When it comes to large-scale infrastructure projects such as Drugi Tir (lit. Second Railways tracks), a new railway in the North Adriatic area, the naming process immediately catches my attention. Will these long, dark tunnels filled with danger and mystery be given beautiful names? Perhaps even affectionate diminutives? As I read on, I learn that they will be named after the places where they begin their descent into the underworld, unless names would duplicate those of motorway tunnels. Following a seemingly universal custom, they will become part of the geographical lexicon. They will be fixed in space, static despite being built to connect and serve as conduits from one location to another.
Although the infrastructure is designed to facilitate international connections, it is still bound by national borders. It is the state that gives it legitimacy, embeds it within a legal framework and brings it to life. The tunnel is defined by the terrain in terms of its location, inclination, composition and permeability. Even the grandest plans must be realised in the form of a single metre of karstic terrain.
Contrary to my earlier understanding, the Karst is full of water. This water threatens to pierce the ceiling and flood the tunnel. This water must remain at a fixed level by regulation. So how does one manage water beneath the surface to ensure it doesn’t erupt elsewhere? And how do you prevent the mountain from collapsing inwards when humans dare to dig into its depths?
In line with ancient folk tradition, the workers building the second track are under the protection of Saint Barbara. The main contractor, Kolektor, believes that this custom protects “not only the tunnel workers, but also all who watch, breathe, and live alongside this largest and most complex infrastructure project.” Two chapels have been built in her honour. The first was built in October 2021 at the exit of the final tunnel towards the port of Koper. Bishop Jurij Bizjak of Koper blessed the statue. Divača’s mayor, Alenka Štrucl Dovgan, who was the godmother of the chapel, and Koper’s mayor, Aleš Bržan, expressed their desire for the planned single-track line to be upgraded to a double-track system as soon as possible.
A second chapel was built in February 2023 at the entrance to the first tunnel. This time, Fr. Bogdan Knavs OFM performed the blessing, while Minister of Infrastructure Alenka Bratušek ceremoniously placed the statue of Saint Barbara. Like ships, tunnels T1 and T8 have godmothers. What is their role? Have they transitioned from local to national figures in order to watch over their protégés more effectively, much like traditional Christian godparents? During the blessing, Fr Knavs reminded us that humans cannot control everything and that many events lie beyond our reach. He prayed for divine protection for all those involved in the construction work, and for solidarity among the workers, fair pay, and a successful outcome. To him, the tunnel symbolised connection, overcoming barriers and the birth of new communities. It was also a metaphor for piercing through darkness in the hope of discovering new light. This symbolism became real to me when we reached the end of the tunnel, where we were confronted with nothing but a wall. There was no way forward; the only option was to turn back. This reminded me of a popular song by the local group Raubarji, often sung by children, about the construction of a tunnel bypass around Škofja Loka.
Skor štrdeset ljet sa ledje čakal, je zmijeri bl neki narobi.
Še prijeden sa štartal, so šl u stečaj, sam dnarja pa ni bl nazaj.
Umes se je zgodl že čuda reči, povsod se že cesta naredl.
Edin dol do Loke tuk douh sa mučkal, marbet so tu merkal, na žlica kopal.
Vmes je marskir tou še zase en kos, na konc je še dobr, da pršl sa skuoz.
The people had been waiting for almost forty years, and there was always something wrong.
Before they had even started, they went bankrupt and never saw the money again.
In the meantime, all sorts of strange things happened and roads were built everywhere.
Only down to (Škofja) Loka they took forever, so careful they were, as if they dug with a spoon.
Meanwhile, many wanted a piece for themselves, good thing that they somehow got to the end.
(translated to English by Ana Jelnikar)
They’re not digging with spoons here, but progress is still slow. Only around six metres of tunnel can be dug each day. The Turkish workers eye us with cautious suspicion. Perhaps they see us as experts or supervisors, entering with authority — even though I know nothing about tunnelling. All I see is mud and darkness. I wonder what they would do if the wall collapsed.
My father-in-law worked as a mine inspector and while inspecting a mining accident, the ceiling collapsed on him, leaving him bedridden for months in Switzerland. That memory stays with me. It’s why I share the workers’ fervent desire to make progress and break through the pipe as quickly as possible. I can sense their satisfaction when they achieve this. For the first time, for real. Not afterwards, when there’s a show for the public.
I am trying to understand the rationale behind the project. I know it is essential for the Port of Koper, at least for the time being. But what does it mean that 90 freight trains, mostly carrying goods, will reach Koper every 24 hours? Does the port have the space, staff and mechanical capacity to handle this? I already find the sight of masses of cars waiting to be towed away on the hot asphalt unbearable.
What if the strategic trade routes change again? What if Koper’s importance in the China–Europe corridor diminishes or disappears completely? I wouldn’t want that, not least because of my personal love of bananas, the only food I could eat as a child due to allergies. For me, Koper has always been synonymous with bananas.
Not only will this increasing traffic affect nature — we are assured that the impact will be minimal and that most of the railway line will be underground — but it will also affect life and population growth. The construction of the Austrian Southern Railway was a major infrastructure project which impacted life along the route during construction, but the impact on traditional life after the line was built was even more crucial. I think about the intangible benefits and harms of such development… And what will happen if something breaks?
What will we do then? What will we do with all the infrastructure? A visit to Trieste’s old 67-hectare harbour fuels this question. What to do with all these once-mighty buildings in a city that is dying out, demographically speaking? Without people, what purpose does the infrastructure serve? We also know that the passenger terminal in Koper is completely inadequate. So, cargo takes priority over people. Is this taken into account in government planning and modernisation? Not only in terms of labour shortages on the second-track project, but also in terms of long-term projections for community life? I doubt it. Our enthusiastic guide tells us that Slovenia has no long-term economy or plan, so there are big fluctuations: a construction boom followed by a slump, and the collapse of construction companies. Then, when a new infrastructure project is launched a few years later, the know-how and mechanisation are lacking.
If Trieste is Italy’s gateway to the East, what is Koper to the Chinese? The gateway to the West? The geopolitics of this situation are fascinating, especially when you consider that, although we can move freely within Schengen, we cannot build freely. Infrastructure remains a national affair in terms of both spatial governance and protection. It is here that infrastructure collides with authorised heritage discourse. We accept this when it comes to protecting caves and the underground world. But would we be so accepting if it were about safeguarding traditional ways of life?
After spending two intense days immersed in railway infrastructure, I returned to Ljubljana in just an hour aboard a FlixBus connecting Dubrovnik and Berlin. I wonder: When will passenger transport receive even a fraction of the attention and care devoted to freight?
Published Sept 2025. 2025/16
