Rome cracks down on golf cart tours as city battles overtourism and traffic chaos

Barry and Linda stepped out of a golf cart at the edge of Piazza Navona, one of Rome's most magnificent squares, ready to walk across on their own and admire Bernini's Fountain of the Four Rivers before being picked up on the other side. By their third day in the city, the couple from Texas had exhausted themselves—a walking tour on day one, then a grueling three-hour corridor shuffle toward the Sistine Chapel on day two had left their feet aching. The golf cart, they decided, was worth trying. "When I first heard you could do golf cart tours in Rome, I thought to myself: that sounds a little weird," Barry said. "But then we decided to try it out." What he enjoyed most was simple: the breeze.

Rome's ancient streets are narrow and unforgiving. Linda noted there are no sidewalks in much of the center, and the cobblestones punish tired legs. For visitors like the couple, golf carts offer an escape from heat, crowds, and the physical toll of the city's geography. They paid €310 for their three-hour ride. "But it's worth it," Barry said. The tour industry has grown rapidly in recent years, with operators offering rides in Fiat 500s, Vespas with sidecars, and tuk-tuks alongside the golf carts. Prices start at €100 per person and can exceed €400 for a half-day excursion.

But what tourists experience as relief, residents experience as chaos. Taxi drivers accuse golf cart operators of stealing their business. One local newspaper declared the city had been "taken hostage" by the vehicles. Shop owners, residents, and commuters watch the carts multiply across streets already congested with pedestrians, cars, scooters, delivery vans, and the occasional horse-drawn carriage. Nora Fahmi, who works at an art photography shop behind the Pantheon, has watched the situation escalate. "There are too many of them," she said. "We've had this shop for 13 years and have seen all sorts of things, but the golf cart situation is kind of wild." Elisa Isacco, who lives in the Monti area, is blunter: "What do they actually see or learn about Rome when they are on one of these things? I find myself having to dodge them all the time—Rome is chaotic, it's like a jungle."

Rome's traffic problem is ancient. Julius Caesar attempted to solve it more than two thousand years ago by banning private vehicles and commercial carts from the city's streets during daylight hours. The problem persists. This week, authorities intensified enforcement after a news agency reported that roughly 90 percent of the approximately 500 golf carts operating in Rome were doing so without authorization. Police stopped 131 carts near Piazza Navona, the Pantheon, Circo Massimo, and the Spanish Steps, issuing €38,000 in fines for unlicensed driving and illegal parking. Eugenio Patanè, a councillor for mobility, told the news agency that the city is pushing for regionwide regulatory measures to control an activity that "risks spiralling out of control."

Operators defend themselves with a different framing. Leo Pavoncello, a driver for an operator in the Jewish Ghetto area, argues that golf carts are silent and environmentally friendly. They allow people with disabilities and families with young children to navigate Rome comfortably—a service that matters in a city where walking is genuinely difficult for many. The vehicles also provide jobs for young people. When police checked Pavoncello's operation, they found it fully legitimate. He suspects taxi lobbies are pressuring authorities to crack down. "I don't understand why they are targeting us," he said. "But Rome is a touristic city that has always been full of traffic, and the golf carts are simply another mode of transport." Several other operators have instructed staff not to speak to journalists, but Pavoncello was willing to make the case publicly: a few bad actors are giving the entire business a bad reputation.

The tension is real and unresolved. Tourists arrive exhausted and find relief. Residents and workers navigate an already strained city and see the carts as one more intrusion. Taxi drivers watch their market fragment. City officials face pressure from multiple directions—residents demanding order, operators demanding fairness, tourists expecting access. The crackdown this week signals Rome's leadership is choosing to tighten control, but whether regulation will actually reduce the number of carts, distribute them more fairly, or simply formalize an industry that has grown too fast remains to be seen.