These Two Cities Used to be the Same

Two cities that once looked like near-twins—London, Ontario and Utrecht—diverged sharply after car-first planning took over, and Utrecht’s turnaround shows what’s possible when streets are redesigned for people rather than vehicles. A century ago, both places were compact, walkable, mixed-neighborhood cities connected by streetcars. Over the 20th century, both embraced automobiles: wide roads expanded, highways cut through the core, canals were filled or neighborhoods bulldozed, and even early suburban-style shopping malls arrived as part of the same car-centric wave.

The key shift came around the 1990s, when Utrecht reversed course. Growing concern about the harms of car-dependent development pushed the city to make a fundamental decision: prioritize walking and cycling, reduce car traffic, and reclaim space for greener public areas. The highway ring around the center was turned back into a canal, and the former downtown shopping area was reconnected to a new train station through pedestrianized space—integrating it tightly with the rest of the city center. The arrival experience by train becomes the proof point: Utrecht’s station handles more than 200,000 passengers per day with over a thousand daily departures to national and international destinations, while London, Ontario’s “fake London” station has only about 10 departures per day.

Utrecht’s people-first infrastructure extends beyond transit. The city’s bicycle culture is supported by a major facility described as the world’s largest bicycle parking garage, with space for over 12,000 bikes. With a transit card, riders can access rental bicycles and cycle quickly and safely across the city, aided by low car volumes and low speed limits near the station. The street network around the station is restricted to walking, cycling, and public transit, and the cycling corridor is described as among the busiest in the world—so busy that the narrator claims seeing more cyclists in minutes than in their entire time in London, Ontario.

Walking in Utrecht is also framed as practical rather than nostalgic: shops and restaurants line the streets, surface parking lots are largely gone, and residential areas are described as notably quiet. The broader logic is blunt—cities aren’t loud because of people; cars are loud, and when viable alternatives exist, fewer people feel forced to drive. Access for deliveries, emergency vehicles, and people with disabilities remains, but the argument is that “designing for cars” is often a justification for car dependency, not a true mobility requirement.

The comparison then turns into a caution for North America. Replicating Dutch protests or “before-and-after” images without context can mislead; some campaigns were not peaceful, and timing mattered—especially the 1970s oil crisis, which helped drive policy changes like mandatory car-free days. Utrecht’s success also rests on different starting conditions: North American downtowns were often bulldozed, exclusionary zoning and sprawl shaped decades of development, public transit declined, and car ownership became entrenched.

For Canadians and Americans seeking change, the prescription is local: join advocacy groups, attend community engagement meetings, and avoid outsourcing strategy to distant social-media advice. The ultimate takeaway is that car-dependent suburban patterns can be challenged, but the path depends on local damage, local politics, and local organizing—Utrecht’s story is a template for direction, not a plug-and-play blueprint.