The Arctic town that moved its church but left its winter know-how behind

Anyone who has ever moved house, experienced relief on returning home after travels, or been disoriented by roadworks must feel for the residents of Kiruna, Sweden, whose whole town is being moved three kilometres eastwards, one building at a time, in a project that began in 2014 and is set to last until 2100. The disturbance to everyday life is not the only issue, though, as research published in 2025 shows the town’s new location is up to 10°C colder than its previous site.

Kiruna began life as a mining town founded between two ore-rich mountains in 1900. Using the weather-proofing skills that Nordic nations are often associated with, city planner Per Olof Hallman placed it on a south-facing incline, sheltering its streets and residents from the region’s Arctic Circle winds by allowing roads to curve and follow the landscape.

Despite being Sweden’s northernmost town, and one with an industrial origin, Kiruna is not as grim as one might imagine – indeed, it has long been classed as a “model Winter City.” Colourful weatherboarded residences in rich ochre and red, pale blue and green, line its wide, tree-lined avenues.

But, threatened with subsidence caused by the mining activity that had birthed it, Kiruna had to start again, uprooting its 18,000 inhabitants, shifting 20 significant structures to a new site, including a two-day manoeuvre of its beloved 672-tonne church, once voted Sweden’s most beautiful pre-1950 building. Other buildings were created from scratch.

All that effort, yet both researchers and residents have noticed that the new Kiruna’s position is not as favourable as before. Despite the council choosing a spot on the “southwestern and southern slopes of a mountain 500–570 meters above sea level,” they failed to implement key winter city planning principles, according to a paper published in URBAN DESIGN International in July 2025.

New Kiruna is, the author says, “on average 10°C colder than the previous setting.” This is due to a number of factors. Despite being a known climatic drawback, its new centre now sits “in a valley at the base of a low mountain, where cold air tends to accumulate especially during the winter months.”  Instead of curving, streets are in a grid layout, and one in particular has been described by locals as “a bloody wind tunnel.” The height and density of buildings mean the sun struggles to penetrate (a problem predicted in a pre-development assessment, yet ignored), and some are built with communal areas facing north. Despite some attempts to mitigate these issues, “residents continue to report discomfort due to wind exposure.”

Perhaps another reason why the town feels cold is its lack of “sufficient meeting places, and public spaces,” and “a perceived absence of art and cultural expressions,” with “minimal recognition of the indigenous Sami population and the Tornedalian minority.”

@nordlig.photo Kiruna 🇸🇪 ❄️ 22/10/2025 . . . . . #kiruna #swedishlapland #lapland #stockholm #sweden ♬ Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow! – Dean Martin

Five years into the 86-year project, Dezeen perhaps prematurely reported on its success. It was acknowledged that, unlike other communities that will need to uproot in the coming decades due to climate change, Kiruna’s shift was funded by mining riches, but, other than that, there were principles that could be emulated in the words of Scandi design firm Henning Larsen, when it came to “moving the minds of citizens and creating a new home and identity.”

Communication was key, boasted Göran Cars, urban planner for the Kiruna municipality, who noted they “started with a dialogue.” Yet, even in 2019, the residents were complaining that, though the church was being moved, the graves and the town’s precious 100-year-old birches were being left behind. Half a decade later, the URBAN DESIGN study suggests that vital Swedish know-how about building for harsh conditions was left behind, too.