Great Unexpectations in Denmark

Another reason to travel is to shock the soul and body out of routine. Go away for a few days, a week, two weeks, longer, and force yourself to adapt to new realities, locales, customs, and situations. A traveling routine is often established, and often quickly, but this routine in its essence has to make room for the unexpected and the unplanned, more so than in our day-to-day lives.

That isn't to say that there are no expected moments on a trip, though even these stretch towards surprise in the context of traveling. In Denmark we could expect colder climes and a preponderance of what a receptionist in our first hotel called "boring weather", but that doesn't mean it was not surprising that both Amy and I got sick at some point on the trip. We went to see the movie Salt knowing it would be bad but having no other options; we were still surprised with how bad it was, to the point where I was in such a giddy state that I had a laughing fit in the cab back to our hotel when our cordial Danish cab driver started rattling off facts about the weather and the castles in the country, before concluding that Salt was only made because Angelina Jolie is pretty.

There are unexpected moments that, once adjusted to, set up new expectations, which those original unexpected moments, now expected, subvert. If that syntax was twisted, an example: we adjusted to the "relaxed" (i.e. slow) wait service and the do it yourself nature of certain eateries, but then were pleased when a waiter at Cafe G was not only attentive and quick to help but also a rollie-polie ball of energy, cracking jokes about ninjas and screaming to the high heavens when I dared to try my 8 digit pin code on my card after my 4 digit one didn't work twice. "NOOOOO! What are you DOING?! You can't put in 8...oh, it worked." In that case, we should have known by his closely cropped mohawk. Similarly, I was pleasantly surprised by the high quality bathrooms on the Danish trains; that adjustment let me to be less pleasantly surprised when I peered in the toilet and saw the unexpected present the elderly gentleman who last used the bathroom left me.

These were all minor moments where the novelty and surprise of the road led to either positive or negative (or in the train toilet situation, both) feelings that enriched our traveling experience one way or another. The success of our stumbling upon Cafe Paludan, a cafe amidst a book store near Copenhagen University, was tempered by the realization that, yes indeed, this was a popular place not only for students, but for American students wielding Macbooks and providing no sense of escape. Ah well. We had more significant experiences of surprises for the better or the worse in Denmark, and I would like to explore those experiences here. Shall we?

A real Hippie's Paradise Gone Awry (-)

Christianshaven is a peninsula in Copenhagen across the canal from the main part of town. The area is replete with art nouveau red and orange splashed buildings, idyllic canal scenes, and several tourist attractions. Among these attractions is the neighborhood of Christiana.

Christiana, from what I gathered based on a guidebook or two, is meant to be something of an idyllic escape from the city, a community where residents can create art, live freely, and bond. And smoke pot. There are funky colors painted on the walls, t-shirt shops that go unattended, and symbols of a needle being broken to show that hard drugs are a no. And, presumably, pot smokers. Ben compared Christiana to the Wire's "Hamsterdam."

Fine, fine, we were already in Amsterdam, and had seen some of this movie before. Amsterdam had pot generally condoned and legalized, but also an island for the hipster community called NDSM wert. MTV's Europe headquarters were there, there was a skate park, and funky cars and tents and stuff. It was all very cliched, but whatever. Ben and I thought we should check out another, similar scene, and since it was a day before Amy came, it seemed like an appropriate time to do it (get all the drugs in before the girl comes, right?)



Our good vibes lasted until the point depicted above. About 15 seconds later, a large man approached Ben and told him it was not allowed to take photos here, so would he please comply. Ben agreed, a little put off I think, being an avid photographer. We strolled around then, wondering at this and at the attendant-less t-shirt shop, the unlikely mix of commercialism and supposed hippie ideals, and whether the vibrant colors made anything else work it. As we strolled down Pusher Street (thus named for those who formerly pushed drugs), we found another, gruffer gentleman to greet us.

"What are you, stupid?" he politely inquired of Ben. "Put the camera away, there's no taking pictures here." For Ben had his camera still draped around his neck, you see.

That combined with the touristy commercialism was enough to make this surprise a negative one. Christiana: proof that those on the "fringe" are no more tolerant than those in the middle.

ChristiansHaven's narrowing spiral (+)



Not far from Christiana was the Church of Our Saviour. There was not much to the church. You pay 25 Kroner (just over $5) to climb the church. It is 95 meters high. After a brief outdoor platform at about the 60 meter mark, you ascend a flight of stairs that is outdoors and spiraling, gradually narrowing as it reaches the top. There is a chest high (maybe waist-high on normal people, or else shoulder-high on me) yellow guard rail outside you, and gusty winds near the top. At some point, you can not ascend any higher, because the steps are too narrow. The views are appropriately scenic.

The view from the spire to the main part of Copenhagen.

For Ben and me, this experience brought some unexpected exhilaration. Ben feared for his camera and his life amidst the high winds; I wisely took off my broken glasses, knowing that the one earpiece-frame might not stay to my face, and that a 95 meter drop might lead to greater damage. There was little to do but cling to the rails when climbing. Traffic jams were inevitable, as only one person at a time could ascend or descend. I have climbed my fair share of tall churches and towers in Europe (Eiffel tower, a church in Prague, and the cathedral in Sevilla stand out at the moment), but I cannot remember any where the highest point was a stair and not a platform. So for a short experience, this was definitely a positive.

And then some tourists willfully cause huge traffic jams. Jerks.

The wrong day to visit Odense (-)

Traveling for longer than a few days, there is no avoiding the stops and starts of regular life in your visiting place. As great as it would be for all the museums, shops, restaurants, and sights to be open 24/7, there comes a time where a sight, a store, and sometimes even a city shuts down. This time might be weekly. It might be Mondays in Odense. Amy and I may have arrived in Odense for our only day there on Monday. This happens.

Odense is the third-largest city in Denmark, the largest city on the central island of Funen, and the birthplace of Hans Christian Andersen, the Danes' most famous literary and cultural product. We thought (I should say Amy thought, since she did the planning, but in my relinquishing of planning rights, I suppose I do not relinquish responsibility) that Odense would be a nice one-day stop, a place where we could see the HCA house, relax in a nice hotel room, and enjoy a break from Copenhagen. We even thought we might do laundry (and fatefully did not, as you will see below).


Odense proved as head scratching as this HCA statue of him barefoot, and with his head replicated on a stick.

Instead, we found the Hans Christian Andersen house to be closed. We found several shops, such as a dainty looking chocolate store, to be closed. It looked like the art museum was closed. And we didn't even bother to do our laundry.

Not even the Odense Bulldogs were in action on Mandag (Monday).

So Odense ended up being a middling way stop. We made the most of it, of course: Amy found a few stores open that satisfied her shopping curiosity, I rested and read, we posed with two strange statues, found another dainty chocolate shop open, and each enjoyed a smørrebrød (an open-faced sandwich, one of Denmark's specialty). We also probably could have done our research to know that Monday would be a rough day to see anything in Odense. That said, this one has to go in the minus column.

Well, there was at least one plus walking around Odense...

Bob Dylan doing something besides playing music? (+)

It just so happened that our time in Copenhagen coincided with Bob Dylan's second ever public art exhibition. This exhibit was called The Brazil Series. Being as I am a big Dylan fan, Amy a big Brazil fan, and Ben generally artsy, this seemed like an appropriate visit for the three of us to make. So we strolled on over, past FrederiksBorg (a Castle) and through a couple of gardens, and attended the art museum. There was enough modern art to make me want to rock out, Dylan's exhibit was quality, Ben and Amy loaded up on souvenirs, and we even found out there is an artist named Richard Mortensen, who happens to be lucky enough to share the name with Amy's grandfather. All in all, a plus.

The missing Little Mermaid (-)

In Israel, Amy and I have a Danish-Israeli colleague. I saw him recently and told him we were going to Copenhagen. "Don't see the Little Mermaid," he said. "They've stolen her about nine times and there's no need to see her." He was smiling. I didn't know any better. I reported this conversation to Amy, and she said that she had to see the Little Mermaid. "It was on all of my grandmother's china. I don't care if it's touristy. And my mom wants me to see it." Well then.

Amy's guide book had a little walk of Copenhagen plotted out, and it conveniently ended with the Little Mermaid. So we strolled along the Strøget (the pedestrian shopping area, apparently one of the first of its kind), past a couple imposing churches, a touristy section of the harbor known as Nyhaven, and the Danish Resistance Museum regarding WWII, which was worth it. This led us to the fringe of the Kastellet and the Little Mermaid, whither we intended all along to go.

One of our stops on the self-guided tour. Mmm.

Now, as was mentioned in several guide books, including Amy's, the Little Mermaid wasn't actually going to be there. She had been taken to Shanghai for the 2010 World Expo. I was aware of this. For whatever reason, Amy was not. I, knowing how important seeing the Little Mermaid was, and hoping there might be a replica and no signs indicating that it was a replica in place of the original, kept this information from Amy.

This was not the replica of the Little Mermaid. It could have been, though.

We walked along the path, following our guide book, to the bend on the shore line where the Little Mermaid was supposed to rest. As we rounded the bend, we noticed no statue where the Little Mermaid was to be, but instead a screen. Slowly, surprise dawned on Amy's face as she saw the lack of any emblem from her grandmother's china. She turned to me, expecting to find the same surprise on my face. Not finding it, she pried: "You knew?" I admitted I had. "You knew this whole time and didn't tell me?" This was, perhaps, not the happiest surprise for her. But we laughed. It turned out that the screen showed the Little Mermaid on display at the World Expo. There was no little humor in all of this. And then we walked around the Kastellet, a former military base still used as a barracks which was beautiful and serene, and it was all worth it. So even though officially I call this a minus, these pictures may give lie to that rating. (Eventually, we found the replica of the LM in the gardens of Tivoli. It was unspectacular).

Kastellet: obviously the place to be.

And isn't this purdy?

And after Dylan must come the Beatles, right? (+)

The other of our one day stops was in Kolding, a city on the mainland peninsula of Denmark, Jutland. Kolding's most notable quality for our purposes was as the city many of Amy's ancestors came from. The city also possessed a quaint center, a charming lake or fjord in the middle of it, a place to see a movie (even if it is only Salt), and the ability to do laundry (more on which in a second).

Upon arrival, we walked from our hotel through a nice park (home to "Crazy Golf" in the summer, apparently) and down to that lake. After the dullness of Odense, we were quite charmed by the green grass, the smooth lake, and the old-fashioned houses of the town. We joked about settling in Kolding someday (this was before Amy got a cold, and remember that we (read: she) struggled with the weather and it was only September). In walking around the lake, we decided to visit the town castle, overlooking the lake and known as the KoldingHus.

A Lake Vista.

Much to our surprise, the brick castle had modernized into an exhibition hall. Further to our surprise, the main exhibit when we arrived was on the Beatles and youth in the 60s, in Denmark and elsewhere. Not sure what else to do, we went in.



There weren't many new delights for Beatles fans; John Lennon and Yoko Ono came to Denmark at some point in early 1970, ok; there was a very nice live version of the Zombies' "Care of Cell 44" on one of the listening booth playlists ("Songs influenced by the Beatles", which I might dispute in this instance); and the exhibit as a whole was very well done. There were also some interesting tidbits on Danish youth of the 60's and the culture around them. Did you know that Denmark was the first country to legalize pornographic images, or that popular Danish sex manuals for teens in the 60's came with full photographic visuals of masturbation? Uhh, me neither.

But yes, on a journey where you don't always know what you're getting, a well-done and familiar cultural touchstone can provide entertainment, edification, and erudite enjoyment, and this is a good thing.

And a last word on the expensive side of things (-)

Copenhagen and Denmark as a whole are expensive. When we first arrived in the country, Ben spun me a yarn about a tennis pro he knows who spent a couple years in Denmark and appreciated the expense because it came with a high level of public services. This may be the case. Tourists get very few of these public services. I'm not meaning to complain but stating a fact.

Further, my levels of traveling shift based on my companion. With Ben, we have matured to the point of appreciating our own room and certain basic creature comforts of travel, but at the same time, both having earned our living for only a few years, we appreciate the need to be thrifty. So there is a middle ground we've forged, involving low-budget private rooms, a nice meal a day, and reasonable travel accommodations.

With Amy, the traveling gets upped a notch. Which is fine and understandable; due to age, experience, gender (I presume), and independence, Amy is less interested in the low-budget form of travel. This doesn't mean we are extravagant when we travel together, but we stay in nice hotels or pensions; Amy did not partake in any pølse meals (hot dog or sausage stands on the streets) but we did generally stick to only one nice meal a day (not really eating a second meal); and shopping is a significantly larger portion of our traveling than it is with Ben (though Ben too shops a little bit more than me, I should add).

That said, when you travel with the same person for a while, you learn how to adapt to their ways; you have to adapt if you're to continue traveling with them. With Ben, I have a book ready at all times and know that sometimes he will trail behind me taking photos, which is ok. He adjusts to me in ways I can't say (though they probably include an acceptance of foul smells). With Amy, we have a system: she goes shopping somewhere, I sit in a cafe or pleasant reading place nearby, so that she can come and check in. Similarly, she picks out the clothes, and I wear the clothes. This doesn't always work, but the mutual adjustments make a big difference in smoothing out the traveling experience.

But back to the expenses for a second. Both Amy and I have earned and received the money over our varying professional careers to be able to take a trip like this to an expensive place like Denmark. We are aware of the blessed natures of our lives. We accept this and mean to pay back the world in some way (I hope the subject of future blog posts this "school" year), and hope we have done ok so far. So if Denmark is expensive and that's where we're vacationing, so be it.

I still, more than she, feel the need to draw the line somewhere. And that line, on this trip, was laundry costs>$100.

You see, when we were in Kolding, we asked our hotel if they had a laundry service. I had many dirty clothes from my week in Amsterdam/Germany preceding Denmark, as well as the Copenhagen/Odense part of our trip in Denmark. Amy had a thing or two she wanted to wash as well. In my conception, they would throw these clothes in a washing machine, then dry them, and then return them to us folded. It seemed like a simple thing. They said that they could do it but that we needed to give them the clothes now, because the guy taking those clothes was coming soon. Not asking for a price list or questioning why they had to outsource their laundry service, we agreed to do so, and brought a bag full of clothes that needed essential washing(jeans, socks) and not so much (shirts). The only complication we could think of was that the clothes might not be ready when we wanted to leave.

The next day, I went to the front desk to pay for our room and inquire about the laundry. After paying for the room, I asked about the laundry. "Oh, it's here. I didn't charge you for that, so let's do that separately," the kind receptionist told me. She then pulled out the stack of our clothes, neatly folded, and placed them on the desk. The bill came with it. 530 Kroners. This equals $93. (N.b. I thought this actually equaled about $120. It turns out that my idea that the kroner was 4.82 to the dollar was about a kroner off: it's more like 5.68. I should have prepared better for this trip).

Regardless, this seemed like an astronomical amount to me. What did I know? I huffed at the desk, asked to speak to a supervisor, tried to remain polite but was clearly a little perplexed and irate. I left the laundry on the desk and went to speak with my partner in the room.

"The good news is that our laundry is here," I reported to her on returning to our room.

"Oh, good. Now we can go," she said, not picking up on my hint about the bad news.

"You know how much it costs?" I said. I didn't wait for an answer. I reported the price, interrupting the number with an expletive.

"I thought about that. We should have asked for the price. That was our mistake."

"Our mistake? They should have told us the price!" I said, though in slightly less polite language.

I continued to exhaust my anger for the next five minutes, kicking the air and swearing and acting out my, as Amy puts it, mad hornet mode. At last, calmed and cowed, I went back to the hotel lobby, apologized, paid, and we moved on from Kolding, the incident more a humorous episode than a blemish. Another learning experience. Another unexpected moment that could throw the most experienced traveler for a loop. And while it was a minus in and of itself, it's part of the broader plus of shocking the system, of challenging the self, of traveling.


Needless to say, this was a brighter part of Kolding (taken inside the KoldingHus).