I walk into the door after 45 minutes on a public bus that smelled oddly strange for the first time, and the light poured in through the windows just as I had imagined it would. The ceilings were higher than I thought they would be, and the atmosphere was more heavenly than I thought possible. Suddenly a woman came up to me, speaking extremely fast Danish, just as I was snapping away on my camera. “Oh come on!” I thought. “There’s no way I can’t take pictures in here!” As it turns out, a service was about to start so I can either come back after for pictures or stay. Just then the organ started and it almost scared some pee out of me. Clearly the high ceilings are acoustically favorable. I still couldn’t tell you if it was a Protestant or Catholic service, but I do know I couldn’t understand a single word of it. Funny enough, I still understood. It’s almost as if you don’t have to understand the language to know what’s happening in a church. I like that. The music actually was interesting, and I did crack a smile when it started to sound like The Phantom of the Opera, and automatically thought of my sister. I guess I can check off “See mass in a Scandinavian Gothic church in Danish” off my bucket list. Because that’s on everyone’s bucket list, right?
Across the street from the church there turned out to be a park, or a cemetery, either way I remember reading about it. I love stumbling upon things I wanted to visit anyway. The snow had not melted in the park for some reason. The bright and clear sky reflected off of it and it was nearly blinding, but in a good way. What a beautiful day.