The first bridge on this site was the Dombrücke, opened in 1859, a two track bridge built at a time when railways were transforming the city and when placing major infrastructure beside the cathedral was apparently considered an entirely reasonable little arrangement. By the start of the twentieth century the Dombrücke could no longer cope with growing traffic, and plans were drawn up for something larger, more decadent and more in keeping with Cologne’s enthusiasm for doing importance at scale. The present bridge was built between 1907 and 1911 and opened by Kaiser Wilhelm II, replacing the earlier crossing at essentially the same location and preserving that dramatic line towards the cathedral.
When the Hohenzollern Bridge opened in 1911 it carried not only railway traffic but also a road, with three adjoining bridge sections and an arrangement that tried to reconcile engineering necessity, imperial grandeur and Cologne’s urban awkwardness in one steel composition. It was named for the Hohenzollern dynasty, because the German Empire rather liked putting ruling family’s name on prominent things. This section here is part of the old infrastructure of the bridge, which is no longer used.
And the same section on the other side of the bridge, which now also goes nowhere.
The Second World War, in the usual considerate manner, interrupted all this rather badly. The bridge was blown up by the Germans in 1945, but it was rebuilt after the war, first reopening for rail traffic in 1948, with later rebuilding and widening phases in 1959 and 1987 helping to create the six track railway bridge seen today. The road element never returned, leaving the structure as a railway and pedestrian bridge instead, with 1,200 trains going over the bridge every day. The bridge is something of a tourist destination now and it’s likely for the best that the number of cars ploughing straight through the middle of the city has been reduced somewhat.
Incidentally, there is also, on the Deutz side, a public climbing facility maintained by the German Alpine Association, which is perhaps something that my friend Richard might want to have a go at now that he’s a climbing professional.
And then there are the love locks, which have turned the bridge into a giant metal archive of optimism since the custom took hold in 2008. The authorities don’t know how many there are now, but it’s likely around 700,000 sort of number. Counting each one individually would be a deeply unfortunate and sub-optimal way to spend an afternoon, so it’s unlikely the total number will ever be known. Deutsche Bahn has said the locks do not threaten the bridge’s structural safety, which is reassuring, because it would be a grim little twist if the bridge fell down because of them.