Fernsehturm Stuttgart

Stand at the foot of the tower and tilt your head back. The grey concrete shaft rises from the forest floor, smooth and slightly tapered, and it seems to sway against the moving clouds. It does not move, of course. Around you, the beech and oak trees of the hillside rustle. A lift motor hums somewhere inside. This slender column was once a radical idea. Today, many people pass it every day without a second look.

You are standing on a wooded hill called the Hoher Bopser, on the southern edge of Stuttgart, in the district of Degerloch. The city itself lies below, in a deep bowl of valley. That geography matters. Radio and television signals travel best in straight lines. A city in a basin needs a transmitter high above it. So the broadcasters came here, to the ridge, looking for height.

In the early 1950s, the regional broadcaster Süddeutscher Rundfunk needed a new antenna for the arrival of television. The usual answer at the time was a steel lattice mast. That design is cheap and functional, but it looks like a pylon, and it is held in place by long steel cables. Then a Stuttgart engineer named Fritz Leonhardt made a different proposal. Why not build a tower in reinforced concrete — concrete strengthened with steel rods inside?

Leonhardt was already known for his work on bridges. He believed a concrete tower could be both stronger and more beautiful than a mast. He also added a clever detail. Near the top, he placed a small cabin with viewing platforms and a place to eat. Visitors could pay to ride up. Their tickets would help to pay for the building. It was an engineering plan and a business plan at the same time.

Construction ran from 1954 to 1956, and the tower opened to the public in 1956. Here is the first surprise. This was the first television tower in the world built from reinforced concrete. Every concrete TV tower you may have seen since then, in Berlin, Toronto, Moscow or Tokyo, follows the path that started here on this Swabian hillside. Engineers from many countries came to study it.

The tower stands about 217 metres tall, counting the antenna on top. Look at the shaft closely. It is not a straight cylinder. It narrows gently as it climbs, a little like the stem of a wine glass. This shape is not only for elegance. A wider base resists the wind better, and a slimmer top carries less weight. Good engineering and good looks arrive at the same answer.

Now the second surprise, and it is one most visitors miss. The foundation is surprisingly shallow. Leonhardt did not drive the tower deep into the rock. Instead, he spread its weight across a wide, round concrete base just below the ground. The heavy base and the hill hold the tower steady. When strong winds push on the top, the force goes down the shaft and spreads out into the earth.

And the business plan worked. According to the popular story in Stuttgart, ticket sales covered the cost of the tower within only a few years. Whether the exact figures are true or not, the idea spread. Cities around the world began to see a television tower not only as a piece of equipment, but as a public place. People could visit it, enjoy it and feel proud of it.

The tower has had difficult times too. In 2013, the authorities closed it to visitors because of concerns about fire safety. There was only one escape route down the narrow shaft. For several years, the lift stood still, and many people in Stuttgart missed their old landmark. After safety work, the tower reopened to the public in 2016. Locals came back in large numbers, which shows how much it means to the city.

If you ride the lift up, the trip is short. Your ears may feel the change in pressure as you climb. At the top, the observation platforms sit roughly 150 metres above the ground, and the hill adds even more height. Below you, Stuttgart fills its valley. You can see roofs, church towers, the railway lines, and the green slopes of vineyards climbing the hillsides. Wine grows inside the city limits here.

On a clear day, look further. To the south, the long blue edge of the Swabian Alb runs along the horizon. It is a limestone plateau that rises above the plains. Further away to the west, the dark hills of the Black Forest can appear. On hazy summer afternoons, they may disappear completely. In autumn and winter, after rain or a cold front, the air is often clearer and the view goes much further.

Back on the ground, look at the tower as a piece of design from the 1950s. Germany was rebuilding after the war. Many people wanted buildings that looked light, modern and hopeful, without monumental heaviness. This tower has no decoration. It has only concrete, glass and a clear shape. Today it is a protected cultural monument. Even so, it still carries antennas and still does its original job.

The forest around you is part of the experience. Walking paths lead off through the trees, and on weekends local families come here with dogs, bicycles and children. The area feels more like a park than a tourist sight. If you walk a little way along the paths, the tower appears and disappears between the branches. From some points, it looks surprisingly thin.

Before you leave, stand at the base once more and put your hand on the concrete. It feels cool and slightly rough. Leonhardt's idea grew from this column into towers on every continent. Listen to the trees, the lift, the voices of other visitors. Then, as you walk back towards the road, turn around once. The tower will still be there above the treetops, as it has been since 1956.