We arrived in Visby on the ferry from the mainland, slightly windswept and already hungry after the crossing. The plan had been simple: find Stora Oestergatan, drop our bags, and head straight out for something local to eat. Instead we spent twenty minutes circling the same narrow street because the satnav decided our little lane didn't exist. By the time we found the right door we were both laughing and starving, which seemed fitting for Gotland.

The house itself felt instantly welcoming, tucked among the old stone buildings with a small courtyard at the back. We hadn't brought much food with us, so after unpacking we wandered down to the nearest supermarket to stock up. The shelves were full of things we don't see every day at home, like crispbread in half a dozen flavours and jars of pickled herring that looked far too nice to ignore. We came back with bags that were heavier than planned and set about making our first meal in the little kitchen.

That first attempt was a comedy of errors. I tried to fry some fresh fish we'd bought from a stall near the harbour while my partner chopped potatoes, but the pan was hotter than expected and the smoke alarm went off before anything was properly cooked. We ended up eating slightly charred mackerel with rye bread and a jar of the pickled herring we'd bought on impulse. It wasn't what either of us had pictured, but sitting at the wooden table with the windows open to the evening air, it tasted better than any carefully planned dinner.

The next morning we walked to one of the small markets that pop up near the old town walls. Stalls offered local cheeses, fresh berries, and little pots of honey from nearby farms. We bought far too much, as usual, and carried it all back in paper bags that were already starting to soften. Back at the house we made open sandwiches with the cheese and berries, eating them on the bench in the courtyard while the sun moved across the flagstones.

By the third day we had settled into a rhythm of market visits and simple cooking. One evening we tried making a stew with root vegetables and a piece of lamb we'd found at a butcher's just outside the centre. It took longer than expected and we kept checking the recipe on our phones, but the smell that filled the kitchen made the wait worthwhile. We ate it with thick slices of bread and finished the last of the herring, which had become an unexpected favourite.

Looking back, the mishap with the satnav and the smoky kitchen disaster set the tone for the whole stay. Instead of rushing around trying to tick things off a list, we ended up spending most of our time around food, whether that was choosing what to buy or laughing at our own attempts to cook it. By the end of the week the little kitchen felt like the heart of the trip, and the simple meals we managed there stayed with us longer than any grand plan would have.