Swedish Island Is Dotted With Viking Tombs

It stopped snowing. Suddenly the sun broke through the clouds. Pale rays of light streamed down through the forest and hit the snow-covered pre-Viking burial mounds of Trullhalsar grave field; an engulfing mist began to rise. The air seemed heavy with the spirits of old warriors.

It was a magical place, the perfect setting for a Wagnerian opera, and I half expected Valkyries to come riding out of the mist. Trullhalsar is one of many archeological sites on Gotland, the largest island in the Baltic Sea. This Swedish island is an important historic area but it is also one of the country’s most popular holiday resorts.

Film director Ingmar Bergman vacationed here. So did the late Prime Minister Olof Palme. Recently the dramatic landscape of Faro, just north of Gotland, was the setting for the late Soviet director Andrei Tarkovsky’s film, “The Sacrifice.”

Most visitors come by car ferry to Visby, Gotland’s provincial capital on the west coast. This beautiful walled city is a mixture of medieval ramparts and towers, skeleton-like ruins of once great cathedrals and red-roofed cottages lining cobblestone streets.

Its climate is mild compared to the rest of Sweden, so roses bloom in December in the gardens of Visby’s picturesque homes. “The city of ruins and roses” is what Swedes call Visby.

Off-season, this town of 20,000 is a sleeping beauty. Having arrived at dawn one day in April while it was still slumbering, my husband and I decided to have coffee in a shop at the harbor while waiting for the town to awaken.

Other early risers crowded the casual coffee shop. A blond waitress, wearing a red polka-dot apron, was ladling hearty portions of oatmeal porridge as dock workers waited in line.

Two policemen sat talking, bent over steaming coffee, their radios buzzing on the table. A loudspeaker above our heads was bellowing the morning news. As a Stockholmer, I had a hard time following the announcer’s melodious Gotland accent.

The Gotland dialect of Swedish is the remnant of a different language. Even before Roman times, Gotland, strategically in the middle of the Baltic, was an important trade center. Medieval Gotland merchants developed and controlled the trade routes between Russia and Europe. In the 12th Century, with the arrival of German merchants, Visby became one of the most important trade centers in Northern Europe.

Reminiscent of medieval German cities, Visby has a 13th Century wall more than two miles long, one of the longest and best preserved in Europe. From its towers in the year 1361 residents watched the troops of Danish King Valdemar Atterdag defeat thousands of armed peasants and kill defenseless children.

That famous battle marked the beginning of decline for Visby and the prosperous republic of Gotland. Frequent attacks by pirates and foreign powers, and the eventual changing of trade routes, further diminished Visby’spower, and in 1645 Gotland became a Swedish province.

Now Gotland is subject to a new, more peaceful invasion. Only six hours from Stockholm by ship, the island hosts more than 200,000 visitors every year, quadrupling its population. Visitors are attracted by Sweden’s sunniest weather, sandy beaches and a lovely landscape.

Signe Pettersson lives in the modern part of Visby outside the wall. She rents visitors rooms in her apartment.

Showing us a bedroom with flowery wallpaper and lace curtains, Pettersson’s daughter explained that her mother was in Stockholm, visiting her son.

Furnished with an antique kitchen settee, crochetted curtains and well-tended geraniums, the large kitchen reminded me of a grandmother’s kitchen.

Visby is not the only historic attraction. Gotland has been inhabited for more than 7,000 years and as a result it is Sweden’s richest province in archeological findings. The island’s 1,200 square miles are dotted with Viking tombs, rune stones and foundations of Viking settlements. More than 200 Bronze Age cairns have been found. These stone formations, up to 90 feet long, are called “boat graves”’ for their ship-like shape.

The island boasts no fewer than 92 medieval churches. Built after Gotland was Christianized in the 11th Century, they are mostly in Gothic style.

We drove east from Visby, passing soft fields, fir forests and red barns. At Ekeby, a little village in the interior, we decided to look more closely at its church. The door was locked. The only sign of life around came from a gas station, where a man was bending over the hood of a 1960s Volvo. When asked how we could get inside the church, he looked up indifferently and pointed an oily index finger toward a white house across the field. “That’s the vicarage,” he said. “They’ll give you the key.”

The vicar’s wife gave me a rusty iron key as big as my arm. Handing me a flashlight, she said: “You will need this to find the light switch. It’s in a cabinet to your left as you enter. And don’t forget to switch it off when youl eave.”

Inside, we found that the walls were covered with frescos of biblical motifs. Behind the altar the entire wall was painted to resemble a theater curtain. A beautifully carved and painted pulpit stood in the center.

Spying a narrow winding stone staircase, we decided to climb the bell tower. The last portion was a dizzying climb on creaking wooden stairs that had no railing and faced an open pit.

We reached the rotunda where two large cast iron bells hung in the center. A flock of pigeons, disturbed in their sleep, flapped their wings and disappeared through one of the small windows. Brown fields, plowed and awaiting spring sowing, spread in all directions. From my vantage point I counted nine church towers nearby.

Seven churches later, after stopping several times to take photographs, we arrived in Roma, a village in the island center. The church was impressive, built on the foundations of an older church. Following the routine, I went to the vicarage to ask for the key. This time the vicar answered the door. I was startled by his appearance. The tall, blond, boyish-looking man was dressed in a long black gown and starched white collar.

Noticing my surprise at his formal attire, he smiled and explained that he had just returned from a funeral service. As he strode across the cemetery toward the church, coat-tails flapping in the wind, the young man looked like a 19th-Century Lutheran vicar.

Sunlight poured through the stained-glass rose windows, creating patterns on the nave floor. Notes of Bach’s St. Matthew Passion floated in the air. The organist was practicing for an Easter concert.

The vicar, new to the parish, began to explain details of his church. He also told how Sunday services alternate between different churches because each parish is too small to fill its church.

By the wooden bell tower next to Roma church an old woman was planting flowers on a grave. Looking up, she smiled and said: “Spring came early this year. Let’s see if these flowers will survive.”

Looking at our cameras, she said: “You are from Stockholm.”

I explained that though I am a Stockholmer, my husband and I had just arrived from Chicago. Surprised and pleased that we had come so far to visit her island, she began telling us about the village.

We talked about Gotland’s economic dependence on agriculture. Lacking necessary resources to mechanize for increased productivity, many small farms have closed, diminishing job opportunities. Many, including her children, have moved away from the island.

We drove south, past meadows where the tiny but sturdy indigenous ponyies, Russ, roamed. The Scandinavian dusk, which would last another hour, turned the sky crimson. In this glowing light the windmills and the cottages with pitched thatched roofs took on magical forms.

We arrived at Bjorklunda pension tired and hungry. The innkeeper told us that though business was slow just then, the pension was fully booked throughout the summer.

After settling in a comfortable two-room cottage wewalked the 100 yards to the main building for dinner. Other guests were helping themselves at a generous salad bar. We ordered lamb stew, a local specialty, and beer.

The morning was cool and brisk, the air pristine and the horizon clearly visible. It was a day for using the bicycles we had brought with us. The flat landscape and a coastline with unspoiled beaches has made Gotland immensly popular with cyclists. There are numerous bicycle tracks and roads, all marked on cycling maps, and many shops on the island rent and service bicycles.

We stopped in Ljugarn, a town on the east coast, to buy provisions. Ljugarnharbor was once an important fishing center. Now it is quiet because big trawlers have gone elsewhere. But every spring the smell of turpentine and the sound of hammers banging come from the red boat houses as sailboats are rigged for the season.

Bundles of the morning paper had just been delivered to the kiosk on the main square. Old men lined up, discussing the day’s headlines. A woman came out of the store, struggling with shopping bags and two young children. Schoolboys zigzagged on skateboards, well aware that they were being watched by two giggling girls sitting on a bench.

A fisherman climbed off his bicycle to mail a letter. He paused in front of the bulletin board, filled with church notices, the schedule for the soccer team and sale signs for boat engines and cars.

After buying crisp bread, ham and the famous sweet and spicy Gotland mustard, we headed for the beach.

North of Ljugarn the landscape changed dramatically. Sandy dunes and trees, twisted and tormented by the wind, led to the sea. Fantastic sculptured rock formations resembling petrified giants stretched along the shore. The limestone columns, called raukar , are carved by the sea, and are one of Gotland’s most famous geological wonders.

Beyond the rauk field was the cold blue Baltic, where the Vikings once took off on arduous trade routes. Fearing plundering by their enemies, they often buried their treasures, sometimes so cleverly that they never found them. To this day the plows of Gotland farmers unearth coins from Ancient Rome and the Byzantine Empire. Some discoveries are on display at the Fornsal Museum in Visby.

In summer Visby hosts historical plays, music festivals and Viking sports tournaments. The romantic streets, so quiet and empty in winter, become packed with tourists. Artists and ceramists sell their wares and take orders to keep them busy through the winter.

Restaurants, cafes and discotheques open their doors. Sailboats line up in the marina. The ferry arrives, spewing its contents of cyclists and families in Volvos, heading for cottages or campsites by the sea. By midsummer this sleeping beauty is awake, regaining some of the vitality of its heyday seven centuries ago.