Hidden Visby: Secret Alleyways and Underground Passages of a Medieval City

Most visitors to Visby spend their time admiring the impressive 3.4-kilometer ring wall or photographing the picturesque ruins of St. Nicolai Church. They're magnificent, certainly, but they only tell part of the story. The real Visby reveals itself when you abandon the main streets and follow your curiosity down unmarked passages.

On my second morning, armed with my travel journal and a hand-drawn map from a local historian I'd befriended at Visby Crêperie the night before, I set out before the day-trippers arrived. The morning light cast long shadows across Strandgatan as I turned into a narrow opening between two medieval merchant houses that I'd walked past several times without noticing.

This passage, known locally as Mäster Olofs gränd, narrows to less than a meter wide in places. The walls lean in overhead, creating the disorienting feeling of being swallowed by the city itself. Unlike the maintained tourist areas, these passageways retain their medieval dimensions—built for people of another time, carrying goods between the harbor and the market square.

What struck me most was the temperature drop—these stone corridors act as natural air conditioning, providing blessed relief from the summer heat. In medieval times, this microclimate would have been crucial for storing perishable trade goods. Today, it offers urban explorers a refreshing respite while photographing the interplay of light and shadow on centuries-old stone.

The true hidden Visby lies beneath your feet. The city boasts over 200 preserved medieval cellars, many interconnected by tunnels that once served as storage spaces, workshops, and possibly escape routes during sieges. Accessing this subterranean world requires local knowledge and sometimes special permission.

Through my connection with the Gotland Museum staff—a relationship cultivated over several coffees and shared interests in medieval urban planning—I gained access to Källargården, a restaurant built around an extensive medieval cellar complex. The owner, Lars, guided me through a heavy wooden door beside the main dining area, down worn limestone steps that disappeared into darkness.

"Watch your head," he warned as we descended. "These spaces weren't built for modern heights."

Armed with my headlamp, I followed him into a vaulted chamber where the temperature dropped noticeably. The ceiling, supported by massive limestone arches, bore the smoke stains of centuries. Lars explained that this particular cellar network once belonged to German merchants from the Hanseatic League who dominated Baltic trade in the 13th and 14th centuries.

"They stored beer, wine, salt, and textiles here," he explained, pointing to different sections. "The constant temperature and humidity were perfect for preservation."

What fascinated me most were the narrow passages connecting separate cellars—some barely wide enough to squeeze through. These weren't on any tourist map, and according to Lars, many property owners aren't even aware of where all the tunnels lead. Urban archaeologists continue to discover new connections between buildings, gradually piecing together the complex underground network that mirrors the city above.

While Visby's nickname "City of Roses" refers to the wild roses that bloom along its limestone walls in summer, there exists what locals call Rosenstigen (The Rose Path)—a winding route through the oldest part of the city that follows the footsteps of medieval residents.

Unlike official tourist paths, Rosenstigen isn't marked on maps. It's a local secret passed between residents, connecting hidden gardens, obscure alleyways, and quiet courtyards. I learned of it from Elsa, a silver-haired woman tending to an explosion of roses climbing the wall of her 15th-century home.

"My family has lived in this house for six generations," she told me, handing me a sprig of wild thyme from her garden. "The path you're walking was used by my ancestors to reach the harbor without being seen by tax collectors."

Following Elsa's directions, I discovered a Visby that exists in parallel to the tourist version. Behind a weathered wooden gate on Norra Kyrkogatan, a narrow dirt path winds between ancient buildings, occasionally opening into private courtyards where residents have maintained medieval herb gardens for centuries.

The most magical section traverses behind the ruins of St. Lars Church, where the path narrows to a sliver between the church wall and a cliff face. Here, wild roses cling to crevices in the limestone, their scent mingling with the salt air from the Baltic beyond the city walls.

Documenting this route required careful navigation and my trusty travel camera, which proved perfect for capturing the play of light through rose-covered archways without drawing attention in these residential spaces. The compact size allowed me to photograph discreetly while respecting the privacy of the homes along the route.

Visby's merchant houses hold perhaps the most intriguing secrets of all. These imposing limestone structures, built by wealthy Hanseatic traders in the 12th to 14th centuries, appear straightforward from the street. Step inside, however, and you'll discover architectural puzzles that have confounded historians for centuries.

Many houses feature hidden rooms, false walls, and concealed staircases—architectural oddities that speak to a time of uncertain alliances and the need to protect valuable trade goods. Through a connection at the Gotland Historical Society, I arranged to tour three privately owned merchant houses not open to the public.

The most fascinating was the Liljehornska House on St. Hansgatan, where current owner Mikael has spent twenty years documenting the building's secrets. What appears to be a solid wall in the main hall slides away to reveal a narrow staircase leading to a hidden observation room overlooking the street.

"Merchants could watch their competitors and customers unseen from here," Mikael explained, demonstrating the ingenious medieval surveillance system. "They would know who was buying what before negotiating their own deals."

In another house near the main square, I discovered a room accessible only through what appears to be a storage cupboard. Inside, the walls were lined with small niches—perfect for hiding valuables during the frequent raids that plagued medieval Visby.

What struck me most was how these architectural features reflect the precarious position of medieval merchants—wealthy enough to build impressive homes, yet constantly vulnerable to shifting political winds and piracy. The hidden spaces weren't just practical; they were essential survival tools in an uncertain world.

Exploring these spaces requires comfortable footwear with good grip. My travel shoes proved ideal for navigating uneven medieval floors and narrow staircases while providing enough support for long days of urban exploration.

While most tourists retreat to their accommodations after dinner, Visby undergoes a transformation as twilight deepens into night. The medieval city, illuminated by strategically placed lights that cast dramatic shadows across ancient stones, reveals yet another layer of secrets.

Night exploration in Visby offers a completely different perspective on the city's architecture and atmosphere. The wall's silhouette against the night sky, the empty alleyways echoing with your footsteps, the ruins dramatically lit from below—all create an immersive experience that daylight cannot match.

My favorite nighttime discovery came on my fourth evening, when I noticed a small group of locals gathering near St. Mary's Cathedral just after 10 PM. Curious, I followed at a distance as they proceeded through a series of increasingly narrow passages, eventually arriving at a courtyard I'd passed several times during daylight hours without noticing anything special.

In the darkness, however, the courtyard came alive. Candles flickered in niches cut into the limestone walls, and a local musician played a nyckelharpa (traditional Swedish key harp) whose haunting melodies seemed to transport us all back centuries. This informal gathering, I learned, happens every Thursday during summer—a tradition maintained by residents who value Visby's medieval heritage beyond its tourist appeal.

"We do this to remember the city's soul," explained Astrid, a local artist who invited me to join their circle. "During the day, Visby belongs to visitors. At night, it returns to those who love it most."

Night photography presents unique challenges, but the dramatic lighting makes for spectacular images. I found setting my camera on a small travel tripod essential for capturing the play of light and shadow without blur. The compact size meant I could easily carry it in my daypack without adding significant weight during long exploration days.