The story
Welcome to one of the most curious architectural wonders in all of Scandinavia. You are standing at the base of the Rundetaarn, or Round Tower, right in the heart of Copenhagen’s old Latin Quarter. Before you begins a path unlike any other: the Sneglegangen, or the spiral ramp.
As you start your ascent, notice that there are no stairs here. Instead, a wide, whitewashed corridor winds its way upward, circling a hollow stone core. This tower was the brainchild of King Christian IV, the great builder-king of Denmark, and was completed in 1642.
But why a ramp instead of a staircase? Imagine you are a 17th-century scholar or a royal attendant. At the top of this tower sat the University Library and an astronomical observatory.
To stock that library with thousands of heavy leather-bound books and to transport delicate, massive astronomical instruments up to the roof, the King needed a way for horses and carts to make the climb. As you walk, feel the gentle incline. The ramp is two hundred and nine meters long, though the tower itself is only about thirty-six meters high.
It wraps around the center seven and a half times. Look to your right at the central stone pillar. There is a small opening there where you can look into the hollow core of the tower.
Local legend says this is the precise center of Copenhagen, and in the past, it was a daring—and dangerous—feat for children to sit over the edge of the abyss. The most famous visitor to conquer this ramp wasn’t a scholar, but a Russian Tsar. In 1716, Peter the Great visited Copenhagen.
Ever the man of action, he didn't walk; he rode his horse all the way to the top. Not to be outdone, his wife, Empress Catherine, followed behind him in a carriage drawn by six horses. If you listen closely, you can almost hear the echoes of hooves and iron-rimmed wheels clattering against these very bricks.
Even in more recent history, the ramp has seen its share of wheels; in 1902, an adventurous soul drove a German Beaufort car to the top, and today, an annual unicycle race still tests the endurance of local athletes. As you continue upward, the light changes, pouring in through tall, recessed windows that offer glimpses of the red-tiled roofs of the city below. You’ll soon pass the entrance to the old Library Hall, once the haunt of Hans Christian Andersen, who found inspiration in these quiet, elevated spaces.
Keep climbing, and the air will grow cooler as you approach the observatory at the summit, the oldest functioning observatory in Europe. You aren't just walking up a tower; you are following a spiral path toward the stars, tracing the footsteps of kings, poets, and astronomers.