Visby, Sweden
June 11, 2023
“About 1160”, explains Will Durant, “the Hanse seized the Swedish island of Gotland and developed Visby into a base and bastion for Baltic trade.”
After today, we understand the appeal. Whereas we approached Estonia with apprehension and Helsinki with anticipation, we came to Visby full of ambivalence.
We’d heard good things about a quaint town on an idyllic island. But this port was otherwise an afterthought - what we assumed was merely a place to park on the passage to Stockholm.
After today, I’m offended by my oversight. This small hamlet is among the more appealing places we’ve ever been. It oozes enchantment and drips with charm.
It almost seems made up, like a Potemkin port or a Disney set. It has it all: gothic churches, cathedral ruins, medieval walls, floral alleys, cobblestone streets, al fresco cafes, and quaint cabins clutching verdant cliffs above a deep blue sea.
As we prepared to take a picture of the city with the Baltic at its back, a single sailboat suddenly appeared on the scene. It’s as if it knew its part and received its cue. That epitomizes the afternoon.
When we passed thru the south gate into the old town, my wife felt as if we’d entered a Swedish Québec. Notwithstanding Québec City’s greater size and shorter history, its a reasonable comparison.
But an inadequate one.
With its preserved walls, picturesque cafés, and ancient alleys lined with variegated flowers, Visby shares many admirable features with its French-Canadian counterpart.
But it has unique blessings of its own. With its distinct geography and tumultuous history, how could it not?
Like Bornholm to its south, Gotland passed for seven centuries from Danes to Germans to Swedes to Russians to Norwegians…and back to Swedes, like a bottle of whiskey at an Irish wake.
Its natural harbor at a nautical crossroads has attracted commerce and conflict for at least ten centuries. Its cathedral rose 900 years ago, and was refurbished a century later.
The ring wall was erected about the same time, encompassing a village of rising wealth. Part of the Hanseatic League, Visby owed much of its Medieval prosperity to the protection and perks that oligopoly afforded.
But affluence attracts envy, and enemies. The King of Denmark picked up the scent. Waldemar IV attacked the town in the 14th century, demanding loot under threat of pillage.
The city conceded. But the Danish invasion prompted the League to declare war on Waldemar. Denmark sustained damage, lost some battles, but kept the island.
The next couple centuries featured constant fighting among Danes, Swedes, and Teutonic Knights for control of Gotland. The Victual Brothers, a guild of German pirates who made their living plundering the Baltic, also got into the mix.
Considering the city and its troubles unworthy of its while, the Hanseatic League expelled Visby in 1470. The town stumbled along for fifty years, till invaders from Lübeck capped its knees.
The Lübeckers attacked the town, sacked several churches, burned the city, and hobbled Visby for at least a century. In 1645, the Swedes took control and…excepting a brief Russian interlude a couple hundred years later…have held it since.
Unfortunately, we had it only a few hours. But we clung as long as we could.
Apparently, Visby and Tallinn are the only two north European cities where the original Medieval grid is still in place. We covered as much of both as our limited time allowed.
The walk from the port to town was manageable, and well-marked. Within twenty minutes, we’d breached the walls.
After ten more, we were in the midst of Stora Torget (the town plaza), and in the shadow of ruins.
The shell of St Catherine’s consumes the south side of the square. The church was constructed by Franciscans in the 13th century. The date of death remains uncertain.
But our amateur autopsy reveals the biology of the body. Pointed arches over the central nave extended from altar and apse. Rounded windows and a Romanesque tower adorned the west front. What appears to be a baptismal font stands far from the erstwhile tabernacle.
Interrupted by Waldemar’s conquest and the piratical chaos of the Hanseatic period, the church was apparently never completed. We’re also unsure how it was destroyed, or what became of the meat that covered the bones.
One explanation was “neglect”, which seems insufficient for such destruction. More likely, Catholic churches were ravaged during the “reformation”, and left as stone relics of a Faith that was no longer welcome.
Supporting this speculation, St Catherine’s isn’t the only Visby church that suffered such ruination.
Down the hill, St Nicholas…the Dominican counterpart to the Franciscan St Catherine’s…shares a similar appearance, owing to what was no doubt a common fate. Only the skeleton survives, now converted into an event center for weddings and other ceremonies.
Down an alley on the opposite side of the square, St Mary’s survives, tho’ long shorn of its Catholic cloak. After a briefly soaking the scene and some drinks at Bolaget on the square, that’s where we went next.
Theology aside, the cathedral is architecturally appealing and historically impressive. Built in the 12th century and intended as a basilica, it instead became the local church of German traders.
After occupation by the Danes and, later, the Protestants, it was left as the only church still used in the city. Architecturally, it betrays gothic influence from France and, in the spires, a bit of Baroque from western Germany.
These are of later vintage, with that on the west tower rising in the 1740s, and its eastern counterparts going up two decades later.
From the church, we ascended steps to capture a view. From the heights above Visby the scene is magnificent. This is where the stray sailboat decided to make its appearance.
As we wandered a gravel trail across the top of the hill, photogenic sights popped up at every turn. Rustic clichés popped up in every direction.
Everything was perfectly placed to reflect an imperfect ideal. Colored shutters were off-kilter in just the right way. Flowers bloomed from old shoes rather than clay pots. Crooked streets delivered divine views.
And our path brought us to a sublime spot.,Winding our way down the hill, we passed the ruins of St Nicholas, and returned hungry to the central square.
There we stopped at the Plaza Restaurang, where we savored what my wife says is the greatest lunch she’s ever had.
Not only for the food, but because of the scene, the weather, the ambience, the leisurely pace and (of course) the great company.
We lingered longer than we should, but not as much as we’d have liked. After a couple hours, we pushed back from the table, and bid reluctant adieu to a marvelous town.
JD