How subway stations can shape a city

Lim Yeong-hwan

The author is the dean of the Graduate School of Architecture and Urban Design at Hongik University.

What impressed me most during a trip to Porto, Portugal, was neither a world-famous museum nor an ancient cathedral. It was a small subway station I encountered on the way from the airport into the city.

Its structure and materials were organized without unnecessary ornamentation. The signage was understated and the entrances connected naturally to the surrounding urban fabric. I found myself wondering how a subway station could be so simple yet so refined. Only later did I learn that the master plan for Porto’s metro system had been designed by Eduardo Souto de Moura (1952–), one of Portugal’s leading contemporary architects.

Souto de Moura began his career in the studio of Álvaro Siza (1933–), another giant of Portuguese architecture. Building on clear forms and structural simplicity, he developed a distinct architectural language and won the Pritzker Architecture Prize in 2011. Siza had received the same honor in 1992.

Both architects have exerted a profound influence on contemporary architecture through their careful treatment of context, spatial proportion and materiality. Many architects visit Portugal specifically to experience their work firsthand. Yet ironically, the projects that left the strongest impression on me were not their celebrated museums or civic buildings but two subway stations.

A city’s first impression is often shaped by its everyday public infrastructure. Airports and train stations encountered by visitors, along with the subway stations and bus stops used daily by residents, serve not merely as facilities but as faces of the city, revealing its atmosphere and level of urban quality.

Architects abroad have long played active roles in designing transportation infrastructure. London’s redesigned double-decker bus, introduced in 2012, was created by Thomas Heatherwick and attracted international attention. In Bilbao, Spain, the entrances to the metro system designed by Norman Foster became such a recognizable symbol that they earned the nickname “Fosteritos,” meaning “little Fosters.” These projects demonstrate how infrastructure can shape a city’s image and the experience of moving through it.

Souto de Moura’s stations are strikingly simple. Gray stone floors, linear lighting and restrained walls and ceilings define the spaces. Yet beneath that simplicity lies a carefully organized spatial order.

The architect’s language becomes especially clear on the platforms. Long horizontal ceiling lines, repeating columns and subdued materials work together within a coherent system. The stations are refined without seeking attention. Rather than standing apart from the city, they blend naturally into daily urban life.

In Lisbon, I encountered another remarkable station designed by Siza. The Baixa-Chiado Metro Station is one of his best-known infrastructure projects, yet it approaches space in a very different way.

Its most distinctive feature is how it transforms the depth of the underground environment into an architectural experience. Connecting the districts of Baixa and Chiado, the station reinterprets vertical movement as a spatial journey. Curving surfaces that unite walls and ceilings, combined with warm lighting, turn a simple descent into a gradual passage beneath the city.

If the escalator in a typical station is merely a means of transportation, the escalator here becomes a place where passengers slowly experience another urban landscape.

Siza’s architecture is not unfamiliar to Koreans. The Mimesis Art Museum in Paju, Gyeonggi, is his best-known work in Korea. There, as in Baixa-Chiado Station, natural light, circulation and spatial proportion are carefully orchestrated to shape how visitors perceive space.

Experiencing these stations reveals the contrasting personalities of teacher and student. Souto de Moura creates a calm and solid atmosphere through structure and materiality. Siza emphasizes continuity through light, circulation and changes in urban levels.

Their stations share a common belief: subway stations can become meaningful works of public architecture.

Korea’s subway system is already among the world’s best in terms of punctuality, safety, cleanliness and operational efficiency. Compared with systems such as New York’s, which continue to struggle with aging facilities, security concerns and sanitation issues, its strengths are clear.

Yet the experience of space remains an area for improvement. Because planning has focused on moving passengers quickly and safely, less attention has been given to how stations connect with the city or what impressions they leave behind. When transportation infrastructure is conceived only as a tool for movement, subway stations become corridors of passage rather than faces of the city.

The best transportation infrastructure abroad goes beyond mobility. It shapes how people experience a city. Residents and visitors encounter a city’s identity through these spaces and absorb its character through daily routines. Their influence can sometimes exceed that of museums, theaters or other landmark buildings.

Publicly-funded infrastructure should therefore be held to the highest standards, not merely functional ones. Ultimately, a city’s quality is determined not by a handful of landmarks but by the public spaces people encounter every day.

Just as a small subway station unexpectedly changed my perception of Portugal, thoughtful public architecture can transform how people see a city and how they remember it.