In all my travels, I’ve never felt so much awe when I entered a church. Not in Spain, not in Italy. From the outside, it appears to be a modest Catholic church. Stone foundation, adobe walls. Smooth river stones arranged mosaic style to create a pleasing patio in the front. Symmetrical blocks, circles, and ribbons in muted neutrals.

I stepped inside and was overwhelmed by the icons surrounding me in the large, long rectangular sanctuary. There were life sized Marys in elaborate dress, lace and gold and flowers. There were saints, draped in robes, eyes cast towards the heavens, some appearing pained, others appearing touched by the divine, exuding reverence. I was staring at their realistic faces when my eyes wandered upwards.

The entire ceiling was painted in a way that was simply breathtaking. The most gorgeous slate blue dominated the palette, with sunlike ovals creating a repeated pattern that was mesmerizing. Our guide explained that the church was built in 1590 by the Spaniards; however, they hired Andean artists to paint the interior. The pattern of the ceiling was based on Incan iconography. The solid wood beams were covered with a plaster mixture then painted fresco style, taking 15 years to complete. I wanted to just stand and stare at the ceiling. I felt such a sense of calm and peacefulness. My breathing slowed. Pictures were not allowed inside the church, so I stared at the ceiling, searing it into my memory.

The guide led us to the retablo at the front of the church. It covered the entire back wall, floor to ceiling. At first glance, it was difficult to look at. The entire structure was covered in 22k gold leaf. So bright! So shiny! As my eyes adjusted, I marveled at the intricate details of each section. Niches for saints. A stunning sun at the top, reminiscent of the icons in the Incan temples. Stars. Flowers. Baby animals. Angels. I could have sat for hours taking in the magnificence. I think what moved me most was the care that had permeated the construction. So much attention to detail. In every icon. In every mural. In every fresco. The result was not gaudy, but welcoming. A place you wanted to stay.

I’m thankful pictures were not allowed. There’s no way photos could have captured the essence of the sanctuary. I’m grateful to have had the opportunity to stand and soak it in, to remember it in my mind’s eye.