Green Woods and Stone Ships: The Second Skåne Pilgrimage

Last month, our little family was lucky enough to travel abroad. It was a bit of an early summer vacation, partially motivated by a much busier late summer schedule, and the desire to visit family. Like two years ago (as published in this piece and that one), we included in this trip a visit to Skåne, the southernmost tip of Sweden.

This year, Anne, my wife’s third-or-so cousin was celebrating her birthday, and as it happened to be a round number, she organized a big party, inviting relatives and friend from all over the country and more, us included. As last time, while I was very much looking forward to meeting with “the cousins” as we affectionately call them, I also very much hope that I would be able to take some time off to disappear into the wild, searching for ancient monuments and sacred places.

When we arrived in Lund, to stay with Anne’s son, daughter-in-law, grandkid, and dog, it was scorching hot, something like 25 degrees Celsius (77 degrees Fahrenheit). By then we had taken a plane, a minibus, a train, all the while warding off hordes of Swifties that had seemingly gathered from all over Scandinavia to see their idol perform in the capital. Basically, we were pretty darn beat.

Still, once we had managed to settle down and put the kids to sleep, I immediately confronted our hosts: did they have a bicycle and a map I could borrow? To my delight, they had, that meant I would be able to do some exploring. One conundrum remained, though: where the Hel should I go?

Call it a first-world problem if you will, but during my preparatory research, I identified more than half a dozen amazing sites, ranging from runestones to Mesolithic grave chambers in the immediate vicinity of Lund. Ideally, I would have wanted to visit them all, but my wife made me known in no uncertain terms that there might be repercussions, were I to abandon her and the kid for more than a few hours. I had to choose something reasonable, so, after much head-scratching and Google-mapping, I finally settled on two sites:

The ancient church of Dalby and the ship setting in Södra Ugglarp.

 

With the route clearly(ish) mapped in my head, I joined the rest of the family for dinner (yummy vegan tacos) before hitting the sack. Waking up at six o’clock, I tiptoed out of the room without waking up my girls, opened my senses in the (cold) shower and immediately headed out of the door. It was not quite seven in the morning when I mounted the ancient beast of a bicycle, aiming plain east, towards the tantalizing antiquities that laid out in the wilds, under the rising sun.

The first living being I met, after leaving town was a hare, running hastily out of the way and into the orchards running along the dirt road. I would have happily continued along that path, but the maps I had brought with me were not clear about how long the road continued, and how I could get into Dalby from there, so I reluctantly turned my bike southwards to reach the main bike path running alongside the highway.

Pretty much immediately after getting there I realized I had made a poor decision. True, the path consisted of well maintained asphalt, with plenty of space but there was also wind. Lots of wind. I know that I am (and wasn’t there and then) not in the best of shape, but c’mon! Every single push of the pedal came at the expense of my precious breath, bone tissue, and the fatigued ligaments of the middle-aged sad sack that I was.

This dismal feeling of physical inadequacy was only reinforced by the metric ton of bicyclists coming from the opposite direction, most likely all climate-conscious office workers in peak physical shape, heading to the big city to make big bucks.

To make matters worse, I had no ways of knowing how slow I actually was. There were no signs indicating how many kilometers there was to Dalby, and the mostly flat landscape gave no cues about where that darned village was. The only thing I could see on the horizon was some sort of big water tower, half hidden by tall trees.

I was not exactly having fun. But again, this was no joy-ride. I was on a pilgrimage, a journey back in time, so what harm could a little, or even a ton of wind do? Still beat the rainy apocalypse I had to go through two years back on my way to Uppåkra, I temporized, grinding my teeth together, putting my foot down my foot excruciatingly slowly, one more time.

This little circus of exquisitely balanced frustration and boredom went on for a while, ’til I managed to get a better view on the water tower I saw a while back. Now, it did not really look like a water tower anymore. It sure was not round, and I could almost bet I spotted some brick-colored tiles on the roof. Then it dawned on me: this was no water tower or anything. This was the Dalby church – I was almost there!

 

Coming closer to the village, I reached the lee of the hill the church was perched atop, so the wind finally managed to leave me alone. I still had to get over that hill, and in the sorry shape I was in, it made for a challenging climb. Still, I soldiered through, and once on the top, I headed towards the trees I spotted from way back, sped past some signposts affixed by the side of some seriously old stone houses, and turned right. Here was the church tower, I was there, finally!

I celebrated by munching on a banana and a peach I grabbed at the cousins’ house and gulping down an unreasonable amount of water. Besides some guy mowing the lawn on the other side of the building, and a cute kitty walking in the herb garden, I was pretty much alone.

Still, why did I want to visit a church, while on a Pagan pilgrimage, some might ask?

 

I could be lyrical and evasive here, knitting some stories about the importance to acknowledge a past we don’t necessarily agree with, or pull some nearly archeological finds out of thin air, but I won’t. I only wanted to visit the church for one single reason: it dates from the Viking Age.

Up until I started researching nearby heritage sites, I had been under the impression that the oldest surviving buildings in Scandinavia were no older than the early 1100s, many decades past the traditionally-understood end point of the Viking Age.

This was one reason why, last year in Vestfold, when I encountered a church erected during that period, I considered myself quite lucky. However, in one of my long research session it came up that the Dalby church was even older than that, and was actually erected in the 1060s by the Danish king Sveyn Forkbeard. This is when I decided I would have to give this one a visit.

 

Besides the novelty of being able to experience a piece of the Viking Age, I also wished to deepen my knowledge of local history. When I last visited Lund and discovered the amazing history of the temple of Uppåkra, I knew I had to gain a better understanding of the local historical context. Visiting a building that might have been erected mere years after the temple disappeared seemed more than fitting.

It was with all of these thoughts swirling in my head that I started investigating the church.

From the outside looking in, the church seemed no different than pretty much all the other rural medieval churches I had seen in the region, with its whitewashed facade and ornate tower. Upon stepping in, however, I had to acknowledge the building’s unique charm: in between antediluvian walls (one of which was an original from the 1000s), a miscellany of artworks, furniture and other ancient bric-à-brac participated in creating a stimulating atmosphere.

 

The most interesting part of the structure, however, was, in my opinion, the 1100s semi-underground crypt, where the characteristic smell of old stones, a smell I will always associate with my childhood, embraced me like a cloud. In the corner of the crypt too, was a rather fascinating device: an old well, apparently used by the first congregants of the church for baptisms. Although it never departed my mind that I was still in a Christian house of worship, the sight of this millennium-old water pit gave me some heavy chthonic vibes, and I could simply not depart my sight from it for quite a while.

What shook me out of this spell was my belly, screaming for food. It had barely gotten anything to eat I woke up hours ago. So I had to depart the venerable old church to get myself something to eat. To my delight, the village’s grocery store had a great selection of import of artisan salami sausages and sugary danishes.

With that out of the way, I stepped on my bike once again, this time aiming to get even further back in time, and dip my toes in the Heathen side of history for my second and last sight of the day, the stone ship of Södra Ugglarp.

 

 

As I leave Dalby behind me, I feel refreshed and chipper. The small country road I soon enter could not be any more different from the highway I had to plod through earlier in the day: there is very little traffic, virtually no wind, and everywhere I look I see nothing but lush green trees.

That latest point surprises me somewhat. Skåne is well known for its flat, agricultural landscape, and, at least according to the Uppåkra museum guide from two years back, the whole region had been essentially cleared out of trees long before the Viking Age. Yet here I met nothing but massive trees, tall enough to nearly hide the sky with their highest branches.

 

A little while after I entered the canopy, the landscape changed yet again. On my left, I started spotting sandy rocks, pilling higher as I biked on. Soon the ground opened, revealing a massive lake, clearly artificial: the sides of the highest cliff looked too straight to have been anything else than a stone quarry. Still, this huge pond and the park it was surrounded by looked just incredibly neat, and I was half-tempted to stop by to cool my feet. Unfortunately for my lower limbs, the call of antiquity was stronger, and I went on, making a mental note to bring my daughter there. She sure would love splashing around there that’s for sure.

A couple kilometers later, the small country road ends, merging into a huge highway which I have to careful ford to continue my journey. My map indicates that just a few minutes south from here lays the village of Björnstorp, a stone’s throw from Södra Ugglarp. I head over there, enjoying the first downhill of the day, and in two minutes, I reach the village.

 

This is where problems began.

Where is the stone ship? In my mind, I recalled it was almost immediately south of the village, but my maps were too general to show it, or even just an outline of the village to begin with. No biggie, I thought. I will just ask around, do it the old-fashioned way. As it turns out, doing it the old-fashioned way is a bit challenging where there is literally no one to ask.

In my mind, I had pictured Björnstorp as being more or less the same size as Dalby, maybe a tad smaller. Turns out I was wrong. The village, a hamlet, rather, consists only of a single narrow street, flanked by beautiful, yet frustratingly empty-looking houses. No one is out sunning themselves, cutting the grass, or fixing their roof. I try to look for signs of economic or public activity, in vain.

A large brick building that looks like a school is closed. Not even a sign outside to tell me what it is. A car mechanic has his shop nearby, though, but the notice he did put tells me he won’t be around for at least a few hours. At the very end of the village, I spot a sign directing towards an art gallery… which won’t be open until the next day. I guess I am down on my luck. Downcast, I head back up the road, trying to see whether I did not miss anything, when I hear some sort of machinery noise. Across the street I see a guy power washing his car. I approach him, waving and trying to look as normal as a foreigner on a Pagan bicycling pilgrimage can. He does look a bit surprised at first, but quickly show me the way. I thank him profusely before continuing, eager to satisfy my itch.

Two minutes later, I pass by a lordly estate advertising itself as “Norra Ugglarp.” I must be close, I think. Before long, I finally see the sign I was seeking out for so long: the black looped square over a white and blue background, the Nordic sign indicating cultural heritage.

Exhausted, sweaty, and painfully hungry, I take myself back into the gravel road of what must be Sōdra Ugglarp. On the horizon a long earthen-colored brick building stands against the deep blue sky, like a wall. In front of it, I notice a concrete-pit filled with horse manure. Closest to me, nearly as long as the barn, lies the stone ship, shaped by dozens of massive standing stones, like teeth of a giant rising from the green earth.

 

Although this was the third time I get to gaze upon a ship setting, I remained as jittery as the first time. There is something about these monuments that fascinates, literally enchant me. Besides the fact that they are very old and look cool, still, there is much about them that is worthy of interest, if not intellectual and even spiritual investigation.

Beginning in the Bronze Age, the practice of erecting stone ships became ubiquitous in the Scandinavia-Baltic region. The concentration of these ships is especially high in Denmark and southern Sweden. This is there, too, that the largest types of these structures, two dozens or so ships ranging from 40 to over 300 meters (130 to 1000 feet) can exclusively be found.

The fact some of these stone ships, most of which were raised between 500 BCE and the end of the Viking Age are still standing is a testament to their almost supernatural appeal. Although many are known to have been destroyed, their stones used as building material, over 2000 of these are known to have survived to the present day.

 

The allure of those stones is further enhanced by their nebulous origins and functions. While a number of them are located near older, typically Bronze Age, burial mounds, and human remnants have been found on a number of sites, too few (about 100, about 5%) have ever been subjected to archeological study.

While some scholars posit that those were indeed tombs, similar to the better-known Viking wooden boat graves, others have advanced that they might have been used for political purposes, as assembly sites for instance, or that they were sites of religious rituals. For the time being, we cannot be sure of anything, and as with Södra Ugglarp as most other ships, we are left today with nothing by a feeling of awe and a really impressive piece of landscape architecture.

As I was considering few of these things, all the while taking pictures of the ship, some guy, probably the owner of the farm, walks outside the building, takes a look at me and starts walking my way.

“Talar du svenska [‘do you speak Swedish?’]” he shouts, from the distance.

“Joda, litt, mest norska faktisk. [‘Yeah, a bit, mostly Norwegian actually.’]” I answer, to which he responds (originally in Swedish):

“The spot you are standing on right now is the exact spot Carl von Linné [source 666] the famous naturalist, stood upon when he visited the farm in 1749. He was a very keen observer, and he noted down everything he saw. Now that you are there you can say that you are on a real classic place.”

Following the completion of his grand speech, he turned back on his heels, probably heading back shovel some more equine feces or something.

From what I could tell, he was pretty darn proud to have such a massive stone ship in his backyard, a site so impressive that it even attracts world-renowned naturalists and obscure Pagan journalists alike.

 

After a few minutes spending taking pictures, walking around, feeling the coarse stone surface under my fingers, I perform the one ritual which has become a bit of a tradition whenever I get to a place of spiritual significance: I gather a couple flowers and a few blades of grass and put them in my book. Once this is done, I am back on my bike, ready to get back to Lund.

I could, if I felt like it, go on for a couple more paragraphs, describing the process of biking back home to my wife and kid, but let’s face it, this article is already long enough as it is. Suffice to say that the way back to Lund was mostly a breeze compared to earlier in the day, and that I completely randomly discovered a self-service ceramic shop in the middle of Björnstop, Fucked Ceramics which was as fascinating as it was odd. There I bought some souvenirs for my wife and kid and from there went back to Lund, the wind gently accompanying me this time instead of beating me to a pulp.

This had been a fantastic little trip of just about 33 kilometers (20 miles), and a pilgrimage I will remember for years to come, and yet, even as I parked my bike back in cousin’s house in Lund, I could only think of one thing: when can I come back here, and where could I journey next? Hopefully I, and you too, will find out next summer.

Resources:

Here are some webpages that I have used to find out heritage spots in Sweden:

• Thicketquest (English language site entirely about Skåne, great pics)
• The Swedish Guidebook (English language site giving precise info about important sights in each and every Swedish municipalities)
• Megalithic (An old-school looking English-language site about prehistoric sites from all over world, comes with many pics and detailed maps)
• Swedish Wikipedia (Swedish-language wikipedia list of prehistoric sites in Skåne)

Here are two articles about Stone ships:

• The Ship Graves on Kormt – and Beyond A Chapter of Rulership in 1st to 14th century Scandinavia by Jan Bill which touches on (among other things), stone ships.
• Monumentale skibssætninger i Danmark og Skåne A (Danish-language) article by Felx Vvestergaard on monumental stone ships of the like of Södra Ugglarp.

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