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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The stories walls could tell: Reflecting on the History Embedded in Old Homes

Walking through the winding streets of Mondorf-les-Bains, there’s a palpable sense of history in the air, as though the past is whispering through every cobblestone and weathered brick. In the old village center, time seems to flow differently, lingering in the shadows of narrow alleys and sunlit facades.

The contrast is striking: while the modern parts of town embrace clean lines and contemporary aesthetics, there’s something profoundly grounding in the timeless charm of this quiet corner, where some homes have stood for over a century.

A glimpse into the historic charm of Mondorf-les-Bains' old village center. This serene corner, with its facades and timeless architecture, stands as a testament to the enduring whispers of history amidst a rapidly modernizing townscape.

Our own home with its blue facade, built in the 1880s, sits amidst this mix of old and new, holding onto its character with quiet dignity. When we first stepped through the door, I was struck by the way it seemed to tell its own story - through its high ceilings adorned with stucco, the wall tiles that line the hallway, and the original cement tiles underfoot that have witnessed countless footsteps over a century. There’s an authenticity to these spaces that you simply can’t replicate, a sense of continuity that connects us to the generations who came before.

In Luxembourg, where so much of its architectural past has been sacrificed in favour of modern developments, choosing to preserve rather than demolish feels almost like an act of rebellion.

The old village center, once home to craftsmen, builders, and farmers, tells a different story from the now mostly vanished glamour of the Jugendstil properties that once graced the thermal bath area. As I walk through our hallway and sitting room, past the antique fireplaces and the original wooden flooring, I can’t help but feel that we’re caretakers of something worth preserving - not just for ourselves, but for the history embedded within these walls.

A closer look at the heart of the home: the antique fireplace, historic stone walls, and carefully chosen details that keep the stories of the past alive.

This is the starting point for how I approach design. It’s not simply about making a space look good, but about listening to what a place has to say and honoring its past. Because at the end of the day, design is not just a matter of aesthetics - it’s about the stories we choose to tell and the ones we choose to keep alive.

The Emotional Weight of Old Homes

Mondorf-les-Bains: The historic entrance to the park, where past and present converge. This charming scene captures a time when the town's elegant streets led visitors to the lush greenery of the thermal park, a place of relaxation and social life. The grand facades, tree-lined avenues, and timeless atmosphere remind us of an era when Mondorf thrived as a destination for leisure and well-being.

Stepping into an old home is like opening a well-worn book - each corner, crack, and creak has a story to tell. It’s an experience that goes beyond the visual; it’s something you feel the moment you cross the threshold. There’s an almost palpable energy to these spaces, where the walls seem to hum with the echoes of laughter, whispered conversations, and the everyday lives of those who came before.

When we first moved into our house, I found myself wondering about the lives lived within its walls. Who were the people who walked across these tiles, who lived and laughed in these rooms? What stories did they leave behind, quietly embedded in the worn wooden floors and the ornate stucco ceilings? There’s something profoundly reassuring and soothing about inhabiting a space that has seen the world change around it for over a century.

But with that sense of history comes a responsibility - a duty to honour the past while making the home our own. It’s a delicate balance. In many ways, the design choices we make are less about imposing a new vision and more about uncovering what’s already there. It’s not simply about restoring period features for the sake of nostalgia but about recognizing the value they bring in grounding the space, giving it soul and substance.

In a world that often prioritizes the sleek and the new, there’s a quiet rebellion in choosing to preserve.

Older homes in Mondorf’s old village center, carry the weight of a community’s history. The hand-laid tiles, the timeworn doors, and the high ceilings - they’re all reminders of a time when things were built to last. To strip that away in favour of something modern and efficient feels like erasing a chapter of the town’s story.

A renovated farmhouse in Mondorf – an example of how old structures can be modernized with charm and care.

Preserving these elements isn’t just about aesthetics; it’s about keeping the connection to a bygone era alive. It’s about understanding that the quirks and imperfections - those little nicks in the woodwork, the slight unevenness of the floors - are not flaws to be fixed but rather reminders of the passage of time. They ground us in a way that new builds, however perfectly polished, simply cannot.

So, when I look at the old fireplace in our home or run my hand along the cool, smooth tiles in the hallway, I’m reminded that design is as much about honouring the past as it is about creating something new. It’s about carrying forward the stories that matter, the ones that make a house feel like more than just walls and a roof - it makes it a home.

Lessons from the Past: The Craftsmanship of Older Homes

There’s something undeniably special about the craftsmanship of period homes, a kind of artistry that seems to have faded in the rush of modern construction. Walking through our house in Mondorf: the original wooden floors that have weathered more than a century, and the solid wooden doors that still close with a satisfying weight. These elements are more than just remnants of another time - they are testaments to an era when creating something durable and beautiful was a matter of pride.

In today’s world, where speed and efficiency often trump quality, it’s easy to forget that homes were once built to stand the test of time. Back then, floors weren’t just laid down; they were hand-fitted with precision, meant to endure generations of footsteps. This is why, when renovating our own home, we made the conscious choice to preserve these features wherever possible. It wasn’t just about maintaining the aesthetic; it was about respecting the craftsmanship and care that had gone into creating them.

The charm of imperfection: exposed beams and slightly uneven floors in this luxemburgisch townhouse from 1912 remind us that older homes carry a warmth and humanity that modern construction often misses.

The beauty of older homes lies in their imperfections. The slightly uneven floors, the gentle creak of old wood underfoot - these are the details that give a space character and warmth. In contrast, modern construction often strives for perfection, leaving little room for the charm that comes with age. But it’s precisely these “flaws” that can make a space feel more inviting, more human. They remind us that homes are meant to be lived in, to age and evolve just as we do.

When it came to updating our home, my goal wasn’t to erase these marks of time but to enhance them. In the hallway, for instance, we chose to keep the original patterned cement tiles, allowing their faded beauty to shine through.

The juxtaposition of these traditional elements with more modern materials - like sleek metal lighting fixtures and minimalist shelving - creates a dialogue between past and present. It’s a way of honouring the history embedded in the house while bringing it into the 21st century.

In a world where everything is becoming increasingly homogenized, there’s something refreshing about choosing to preserve what’s unique. It’s not just about holding on to the past for nostalgia’s sake but about understanding that these older materials and techniques have a quality that can’t be replicated. The thick plaster walls, the hand-carved mouldings, the way light filters through old glass windows - these are qualities that give a space its soul.

Preserving the craftsmanship of older homes doesn’t mean shunning modern design; rather, it’s about finding a balance. It’s about taking the best of what was and blending it with what is, to create spaces that feel timeless, not trendy. In this way, the home becomes a canvas where old and new coexist, each highlighting the other’s strengths.

The Impact of Design on Well-being

Design is often seen as a luxury - a way to make spaces more beautiful, more stylish. But at its core, design is about much more than just aesthetics; it’s about creating environments that enhance the quality of life. In older homes like ours, the design choices we make can have a profound effect on how we feel, how we interact with the space, and even how we experience the world around us.

One of the most surprising aspects of renovating an older home is realizing just how much the design of a space can influence your mood. It’s not simply about choosing the right colours or materials; it’s about creating an atmosphere that feels right. In our home, the decision to keep the original features - the high ceilings, the old wooden doors, the patterned tiles - wasn’t just about preserving history. It was about creating a sense of continuity, a feeling of being rooted in something enduring. There’s a certain comfort in being surrounded by elements that have stood the test of time, that have witnessed the passing of years and still hold their own.

Research has shown that the spaces we inhabit can have a direct impact on our well-being. Natural materials like wood and stone, soft lighting, and thoughtful layouts can help reduce stress and create a sense of calm. This is why, when updating our home, I focused on incorporating elements that promote a feeling of warmth and security. The blend of antique features with modern touches was a conscious choice to create a space that feels both grounded and current, a place where we can relax and recharge.

The combination of natural materials, soft lighting, and a thoughtful mix of antique and modern elements creates a warm, calming retreat that invites relaxation and recharge.

One of the most powerful tools in creating a sense of well-being is light. The way light filters through a room can transform how we experience a space. In our hallway, for example, we opted for a combination of soft ambient lighting and natural light from the stained glass panels on the front door. This creates a gentle glow that feels welcoming, almost like a warm embrace as you step inside. It’s these little details that can turn a house into a sanctuary, a place where you can truly feel at home.

But it’s not just about the physical aspects of design; it’s also about how a space makes you feel emotionally. I’ve always believed that a well-designed room should tell a story, that it should evoke a certain feeling as soon as you walk in. Whether it’s the cozy warmth of a reading nook, the inviting energy of a kitchen designed for gatherings, or the serene calm of a bedroom retreat, each space has the potential to enhance our daily lives in subtle but significant ways.

As we continue to live in and update our home, I’ve once more realized that design is less about following trends and more about understanding what truly brings joy and comfort. It’s about creating spaces that feel authentic, that reflect who you are and how you want to live. And in the case of older homes, it’s about embracing the past while designing for the present, creating a bridge between what was and what is.

Conclusion: Honouring the Past, Designing for the Future

Preserving the history embedded in older homes is not just about maintaining their aesthetic charm - it’s about recognizing the value of what’s come before us and allowing it to shape the spaces we live in today. By thoughtfully blending old-world craftsmanship with modern elements, we can create homes that are both beautiful and meaningful, places that support our well-being and reflect who we are.

In upcoming posts, I will explore topics like sourcing high-quality materials, collaborating with skilled craftsmen, and finding trusted suppliers who share a passion for timeless design. I will explore the details that can elevate a space from ordinary to extraordinary.

I invite you to join me on this journey as we continue to explore the art and science of design. Let’s discover how we can create spaces that honor the past, enrich our present, and inspire the future.

BOOK RECOMMENDATIONS

If you’re interested in further exploring the themes I have touched on here, I highly recommend the following books:

1. “The Architecture of Happiness” by Alain de Botton: A philosophical exploration of how the design of our surroundings influences our emotions and sense of happiness.

2. “The Decoration of Houses” by Edith Wharton & Ogden Codman Jr.: A timeless guide on the principles of interior design that balance historical elements with modern functionality.

3. “A Pattern Language: Towns, Buildings, Construction” by Christopher Alexander: A classic that delves into how spaces—from small rooms to entire cities—can be designed to bring joy, comfort, and functionality.

4. “Restoring a House in the City” by Ingrid Abramovitch: Filled with stunning photographs and practical advice, this book explores how to breathe new life into old urban homes while respecting their historical integrity.

5. “The New Old House: Historic & Modern Architecture Combined” by Marc Kristal: A collection of case studies that showcase how old homes can be thoughtfully restored and modernized, blending the past with the present.