Rome’s Historic Center Faces a Golf‑Cart Crisis

It’s hard to miss them: bright‑green, low‑slung electric carts buzzing past the Colosseum, weaving between centuries‑old fountains and narrow alleys that have seen emperors and artisans alike. What started as a novel way for tourists to “see the city without walking” has turned into a growing headache for locals, preservationists, and city officials.

These rental golf carts—more accurately tiny electric vehicles—can carry up to four people and reach speeds of about 20 km/h (12 mph). On paper they sound perfect for a city whose historic center is a maze of cobblestone streets, but the reality is messier. Pedestrians dodge them like reflexive sparrows, and the carts’ rubber tires are proving less gentle on the ancient stones than a pair of sensible shoes.

“I’ve lived on Via del Corso for ten years, and I’ve never seen anything like this,” says Maria Rossi, a resident who works nearby. “They zip past, honk, and sometimes they even crash into market stalls. It feels like the city is being turned into a theme‑park ride.”

Since the start of the pandemic, demand for low‑contact transport surged, and the city’s laissez‑faire approach allowed a boom in private operators. By last summer, estimates suggested more than 200 carts were circulating daily, some operated by informal drivers who barely speak Italian. The lack of clear licensing and the absence of speed‑limit enforcement have led to a string of minor collisions—most of them with pedestrians, but a few have even damaged historic lamp posts and stone facades.

Local authorities are now feeling the pressure. In a recent press conference, Rome’s mobility chief, Alessio Bianchi, admitted the city had been “slow to regulate” this new wave of micro‑mobility. He outlined a plan that includes mandatory driver permits, stricter speed caps in the historic zones, and heavier fines for reckless driving. The proposal also calls for designated parking spots to keep carts from cluttering the already narrow sidewalks.

Critics argue the measures may come too late. Tourist‑focused businesses, especially those near major attractions, have profited handsomely from the carts, claiming they’re a convenient service for visitors who want to rest their feet. “We’ve seen a 30 % increase in bookings since July,” says Luca Conti, owner of a popular rental kiosk near the Pantheon. “If we lose that, we lose revenue and jobs.”

Yet, the heritage argument is hard to ignore. Conservation experts warn that repeated stress from the carts could accelerate the wear on the Roman cobblestones, many of which are over 1,500 years old. “These stones are irreplaceable,” says Dr. Giulia Moretti of the Institute for Urban Archaeology. “Even a small, constant vibration can loosen the mortar and cause micro‑cracks that spread over decades.”

Meanwhile, residents have taken matters into their own hands. Several neighborhood groups have launched petitions demanding a ban on the carts in certain districts. Social media is buzzing with videos of carts narrowly missing cyclists and families with strollers. One viral clip shows a cart skidding on a wet patch of cobblestones, sending a child’s ice‑cream cone flying.

City officials say they’re listening. A pilot program slated for early next year will test a “low‑traffic zone” where only pedestrians and bicycles are allowed, while the carts will be redirected to peripheral routes that bypass the most congested historic arteries. The hope is to strike a balance between tourist convenience and the preservation of Rome’s unique urban fabric.

For now, visitors are advised to stay vigilant, obey local traffic signs, and consider walking or using the city’s extensive public transport network. As Rome grapples with the modern push of electric mobility, the ancient city reminds everyone that even the newest gadgets have to respect its centuries‑old rhythm.