Getting Lost in Copenhagen

Copenhagen is said to be a fantastically easy city to navigate, but I have spent the last few days finding my way around by getting fantastically lost.

Getting Lost Alone
Monday night kicks off at the Compass Bar, a venue in Gammeltorv square with a courtyard and pass-out beds.  Compass is almost certainly geared exclusively toward Americans, and they're taking advantage of the influx of 1,000 of us with a no cover and free drink deal for DIS students.  By the time I arrive, Compass is mobbed, and it takes a good twenty minutes to actually reach the bar.  My free drink turns out to be the very last left in the entire bar.  The bartender rings a bell and shouts the bad news rather loudly.  The stereo plays the Star Spangled Banner as several hundred disgruntled and disheveled Americans spill out into the square.

It's one in the morning and I'm still jet-lagged, so I decide it's time to go home.  Despite having little idea of the outlay of the city, I manage to find my way back to Norreport station.  I soon realize I have no idea which bus to take home, as the one I am familiar with has stopped running.  While inspecting the bus bulletin, I bump into Xavier from the airport bus.

"Hey, what's up?"
"How's it going?"
"Do you by any chance know which of these buses goes to Brønshøj?" I ask.
"Nope." Xavier replies.  "Want to come back to Keops (kollegium) and figure out where to go?"
I speak the famous last words of the arrogant American in a foreign country: "No, I'll probably figure it out."

Attempting to read the Danish on the bulletin, I briefly consider giving up and taking a cab, but I'll be damned if I have to spend $60 on a cab ride.  The 81N looks like it might go in roughly the correct direction, so I hop on and hope for the best.

"Are you going to Brønshøj?" I ask the driver.  He gives me a puzzled look.  He is the first Dane I have met who does not speak any English.  "Brønshøj?" I ask again.  He sort of nods.

As the bus shoots north, I look out the windows for familiar landmarks.  It's awfully hard to tell in the dark, but I am reassured as we cross the water into the immigrant "ghetto" of Nørrebro.  There is an American college girl in the aisle next to me telling her North African seatmate about her recent arrest.

"Pardon me, are you going back to Brønshøj?" I ask.
"No, sorry.  You're a student?"
"DIS.  I live in Hoffmans Kollegium and I'm trying to get back to Brønshøj."
The girl looks at the African.  He shrugs.

As I peer out the window, I see the neon lights of Çamur's Kiosk, a convenience store I had been to the night before.  I get off the bus two stops down from Çamur's, but I want to confirm the direction I'm supposed to be walking in.  There's a bakery across the street, and two Middle Eastern men, one young and one old, are making pastries for the morning.

"Undskyld.  Taler du tysk, engelsk, eller spansk?"  I ask the elderly man.  He motions for the younger man to come over.  I ask the young man if he speaks German, English, or Spanish.
"English.  I am from Manchester."
Thank God.
The Middle Eastern Brit is very helpful; it turns out that Hoffmans is two blocks down the road.  I say thanks and walk in the direction he points.  I never thought I'd be so happy to see the tombstone dealer near our dorm as I walk home.

Getting Lost with a Group
The next day I look forward to more aimless traveling.  My navigation skills have not improved from the night before.  Trying to find the building where I am supposed to go, I walk through Gammeltorv.  I pass the Compass Bar, and I am amused to see a Carlsberg truck restocking the cellar.  I finally reach my building -- half an hour late.  It turns out that I'm not alone, however.  The instructor, a large, uninterested, balding Dane assigns my group -- several Americans and an Iraqi -- to go on a scavenger hunt around town.  Direction-finding does not go terribly well, but we do see these sights, among others:

Amalienborg Palace, home of the Danish Royal Family.

The dome of the Marble Church -- under repair, just like everything else in Copenhagen.

The waterfront.

Taking the Harbor Bus from the Playhouse to Christianborg.

There are some naval facilities located at the tip of the harbor.

The Parliament building.  Note the sandy terrain -- Copenhagen is an island, and we are essentially on a beach.

The view from the top floor of DIS.

Meeting back at the classroom after our 3-mile walk, we eat a traditional lunch of meat sandwiches and vegetables; the liver paste does not go quickly. I decide to spend the rest of the day pacing around the city, making a mental map.  I try to use word devices to memorize street names (this is difficult because there are no street signs -- street names are engraved on the sides of buildings at either end of the block); Købmagergade becomes cup-maker-gade because there's a coffee shop on it.  Strøget becomes stroll-get because it's a main walking artery.  By dusk, I have finally figured out the area around the classrooms, and the bus routes to and from Brønshøj during both day and night.

Not Getting Lost
Our Danish residence adviser, Mads, takes some of us on a walking tour of Copenhagen's bars and parks.  We go through the Latin Quarter, the Gardens, the waterfront area of Nyhavn, and Christiania.  Photos are prohibited in most of Christiania, but take my word for it -- there's nothing like it in the U.S.

Young musicians in Gammeltorv.

A rum snail -- the best pastry ever.

Picnickers in the Royal Gardens

A tour boat near Nyhavn.

The Playhouse

Town Hall

Christiania

Day 2: Downtown

Waking up significantly less tired, I walk to the bus stop with all the other students in my building to go to orientation.  It is overcast and remarkably chilly.  When the bus pulls up, the driver doesn't bother to check our passes.  It's a fifteen minute ride to the Danish Royal Music Academy, where the DIS opening ceremony is being held.

The president of DIS takes the podium.  He is a stern-looking old man with a heavy accent but a friendly demeanor.  He makes the expected opening remarks with some unexpected imagery displayed on the projector screen.  A picture of an anchor (because we must "anchor" ourselves to certain values.  Get it?)  A steamroller (which we cannot allow to steamroll over our self-confidence and initiative.)

"And this," the president says as he puts the next slide on the screen, "is some seasoned chicken on a grill."  I think he made some connection between rotating the chicken and experiencing multiple cultural facets.

"Some of you are the future leaders of your country." he says.  "We hope your time abroad will encourage you to better understand other cultures, and to make greater use of diplomacy rather than war.  Speaking of which, Colonel Gaddafi was overthrown this morning."  A lone clap emerges from somewhere within the hall.  "And now," the President says, "some music from the DIS Strings."

After the strings play a selection of music from European composers, we are visited by the Vice Consul from the U.S. Embassy.  The tough-looking man appears short and stocky next to his tall, blond Danish colleagues.  The Vice Consul's main purpose is to tell us what to do if arrested.  "There is a mandatory five-day sentence for carrying a blade larger than seven centimeters in public." he says.  "Try to call us from jail.  Your parents won't find out...unless you want us to tell them.  We cannot get you out of jail, but we can visit you, and if you pay us, we will bring you cake.  Also, I know many of you have heard of Christiansand (a known pot-sanctuary).  Copenhagen is not Amsterdam.  Marijuana is illegal."  He looks at the room with eyes that say please and says, "Don't go there."

After the opening ceremony, we walk to downtown Copenhagen for orientation.  I have no idea where to go, so I follow the largest group of students.  After a twenty-minute walk, the group fractures over a lack of collective confidence, so I blindly make my way to the classroom where we are supposed to meet, hand in my student visa application, and sit down for the first part of orientation, where we learn emergency numbers and procedures and other practical information.  We have an hour long break, so I decide to buy lunch.  Walking around aimlessly, I see many restaurants and cafes.  But which ones are good?  Which ones are pricy?  I haven't had time to research these things, so I visit the 7-11 and pick up a calzone.  It's the first time I've ever purchased a non-packaged product from a 7-11, but I'm hungry and it's the least poisonous-looking item.  Sitting down at a bench outside a nearby restaurant, I am halfway through the calzone when a waitress comes out and says something in Danish to the effect of "Are you eating here?"

"Nej.  Muss ich gehen?" I ask, pointing away.
 "Ja."

Kicked off my bench, I walk down the street looking for a suitable place to eat my lunch.  I walk onto the grounds of a church, where only God can judge me for eating my calzone.  On the way back to orientation, I pass a Lego superstore.  Words cannot describe how ten-year old me would have felt. 

I'm home.

Following the rest of orientation, we are bussed to the immersion fair, which offers various clubs and activities.  Most are athletic and cultural groups.  Seeing as I already have enough to keep me busy presently, I start to head back out when I notice that the swarm of students perusing the activity booths have failed to notice the free Danish smørrebrød (open-faced sandwiches).  Another free dinner.

Walking out of the immersion fair, I see this sign:

I used to think Ke$ha was a talentless party girl, but now it's clear that brushing your teeth with a bottle of Jack could save your life.

Day 1: Delirium Sets In

Allow me to briefly preface this inaugural post.  My name is Dan, and I am a student at a reputable university in the mid-western United States.  I decided to go to school in Copenhagen for a semester because:

a. I want to see Europe.
b. The classes are in English.  I speak some Spanish and German; neither quite well enough to confidently take classes.

So I booked my ticket, packed perilously lightly, and off I went.

SATURDAY, AUGUST 20, 2011

5:15 p.m. EST
The Scandinavian Airlines Airbus A340 has a neat camera system.  Passengers can see the view in front of and underneath the aircraft on their seat back television screens.  I watch the ground slip away as we blast off for the land of...Danishes.

5:45 p.m.
I am surveying the passengers surrounding me.  To my left, three young ladies from California open their tabloids simultaneously.  To my right, an American boomer takes advantage of the flight attendant's generosity with the wine.  In front of me, that guy is being that guy and reclining in his seat.  Behind me, there is a wall.

6:30 p.m.

Two tall blond stewardesses push meal carts down the aisle.  Dinner is served.  It's the first time I've eaten an actual meal on a plane since the '90s, and it isn't so bad.  There is a hot dish containing a barrier of white rice dividing something that is very likely beef and something that is very likely not.  There is also cheese and crackers, rolls and butter, something that resembles coleslaw, and a piece of cake. 
"What would you like to drink?" the stewardess asks in a pan-European accent.
"Red wine, please." I say, surreptitiously eying the flight information screen to see if we have left American airspace.  Tea is served in time for me to start on the cake, with refills offered later on.

7:00 p.m.
Dinnertime is over.  I have imbibed a fair amount of wine, and my courtesy blanket is now pulled up over my sport coat.  I am listening to the jazz station and trying to sleep.  But I can't sleep on planes.  I like to be awake in case something exciting happens!

9:00 p.m.
This is about when the babies begin to cry.

10:00 p.m.
My legs feel more than slightly uncomfortable.  Will I die of a blood clot before we land?

11:30 p.m.
Breakfast is yogurt with granola, orange juice, and a ham and cheese sandwich.  The orange juice goes down fast.  Next goes the yogurt and granola.  Usually I am not a fan, but what the hell.  I will eat anything now.  Then the sandwich.  Coffee is served afterward.  I keep wondering if the stewardess will offer more coffee, like she did with the tea.  This thought occupies my delirious mind from the time the coffee is served, until the plane puts its wheels down.  I need that coffee.  At the same time, I am watching the airspeed indicator indicate airspeeds that indicate that I am beginning to see things.

1:00 a.m. (7 a.m. Denmark time)
We've landed early at Kastrup.  Between disembarking and customs, I find and successfully return a student ID and a purse.  I am awesome at this.  The airport is very easy to navigate and everything has a translation into English.  I claim my bag and find an agent from the Danish Institute for Study Abroad to point me to the right bus. 

"Godmorgen." I say as I hand the bus driver my suitcase.  "Hoffmans.  Tak." 

On the bus, there are two bros drinking from flasks and cracking jokes.  A fellow named Xavier sits down next to me.  He comes from Colorado and is studying urban design.  He carries a tennis racket with him.  He points out that all of the taxis in the taxi lane are brand new Mercedes.  This is fascinating, and just a little bit depressing on a number of levels.  After about 20 minutes, we head off to make stops at the different dormitories.

Even for a Sunday morning, Copenhagen is, as Xavier put it, a "zombie town."  There is literally no one on the street save for a few cyclists.  The houses are very quaint and the cars look...well, they're mostly Volvos and Citroens. 

Things Get Bizarre
It starts when I see my car, a PT Cruiser, parked on the side of the road.  This thing would be a gas guzzler in Denmark.  Then I see a sign with the ominous golden arches.  And three quarters of the signs on buildings are in English or have an English translation. 

"Does anyone here speak Danish?" I wonder aloud.  Xavier notices that all the bikes propped up against the shops are unlocked. 

"I guess all of Denmark is on the honor system." I say. 

More proof that America rules the world.

"I guess everyone already has a bike." he replies. 
As we go further into Copenhagen's burroughs, things get weirder.  Graffiti begins to spring up all over the place.  There's a 7-11 on the corner.  Xavier says it's just like the ones in America, only with booze and better pastries.  Then my jaw drops as I spot a Blockbuster next door.  It takes me a few seconds to recognize what I'm looking at.  It's like seeing a dinosaur. 

In all seriousness, this is a lovely place.

I finally arrive at Hoffmans Minde Kollegium, an international dormitory where I live.  It's mostly Americans right now, but there's a Spanish guy down the hall. 

My room has a kitchenette, which is home to a spider and several Cold War-era appliances.  The bathroom contains an attempt at a shower, which I believe was deliberately designed to flood the apartment.  There is a ton of plastic sheeting and plywood outside the back door, and most of the lights don't work.  I am thirsty, so I find the tap and guzzle water.

The bathroom, optimized for maximum flooding.

Mads "pronounced, "Meds", one of the building managers, knocks on my door.  He is handing out complementary foodstuffs.  He hands me a tube of biscuits, a bag of carrots, two apples, and finally two very large bottles of mineral water.  As he walks away, I look at the water bottles and then at the tap I had just finished drinking from.

The Netto dog, which appears to be either holding a basket or trying to grab a cigarette.

I decide to take a walk to the discount Netto grocery store down the street.  I am nearly run over by a woman on a bike.  Cyclists mean business here.  They even have their own lane.  I then consider jaywalking to get to the store faster, but it seems like such an orderly country, and I have no business doing that.  I buy my first groceries: instant coffee, beer and wine, olive oil, bread, pickles, olives, cheese, rice, and pasta.  I calculate that if I live off this for a week, I can manage to stay within the $600 stipend.  Back in my room, I eat an apple for lunch and drink a Carlsberg, which is impossibly foamy.  I then go for the instant coffee, which works rather well.  I figure I should nap, but of course, I decide to drink the coffee and attempt to force myself into a normal schedule.  And that is where I leave this today.