Not Another Damn American: 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.