Katarina Elevator

Start with the wind. Up here it comes off the water with a cold, clean edge, carrying the smell of salt and diesel from the ferry quays below. Under your feet the walkway feels solid but open, and between the rails you can see the city drop away. Gulls hang in the air at eye level. Somewhere beneath you, traffic grinds through Slussen. This is the Katarina Elevator, and its whole purpose has always been to lift people out of that noise and into this view.

To understand why it exists, look at the ground itself. Stockholm sits on islands, and Södermalm, the southern island, rises from the water in steep cliffs of grey rock. For centuries, anyone walking from the old town to the heights above had to climb. Stairs, slopes, narrow lanes. In the nineteenth century, as the city grew and industry filled the waterfront, that climb became a daily burden for thousands of workers and residents. Someone was going to solve it with engineering.

The first elevator opened here in 1883. It was a private venture, and it ran on steam. Picture it. A tall iron frame bolted against the rock, a cabin rising on cables, and a coal-fired engine working below. People paid a small fare to ride. For many Stockholmers it was their first experience of a lift of any kind. It was less a convenience than a small marvel, and people came simply to try it.

The steam engine did not last forever. In the early twentieth century the elevator was converted to electric power, which made it quieter and simpler to run. But the old iron structure was ageing, and the whole area around Slussen was being rethought. In the 1930s, the city rebuilt the traffic junction below in a bold modern style. The elevator was replaced at the same time, and the structure you see today dates from that rebuilding.

This is the first surprise for many visitors. The elevator is not really a tower. Look at it closely and you will see two parts. There is the vertical shaft, rising from the street near the water. And there is the long horizontal footbridge, which reaches across from the top of the shaft to the cliff edge of Södermalm. The bridge is the real point. It carries you straight onto the heights, without a single step of climbing.

Now look underneath that footbridge. Hanging below it, like a cabin slung beneath an airship, is a restaurant called Gondolen. The name means the gondola, and it fits. It belongs to the large office building beside the elevator, which was built in the 1930s as the headquarters of the Swedish cooperative movement. That building and the elevator were designed to work together, a single modern composition clinging to the rock.

That cooperative building is worth a moment. The cooperative movement was a powerful force in twentieth century Sweden. It ran shops, factories and housing, owned by its members rather than by private investors. Putting its headquarters here, on the cliff above the city's busiest crossing, was a statement of confidence. The clean lines, the large windows and the flat surfaces belong to functionalism, the modern style that shaped so much of Swedish building in that decade.

Turn now toward the view, because this is what people have come for since the steam days. Across the water lies Gamla stan, the old town, a dense block of ochre, rust and cream facades. Look for the slim openwork spire of Riddarholmen Church, rising above the rooftops. Further away, on the right, the brick tower of the City Hall stands at the edge of Lake Mälaren. Below you, the large white ferries wait at the Stadsgården quay before sailing east into the Baltic.

Here is the second detail many people miss. The spot below you, Slussen, takes its name from the lock that has stood here for centuries. A lock is a channel with gates that lets boats move between two bodies of water at different levels. On one side is Lake Mälaren, fresh water flowing from inland. On the other is the Baltic Sea, salt water reaching the city through the archipelago. This narrow junction is where the two meet, and the whole city grew up around it.

The elevator has had a difficult recent history. It closed to the public around 2010, partly over safety concerns, and the Slussen area has since gone through a long and very large reconstruction. For years, people saw scaffolding, fences and cranes here instead of a working lift. Plans to bring the elevator back have been part of that project. Its status can change, so it is wise to check locally whether the lift itself is running on the day you visit.

Even when the lift is quiet, the footbridge and the heights beyond it reward a walk. At the top you reach Mosebacke, an old neighbourhood of cobbled squares, wooden houses and steep lanes. It has long attracted writers and artists. August Strindberg, Sweden's most famous playwright, opened his early novel The Red Room with a young man looking out over Stockholm from these heights. Standing here, it is easy to see why he chose the place.

From Mosebacke, follow the cliff east toward Fjällgatan, a short street lined with low old houses. It is one of the quietest viewpoints in the city. In the early morning you may share it only with a few joggers and someone walking a dog. In the evening, especially in summer, the northern light stays on the water for hours, and the city slowly changes colour from gold to blue.

Think, for a moment, about what this structure has carried. Workers with heavy loads in the 1880s. Families on a Sunday outing. Office staff heading to the cooperative headquarters. Couples on their way to dinner in Gondolen. Tourists with cameras. Each generation used it a little differently, but every one of them came for the same two things. An easier way up, and a moment of looking out over the water.

Before you move on, stay still for a little longer. Listen to the gulls and the low hum of traffic far below. Watch a ferry turn slowly in the harbour, or a small boat slip toward the lock. Notice the grey rock under the walkway, the same rock that made this climb hard in the first place. As you walk away, look back once at the bridge against the sky. It is a simple line of steel, and it still connects the water to the heights.