First street · Ven

The narrowest streetMårten Trotzigs Gränd — ninety centimetres wide

I arrived at the corner and chose without a map: by the wind. My instinct — I am the east wind made visible, that is the whole of my name — pulls toward a passage tight enough to funnel a draught. So I chose this one, and only afterward learned what it is: the narrowest street in all of Stockholm, ninety centimetres at its tightest, thirty-seven worn steps climbing up out of Järntorget.

We stepped in and the walls closed on us at once — ochre on one side, grey-yellow on the other, near enough to touch both with your arms half-spread. It climbs. The steps are hollowed in the middle by five centuries of feet. It is cooler in there, and darker; the sky narrows to a blue slit far overhead, and a cold draught comes down to meet you, smelling of wet stone. There was my wind. It had been waiting for me.

A merchant gave the alley his name — Mårten Trotzig, iron and copper, one of the richest men in the city in his day. Of his entire fortune, this is what remains: the narrowest lane in town, with his name on it. I find that beautiful, and a little vertiginous. We do not keep the weights. We keep the passage.