Roskilde and Roll

In 1971, a couple of students decided their love for music needed a necessary venue. Northern Europe was lacking in a notable festival in which people could appreciate the musical talent, so the boys were put up to task. The founded the Roskilde Music Festival in the small city in the shadow of Copenhagen. It was wildly successful, quickly becoming THE music festival in the area.

A thousand years before music was the principle attraction, this was Denmark's most import city. A church was built here on the tallest point, made visible by any ships in the nearby harbor. The Catholics built onto the church after recognizing the importance of the city, turning it into the largest church in Denmark. To this day, it still towers over the skyline.

You have to traverse winding and disorderly roadways, clearly planed out when the town was no more than a collection of tradesmen and townspeople. As you approach the looking behemoth, the road opens up into a large courtyard maintained to allow a full view of its impressive medieval facade.

Inside it is a mix of simple architecture, and macabre iron work and sculpture, highlighted in gold accents and crafty brickwork. Its many chapels contains generations of church leaders. Some in elaborate tombs, and others laying under large shale slabs that make up the floor. There are literally few places you can stand without trampling a resting place.

The most visually arresting piece is a large pipe organ that hangs precipitously over the main gathering area.

I left this strange medical relic in hopes of finding more oddities from the period. The town was full of it. Near the church was a system of gravity fed wells and fountains that created a community stream, carefully engineered to contain a wash area, a fountain, and a duck pond.

As I wandered down the crooked streets of the medieval city, I wondered how much of the old remained in harmony with the new. Reed  thatched roof houses, decrepit with moss and mildew, crafted by masons who lived a thousand years prior, are domiciles for modern families with Volkswagens and electric dishwashers. How much tradition remained in city within a country that largely gave up tradition for fast information ways and a general agreement with blank. 

Then, the 14th hour passed. The church maniacally rang its bell. Not in the number of hours, but as an alarm. It was Saturday, and if you were a shop owner, it was time to close shop. The store fronts shuttered with the clang of metal gates. The streets began to empty. Only cafe owners and ice cream parlor a benefited by this seemingly old ritual. Everyone lined up for an ice cream before heading home.

I passed by a graveyard awakening to the spring just before heading back to Copenhagen. Its was a trip back in time, only to be beaten by further travels to the south.