It starts with a soft crunch underfoot. Fallen leaves, gravel paths, or just the hush of your own footsteps blending into the stillness. Cyclists ride past mothers walking babies in strollers and hollering to children racing on the walking path. It is a cemetery, yes, but also a park, a retreat, where students sprawl out with paperbacks, lovers share coffee on benches, and joggers trace shaded paths lined with birch and beech. It’s quiet, serene, and beautiful as you walk amid tall trees and centuries-old tombstones at Assistens Kierkegårde—a historic cemetery in Copenhagen serving as a recreational park.
Across the world, cemeteries serve as a direct reminder of mortality. To most, they are places tied to loss, grief, and mourning, which is why they tend to be separate from the hustle-bustle of daily life. But Copenhagen seems to have bridged the divide between the living and the dead. These cemeteries, once designed to be burial grounds, have evolved and are now used as much by the living as the dead.
“The people of Copenhagen started using churchyards as public gathering spaces in the late 1700s. It began with Assistens Kierkegård, which opened in 1760. Soon, it became a popular pastime to picnic in tranquil and beautiful Assistens with one’s family or friends,” says Bente Hoffmann, who runs Slow Tours Copenhagen, focuses on showcasing such hidden gems along with classic sights in the capital.
Assistens' popularity also grew due to its reputation as the graveyard du jour for the wealthy and famous. Astronomical writer Johan Samuel Augustin’s request to be interred in Assistens was followed when he died in 1785. Since then, many notable Danes, including writer Hans Christian Andersen, philosopher Søren Kierkegaarde, physicist Niels Bohr, poet Michael Strunge, and singer Natasja Saad, have been laid to rest in the grounds that span 25 hectares.
Hoffman reveals that an outbreak of plague in 1711, which killed an estimated 23,000 citizens in Copenhagen, put extreme pressure on existing burial sites “The deaths were so many that sometimes five coffins were buried on top of each other. This led to the establishment of five new cemeteries on the periphery of the city,” she says.
That very year, famed English architect Christopher Wren advocated the idea of a garden-like cemetery on the edge of town. Soon graveyards were moved outside town limits as populations grew. Austere elements of the church made way for flower beds and landscaping, inviting people to come in and enjoy the verdant grounds.
In 1827, Swedish poet Karl August Nicander wrote that Assistens Cemetery was “one of the most beautiful graveyards” in Europe. “Leafy trees, dark paths, bright open flowery expanses, temples shaded by poplars, marble tombs overhung by weeping willows, and urns or crosses wrapped in swathes of roses, fragrance and bird song, all transform this place of death into a little paradise,” he wrote.
But it’s not the only one. Hoffman says the list also includes Bispebjerg Kirkegård, Vester Kirkegård, and Holmens Kirkegård. Spring and summer time are the best time to visit these cemeteries, with Bispebjerg becoming known as a cherry blossom destination.
Copenhagen’s municipality is also playing a big role by allowing cemeteries to be used for recreational purposes.
In a study titled The Future of Urban Cemeteries as Public Spaces: Insights from Oslo and Copenhagen, the authors write, “The presence of recreational activities in cemeteries motivated municipalities to develop their strategies. Now, we notice that the strategies themselves have become drivers of more active recreational use of the cemeteries.”
Copenhagen’s cemeteries aren’t places you merely visit—they’re spaces you drift through, like a quiet thought on a Sunday afternoon. What stands out most in Copenhagen’s cemeteries is not sorrow—it’s presence. A quiet cohabitation between the dead and the living. A cyclist whizzes past a 19th-century grave. Someone reads a book aloud, softly, to no one in particular. Life happens here—not in spite of the dead, but in gentle partnership with them. You leave not heavy-hearted, but strangely light. As though the city just shared a secret with you: that endings don’t need to be final, and resting places can be full of life.