TV Got Jacked. It's Getting Real.

What an exciting week it has been!  Four essays and two presentations, all due at roughly the same time, with about a week to complete them all.  I love my life!

And, our building was broken into!  Again!  And this time, they stole the TV!  How the hell am I going to watch football now!  Oh yes, two weeks ago, a room down the hall was broken into.  They stole $400 and a hard drive. Sure, a student dormitory is easy fare for break-ins, so why is this so suspicious?

Well, although they gained access from the outside door, they first tried to get in from the inside.  And they struck when most people were gone on their study tours.

Could it be an inside job?

I will get to the bottom of this.

Who knows.  At least they left us the cable.

You'll be back, you sneaky bastards.

My roommate and I are locking our door and drawing the curtains, so outside of constructing an illegal (yet awesome) spring gun, we're doing all we can to ward off the mysterious burglar(s).  Still, I'm beginning to think that I might actually be better off taking my laptop with me when I'm traveling overnight... 

I will now make the smooth transition from burglary to competitive cycling.

So smoove.

Copenhagen is hosting this year's UCI Road World Championship.  It's appropriate, considering that the city is flat and bike-friendly.  The riders were blessed with a rare week of good weather.  The downside is that the starting line cuts through my usual bus stop, so now in order to get to class, I have to walk from Central Station (also known as that awkward spot where family-friendly Tivoli is sandwiched between the Red Light District and the beer factory). 

But it's fun to watch the race as I walk to class.  Here's some footage:

Saturday

My apologies to anyone who reads this for the belatedness of this post.  My dorm's Internet has been out for the last two weeks.  Apparently, there are too many students for the system to handle.  DIS Housing sent us an email stating that they are "working to find a solution," though we all know it's like the captain of the Titanic telling a bunch of steerage passengers that they're working on the leak.  In other words, there is an implicit assumption that we are screwed until further notice.  Thus all updates will likely occur from the DIS main building.  

Anyways.

On Saturday morning, we had breakfast at the hostel.  While eating, we noticed an enormous hare hopping around in the courtyard.  I regret that I did not take a picture of it.  The owner said that the hare has lived there for seven years, and comes out to eat the flowers.  When it's sunny, it flops over and suns itself.  Now there are some baby hares that show themselves from time to time.

After breakfast, we drove to the battlefield at Dybbøl.  This was the scene of the decisive battle of the Second Schleswig War of 1864.  Prussia under Otto von Bismark, assisted by Austria, invaded the southern Danish duchies of Schleswig and Holstein under the auspices of liberating the German minority there (admittedly, there was widespread support for Prussia among the German Danes).  Dybbøl, on an unassuming peninsula between Sealand and Jutland, presented the Danes with an opportunity to strike the invading Prussian forces from behind and cut their lines of supply.  On April 7, the Prussians surrounded Dybbøl and laid siege to the town.  Despite Danish control of the sea surrounding the town, they didn't stand a chance.  The Prussians possessed 37,000 men to the Danes' 11,000.  The Prussians also had longer-ranged, more accurate cannons than the Danes, and used modern breech-loading rifles while the Danes used muzzle-loaders.  On April 18, the Prussians emerged from their positions and charged.  The Danes were quickly overwhelmed and driven back, and the battle was decided in a matter of hours.  By the end of the day, the Danes counted 5,000 dead, wounded, and captured to the Prussians' 1,200.  The war was quickly over, peace was signed, and a third of Denmark -- the duchies of Schleswig and Holstein -- were ceded to Prussia.  Denmark would spend the following decades rebuilding and trying hard not to tick off Germany.   

Fortifications at Dybbøl

The view from the Danish side of the field.  Those little white things in the distance are sheep.  Now, imagine that those sheep are just a crazy amount of angry Prussians charging at you with bayonets.

The Dybbøl mill -- the last line of Danish defense.

Gun batteries facing the German lines.

Slugs were everywhere

Our next stop is to drive back across the border to Flensburg.  We are going to see the inauguration of a statue -- the Flensburger Löwe (the Flensburg Lion).  The lion was erected in Flensburg to commemorate the Danish victory over Schleswig-Holstein in the Battle of Isted in 1850.  When Flensburg was ceded to Prussia, the lion was moved to a military academy in Berlin.  After World War II, U.S. forces moved the lion to Copenhagen at the behest of the Danish government.  Now, the lion has gone back to its original place in the Flensburg cemetery.  The Danish prince, the Danish and German ambassadors, two bands, and plenty of townspeople are in attendance.  One thing I notice is that despite the official presence, there is virtually no security.

The graves of soldiers killed at Isted.

Some (fragmented) footage from the event.

We then drive to Knivsbjerg, in southern Denmark.  This area is home to a large German minority, and we visit a youth center run by a German Dane named Frank.  We eat lunch and hike up a large hill where the community erected a large memorial to Otto von Bismark in the late 19th century.  The memorial was blown up by the Danish resistance in 1945, and now only its base remains.

The view from the hill

The roof of the youth center is visible just over the hill.  There are a few tents set up -- this is a popular camping ground.

Walking back down the hill, we visit the "Hall of Honor," home to two memorials.  The first is dedicated to locals who died in World War I.  Five stones are marked with the dates of each year of the war.  Sadly, many of the dead were ethnic Danes forced to fight against their will (this area was returned to Denmark by referendum after World War I).

The second memorial is more controversial.  It is constructed in the same style as the first.  However, names of the fallen appear on these stones.  And -- this is a memorial to Danes who joined the Waffen-SS and died in the service of the Nazis (there were about 700 in total).  The Waffen-SS was responsible for most of the war crimes committed by the Nazis; generally more so than the regular army (which was also, of course, complicit).  Most of these men saw action on the Eastern front, and it is striking how the number of names drastically increase in 1941, when the invasion of the Soviet Union began, and skyrocketed from there.

From 1 in 1939... (who curiously died before Denmark was even involved in the war)

Some of the names have been scratched off.  These are men who have been proven by historical record to have been involved with war crimes; their names were removed by local authorities.  It is likely that many more should be removed -- but until historical evidence is uncovered, they will remain.

...to lots and lots by 1945.

 Then it's back home to Copenhagen.  On the bus ride back, the stream of depressing movies reaches its climax with a film called Murk, about a serial killer who lives in Jutland.  What is wrong with Scandinavian filmmakers?

Crossing the bridge back to Sealand.  Where there are fewer serial killers.

Friday

Because the hotel dropped the ball on preparing breakfast, I bought a Marzipantasche at a nearby bakery.  I ordered in German and the cashier did not respond in English.  +1.

By the time I walk back to the hotel, however, management is finally bringing food out.  We have rolls, cheese, meat, tomatoes, and cucumbers.  Germans are really into cucumbers, apparently.  While we eat, we watch Good Morning Deutschland, hosted by a spiky-haired Turkish woman and an Indian man with an outrageous pompadour.  The musical act is a band called "Boy."  I had seen posters for them around the city (on the subject of music, apparently Lenny Kravitz and the Red Hot Chili Peppers are coming to Hamburg as well).  Interspersed with the talk show are clips describing our heightened terror warning and Obama's latest infusion of cash.  Our instructor says that Obama hopes for a Wirtschaftswunder (an economic miracle).  We'll need a miracle indeed.

Then it's onto the bus again.  We drive around the St. Pauli neighborhood, home to the Reeperbahn (Hamburg's red light district), where the Beatles got their start.

This World War II-era anti-aircraft tower is now home to a club called "Dirty and Dangerous."  Go figure.

 We first visit a memorial for the victims of Hamburg's firebombing in the bombed-out ruins of St. Nikolai's Church.  In 1943, the Soviet Union was bearing the brunt of the Nazi war machine, and Stalin was pleading with the Allies to open a second front.  The Allied invasion of France was still 11 months away, but the western Allies did have lots and lots of air power...

So during the unusually hot and dry week of July 25-August 3, 1943, Hamburg was attacked by 3,000 British and American bombers.  The Allied aircraft jettisoned shredded tinfoil, confusing German radar and rendering an enemy response impotent.  Targeting the entire city, but primarily Hamburg's oil refineries and munitions factories, the Allied aircraft unloaded hundreds of thousands of tons of incendiary bombs on Hamburg, using St. Nikolai's spire as an aiming point.  The attack created a firestorm of 1,500 degrees Fahrenheit that rose 1,500 feet into the sky.  The pages of burned books traveled as far as Lübeck.  People on the street were sucked into the flames by 150 mile-an-hour winds.  Those in underground air raid shelters were baked alive.  The asphalt turned molten.  By the end of the campaign, the city was practically destroyed, and 40,000 Hamburgers were dead.

Well then, onto a lighter subject.  We then travel to the Kunsthalle, Hamburg's art museum.  The Kunsthalle was built after the war with generous donations.  It is one of the best galleries I have visited, and it is my favorite part of the Hamburg tour.

Caspar David Friedrich

This painting touches on the futility of man's efforts against the forces of nature.

Seafood

Picasso

Edvard Munch

Legos?

That baby is freaking me out.

Hamburg Ink

This one reminds me of "Mack the Knife," from the Threepenny Opera.  Or Jack the Ripper.  Or both.  Either way, George Grosz needs to get some help.

This man needs no introduction.

Keith observed that the "eyeball" is the main feature that allows us to identify this as a human figure.  Otherwise, we are just trying to make sense of a bunch of shapes -- and we interpret it to be a person.

Then it's lunch and onto the bus again.

German food may not be Italian food.  But it's still pretty good.

 We now drive two hours north to Flensburg, a large town just 45 minutes from the Danish border.  On the way, we watch a film called The Art of Crying which Thorsten says will "prepare us" for the region we are visiting.  The film is a horribly depressing story about a family with an abusive, incestuous father living in the Danish boonies.  I am beginning to notice a trend in the films we are watching.  And of course, what drive through Germany would be complete without getting buzzed by the Luftwaffe?

We arrive at the Duborg School around 2 p.m.  This is a Danish school in Germany.  As northern Germany has a large Danish minority and southern Denmark has a large German minority, the two governments have an agreement allowing each other to fund schools in each others' countries.  We are given a tour by some of the students.  The Duborg School contrasts sharply with my high school.  Here, students take 4-hour analytical tests rather than multiple choice or true/false quizzes.  They have no electives but gain an excellent grounding in basic materials such as mathematics, geography, and history.  There is no detention (and no stupid American zero tolerance policies), and thus they play some nice pranks.  There are few extracurricular activities as we know them -- the school day ends at the bell.  If someone wants to be on, say, a soccer team, they will join a club in town rather than a school team.  Students are very independent -- sometimes they will move to an apartment in Flensburg by themselves in order to be closer to school.  What struck me most, however, is that many recent graduates choose to travel or work for a few years before continuing their education.  Many American parents would disown, or at least lose a great deal of respect for their children, if they delayed or ruled out higher education.  

The rival school.  Formerly Adolf Hitler High.  Not kidding.

I wish my high school had this view.

I don't know what this signifies.  Keith, who taught in the U.S. for a while, says that in Philadelphia this means that you can buy drugs here.

This is the Flensburg police station.  During World War II, it served as a Gestapo headquarters.  As the Allies closed in, many high rankings Nazis such as Himmler and Dönitz fled to Flensburg.  It was here that many SS and Gestapo men were issued false papers and civilian clothes to facilitate their disappearance.  Many did flee, but some remained in the Flensburg area.  Thorsten knew someone who went to school in Flensburg after the war, and said that she always complained that her teachers were "such Nazis."

We then depart Flensburg for Sønderborg, in southern Denmark.

The border region is literally covered in windmills.  Here we see a blade being readied for transportation.

Crossing a river into Sønderborg.

 We check into our hostel and walk into town for dinner.  Sønderborg is Thorsten's hometown, and we stop by his school on the way.

Small-town Denmark

 We are treated to a beer-tasting at a local brewery and restaurant owned by a German immigrant (also named Thorsten).  The beers, which all use Thorsten's own recipes, are all flavorful and excellent.

Pilsner

A nutty Dunkel

Wheat beer, with strong banana flavorings

This one, called "Ringrunner," was my favorite.  Some said it tasted like butter; I thought it tasted like pretzels.

 After the beer tasting, our whole class walks (some staggering slightly) upstairs and dine on mackerel and potatoes.  I order a Ringrunner to go with my fish.  Danish Thorsten leaves in the middle of dinner to visit his mom.  German Thorsten puts on his leather jacket and motorcycle helmet and rides off into the sunset.

Thorsten and Thorsten

Me with the brewing equipment

 After dinner we look for a good bar, but most are full of middle age Danes.  And the whole town is actually pretty dead, especially for a Friday night.  But then again, we are in a small town in provincial Denmark.  So, I go back to Thorsten's brewery with a few other people, order a Dunkel, and enjoy my complementary beer blanket.

That warm fuzzy feeling that only a beer, a blanket, and a little table plant can provide.