The Church of Our Saviour in Copenhagen is one of those places that doesn’t reveal its magic at first glance. From the outside, it looks like any other 18th-century Baroque church—elegant, but unassuming. Yet the moment you begin the climb up its famous external spiral staircase, winding around the spire like a ribbon, you understand why this building has become one of the city’s most iconic landmarks. The ascent isn’t just a feat of architecture; it’s a test of nerve. The forty narrowing steps, twisting tighter as they rise, quicken the pulse, but the reward is worth every hesitant step—a sweeping view of Copenhagen from nearly ninety meters above the ground.
The church’s story begins in the mid-17th century, when King Frederik III commissioned a new place of worship for the growing district of Christianshavn. Construction dragged on for decades, and the church only took its final form in 1752. Architect Lambert van Haven designed the structure in the Baroque style, but the real masterstroke came later, after his death. Lauritz de Thurah, the man behind the spire, conceived its most striking feature: an external staircase that seems to float above the city. Originally gilded, the spire’s surface was later replaced with copper, which has since weathered into the soft green patina seen today.
Inside, the church is quieter but no less intriguing. The nave is lined with tall columns and delicate stucco work, while the altar follows the grand Baroque tradition. The organ, installed in the 18th century, still fills the space with music during services and concerts. Unlike many of Copenhagen’s churches, there are no elaborate frescoes or stained-glass windows here. Instead, the atmosphere is one of understated tranquility, perhaps because the church remains an active place of worship. The scent of wax, the echo of footsteps on stone, the play of light through high windows—all of it feels timeless.
The church’s bell tower holds its own stories. Four bells hang within it, each with a name and a history. The oldest dates back to the 17th century, having rung out over generations of parishioners. On Sundays and holidays, their chimes drift across Christianshavn, a reminder that this is more than just a historic monument—it’s a living part of the city. Most visitors, though, come for the view from the spire. On a clear day, the panorama stretches beyond Copenhagen, all the way to the Swedish coastline on the horizon.
Climbing the spire is an experience in itself. The staircase begins about fifty meters up, where the steps feel broad and steady. But as you ascend, they grow narrower, the railings lower. The last few meters demand careful footing, gripping the metal handrails as the wind tugs at your sleeves. At the top, the spire seems to sway slightly—an illusion, but one that heightens the thrill. Those with a fear of heights might want to admire it from the ground, but for everyone else, the climb is unforgettable.
The church stands in Christianshavn, a district with its own distinct character. Founded in the early 17th century as a trading hub, it was once a separate town, only absorbed into Copenhagen in the 19th century. Today, it retains the charm of an old port neighborhood, with narrow streets, canals, and low-slung houses. Around the church, small cafés and shops spill onto the cobblestones, while nearby, the free-spirited community of Christiania offers another glimpse into Copenhagen’s eclectic side.
Over the years, the Church of Our Saviour has inspired its share of legends. One claims that Lauritz de Thurah, the spire’s architect, threw himself from the top in despair after realizing the staircase spiraled the wrong way. In truth, he lived a long life and died naturally, but the myth persists, perhaps because the church feels like the work of someone who poured their soul into it. Another story says that during World War II, the Germans planned to demolish the spire to deprive the Danes of a navigational landmark, though the plan was never carried out.
Beyond its architectural and historical significance, the church is also a venue for music. Its organ is considered one of Denmark’s finest, and its sound resonates beautifully within the high vaulted ceilings. In the summer, evening concerts fill the space with the works of Bach or Mozart, candlelight flickering against the gilded altar. For many, this is the best way to experience the spirit of old Copenhagen—a city where the past and present blend so seamlessly that the line between them often disappears.
Visiting the Church of Our Saviour is more than just ticking off a tourist attraction. Unlike the crowds at the Little Mermaid or Tivoli Gardens, this place offers a quieter, more intimate encounter with the city. Standing at the top of the spire, you can almost feel the weight of history beneath you. The view is much the same as it was centuries ago, though the ships in the harbor have changed, and the sounds of the city have evolved. Yet from this height, Copenhagen still feels like a place where time moves at its own pace.
