When I first arrived at Bryggen in Bergen, my impression was simple: a picturesque row of colorful wooden houses lining the harbor, the kind of view that perfectly fits a postcard of Norway. Their neat gabled facades, painted in warm reds, ochres, and whites, seemed to be all there was to this UNESCO World Heritage Site, beautiful remnants of the Hanseatic League’s trading past, preserved for modern admiration. I thought Bryggen was merely a charming backdrop for photos, a historic façade telling a simple story of bygone merchant prosperity.

Luckily, my hotel was located just next to Bryggen, which allowed me to explore it at different times of the day. During the daytime, the site is undeniably crowded and touristy, with groups of visitors filling the waterfront to take photos of the iconic colorful buildings. Most tourists stop there, admiring only the façade from the harbor without realizing that behind it lies an entirely different world. Yet if you take the time to slip through one of the narrow alleyways, the atmosphere changes immediately. Behind the lively facade, Bryggen becomes surprisingly quiet and peaceful. The sound of the harbor fades, replaced by the creak of old timber and the soft echo of footsteps on worn wooden planks. The buildings themselves feel alive, walls slightly leaning after centuries of standing, beams darkened by rain and sea air, and roofs sagging gently with age. Some structures tilt toward each other so closely that the alley narrows into a tunnel of wood and shadow. In the early morning or late in the evening after the crowds are gone, this hidden side of Bryggen reveals its true charm. The dim light slips through the gaps between buildings, casting soft patterns on the damp wooden surfaces, and the entire place feels suspended in time.

This layered complexity reflects the very history of the Hanseatic merchants who once lived and worked here. Each wooden building served multiple purposes storehouses on the ground floor, offices and sleeping quarters above connected by covered galleries and narrow staircases. Fire after fire destroyed and rebuilt the site, yet its wooden soul endured, making Bryggen not only a symbol of Bergen’s resilience but also a living reminder of how medieval trading life shaped the city’s urban fabric. The deeper I wandered, the more Bryggen reminded me of my fantasy of Diagon Alley from Harry Potter, a secret wooden labyrinth tucked behind ordinary walls, bustling with small shops, crafts, and workshops. But instead of wand makers and potion stores, there are artisans selling handwoven textiles, jewelry, and local artworks. The feeling, however, is similar: crooked alleys that open unexpectedly into small courtyards, where time seems to fold in on itself.

Leaving Bryggen, I realized how misleading first impressions can be. What I once thought was a simple row of historic houses turned out to be an intricate network of life, trade, and craftsmanship alive even centuries later. Among all the places I visited in Norway, Bryggen was the most surprising one: a place that looked like a postcard but unfolded like a storybook. It is more than just a beautiful façade; it’s a wooden labyrinth of history, imagination, and survival.