Helmut Jahn’s Cosmopolitan

No longer a stumpy adolescent, Warsaw has grown up – fast. Zipping to the 44th floor of Cosmopolitan, vertigo sets in as we press our noses to the floor-to-ceiling windows. It is as if we have entered the land of giants: on the horizon, the National Stadium could fit onto the palm of my hand. You feel you could almost blow it away: puff, and it’s gone.

For more on the tower, click here