CORTINA D’AMPEZZO, Italy — In Cortina d’Ampezzo’s main square stands a translucent sculpture of an elegant woman with skis and a Dior handbag. It looks like ice until visitors touch it and find plastic. The statue is a quiet emblem of the tension at the heart of these Games: an elaborate effort to preserve a wintry image while the natural winter it depends on is vanishing.
Climate change has thinned natural snowfall in the Dolomites, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, forcing organizers to rely on artificial snow and new infrastructure. Ski lifts now run over brown grass and exposed rock, while white ribbons of man-made snow are kept on the pistes. Italy’s bid for the 2026 Winter Olympics in Milan and the Dolomites pledged sustainability and protection of sensitive mountain ecosystems. Environmentalists say reality falls far short.
Locals and activists point to a sweeping construction program around Cortina: roughly 98 approved projects tied to the Games, more than 20 cranes in town, new roads and car parks, and renovations of venues. At one site a new bobsleigh track snakes down a mountainside and buttresses Cortina itself; hundreds of ancient larch trees were cut to make way for the concrete run. Luigi Casanova, director of Mountain Wilderness, surveys the scene and says, “Cortina is known as Queen of the Dolomites. But we should rename her the ‘Queen of Cement.'”
Casanova recalls the day chainsaws arrived while cellist Mario Brunello played nearby — a stark contrast between art and the crashing of trees. The International Olympic Committee had suggested using an existing Innsbruck track for sliding events, but Matteo Salvini, Italy’s deputy prime minister and infrastructure minister, insisted the competitions remain on Italian soil, tweeting in 2024 that “The Games must be Italian games” and accusing critics of trying to sabotage the Olympics.
Environmental groups have pushed back strongly. Eight associations, including WWF Italy, issued a joint statement saying they found “no evidence to certify the environmental sustainability” of the projects promised in the 2019 candidacy dossier. They say many approvals happened with limited study of ecological impact.
Snowmaking illustrates the awkwardness of the sustainability claim. The Games are expected to require 84.8 million cubic feet of water — roughly the equivalent of 380 Olympic swimming pools — to make snow. That water is to be drawn from Alpine rivers and streams. Activists from watchdog groups such as Open Olympics 2026 say the withdrawals risk depleting rivers and mountain aquifers and could harm aquatic ecosystems. On the Boite River near Cortina, NPR saw black plastic pipes siphoning water, generators growling and the smell of diesel from pumps. Official statements describe the extraction rate as about 25 gallons per second for pumping water up slopes.
Artificial snowmaking also carries substantial energy costs: high-pressure pump networks, refrigeration and continuous operation at marginal winter temperatures all consume power. Image captions and officials’ documents cite water needs expressed in millions of cubic meters, and environmentalists warn of long-term strain on fragile Alpine hydrology.
Beyond snow and trees, critics note a deeper procedural omission: publicly available documents show no full environmental assessment was carried out for more than 60% of the approved projects. That lack of comprehensive studies, activists warn, risks a negative legacy for biodiversity and ecosystems in the Dolomites. “This is the great omission and the biggest concern,” says Fabio Tullio of Open Olympics 2026. “That ultimately there could be a negative legacy for this region.”
Simico, the governmental company responsible for Olympic infrastructure, did not respond to requests about those sustainability challenges. Simico and other organizers argue that the Games make use mostly of existing sporting venues and that some new infrastructure will benefit residents when projects — many of which won’t be completed until years after the Games — are finished. They say roads, parking and upgraded facilities will provide long-term utility.
Locals, however, are divided and often skeptical. Roberta Zanna, leader of Cortina’s opposition party, says many residents oppose further development that would urbanize a rural alpine life and erode local identity. She recalls Cortina’s 1956 Winter Olympics, when athletes and spectators mostly arrived by train, the runs relied on natural snow, and an ice skating event was held on a frozen lake. “It was a time when we could think about growing the town,” she says. Today’s plans, she argues, mean more construction, more artificial snow, more luxury hotels and more tourism — at a moment when climate change is already shrinking the very resource those plans exploit.
Luxury branding and commercialization accentuate the contrast between heritage and modern development. High-end boutiques and sponsors are visible in town — a reminder that the area long caters to elite tourism. At the same time, social media and influencer culture have amplified overtourism at fragile sites: Lake Sorapis, a turquoise mountain lake, can see crowds of over 2,000 people in a single high-season day, according to the mayor. Once-quiet trails now swell with visitors arriving by car to take selfies.
Those trends worry conservationists who fear a permanent urbanizing of the Alpine landscape. They note that some infrastructure built for the Games has long-term impacts that won’t be easily reversed: paving prairies for parking, widening roads, and concrete structures inside ancient forests change ecological dynamics and visual character.
Organizers emphasize legacy benefits, but the environmental groups and many locals see a mismatch between rhetoric and results. The WWF and allied organizations say that as built projects proceed with gaps in environmental review, and as massive snowmaking and new construction press on mountain hydrology and forests, the claim that the Games will showcase protection of mountain ecosystems rings hollow.
As the opening ceremony nears, the image in Cortina is telling: cranes and scaffolding, logos on chairlift pylons, and plastic ice sculptures in the square — a glossy winter tableau assembled in a landscape whose natural winter is growing scarce. Whether the Milano-Cortina Games will be remembered for sustainable stewardship or for accelerating development in a fragile region will depend on the aftermath: which projects remain, how ecosystems recover, and whether comprehensive assessments and protections are enforced after the final medals are awarded.
