus emotional damage), and now we ascend to the skies, or what remains of them between scaffolding and exhaust pipes.

PM2.5: The Polite Term for "You’re Inhaling That"

Let’s talk about PM2.5. Sounds vaguely like a building regulation or an IKEA screw, but it’s much more intimate. It stands for particulate matter smaller than 2.5 microns. For scale: a human hair is about 70 microns thick. These particles are microscopic. They bypass your nose, your throat, and settle deep in your lungs.

Unlike dog poo, they don’t smell. They don’t leave a mark on the pavement. But they’re linked to: Asthma, heart disease, strokes, reduced life expectancy, and cognitive decline.

Moderate Pollution Levels

According to my AirVisual tracker by IQAir, a Swiss company, recognised as a global leader in air quality monitoring technology, we regularly clock in at moderate to high pollution levels.

“Moderate” sounds reassuring. Balanced. Reasonable. The kind of word you’d want describing your wine intake or emotional reactivity. But when it comes to air quality, it’s a bit like being told the water’s only mildly toxic.

The World Health Organization doesn’t mince words. Long-term exposure to even moderate PM2.5 levels increases your risk of serious health problems. The latest WHO air quality guideline (AQG) states that annual average concentrations of PM2.5 should not exceed 5 µg/m³. 24-hour average exposures should not exceed 15 µg/m3 more than 3 - 4 days per year. Mondorf floats above that far more often than one might expect for a spa town.

The Yoga-Mat Paradox

There’s a peculiar cultural contradiction in all this. We buy organic tomatoes. We detox. We journal about mindfulness. Then we step outside and breathe in ultrafine dust like it’s a wellness ritual.

There’s a man here who jogs past my house every morning, stoic, purposeful, breathing deeply as the traffic roars by. I admire the discipline. But sometimes, when a delivery truck idles too long, or when fine dust hangs heavy in the still air, I want to stop him and say: You’re not running, you’re marinating.

Air as a Mirror

Here’s the truth no one wants to admit: bad air is not just pollution. It’s neglect. It means no one’s paying attention. That health and quality of life have been traded for “development” and pass-through commuter traffic. We wouldn't accept a broken sewage system. But somehow, when it comes to air, the thing we take into our bodies 20,000 times a day, we shrug.

We beautify streets while pretending the air is neutral. We hold public consultations about landscaping while the air itself carries silent warnings. But air is part of the built environment too. It may be invisible, but it tells you a great deal about what kind of place you live in.

And right now? The air says: It’s complicated.

What Now?

You can’t block PM2.5 with a flowerpot. You can’t shoo it away with passive-aggressive signage. It flows through public and private space alike, democratic in the most depressing sense.

But maybe it’s time to name it. Talk about it. Measure it.

Maybe the next urban design conversation should include not just where we build and where we park, but what we breathe while living and standing there.

Perhaps it’s time for air quality monitors to become as commonplace as traffic signs. For pollution levels to feature as prominently in urban planning as parking spaces. For our definition of “livability” and “quality of life” to include not just what we see, but what fills our lungs each day.

After all, the real battle for public space isn’t just what’s visible. Sometimes, it’s what seeps in through the cracks.

Note on Air Quality Data: Like moody houseguests, PM2.5 levels don’t follow a fixed schedule. Air pollution level, especially PM2.5, can fluctuate significantly depending on the time of day, season, weather conditions, nearby construction, and traffic volume. Calm, windless days often lead to higher particle concentrations, while rainfall or strong winds can temporarily clear the air. One rainy afternoon won’t fix a year of fine dust. So if you're checking the air: don't just peek, watch the trend.

Want to check the air quality in Mondorf-les-Bains? Click here to view live data.

About IQAir: IQAir is a Swiss-based company and global leader in air quality monitoring and purification. In collaboration with the United Nations, they operate the world’s largest real-time air quality data platform. Their annual reports are widely cited as authoritative sources on global pollution.

written by Helen M. Krauss

The Real Battle for Public Space (Part II) - I Thought I Was Civilised Until the Hatchet Made Sense

There was a time when I considered myself quite civilised. I recycle. I drink green tea. I use words like "communal”. But then came the parking wars.

Nothing extravagant. Just the slow, creeping realisation that in certain neighbourhoods, public parking isn’t public at all. It’s claimed through silent rules, unspoken rituals, and long-standing acts of territorial theatre. Your garage is for hoarding. Your car belongs in front of someone else’s house.

At first, I was confused. Then mildly irritated. Then I found myself standing at the window like a hawk, watching who parked where and how often, muttering things I won’t repeat here.

And then one day, while reading yet another grim news story about a neighbour dispute escalating to full-blown madness - something involving a chainsaw or a hatchet - I felt... understanding. Not approval, of course. Just... empathy.

It turns out we are all just a few blocked driveways away from a moral rebrand.

Some discover their primal side in the wilderness. I found mine between a flowerpot, a tyre mark, and the sound of an idling engine just a bit too close to my kitchen window.

So no, I didn’t wield a hatchet. But I did contemplate how many potted plants it would take to create a “decorative boundary” that coincidentally blocks a car. Which, frankly, is step one.

written by Helen M. Krauss

The Real Battle for Public Space (It Starts with a Turd)

A short reflection on cracked pavements, civic pride, and where the real urban planning wars are fought.

There are many ways to measure the health of a city. Some count green spaces. Others, bike lanes. A few, more optimistically, count start-ups per square metre. But if you ask me, the real test lies in something far more humble: the presence of uncollected dog poo.

I learned this not in theory, but in practice on a grey morning, back when we lived in Luxembourg’s second largest city. Our expat neighbour, who lived in the same quartier as we at the time, a man of quiet intensity and almost feral civic pride, was known to rise at 5:30 a.m. to sit in his car in total silence. He wasn’t meditating. He was waiting. For a specific woman. With a specific dog. And a very specific agenda involving his doorstep.

This wasn’t personal. It was territorial. The battle for public space had begun.

You see, dog poo isn't just waste. It’s a message. A declaration. Sometimes defiance, sometimes neglect, occasionally revenge. But always a form of interaction with the built environment.

City signage may say "Bienvenue!" but a turd on the pavement says, "No one cares." It tells you something about where you are, and more importantly, who holds power there. Because wherever dog poo accumulates, someone has stopped believing that space belongs to anyone or that anyone is watching.

The irony is, we design cities for movement, beauty, and efficiency, but they are negotiated on a much more primal level. We think of public space as grand piazzas and modernist parks. But it’s also cracked pavements, bin placement, and the choreography of dog owners ducking behind hedges when they think no one’s looking.

There is dignity in clean pavements. Not because it's hygienic, but because it means someone still gives a damn.

The real battle for public space? It's not being fought at urban planning conferences or in 3D renderings of future eco-districts. It’s happening quietly, messily, just outside your front door.

And sometimes it starts with a turd.

written by Helen M. Krauss

Why Luxembourg's Urban Design both inspires and frustrates me

This topic is very much written from the heart since I live in Luxembourg and this is a country full of contradictions, especially when it comes to urban design.

I’ve had the opportunity to see this paradox unfold firsthand. On one hand, there’s ambition and investment - a seemingly endless supply of funds that can transform towns and cities with bold projects. On paper, it sounds like a dream: a country with the resources to make things happen, to create spaces that could rival the best in Europe.

But scratch the surface, and the cracks begin to show. For all its financial might, Luxembourg’s approach to urban planning often feels more like a mad rush to build than a thoughtful endeavour to create truly liveable spaces. The relentless pursuit of progress can leave the older, sometimes more charming parts of towns in the dust - literally and figuratively. There’s something profoundly frustrating about watching the same mistakes play out time and time again, especially when the potential to do better is right there, waiting to be tapped.

Urban design isn’t just about throwing money at shiny new projects. It’s about asking the tough questions: How do we create spaces that truly serve the people who live in them? How do we balance the need for growth with the equally important need to preserve what’s already good?

In Luxembourg, the answers to these questions often feel muddled, lost in the noise of construction sites and the lure of quick profits.

So, let’s dig deeper. Let’s look at what Luxembourg gets right, where it falls short, and what it could learn from cities that have figured out how to balance progress with preservation. Because if there’s one thing this small but ambitious nation should do: Think beyond the immediate future and start building spaces that will truly stand the test of time.

The Bright Side: What Luxembourg Gets Right

Before diving into the critiques, let’s give credit where it’s due: Luxembourg has a unique advantage that many other countries can only dream of - it’s small size and a great budget for urban projects. The kind of money that can turn dreams into reality, like for instance the Velodrome planned for 2026 in Mondorf-les-Bains. It’s the kind of project that doesn’t just check the box of “modern infrastructure” but actually has the potential to create a new heartbeat for the town.

The future Velodrome in Mondorf-les-Bains—an ambitious project that embodies Luxembourg’s commitment to modern infrastructure and the potential to redefine the town’s identity and community spirit.

And let’s be honest, the efforts to greenify urban spaces are a step in the right direction. Walk through towns like Mondorf-les-Bains, and you’ll see bursts of greenery - rows of newly planted trees, carefully arranged planters, all strategically placed to soften the edges of concrete. It’s a move that suggests someone is trying to make urban spaces a bit more liveable.

But here’s the thing: for all these gestures, there’s a sense that it’s more about appearances than substance. Luxembourg’s green initiatives, while visually appealing, can often feel like a veneer - a way to say, “Look, we’re sustainable!” without truly committing to it. The older areas, like Mondorf’s former village centre, for instance don’t get the same attention, while the new developments are dressed up with greenery like stage props.

Luxembourg’s willingness to invest in aesthetically pleasing projects is admirable. With their budget, they can afford to gloss over a lot of the issues that other cities in the region simply can’t. But money isn’t a substitute for vision. It’s not enough to throw cash at a project and call it progress.

True urban design requires more than just a cosmetic touch-up - it demands a commitment to spaces that genuinely enhance the quality of life for the people who live there.

The Dark Side: What Frustrates Me About Luxembourg’s Urban Planning

For all its wealth and potential, Luxembourg’s urban planning too often feels like it’s missing the mark. There’s this relentless push for density, especially in the south, where developers seem to have a free pass to build whatever, wherever - never mind the existing residents who have to live with the consequences. The noise, the dust, the traffic - it’s all just considered collateral damage in the pursuit of “progress.”

Construction chaos: A familiar sight everywhere in Luxembourg, where urban planning often prioritizes development over the lived experience of its residents. Noise, dust, and traffic become the norm, leaving communities struggling to adapt amidst the relentless push for progress.

What’s even more frustrating is the absolute disregard for the character of these neighbourhoods. Instead of thoughtful design that respects what’s already there, we often get row after row of cookie-cutter apartment blocks. Let’s be honest: these new builds are more about maximizing profits than enhancing quality of life. The apartments are small, soulless boxes that do nothing to enrich the communities they’re dumped into. And it’s not just about aesthetics - it’s about the erosion of what makes a place feel like home.

A row of new builds that epitomize the cookie-cutter approach, uninspired, profit-driven designs that strip neighbourhoods of their character and fail to foster a sense of home.

The quality of new construction doesn’t fare much better. Luxembourg has the budget to do great things, but what do we see?

Bland, uninspired buildings that could be anywhere in the world. There’s no sense of place, no thought given to creating spaces that inspire. Camillo Sitte (1843-1903), the famed urban planner who championed beauty and complexity in design, would be horrified by the aesthetic monotony that’s being churned out here.

Located in Esch-sur-Alzette, this development exemplifies the uninspired architecture often seen in Luxembourg's modern constructions. The austere brick facades and rigid metal fencing lack warmth or character, evoking a sense of isolation rather than community - a stark contrast to the thoughtful urban design Luxembourg could achieve with its resources.

Also in Esch, this stark white building reflects the monotonous trends in contemporary architecture. With its boxy design and sterile facade, it offers little to the imagination or the urban fabric, embodying the aesthetic monotony Camillo Sitte would have decried as the antithesis of vibrant, livable spaces

But perhaps the most concerning aspect is the gradual loss of historic village centers in Luxembourg. Take Mondorf’s old Dorfkern with the church, for example. It’s a charming area with immense potential - one that could be preserved, restored, and thoughtfully integrated into the town’s evolving identity.

Instead, new developments often prioritize modernization over preservation, sometimes at the expense of history, craftsmanship, and the stories embedded in these walls.

Mondorf’s old village center: the Church stands as a quiet witness to history, brimming with charm.

A glimpse of Mondorf’s old village center: cobblestone steps leading down from the church, exuding a quiet romance that whispers of history and timeless charm.

Luxembourg has the money, the resources, the potential to do better. But instead of using that power to create something meaningful, it seems content to repeat the same mistakes: more density, more surface-level fixes that don’t get to the heart of what makes a place truly liveable.

It’s time for Luxembourg to stop bulldozing through its past and start asking the hard questions:

What kind of future are we really building here? And who are we building it for?

Comparing Luxembourg to Cities That Approach it Differently

Take London, for instance. Yes, it’s a sprawling metropolis with its own set of challenges, but it’s also a city that understands the value of green spaces. London doesn’t just plant a few trees here and there as a cosmetic touch - it invests in expansive parks, green corridors, and public spaces where people can actually breathe. Luxembourg, on the other hand, seems content with surface-level gestures, like scattering planters around new developments while leaving older areas to fend for themselves.

Greenwich Park: A prime example of London’s commitment to green spaces. Unlike many cities that see greenery as an afterthought, London integrates vast parks into its urban fabric - offering residents not just trees, but entire landscapes to breathe, walk, and unwind.

Greenwich Park at sunset, with the towers of Canary Wharf looming in the background.

An aerial view of Marble Arch Hill and Playground, located near Hyde Park and Oxford Street in London. This vibrant public space demonstrates London’s dedication to creating accessible and dynamic green areas. It’s a prime example of how expansive parks and thoughtfully designed public spaces can elevate urban living, offering residents and visitors a place to relax, connect, and breathe amidst the city’s bustling energy.

And then there’s Amsterdam, a city that proves density doesn’t have to mean soulless high-rises. The Netherlands has managed to build densely while often preserving the character of its neighbourhoods. Amsterdam’s narrow streets and historic buildings coexist with modern infrastructure in a way that feels cohesive and intentional. Meanwhile, Luxembourg’s approach often feels like a tug-of-war between the old and the new, with the latter almost always winning out.

Amsterdam’s approach to density is anything but sterile. With a mix of historic and mid-century brick architecture, integrated canals, and cycling infrastructure, the city proves that high-density living can still feel warm, connected, and deeply human.

In Amsterdam, density doesn’t mean sacrificing quality of life. Public spaces like Museumplein show how the city blends historic architecture with modern urban planning, creating vibrant, walkable environments where people can gather, live, and breathe.

Copenhagen is another example of what Luxembourg could aspire to be. The Danish capital prioritizes pedestrians and cyclists. In Luxembourg, cars still reign supreme, and there is no solution to congestion.

In Copenhagen, cycling isn’t just for summer - it’s a year-round commitment. Even in the snow, the streets belong to cyclists, proving that when a city prioritizes biking infrastructure, people embrace it as an essential part of urban life.

Cycling in Copenhagen isn’t just about getting from A to B - it’s about convenience, comfort, and style. Here, the streets are designed to make biking the easiest choice, whether you're commuting in a suit or a dress. In contrast, Luxembourg still struggles to integrate cycling as a true alternative to cars, making it a challenge rather than a natural way of moving through the city.

But here’s the thing: Luxembourg has the resources to learn from these cities, to experiment with biophilic design, to invest in truly sustainable projects. What’s missing isn’t the money - it’s the imagination. It’s the willingness to start thinking about what kind of country Luxembourg wants to be, not just next year, but in the next fifty years.

Because true urban planning isn’t just about building more - it’s about building better.

How Luxembourg Can Elevate Its Urban Design

Luxembourg has the budget, the ambition, and the opportunity to truly stand out in the world of urban design. But if it keeps playing it safe, it risks becoming just another overdeveloped, car-clogged country. Here’s how Luxembourg can pivot towards a more inspired future.

1. Put People Over Developers! Enough with prioritizing profit margins over liveability. Luxembourg needs to shift its focus away from catering to developers and instead start designing cities that serve the people who actually live in them. That means being willing to say “no” to projects that might be profitable but don’t add real value to the community. It’s time to listen to residents, to involve them in planning, and to preserve the character of neighbourhoods rather than bulldozing them for the next high-density project.

2. Move Beyond Cosmetic Greenery: Embrace Biophilic Design Let’s be real: planting a few trees and lining streets with planters isn’t enough to make a city truly sustainable. Luxembourg has the resources to invest in biophilic design - think green roofs, living walls, and public parks that do more than just look pretty. True sustainability is about integrating nature into the urban fabric, not just sprinkling it around like a garnish.

3. Prioritize Quality Over Quantity in Construction!! Why is a country with Luxembourg’s resources settling for cookie-cutter apartment blocks that could be anywhere in the world? The relentless drive to pack in more units is leading to a landscape filled with aesthetically uninspired buildings. It’s time to raise the bar. Let’s explore new materials, embrace innovative designs, and focus on creating spaces that inspire people to actually want to live there.

4. Preserve and Revitalize Historic Areas Instead of Demolishing Them: The old village centres aren’t just relics of the past - they’re vital threads in the cultural fabric of Luxembourg. Tearing them down to make way for soulless new developments is short-sighted and a missed opportunity. Instead, Luxembourg should be investing in adaptive reuse, turning these historic buildings into vibrant community spaces that honour the past while serving the present.

5. Think Long-Term, Not Just for Today True progress isn’t about filling a quota or ticking boxes. It’s about creating spaces that will stand the test of time, that people will still want to live in 50 years from now. Luxembourg has the chance to become a leader in thoughtful, sustainable urban design. But that means asking the hard questions, taking the road less travelled, and being willing to invest in projects that might not pay off immediately but will enrich the lives of future generations.

The potential is there. The resources are there. Now, it’s just a matter of having the vision - and the courage - to do what’s right.

Conclusion: Building a Future that Honours the Past

Luxembourg stands at a crossroads. It has the resources, the ambition, and the opportunity to create something truly exceptional. But that future can’t be built on a foundation of convenience and compromise. True progress requires to look beyond short-term gains and embrace a vision that respects the past while paving the way for a sustainable, inspiring future.

There’s no question that Luxembourg’s potential is immense. But if the country continues to prioritize density over design, developers over residents, it will be a future filled with more of the same: soulless apartment blocks, congested streets, and neighbourhoods that lack character.

The question isn’t whether Luxembourg can afford to do better- it’s whether it will choose to. Because at the end of the day, great cities aren’t built on the quick and easy. They’re built on vision, creativity, and a commitment to creating spaces that truly enhance the quality of life.

So here’s the challenge: Let’s dare to think differently. Let’s stop tearing down the old to make way for the bland. Let’s invest in spaces that inspire, that connect, that endure.

Because in the end, urban design is about more than just buildings and roads. It’s about the lives that unfold within them.

written by Helen M. Krauss

Book Recommendations

1. "The Death and Life of Great American Cities" by Jane Jacobs - A classic that explores the importance of community-centered urban planning and the pitfalls of overdevelopment.

2. "Soft City: Building Density for Everyday Life" by David Sim - Examines how to design high-density cities that are liveable, human-centered, and vibrant.

3. "Happy City: Transforming Our Lives Through Urban Design" by Charles Montgomery - A look at how cities can be designed to enhance happiness, well-being, and community.

4. "Cities for People" by Jan Gehl - An insightful guide on creating more sustainable, human-friendly urban spaces.

5. "How to Study Public Life" by Jan Gehl and Birgitte Svarre - Offers practical methods for observing and improving public spaces.

6. "Rebel Cities: From the Right to the City to the Urban Revolution" by David Harvey - A deep dive into how cities can be reimagined to serve people rather than profit.

7. "Designing the Urban Future: Smart Cities" by Christoph Gengnagel - Explores innovative urban design strategies for future cities.

8. "The Nature of Cities" by Timothy Beatley - Advocates for integrating nature into urban spaces to create biophilic cities.

9. "The Architecture of Happiness" by Alain de Botton - Explores how architecture and design influence our happiness and quality of life.

10. "Building and Dwelling: Ethics for the City" by Richard Sennett - A thoughtful look at the ethics of urban design and how cities can balance tradition and modernity.