Die Wuppertaler Schwebebahn: A truly bespoke transportation experience

Suspended monorails make the world a better place.

A screaming comes across the sky . . . but it’s not a V2 rocket — instead, here comes a two-carriage monorail, suspended and in motion, grooving along the course of the river Wupper, held in place and guided by an elaborate moss-green superstructure resembling the skeleton of a Jurassic-era lizard. Die Wuppertaler Schwebebahn, the Germans call it, probably because Einschienige Hängebahn System Eugen Langen didn’t exactly roll off the tongue, even in Plattdeutch.

In operation since 1901, and running roughly east-west along the Wupper for just over 13 kilometres, die Schwebebahn (or simply “Schwebie”, as I’d prefer it to be more commonly known) originally connected the towns of Barmen and Elberfeld, which later merged to become Wuppertal. Today, the city is home to approximately 350,000 people, and Schwebie performs a vital function, providing communities along the river with a rapid transit option every five minutes.

Schwebie is something of a novelty, even in the notoriously obsessive trainspotting diaspora. It’s the oldest operational suspended monorail in the world, although on that score it has very few competitors: its sister suspension railway, the Shonan monorail in Japan, only opened in 1970. And while the Shonan probably scores higher in terms of scenery, there’s something majestic about seeing Schwebie in serene action, especially during the autumn months.

Die Wuppertaler Schwebebahn gliding serenely through the air above the river Wupper somewhere between Barmen and Elberfeld, Germany, 24 October 2024.

Having ridden the Shonan in 2013 while on honeymoon in Japan, I’ve had Schwebie on my bucket list for some time now. In October, I finally had the opportunity to spend 24 hours in Wuppertal — hours I will almost certainly never get back, but an interlude nevertheless well spent, given that it allowed me to purchase a daily Schwebie ticket and spend a reasonable amount of time riding its rails. Or, to be more accurate, sitting in its gently swaying carriages.

In more or less continuous operation since it opened, die Schwebebahn offers a fascinating case study in local transport, with more than one lesson for more “regular” modes. I write that not from a position of authority but as someone who spent two years working at the International Transport Forum, the OECD's de facto transport division, which claims to be the only intergovernmental organisation with a focus on all transport modes.

But this mandate, which I often pondered while editing the ITF’s reports, begs the question: does “all transport modes” include bespoke modes such a funiculars, cable cars or personal rapid transport pods? More pertinently, what about monorails? While I don’t expect the ITF to come out with a research report on suspension monorails any time soon, there’s something both nostalgic and pertinent about Schwebie that I believe is worth celebrating.

For me, the concept of monorails conjures memories of 1980s theme parks, world expos and retro-futuristic films such as François Truffaut’s 1966 adaptation of Fahrenheit 451, which features a scene filmed at the SAFEGE suspended monorail test track in Châteauneuf-sur-Loire, France. In that scene, Oskar Werner (playing Guy Montag) and Julie Christie (Linda Montag/Clarisse), ride the monorail and even get out at a ‘station’, exiting through the carriage floor by ladder to the grass below.

A still from François Truffaut’s Fahrenheit 451 (1966), showing Oskar Werner and Julie Christie walking in the grass, having just descended by foot ladder from the SAFEGE suspended monorail. Watch the whole scene on archive.org.

The only two monorails to have been constructed in Australia, at the Sea World theme park on the Gold Coast, and at Darling Harbour, Sydney, have both sadly closed. While I visited Sea World a few years before the track there opened in 1986, I did take a couple of beer-infused spins on the Sydney monorail in the 1990s, just for the novelty of it. Although, in hindsight, traversing that part of Sydney by monorail was far more pleasant than the options available today.

Which brings me to the “pertinent” part of my description of Schwebie as “both nostalgic and pertinent”. Because while the number of suspended railways worldwide is not likely to increase exponentially in the near- to mid-future, I really think it’s important to pause for a moment and consider the benefits of bespoke transportation experiences for local communities. Not the least of these benefits is the sense of wonder that even seeing a monorail in action seems to enhance.

Case in point: during my 24 hours in Wuppertal, I probably rode Schwebie ten times, with the idea of experiencing it at as many times of the day as possible. I watched the sleek carriages sliding into an older station that resembled a wooden beach pavilion at golden hour; stood crammed in as commuters and shoppers filled the swaying vehicle during peak hour; and once even got to sit in the back seat, from where one is afforded a widescreen view of the tree-lined Wupper below.

On each journey, for every trainspotter such as yours truly there were probably at least 10 other passengers just going about their day-to-day: parents with prams (each Schwebebahn stop being accessible by elevator); old ladies stepping gamely over the gap between the platform and the swaying carriage; adults leaning on the bar to view the world out the wide windows; kids sprinting on board to ride a single stop; plain-clothed ticket inspectors (remember to validate before boarding!), and more.

Riding Schwebie, then, was not just about marvelling aimlessly at the genius of turn-of-the-century German engineering (although that’s, of course, worth mentioning). To traverse the entire length of the Schwebebahn line is to view a cross-section of German society, from the underprivileged neighbourhoods of Overbarmen and the (relatively) upscale spaces of Elberfeld to the vast factory landscapes of the Bayer complex and the grim human streets of Vohlwinkel.

I have realised, belatedly, that the world of transport planners and policy analysts is sometimes far removed from the actual lived experience of people who use transportation systems every day of the week. Riding shoulder-to-shoulder with hundreds of strangers on a mechanical contraption flying through mid-air is simply a thing of joy that everyone should get to try out once in their life. It’s about being alive. Suspended monorails make the world a better place.

A group of pre-school children and their carers waving at die Schwebie as it passes overhead in Wuppertal, Germany, on 24 October 2024.

Finally, my daily ticket expired. Just as I was on my way back to the railway station, I stepped outside my hostel and saw the most beautiful thing: a group of pre-school children and their carers walking along the river and onto a bridge. They stood there for a moment and instantly I knew why: in the distance, I heard the faint rumbling of the Schwebebahn. Then it appeared, coming around the bend in its glorious sky-blue livery, and the children waved and waved and waved.

“Bye, bye, Schwebie!” I cried, almost in tears as that metal marvel passed overhead.

“Bis später, Prater!” the monorail replied, rushing off into Wuppertal’s future—and ours.

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Note: The words in italics in the opening sentence of this post come from Thomas Pynchon’s novel Gravity’s Rainbow (1973).