Swedish Wanderlust

In the cobbled heart of Visby stands Helgeandshuset, or what’s left of it- the Holy Spirit Hospital. It was built in the 13th century, which is to say, back when medicine involved a lot more prayer and a lot less penicillin.

I haven’t been yet (August can’t come soon enough), but I already know this will be one of those sites that makes me pause. Imagine it: a patient groaning in a stone ward while a monk debates whether to bleed him with a leech or prescribe powdered deer antler. A nun softly chanting as she boils herbs in a pot that also cooked the soup. A place where if you made it out alive, it was likely divine intervention.

Hospitals like Helgeandshuset were run by religious orders, and while their hearts were probably in the right place, their tools certainly weren’t. Bone saws. Hot irons. Pigeon droppings. No anesthesia. And if the herbs didn’t work? Well, there were always last rites. It’s giving… medieval ER but without Clooney.

And yet—there’s something deeply human here. The effort. The ritual. The idea that even in an age of plagues and bad plumbing, people still tried to take care of each other.

🇸🇪 Swedish Word of the Day

Sjukhus (shoo-khoos) – Hospital

Used in a sentence:

“Om jag levde i medeltiden, skulle jag hellre ta mina chanser med örter än sjukhuset.”

“If I lived in the Middle Ages, I’d take my chances with herbs over the hospital.”

Why I’m excited:

I know I’ll walk slower here. There’s something sacred about ruins where healing once happened, no matter how primitive. It’s easy to laugh at medieval remedies (and I do), but there’s also something moving about people trying *really trying* to care for one another in the best way they knew how. To stand in the same spot where a monk held a trembling hand. To soak in the eerie peace of a place that once held pain, hope, and maybe even a miracle or two. And when I post the photo, you better believe I’ll caption it: “Checked in at Helgeandshuset. Two stars. No morphine.”

This August, I’ll stand where that happened. And maybe whisper a “thank you” to the ghosts of the herbalists, monks, and very brave patients who came before us.