Brussels History. From Medieval Guilds to a Multicultural Capital of Europe

Today’s post is dedicated to a city that I hold in great affection and have had the chance to visit many times. Most often my trips there were work-related, but because they required more than just flying in for a day and heading straight back – sometimes a week, and once even two – I had the opportunity to get to know the city more closely. Until now I have written several posts about specific buildings there, but I have never devoted one to the city itself and its history. Today feels like the right occasion to do so – to rediscover Brussels, the capital city of Belgium and the European Union.

In the 10th century, Charles, Duke of Lower Lorraine, built a fort on Saint-Géry Island where the Senne river was navigable, laying the foundation for Brussels. A turning point came in the late Middle Ages when in the 14th century Philip the Bold, Duke of Burgundy and youngest son of the French king John II, married Margaret III of Flanders, heiress to vast lands in the Low Countries. Under Philip’s successors, especially Philip the Good, these lands expanded further. By the end of the 15th century, Brussels had become the de facto capital of the Burgundian Netherlands, serving as a residence of the ducal court and a center of administration.

The strategic location of Brussels played a decisive role in shaping its prosperity. Situated on the Senne river, the city became a natural hub for the trade of goods between the wealthy Flemish cities such as Bruges and Ghent, the Rhineland, and regions further afield. Markets flourished, drawing merchants from across Europe who came to exchange products.

Brussels, like many cities in Flanders and Brabant, specialised in the production and trade of textiles, particularly woolen cloth. This industry was not only the backbone of the local economy but also a cornerstone of the medieval European economy. The city’s craftsmen earned a reputation for producing high-quality textiles, which were exported far beyond the Low Countries.

The growth of trade and manufacturing was further stimulated by the presence of the Burgundian and later Habsburg courts. Their demand for luxury goods and fine craftsmanship encouraged the development of diverse industries and services. Brussels also hosted trade fairs, which facilitated the exchange of goods and ideas, linking the city more closely to the wider European economy.

The city’s prosperity relied not only on trade and craftsmanship but also on an organised system of revenue that allowed it to fund infrastructure, fairs, and, eventually, the splendid projects that symbolised its power. Taxes on commerce, levies on goods entering the city, and contributions from wealthy citizens all strengthened the urban treasury.

Within this financial system, the guilds played a decisive role. Organised around specific crafts and trades, they regulated production, ensured the quality of goods, and trained apprentices. But their influence went far beyond economics. Guilds wielded considerable political power, often participating directly in the governance of the city and holding seats in municipal councils.

Some guilds rose to particular prominence. The brewers, whose industry was among the most profitable in Brussels, accumulated vast wealth and influence. The butchers, by maintaining a monopoly on the supply of meat, secured steady income and leverage in urban politics. The cloth weavers and drapers, tied to the textile trade that formed the backbone of the city’s exports, also ranked among the wealthiest and most respected corporations. Even the boatmen, controlling river transport along the Senne, held strategic importance for the flow of goods.

Daily life in medieval Brussels looked rather different for the majority of its inhabitants than for the wealthy guild masters. The narrow streets were crowded and noisy. Artisans worked in open workshops, market traders haggled at stalls, and carts full of goods rolled across the bridges over the Senne. Poorer townsfolk and domestic servants often lived in modest timber houses, vulnerable to fire and disease. Periodic outbreaks of plague, typhus and dysentery swept through the crowded quarters, with the Black Death of the mid-14th century leaving a particularly deep mark on Brussels.

The city’s wealth allowed it to raise splendid and ornate buildings – and its pride was the central square with its magnificent Town Hall, which – despite the turbulence of wars – has survived in an almost unchanged form to this day.

When the last Burgundian duke, Charles the Bold, died in 1477, the Burgundian Netherlands passed to the Habsburg dynasty through the marriage of his daughter, Mary of Burgundy, to Maximilian I of Austria. Under Maximilian I and later Charles V, who was born and raised in the Low Countries, Brussels reached a new peak of prestige. Charles V ruled over a vast empire stretching across Europe and the Americas, and Brussels served as one of his principal residences. The presence of the imperial court attracted nobles, diplomats, merchants, and artists from all over Europe, reinforcing the city’s cosmopolitan character.

The dukes of Burgundy and later the Habsburg sovereigns sought to centralise power and reduce the autonomy of guilds and urban institutions. On the other hand, the guilds resisted any attempt to curtail their privileges. Disputes often arose over taxation or the right to influence city councils. But, both sides recognised their mutual dependence. The rulers needed the wealth of Brussels to sustain their courts and military campaigns, while the guilds relied on princely protection to safeguard trade routes and markets. Still, growing tensions between local privileges and dynastic authority became a defining feature of the period.

Brussels was also a city of languages and culture. In daily life most people spoke Brabantine Dutch. French became increasingly dominant at court and among the nobility. Latin remained the language of administration and scholarship. Merchants from England, Spain, Italy and the German lands added to the city’s cosmopolitan air. Over time, this linguistic divide took on a social meaning. Dutch remained the language of craftsmen and commoners. French became ever more associated with prestige, authority and aristocratic culture.

After Charles V’s abdication (1555–56), the Habsburg realms were divided. The Low Countries passed to Philip II of Spain. Philip pursued a policy of religious uniformity and harsh repression of Protestantism, combined with centralization of power and heavy taxation. In Brussels, as in many Netherlandish cities, Lutheran and later Calvinist communities had begun to take root. In 1566 the wave of riots known as the Beeldenstorm reached the city’s churches. Philip responded by sending troops and by strengthening the Inquisition, which prosecuted heresy with ruthless severity. These measures fueled growing resentment against Spanish rule and erupted into the Eighty Years’ War (1568–1648). Over the following decades, the northern provinces broke away, forming the Union of Utrecht (1579) and laying the foundation of the Dutch Republic.

The southern provinces, however, failed to break away from Spanish control. Strong military garrisons, the success of the Counter-Reformation, and the reluctance of many Catholic elites to join the rebellion kept the south under Habsburg authority. It was this division that gave rise to the Spanish Netherlands, with Brussels as their capital. Brussels remained the administrative and ceremonial heart of the southern provinces. The presence of the governor-general, representing the Spanish Crown, ensured that the city retained prestige, even as its international economic role diminished.

As the capital of the Spanish Netherlands, Brussels retained its importance as a political and administrative centre, but its economic fortunes shifted during the seventeenth century. The long conflict of the Eighty Years’ War had disrupted trade routes and drained resources, weakening the city’s role in international commerce. Brussels was increasingly oriented towards serving the needs of the Spanish court and administration.

Despite these challenges, the city’s economy did not collapse. Luxury industries, such as tapestry weaving, flourished under royal patronage and commissions from European nobility. Brussels’ workshops became famous across the continent for their elaborate wall hangings, which decorated palaces from Madrid to Vienna. The city also continued to profit from regional markets. Agriculture from Brabant and surrounding areas supplied foodstuffs, while traditional crafts like brewing and cloth production remained staples of urban life.

Still, the scale of commerce could no longer rival the dynamism of the Dutch Republic to the north. Brussels’ economic trajectory under Spanish rule thus reflected a shift: from a thriving hub of European trade to a court-driven economy, sustained by the presence of rulers, nobles, and their demand for luxury goods and services.

The seventeenth century was marked by almost constant warfare between the Spanish Habsburgs and France, whose kings sought to expand their influence into the Low Countries. Brussels became a strategic target. The most dramatic moment came in 1695, during the Nine Years’ War (1688–1697). French troops under King Louis XIV launched an attack on Brussels, bombarding the city with heavy artillery. The Grand Place, the pride of the city and the seat of its guilds, was almost entirely destroyed.

The financial strength of Brussels was still so great that the Grand Place was rebuilt in barely five years. The city’s guilds and wealthy citizens financed the reconstruction, each contributing to the splendid facades that today surround the square. The result was not only a rapid recovery from disaster, but also a unique ensemble of late baroque architecture that remains one of Europe’s most celebrated urban landmarks.

In 1701–1714, the War of the Spanish Succession broke out after the death of the last Spanish Habsburg, Charles II, who left no heir. The conflict drew in all of Europe and turned the Low Countries into one of its main theatres. Brussels once again became a contested city. The war ended with the Treaty of Utrecht (1713) and the Spanish Netherlands were transferred to the Austrian Habsburgs. Under Austrian rule in the eighteenth century, Brussels enjoyed relative stability and prosperity. The governors-general, often members of the imperial family, resided in the city. Although Vienna controlled foreign policy and military affairs, the Southern Netherlands retained a degree of autonomy in local governance.

A change came as Emperor Joseph II (1765–1790) tried to modernise administration, limit the power of the Church, and standardise governance across his empire. In the Austrian Netherlands, these reforms clashed with local traditions, privileges, and the autonomy jealously guarded by the provinces. In 1789, resentment boiled over into the Brabant Revolution. Rebels, inspired in part by Enlightenment ideas briefly drove Austrian forces from Brussels and declared the United Belgian States. After a couple of months Austrian troops had already restored control, but shortly after in the 1790s, revolutionary France expanded its wars into the Low Countries.

After the Battle of Fleurus (1794), the Austrian Netherlands, including Brussels, were annexed by France. It was the time of the French Revolution. Brussels became part of the new French administrative system, governed as the chief city of the Département de la Dyle. French rule brought deep changes. Church property was confiscated, monasteries were dissolved, and the traditional privileges of guilds and corporations were abolished. French law, including the Napoleonic Code, replaced local statutes. After Napoleon’s defeat at Waterloo (1815), just outside Brussels, the Congress of Vienna created the United Kingdom of the Netherlands under King William I of Orange.

The idea was to unite the northern and southern provinces into a single strong state that could act as a buffer against future French expansion. Brussels became one of the political centres of this new kingdom, alternating with The Hague as a seat of government. Economically, the south (with its industry and wealth) and the north (with its navy and trade) were meant to complement each other. Yet tensions quickly surfaced. Differences in language, religion, and political outlook created growing resentment among the southern provinces. In August 1830, unrest broke out in Brussels, and quickly escalated into a full-scale uprising known as the Belgian Revolution. Brussels was at the heart of the rebellion. After fierce street fighting, Dutch troops withdrew from the city. On 4 October 1830, independence was formally declared. A constitutional monarchy was established, and in 1831 Leopold I was crowned the first King of the Belgians. From that moment on, Brussels became the capital of the independent Kingdom of Belgium, a role it has held ever since.

Under the United Kingdom of the Netherlands (1815–1830), Brussels benefited from investment in trade, infrastructure and industry. The southern provinces were more heavily industrialised than the north, with textiles, mining and metallurgy driving economic growth. Brussels, though not a manufacturing hub itself, thrived as an administrative, financial and cultural centre, drawing strength from its central location. After 1830, independence gave the city a decisive boost. As the capital of the new Belgian state, Brussels became the seat of government, finance and national institutions. The city quickly developed banks, a stock exchange and service industries, consolidating its role as a financial hub.

While Leopold I consolidated the new Belgian state after independence, ensuring its neutrality and stability, his son Leopold II pursued far greater – and far more controversial – ambitions. Frustrated that Belgium itself lacked overseas possessions, he set out to acquire one personally. Through diplomatic manoeuvres, international conferences and the explorations of Henry Morton Stanley, Leopold secured recognition at the Berlin Conference of 1884–85 for his private rule over the Congo Free State (Africa).

Officially presented as a humanitarian and scientific mission, Congo quickly became the foundation of Leopold’s personal fortune, built on the ruthless extraction of rubber, ivory and other resources. With these revenues, he launched an ambitious programme of urban transformation in Brussels. Monumental projects such as the expansion of the Royal Palace, the triumphal arch and park at Cinquantenaire, the creation of the Mont des Arts as a cultural quarter, and the opening of broad new boulevards were all financed by colonial wealth. In this way, the splendour of modern Brussels was inextricably tied to the exploitation of Africa. Profits from the Congo Free State financed monumental building schemes, but in Africa they were extracted through forced labour, violence and exploitation of the local population.

The brutality of Leopold II’s regime provoked growing international outrage, and under pressure the king was forced in 1908 to transfer the territory to the Belgian state. In Brussels, however, colonial power long remained a source of pride, celebrated in museums, exhibitions and monuments. Only in recent decades has the city begun to confront this legacy more critically, acknowledging the suffering that lay behind its golden façades.

At the same time, Brussels became one of the birthplaces of Art Nouveau, a style that transformed the appearance of domestic architecture. Victor Horta, together with architects such as Paul Hankar, designed houses whose flowing lines, floral motifs and ingenious use of light defined an entirely new aesthetic. Many of these masterpieces still stand in Schaerbeek, Ixelles and Saint-Gilles, where elegant façades, stained-glass windows and wrought-iron balconies turn ordinary streets into open-air galleries.

After the death of Leopold II in 1909, Brussels entered a new and turbulent century. Under King Albert I, the city faced the First World War. German troops occupied Brussels (1914–1918), turning the capital into the administrative center of their military regime in Belgium. Daily life was marked by shortages, censorship, and repression, yet the city also became a symbol of quiet resilience. In the interwar years, Brussels recovered, hosting international exhibitions and affirming its cultural prestige. War returned in 1940. Under King Leopold III, the city again fell to German occupation. This period brought hardship and controversy, with the king’s decision to surrender casting a long shadow over post-war politics.

In the decades after the wars, Brussels underwent rapid transformation. The 1950s and 1960s saw a wave of redevelopment known as bruxellisation, when historic houses and entire neighbourhoods were demolished to make way for office blocks, motorways and modern housing estates. While this symbolised ambition and modernity, it also provoked dismay at the loss of heritage. At the same time the city became ever more multilingual and multicultural. Alongside the traditional Dutch-French divide, communities of Italian and Spanish workers arrived, soon followed by migrants from Morocco and Turkey. These new inhabitants contributed greatly to the post-war prosperity of Brussels, shaping the diverse identity of the modern metropolis.

The post-war decades transformed Brussels into the administrative capital of Europe. With the creation of the European Economic Community in 1957, the city was chosen as its provisional seat – a decision that gradually became permanent. Around Place Schuman and Rue de la Loi, the first offices of the new European institutions established a centre of political gravity that would redefine Brussels. From the 1960s onwards, the growing Communities required ever larger headquarters. Their financing came directly from the shared budgets of member states. The construction and expansion of Brussels as a European capital was effectively funded by taxpayers across the continent. This steady flow of European money attracted thousands of civil servants, diplomats, lobbyists, and journalists. Over time, the European quarter became an engine of employment and investment, giving Brussels a new role beyond its national borders. By the late twentieth century, the city had evolved from the capital of Belgium into the political and administrative heart of the European Union.

Today, Brussels is considered one of the most multicultural cities in Europe. First, because of the waves of post-war migration from other continents. Second, because of the presence of countless officials, diplomats and civil servants who have settled here from all across Europe.

Today, Brussels also dazzles architecturally, offering a panorama of styles that reflect its long and complex history. The Grand Place remains one of Europe’s most admired squares, while the Basilica of Koekelberg, a monumental creation in Art Deco style, stands as a twentieth-century landmark. Beyond these, the city reveals its charm in elegant streets, grand boulevards, and carefully planned axes. Outside the dense historic core and the modern European quarter, Brussels continues to surprise visitors with its variety of neighborhoods, where medieval traces, nineteenth-century façades, and modernist experiments coexist in a uniquely layered urban landscape.

Brussels History. From Medieval Guilds to a Multicultural Capital of Europe

Hagia Sophia History. From Byzantine Glory to Modern Day

Today I want to introduce you to one of the most monumental buildings of Ancient Europe – the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul. I had always thought of stepping inside and seeing it with my own eyes. When I finally managed to do so last year, I can’t say I was either surprised or disappointed, as I was already well-acquainted with the history of this temple. Yet, with the splendour of other sacred buildings – Catholic, Orthodox, Anglican – that I have had the chance to admire in recent years, and with the Blue Mosque standing right next to the Hagia Sophia, I couldn’t help but feel a certain disappointment at the way its interior looks today.

Let us then look into its history. Let us try to answer the question of what made this temple – the most illustrious and most exquisitely decorated Christian building of its time – although still standing in an almost intact mass, no longer inspire awe with its interior décor as it once did. Let us trace the events that, over the centuries, have shaped its present appearance.

The Hagia Sophia, meaning Holy Wisdom, is actually the third temple to stand on this site. The first Basilica of Holy Wisdom in Constantinople was built by Emperor Constantius II in AD 360 – a church of the Eastern (Byzantine) rite, still within the single, undivided universal Church, though with liturgy in Greek and traditions distinct from those in the West. It was destroyed by fire in AD 404 during riots sparked by the exile of Patriarch John Chrysostom. The second church, larger and more magnificent, was built by Emperor Theodosius II in AD 415 – also in the Eastern rite, still formally united with the Western Church, yet with growing liturgical and theological differences. This one too was destroyed – in AD 532, during the Nika Revolt that shook the city. The third and most famous Hagia Sophia, whose essential form has survived to this day, was built by Emperor Justinian I. Completed in AD 537, it served as the cathedral of the Eastern rite and the principal church of the Patriarchate of Constantinople. It was a true masterpiece of Late Antique architecture – designed by Anthemius of Tralles and Isidore of Miletus, with a monumental dome, gilded mosaics, and marble cladding.

Very little written evidence has survived describing what the Hagia Sophia once looked like. Our modern vision is based on fragments of sources from the 6th to the 12th century, chiefly the works of Procopius of Caesarea, Paulus Silentiarius, and Bishop Anthony of Novgorod. Upon crossing the threshold of the Hagia Sophia, one would enter a space that seemed not of this world. The dome appeared to float in the air, suspended by an invisible chain of light, whose glow reflected off thousands of golden tesserae. Rays streaming through rows of windows spilled into the interior, mingling with the glow of lamps and candles. The walls and floors were clad in marbles of green, purple, white, and black, brought from the farthest provinces of the empire – from Thessaly, Egypt, and Phrygia. The great altar gleamed with gold, silver, and precious stones. Above it rose a ciborium, supported by columns of green stone adorned with gilded capitals. In the apse, high above the altar, shone a mosaic of the Mother of God with the Child, and below it rows of angels and saints. Along the naves and galleries stretched richly decorated balustrades, and everywhere the eye turned, the golden backgrounds of mosaics shimmered.

Though it has withstood the centuries, the Hagia Sophia suffered serious damage from earthquakes on several occasions – notably in AD 558, 989, and 1346, when parts of its dome collapsed and had to be rebuilt. Yet the greatest blow came not from nature but from human hands – during the Fourth Crusade in AD 1204, and, importantly, at the hands of Christians who were meant to defend the faith, yet ended up plundering the most illustrious Christian building of the age. It should be remembered, however, that since the Great Schism of AD 1054, the temple had represented the Eastern rite, and was thus an Orthodox cathedral, not a Latin (Western Church) one.

At that time, the Angelos dynasty ruled Byzantium. In AD 1195, Emperor Isaac II Angelos was deposed and blinded by his own brother, Alexios III, who seized the throne. Isaac’s son, Alexios IV, fled to the West in search of help. In AD 1202, he reached the Crusaders, who were preparing an expedition to Egypt but lacked the funds to pay for the Venetian fleet. Alexios IV offered them an extraordinary bargain: if they helped him reclaim the throne, he would pay them a vast sum, provide supplies, and promised to unite the Eastern Church with Rome.

The Crusaders, financially bound by their contract with the Venetians, agreed. In AD 1203, they captured Constantinople and placed Isaac II and Alexios IV on the throne. The promised funds, however, proved impossible to raise without plunder and drastic taxation. In January AD 1204, a revolt broke out in the city. Alexios IV was overthrown and killed, and power passed to Alexios V Mourtzouphlos. In April AD 1204, the Crusaders attacked and seized the city once again – this time for themselves.

During the three-day sack, palaces, monasteries, and churches – including the Hagia Sophia – were plundered. Altars of marble and gold were dismantled, mosaics were smashed or prised apart for their golden tiles, and the church’s interior became a scene of profanation – chroniclers speak of horses being led inside and of feasts held in the sanctuary.

Among the priceless relics and treasures looted in AD 1204 was the Crown of Thorns, formerly kept in the imperial chapel of St Mary of the Pharos within the Great Palace. It fell into the hands of the Venetians, probably as part of the Crusaders’ debt repayment to the Republic. It was later purchased by King Louis IX of France, who brought it to Paris. To house it, the Sainte-Chapelle – a masterpiece of Rayonnant Gothic – was built between AD 1242 and 1248. The relic later passed to Notre-Dame Cathedral.

After the capture of Constantinople in AD 1204, the participants of the Fourth Crusade established the Latin Empire on its ruins, which lasted until AD 1261. Count Baldwin IX of Flanders was placed on the imperial throne and crowned in the Hagia Sophia. The church, until then the cathedral of the Patriarchate of Constantinople in the Eastern rite, was turned into a Latin cathedral, with the liturgy conducted in Latin according to the Western rite. The Orthodox patriarch was exiled and replaced by a Latin patriarch. The Latin Empire controlled only part of the former Byzantine territory, its power relying largely on Venetian support. Economically and militarily, the state was weak.

In AD 1261, the Byzantines of the Palaiologos dynasty recaptured the city, restoring the Eastern rite. Yet the empire they recovered was far smaller than in its glory days, holding mainly Constantinople, the Sea of Marmara region, parts of Thrace, and fragments of Greece. Economically devastated after the Latin occupation, its trade largely taken over by Venetians and Genoese, the empire was too poor and too weak to fully restore the Hagia Sophia. The church was repaired only provisionally, and the lost decorations and relics were never returned.

Politically, Byzantium was forced to navigate between stronger neighbours – the Latin states, Serbia, Bulgaria, and later the rising power of the Ottoman Empire. A weak economy made it impossible to maintain a large army, so the state relied mainly on alliances and mercenary troops for its defence. From the late 14th century, the Ottomans gradually seized Byzantine lands, so that by 1450 the empire had been reduced to Constantinople and a handful of nearby settlements. The city was by then sparsely populated – around 50,000-60,000 inhabitants, compared with several hundred thousand at its height in the 11th century. The Ottomans, under Sultan Mehmed II, prepared a major campaign, employing modern siege artillery, including massive bombards. The siege lasted from April until 29 May 1453, when the Turks breached the walls and entered the city.

After the capture of Constantinople in May 1453, Sultan Mehmed II almost immediately converted the Hagia Sophia into a mosque. The process began within the very first days after the city’s fall. First, the interior was cleansed, all remnants of Christian liturgy were removed, and elements essential for Muslim prayer were introduced. In the apse, a mihrab – a niche indicating the direction of Mecca – was installed, a minbar (pulpit for sermons) was added, and carpets were spread across the floor. The altar, reliquaries, and other liturgical furnishings were taken away. As a result, within just a few days of Constantinople’s capture, the Hagia Sophia was already functioning as a mosque, although the full adaptation of its architecture and aesthetics to the Islamic tradition would continue for decades.

In the first stage, the Christian mosaics and decorations were covered with cloths or a thin layer of plaster wherever required for Islamic prayer. In the 15th century, the Ottomans did not typically engage in the systematic destruction of such imagery – on the contrary, in the case of a monument as valuable and monumental as the Hagia Sophia, they favoured reversible methods, avoiding permanent interference with the decorative structure. The thin plaster was applied without deep bonding to the mosaics, making later uncovering easier. As a result, a significant portion of the mosaics survived the first decades of Ottoman rule in relatively good condition. Their complete covering or partial removal occurred only in the following centuries, usually due to renovations, moisture damage, or alterations. However, elements of gold and silver with intrinsic material value were melted down and reused for other purposes.

After the conversion of the Hagia Sophia into a mosque in 1453, work began on adding minarets, which would become a defining feature of its silhouette. The first minaret was built on the orders of Mehmed II soon after the city’s conquest, probably in brick or stone, positioned at one of the building’s corners. Its form was relatively slender and simple, in keeping with the Ottoman architecture of the time. In the 16th century, under Sultan Selim II and his successor Murad III, the renowned architect Mimar Sinan rebuilt the earlier minaret and added others, constructing them from white stone and giving them a more massive, harmonious appearance. Ultimately, the Hagia Sophia acquired four minarets – each slightly different, as they were built in different periods: the two south-western ones are larger and more solid, while the north-eastern and south-eastern are more slender. The minarets not only served a religious function (the call to prayer) but also became a visual symbol of the Islamisation of the former cathedral.

After the First World War, the Ottoman Empire, allied with Germany, was defeated. It was divided among the victorious powers, and Istanbul was occupied by British, French, and Italian forces. In Anatolia, the Turkish War of Independence (1919–1923) broke out under the leadership of Mustafa Kemal Pasha, later known as Atatürk. It ended with the Treaty of Lausanne (1923), which recognised the sovereign Turkish state. In the same year, the sultanate was abolished, and the capital was moved from Constantinople (Istanbul) to Ankara.

The Hagia Sophia continued to function as a mosque until 1931, when it was closed to worshippers by decision of the Republican authorities. In 1935, as part of Atatürk’s secular reforms, it was converted into a museum. This opened the way for the first systematic conservation work, including the uncovering of mosaics that had been hidden since the Ottoman era.

In 2020, the Hagia Sophia was once again converted into a mosque, resulting in changes to both access and interior display. The ground floor – the main prayer space – is now reserved for Muslim worshippers (primarily men), while tourists may access only the upper galleries. The mosaics on the ground floor uncovered during conservation work have not been destroyed or plastered over, but are covered with cloths and curtains. Some of these coverings remain in place even outside prayer times. By contrast, the mosaics uncovered in the upper galleries – being outside the prayer area – remain accessible and visible to visitors.

Although I was equipped with a fairly good camera, I was nevertheless unable to fully capture what was happening on the lower level of the church. The angles from which photographs can be taken from the galleries did not allow for a precise view of that part, so from my own observation I cannot confirm exactly what the situation is in the lower section of the interior. My camera has good zoom, but in darker spaces exposure time has its limits if you don’t have a tripod.

As for the upper section in the galleries, as far as I can recall, only two or three uncovered mosaics were visible. One was in relatively good condition, the other was damaged by about half – just as shown in the photographs attached. There is also a mosaic in the entrance area, outside the prayer zone, which currently has no unrestricted access, so it is likely viewed only by tourists – and it is this very mosaic that depicts the scene in which Emperor Constantine the Great offers the city, and Emperor Justinian I offers the Hagia Sophia, to the Blessed Virgin Mary and Christ. A photograph of this mosaic is also included in this material.

In the upper section, almost everywhere one can see plastered surfaces that have not been renovated for years. Much of this plaster is cracked, with peeling paint, as is clearly visible in the photographs. Conservation work, however, can be seen being carried out on the exterior of the church.

The Hagia Sophia is a living testament to centuries of faith, power, and change. Its walls still echo with the grandeur of its past, even as time and transformation have altered its form. Whatever its role, it remains one of the world’s most remarkable monuments.

Hagia Sophia History. From Byzantine Glory to Modern Day

The Historic Town of Riga

Today, I want to write about a city that left a lasting impression on me. I visited it twice, each time under completely different circumstances – and maybe that’s exactly why it stayed with me so strongly. I had the chance to walk around with my camera at various times of day – and even at night – over the course of several days. Most of my walks took place within a space of less than one kilometer in length and about 700 meters in width, covering the historic city center. Once or twice, I wandered a bit further in different directions to explore other corners. For work-related reasons, I also visited other districts, but I’ll leave those aside for now. What really mattered was that during one of my visits – actually while on a business trip – our organizers booked a hotel whose back entrance opened directly onto the Old Town. Just a few minutes outside and you could already feel the atmosphere of the place.

The city I’m writing about is Riga – the capital of Latvia, one of the Baltic States located in Northern Europe. The history and identity of this place turn out to be far more complex than they might seem at first glance, even though it lies over 2,000 kilometers away from the most popular destinations in Europe.

Riga was founded as a small settlement in the late 12th century by German merchants, and officially established as a city in 1201 by Bishop Albert of Buxhövden, who came to the region from northern Germany (specifically, Lübeck). Albert initiated the city’s development under German town law and laid the foundations for its urban structure.

In its early days, Riga had a commercial and missionary character.

Its location on the Daugava River, with direct access to the Baltic Sea, opened trade routes deep into the continent. At the level of the Old Town, the Daugava is about 500 meters wide and lies roughly 14 kilometers from the Baltic coast. Thanks to this, Riga quickly became one of the key ports on the Baltic. By the 13th and 14th centuries, it had joined the Hanseatic League – a network of trading cities that shaped the economic landscape of Northern Europe for several centuries. A typical medieval Hanseatic city structure emerged, with German elites, fortified walls, and a guild-based order.

The founding of Riga was closely tied to the Northern Crusades – a series of Christianization campaigns targeting pagan Baltic and Finnic tribes. This is a lesser-known, but highly significant chapter of medieval European history. Unlike the crusades to the Holy Land, these campaigns aimed at expanding Christianity (as well as political and trade influence) into the lands of present-day Latvia, Estonia, Lithuania, and Finland. Their goals were both religious and strategic: converting local populations, securing military control over Baltic trade routes, and strengthening the power of the Church and German states. Pope Innocent III granted these expeditions the status of a crusade – participants received indulgences and papal support, just like in the Holy Land. Riga became the seat of an archbishopric, and in 1202, Bishop Albert founded the Order of the Livonian Brothers of the Sword (Fratres Militiae Christi de Livonia) – a new, local military order created to protect the Christian mission in Livonia (modern-day Latvia and Estonia). Riga thus became a strategic base for further missionary and military campaigns toward Estonia and Lithuania. In 1236, the Livonian Order was defeated by the Samogitians, a tribe inhabiting the southern part of present-day Latvia and northern Lithuania. After this defeat, the order was absorbed into the Teutonic Order, a powerful organization established by German crusaders active in areas that today form northern Poland and Lithuania.

The Teutonic Order and the Hanseatic cities, including Riga, shared common interests for a long time. Both sides aimed to stabilize trade in the Baltic Sea, secure maritime and river routes, and promote the Christianization and “civilization” of the pagan regions along the eastern Baltic coast. Riga actively benefited from the military protection provided by the Order, while the Order relied on the trade network and infrastructure of the Hanseatic League. Over time, however, tensions began to rise. The Order was a feudal and military structure, focused on centralizing power, whereas the Hanseatic League represented the interests of autonomous cities and merchant guilds. The Order attempted to interfere in city affairs – for example, by installing its own mayors or limiting the independence of guilds. This led to growing conflicts and friction between the two sides, despite their earlier cooperation.

The Teutonic Order lost much of its influence after the Battle of Grunwald in 1410. However, its state survived – though weakened and reorganized. It’s important to note that Riga was not part of the Order’s main territory, but was located in Livonia – a region administered by the Livonian branch of the Teutonic Order. While formally dependent on the Order’s central authority, in practice this branch operated with a fair degree of autonomy. That’s why the defeat at Grunwald didn’t have as direct an impact on Riga as it did, for example, on Malbork. Still, it created a new political landscape. Riga seized the opportunity and began to assert its independence more actively.

During the period of Teutonic dominance, up until the late 15th century, Riga was formally divided between the Archbishop of Riga, the Livonian Brothers of the Sword, and the City Council. These three centers of power competed for influence, but the city gradually gained more independence, especially in economic and municipal matters. By the end of the 15th century, Riga entered a phase of open conflict with both the archbishop and the Order. Between 1491 and 1520, the city was effectively engaged in a local war for autonomy. There were sieges, street fights, and constant struggles for control. In the end, the City Council retained authority over internal affairs, laying the foundations for a self-governing city. The turning point came during the Reformation – in 1522, Riga officially adopted Lutheranism. This marked a final break from the previous church-feudal structure and a major step toward spiritual, political, and economic independence.

From that point on, Riga became a de facto free Hanseatic city – self-governed, with its own administration, religion, and direction of development. Although it was still formally part of the Archbishopric of Riga and subject to various external influences, its autonomy was real and lasted well into the early modern period. However, this era also coincided with the decline of the Hanseatic League. The geography of trade routes began to shift, as this was also the age of geographical discoveries. At the same time, emerging nation-states were becoming more interested in controlling economic flows, especially in the form of taxes and customs duties. After the Teutonic Order’s decline and the collapse of its power in Livonia, Riga entered new phases of dependence – no longer under the Order, but now under the influence of state powers. The merchant elites continued to fight for their position, but the opponents had changed.

In the following period, during the Livonian Wars of the 16th century, Riga came under the authority of the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth. In 1581, it was officially recognized as a free city under the protection of King Stephen Báthory. The arrangement turned out to be fairly liberal. Riga retained full economic autonomy, its own judicial system, Protestant faith, and self-governing structure. In practice, its obligations to the king were minimal. Over time, however, tensions grew. Attempts at Catholic Counter-Reformation, supported by the monarchy, were not welcomed by the Protestant bourgeoisie. The City Council sought to resist religious interference, and the city began to explore closer ties with Sweden, which offered protection without religious pressure.

In 1621, during the war with Sigismund III Vasa, King Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden captured Riga, marking the beginning of a new chapter in the city’s history. Riga became the second-largest city in the Swedish Empire, after Stockholm. Although it was subject to the Swedish crown, it enjoyed a high degree of autonomy. The municipal structure was preserved, as was the dominance of the German bourgeoisie, the city’s Protestant identity, and its well-developed education system. For merchants, this was a time of stability, commercial freedom, and growth. Riga played an important economic and administrative role within the Swedish state. While tensions with royal officials occasionally arose, they were not destabilizing. It was a golden age of self-governance for Riga’s Protestant bourgeois society.

In 1710, during the Great Northern War, Riga was captured by the Russian troops of Tsar Peter I. Along with all of Livonia, it was incorporated into the Russian Empire. Although Riga had been part of Russia since 1710, a certain degree of local autonomy was initially preserved, and the German bourgeoisie continued to dominate the city’s administration, commerce, and culture. Over time, however, Russia gradually introduced its own official structures, changed the legal system, and reduced the influence of the German elite. Russification policies were supported, and the Russian presence in the city began to grow. Despite these changes, Riga remained one of the empire’s most important ports and a major industrial center, especially during the 19th century. The merchant autonomy was eventually curtailed by the centralization of the imperial administration. The German bourgeois class, which had shaped Riga’s identity for centuries, gradually lost its influence. Still, until the 20th century, the city retained a distinctive cultural and commercial continuity rooted in its Hanseatic, Protestant, and urban traditions – though now subject to the wider interests of imperial powers. Each of these historical phases left its mark – not only in architecture, but also in language, religion, culture, and the urban fabric. Riga was a truly multiethnic metropolis, home to Baltic Germans, Latvians, Jews, Poles, Russians, and other communities, where Eastern and Western influences coexisted and intertwined on many levels.

In the interwar period, after gaining independence in 1918, Riga became the capital of a young and ambitious republic. After World War II, it was incorporated into the Soviet Union and went through a difficult phase of intense Sovietization, which left a mark on both the urban fabric and the lives of its residents. Today, Riga is the independent capital of a European country that has been a member of the European Union since 2004.

Riga’s wealth, accumulated over centuries thanks to its strategic location on the Daugava River and its role as one of the region’s major trading ports, has always been reflected in the city’s architecture. Every period of prosperity left behind its mark in the form of representative buildings – both religious and secular. During its time in the Hanseatic League, Gothic merchant warehouses, churches, and guild halls were constructed. Under Swedish rule, new public buildings and schools were added, often supported by the crown. Then, in the 19th century, during the period of Russian rule, Riga experienced a true economic boom as an industrial and port hub of the empire. This sparked rapid urban and architectural growth, resulting in the construction of dozens of buildings in eclectic, neo-Renaissance, and especially Art Nouveau styles. Walking through its streets, you get the feeling that everything exists side by side – old and new, monumental and intimate, Western and Eastern. And maybe that’s exactly why it’s a place you want to return to.

Let’s take a look at a piece of the Old Town and a few spots nearby. This will be a somewhat subjective walk. From the hotel where we were staying, using the side entrance, it took just about five minutes to reach the Gothic rear wall of St. Peter’s Church. There’s a tiny square there where you can sit for a moment, and the nearby streets lead straight into the busiest part of the Old Town, filled with tourists, cafés, and restaurants. This spot is easy to recognize thanks to a small but distinctive sculpture featuring four animals stacked on top of one another: a donkey, a dog, a cat, and a rooster. It’s a direct reference to the fairy tale The Town Musicians of Bremen by the Brothers Grimm. The animals are arranged in a pyramid, just as described in the story, in which four abandoned animals set off together for Bremen to become musicians. The sculpture was installed in 1990 as a gift from the city of Bremen to Riga, as a gesture of partnership and solidarity between two Hanseatic cities.

When you stand behind St. Peter’s Church and look to the right, you’ll notice an unassuming building with a beautiful bas-relief. This is one of the structures that belong to the Konventa Sēta complex – or monastic courtyard. The fact that it forms a cohesive complex only becomes fully visible when you look down from St. Peter’s tower. The origins of this site go back to the 13th century. It was originally founded as a Dominican monastery, brought to Riga by Bishop Albert as part of establishing church and urban structures in the newly Christianized region. The Dominicans, a preaching order, played a significant role in shaping the city’s religious, educational, and social life. At the heart of the complex was a monastery with a chapel, which in the 14th and 15th centuries was expanded and transformed into St. John’s Church. The building has retained its Gothic character, including a stepped gable with vertical pilaster strips and copper details. Around the church, cloisters, convent houses, utility buildings, workshops, and warehouses were built, forming a self-contained and functional urban quarter. After the Reformation in the 16th century, the Dominicans left the monastery. St. John’s Church was handed over to the Lutheran community, while the remaining buildings came under the administration of the city authorities and were used as storage spaces, residences, and workshops. Despite these changes, the original spatial layout was preserved. In the 19th and early 20th centuries, some buildings were rebuilt. After World War II, the complex was placed under heritage protection, and in the 1970s and 1980s, it was restored and unified under the name Konventa Sēta. Today, it includes St. John’s Church, former monastic buildings, courtyards, and parts of the medieval city walls.

When you first approach St. Peter’s Church in Riga from the rear, you’re convinced you’re about to enter a magnificent Gothic structure. The red-brick apse, stepped gables, and pointed arch windows all speak to its medieval origins and architectural coherence. But as you walk around to the main entrance, you’re met with a completely different façade – one that unmistakably belongs to a later period. Baroque portals, sculpted figures, and curving volutes mark a shift in style and fashion. It becomes immediately clear that at some point, only the front of the church was rebuilt to reflect the aesthetics of a newer era. This contrast is the result of centuries of reconstruction and adaptation. St. Peter’s Church (Svētā Pētera baznīca) is one of Riga’s oldest churches, with origins dating back to the 13th century, when the first wooden building was erected. In the 14th century, it was rebuilt as a Gothic brick basilica, with a three-aisled interior and a prominent tower. Over the centuries, the church was repeatedly damaged by fires – most notably in 1666 – leading to significant structural changes. The greatest transformation occurred in the 17th and 18th centuries, when the main façade and the tower were redesigned in the Baroque style. The tower, after collapsing in 1721, was rebuilt in its current form, and the western entrance took on its ornate appearance, in line with architectural trends of the time. Despite these changes, much of the medieval layout and Gothic detailing – especially in the eastern part of the church – remains intact.

Upon leaving St Peter’s Church, if you turn left and walk in the direction of the Daugava River, you will arrive at Town Hall Square (Rātslaukums). This square is home to the Riga Town Hall, which was rebuilt after the Second World War, and also to two strikingly ornate, interconnected buildings now commonly referred to as the House of the Blackheads. Although they now form a unified architectural complex, their origins and original functions remained separate until the late 19th century.

The House of the Blackheads (Latvian: Melngalvju nams) is the older of the two. It was originally built in 1334 as the “New House of the Great Guild”, used by local merchants for ceremonial and representative purposes. From the mid-15th century, it was rented by the Brotherhood of Blackheads – an elite association of unmarried merchants and shipowners who held meetings, balls, concerts, and charitable events there. Over time, the Brotherhood became the building’s owners. Its façade was rebuilt in a mannerist style (notably in 1615), with rich ornamentation and the addition of the famous clock in 1626. The building was destroyed during the Second World War and was fully reconstructed between 1996 and 1999. Immediately to the left of the House of the Blackheads stands a smaller building now known as the Schwabe House. It originated in the medieval period as an independent burgher’s townhouse, whose exact function is no longer clearly known (likely residential and commercial). In 1889–1891, the house was thoroughly rebuilt to a new, representational design by architect Karl Felsko for the Schwabe trading company, which gave the building its name. During that time, it was also functionally and structurally integrated with the House of the Blackheads, forming a coherent ensemble with aligned stylistic and practical purposes.

Today, the two buildings are regarded as a single complex, commonly referred to as the House of the Blackheads. In addition to their architectural and historical significance, they now serve as a prominent venue for official events, exhibitions, and tourism, and form one of the key landmarks of Riga’s Old Town.

The Brotherhood of Blackheads was a historical association of unmarried foreign merchants, most of them of German origin, who were active in Riga from the 14th century. The Brotherhood functioned as both a commercial and semi-military organisation, playing a key role in the economic, social, and ceremonial life of the city. Members helped protect merchant convoys, financed civic projects, and organised important public celebrations. The name “Blackheads” might appear unusual at first glance, but it has a clear origin. The guild’s patron saint was Saint Maurice — a Roman legionary commander of African origin, who is traditionally depicted in medieval European iconography with a black head. It is from this iconographic image that the Brotherhood took its name. A small statue of a dark-headed man, referencing St Maurice, still adorns the entrance to the House of the Blackheads.

Also drawing attention on the square is an independent townhouse with a dark – almost black -façade, separated from the House of the Blackheads by a small side street. It is not connected to, nor historically part of, the Blackheads complex. This is an ordinary burgher’s building, most likely constructed in the 19th century as part of a row of administrative or commercial properties lining the square. Due to its strikingly dark façade and proximity to the well-known House of the Blackheads, it is often mistakenly associated with the complex. Its distinctive appearance stems from the deep, shadowy colour of its exterior, which stands in sharp contrast to the bright red bricks of the adjacent buildings.

At the centre of the square stands the statue of Roland, the medieval knight and legendary paladin of Charlemagne. His presence symbolises the city’s medieval legal independence and civic pride, in keeping with similar Roland statues found in other Hanseatic towns.

Approaching from Town Hall Square and heading towards the central parts of Riga’s historic old town, one arrives at Riga Cathedral (Rīgas Doms) – the largest medieval church in Latvia and one of the city’s key landmarks. Construction began on 25 July 1211 at the initiative of Bishop Albert. From the outset, the cathedral was intended to serve as the spiritual centre of the new diocese.

The original church was built in the Romanesque style, but by the 13th and 14th centuries it had already undergone significant extensions in the Gothic style. In the 15th century, the tower was added and the chancel enlarged. Along with adjoining cloisters, chapter buildings, and an enclosed courtyard, the cathedral formed a self-contained complex of great religious and intellectual significance – home to schools, scribes, and early missionary work.

After Riga adopted Lutheranism in 1522, the cathedral – like many other churches in the city – was transferred to the Evangelical Lutheran congregation. Over the following centuries, it suffered repeated damage: partial destruction in the 16th century, and again during Swedish and Russian sieges. In the 18th century, the tower was topped with a Baroque spire, which for a time became the tallest structure in the city. At the turn of the 19th and 20th centuries, the building underwent substantial restoration in the spirit of historicism, with efforts to recover some of its Gothic features. The monumental pipe organ installed at this time was for many years considered one of the largest in Europe.

During the Soviet period, the cathedral was secularised and used as a concert hall, which, despite the loss of its religious function, helped ensure its preservation. Following Latvia’s independence in 1991, the building was returned to the Evangelical Lutheran Church and gradually reinstated as a place of worship.

As you continue exploring the streets of Riga, you’ll notice that the spirit of its historic past lingers well beyond the major landmarks. Many smaller buildings, side streets and architectural details still echo the city’s former grandeur – even if their façades have been altered or rebuilt in later centuries. The layers of time are visible everywhere, and even outside the main tourist routes, the Old Town reveals corners that speak of Riga’s medieval and early modern identity. Below are a few more impressions from the very centre of the historical city.

If we cross to the other side of the historic Old Town, moving away from the Daugava River and heading northeast from Town Hall Square, the cobbled lanes begin to open up, and the dense architecture gives way to greenery. Eventually, we reach a more spacious area where the old town begins to taper off, and in front of us appears a park. This is Bastejkalns Park – a narrow strip of greenery that follows the city canal, a quiet place filled with footbridges, benches, and low trees. Despite its central location, the atmosphere here is calm, almost intimate. It’s clearly a space not just for tourists, but also for locals – some strolling, others reading on benches, while a few simply pass through on their way home or to work.

At the edge of this park stands the Freedom Monument, impossible to miss – a tall, slender obelisk. Unveiled in 1935, the monument commemorates the soldiers who died in the Latvian War of Independence, fought between 1918 and 1920. It was a turbulent time, as the newly declared Latvian republic defended its sovereignty first against the Red Army, and later against German paramilitary formations operating in the region. After several key battles – including those at Riga and Cēsis – Latvia succeeded in securing its independence and signed a peace treaty with Soviet Russia. During the Soviet occupation, the monument became a quiet site of resistance – despite restrictions, people would still lay flowers at its base, often under the cover of darkness. Today, it remains the setting for national ceremonies, parades, the daily changing of the Honour Guard, and moments of quiet reflection.

The monument, designed by sculptor Kārlis Zāle is a carefully composed narrative in stone and bronze. At its base are sculptural groups depicting scenes from Latvian history – peasants at work, Latvian riflemen, allegories of sacrifice and spiritual freedom, and a grieving mother. In total, the monument features 13 sculptural groups and 56 individual figures, symbolising both the past and the ideals on which the Latvian state was built. At the very top stands the female figure known affectionately as Milda, holding aloft three golden stars representing Latvia’s historic regions: Kurzeme, Vidzeme, and Latgale.

Facing the monument, to your right, is a pale, elegant building – the Latvian National Opera. This neoclassical structure, built in the 19th century, is home to the country’s main opera and ballet stage and continues to serve its original cultural purpose. Designed by German architect Ludwig Bohnstedt, the building is known not only for its harmonious proportions but also for its excellent acoustics. On sunny days, you’ll often find people relaxing on the steps or nearby in the park – some awaiting a performance, others simply enjoying the atmosphere.

After a quiet moment by the National Opera, it’s worth turning and continuing along Brīvības iela, heading northeast. This is the main thoroughfare that connects the Old Town with the more modern parts of the city. As we walk, we pass through Esplanāde Park – a well-maintained green space with broad paths and sculptures, offering a welcome contrast to the cobbled streets and close architecture of the old centre. The route is straightforward – just keep going, and soon the first hints of Art Nouveau architecture begin to appear on the horizon.

After about fifteen to twenty minutes on foot, we arrive in the heart of Riga’s Art Nouveau District. This part of the city is renowned for its exceptional collection of turn-of-the-century buildings – especially along Alberta iela and Elizabetes iela, where ornate facades, sculptural details and decorative flourishes catch the eye at every step.

I’ve already written extensively about this district in a separate post – where you’ll find background on the architecture, historical context, and a guide to the most noteworthy buildings. You’ll find the link to that post below, after the photo gallery.

It’s difficult to capture Riga in a single post – a city so rich in history, architecture and symbolism. In this piece, I’ve taken you on a walk through time – from the city’s Hanseatic roots and Lutheran heritage to the powerful symbolism of the Freedom Monument.

Along the way, I’ve left out a few prominent sites – not because they aren’t worth seeing, but because they didn’t quite belong to the route I followed. One of them is Riga Castle, the city’s historic fortress on the banks of the Daugava. On each of my visits, it’s been under renovation – inaccessible and wrapped in scaffolding, impossible to photograph. Another is the Nativity of Christ Orthodox Cathedral, whose golden domes rise above Esplanāde Park. Majestic and unmistakable, it represents a very different strand of the city’s spiritual and architectural heritage – one that stands apart from the Lutheran skyline of the Old Town, yet very much belongs to Riga’s layered identity. And then there’s the striking Latvian Academy of Sciences – a towering Soviet-era structure built in the 1950s. With its heavy, symmetrical design and sharp verticals, it stands as a clear expression of Socialist Realist architecture. Locals refer to it with a mix of irony and familiarity, and it remains one of the most recognisable silhouettes on the city’s skyline. Today, it houses a scientific institution and offers a viewing platform from its upper floors – a vantage point that looks out across the rooftops of the Old Town and beyond. For more photos, follow the link to my RIGA photo gallery.

The Historic Town of Riga