The ugliest towns in Europe (according to Europeans)

Every country on the planet has their laughing stocks, the towns and cities that have become bywords – however unfairly – for banality, for ugliness, or for the supposed shortcomings of their residents.

In Britain, Berkshire’s Slough (with no thanks to Sir John Betjeman) is now shorthand for post-war carbuncles and grey retail parks, Swindon, Wiltshire for sheer dreariness, Brentwood, Essex for the perma-tanned and pouting. Similarly, we all have negative and/or comic preconceptions about Milton Keynes, Hull, Staines and Luton, even if we’ve never visited.

So which places have become the butt of the joke beyond our shores? We asked six of our experts, based across Europe, to reveal their country’s very own Sloughs.

Germany: Gelsenkirchen and Bielefeld

The sports world got a taste of Germany’s less glamorous side last summer when English fans visited the city of Gelsenkirchen to watch the Three Lions play Serbia; most memorably, it was described by vlogger Paul Brown as an “absolute s***hole” – something that was picked up by German media and even made Brown quite the celebrity.

While some Germans came to its defence (including Brown himself, after spending more time there), many others clearly shared his sentiments. One of the country’s poorest cities, Gelsenkirchen – chosen for its large stadium rather than any abundance of tourist attractions, decent hotels or scenic charm – was evidently a shock for those who associate Germany with well-heeled cities such as Munich, Hamburg and Düsseldorf or its fairy-tale towns full of timber-frame houses, medieval streets and romantic castles.

Gelsenkirchen forms part of the “Ruhrgebiet”, a once-thriving steel-making and coal-mining region of North Rhine-Westphalia that was reconstructed after the war in that uninspired, budget-friendly style that makes many British and European cities similarly unattractive. Towns and cities here – Essen, Dortmund, Bochum – are routinely ridiculed and disparaged by Germans as being bleak and boring – but spare an extra thought for poor Bielefeld, which is allegedly so dull that it is rumoured not to actually exist.

Paul Sullivan

Italy: Rovigo and Genoa

Not far from where I live, in Umbria, is a town called Bastardo. I have driven so often through the village of Strozzacaponi (“He-strangles-chickens”) that it hardly raises a smile anymore. Italy has plenty of amusing place names like these (and a few that are funny only in English, like Buggeru in Sardinia or Sexi in Liguria).

It’s more difficult, however, to pinpoint “proverbial” towns – the Italian equivalent of Slough or Hull. Sure, the Genoese are to other Italians what Scots are to the English – careful with their cash. And in online polls of Italy’s most boring city, Rovigo in the Veneto often comes out top. (If you’ve never heard of it, that kind of proves the point).

But this is such a country of regions, where scorn more often lands locally. Pisa is all about art and culture, right? Not for someone from nearby Livorno. “Better a death in the house than a Pisan at your door” goes a Livornese saying which has entered national parlance. In Livorno, they even publish a weekly satirical magazine, Il Vernacoliere, that specialises in anti-Pisan jibes. The rivalry goes back to the 12th century, so they’re unlikely to run out of material anytime soon.

Lee Marshall

Greece: Malia and Mykonos

It’s hard to imagine glorious Greece, which reigns in the collective consciousness as a summer paradise, having any drab or grotty areas, but for Greeks the more popular Cyclades islands – where once upon a time they stayed in budget rooms, ate for pennies in traditional tavernas and lazed on tourist-free beaches – are the equivalent of manky Mablethorpe. “Skaei gaidaro!” (“It would vex a donkey!”) one of my Greek friends exclaimed returning from a trip to Santorini where she said she felt like a foreigner in her own country.

“Mykonos – where dreams go to die,” another pal sighed after being fleeced in a popular beach bar. But most Greeks save their worst bile for Malia, star of the Inbetweeners movie, where Britons drinking fishbowl cocktails, urinating on lampposts and brawling in bars is a commonplace sight in high season. “It’s dirty, ugly and dangerous here in summer – just like some of your English resorts,” one barman confided. “We say it’s Blackpool, only without the pier and those coloured sticks of rock.”

Heidi Fuller-Love

Spain: Lepe and Murcia

Two brothers in Lepe have a removals company. A local saw one of them struggling to carry a massive wardrobe on his back.

“Isn’t your brother giving you a hand?”

“Of course he is, he’s inside holding the hangers.”

Lepe is a town in Huelva province on the Costa de la Luz, just inland from resorts such as Islantilla and Isla Cristina, which have endless golden beaches and a string of smart hotels. It is famous for its vast strawberry farms, which keep UK supermarkets supplied for much of the year. Which sounds rather appealing, doesn’t it? But before enjoying this rosy economic situation, Lepe was regarded as the back of beyond, the home of country bumpkins.

One Lepe local says to another:

“Why didn’t you water the garden?”

“Because it’s absolutely tipping down.”

“You wimp, here’s an umbrella.”

The Andalucian town is not the only target of scorn, however. Not by a long chalk.

“He discovered at the age of 20 that he lives in Murcia, but his parents had kept it a secret from him all his life.”

This city and region in the southeast of Spain – which is actually very pleasant, if scorching in summer – is also the subject of derision and unfairly regarded as a rural backwater where everyone drives a tractor and has a laughable accent.

The citizens of Valladolid are thought of as straitlaced, Catalans are branded as stingy, Madrileños think the sun shines out of their behinds, as do the Sevillanos. I could go on. Wherever you are in Spain, you’ll hear people laughing about the unfortunate souls who happen to live somewhere else – just draw up a stool at any bar and listen in.

Annie Bennett

Netherlands: Lelystad and Almere

This land of dinky gabled houses and historic canals can also come up with crushingly dull towns, like shopping malls writ large, in featureless landscapes under deadening skies. The town that most readily springs to Dutch people’s lips as the ugliest in the country is Lelystad, a child of the 1970s built on land reclaimed from the waters of the former Zuiderzee.

Neighbouring sibling Almere is a close contender for the title, but an irresistible pun gives Lelystad the edge: the name sounds like lelijke stad, the Dutch for “ugly city”. Even in this billiard-board country Lelystad feels flat, barely pushing itself out of the brown water. Planners nobly opted to create a sensation of space, but have ended up with emptiness.

Various outbursts of contemporary art do battle against hard architectural edges, straight lines, and relentless low rise. (These include the soaring flourish of Antony Gormley’s sculpture, suitably named Exposure, on a lone promontory of land on the outskirts of town.) Perhaps it’s just newness that hardens people’s hearts against Lelystad. Age, a few wrinkles, and softer lines may make it more attractive. Then residents can take cheer from the fact that the name really sounds closer to lelie stad – lily city.

Rodney Bolt

France: Marseille

You may have read that Marseille is going straight these days. It’s apparently laying aside its title of “French Capital of Crime” to become a sophisticated international metropolis. You’ll know the sort of things. They’re in the glossier magazines: galleries, chic restaurants, exhibitions, boutique hotels, blokes with manbuns, women with Dior scarves and dangly earrings.

Right? Well, yes and no. French people read this stuff and, I’m afraid, some will snigger. Marseille? Going straight? Even in 2024, France’s second city remains the butt of every joke about drugs, gangsters, drive-by shootings, corruption, loud-mouthed exaggeration and all-round crookedness. Mention you’re from Marseille and people hold both their wallets and their daughters a little closer.

The image, which has a scallywag element, is frankly fuelled by reality. As most great port cities, Marseille has been a centre of skullduggery, especially since the early 20th century. In the 1930s, François Spirito and Paul Carbone were France’s Capone and Lucky Luciano, and the inspiration for the Belmondo-Delon movie, Borsalino.

These were the early days of the French Connection, Marseille supplying 90 per cent of the heroin entering the US. The city also led Europe in prostitution (195 brothels in the 1930s), gang killings, corrupting of local politicians and that sort of caper.

These days, the personnel has changed – allegedly fewer Italians and Corsicans – but business, notably in drugs, remains brisk. If, so far, this year’s drug-war killings (“narchomicides” in the new jargon,) are down on the 49 of 2023, it’s mainly because the gang strife which raged back then has been won. A bunch called DZ Mafia rule the roost. But killings continue.

Marseille is, in short, the butt of many jokes. I’ve made them myself. Up close, though, they look less funny.

Anthony Peregrine