A Whole New Copenhagen

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what it means to know a place. Place has been an important concept to me for as long as I can remember; I think it’s something I inherited from my spatially-conscious father. I certainly base a lot of my identity around the place I have lived, more-or-less, for my whole life: Durham, NC. When I went off to college at Rice, I was suddenly in the midst of a whole new, completely different place in Houston. I have to say, it took me the better part of three years to feel that I had an idea of what Houston was, as a place, and it took some effort to force myself out of the Rice bubble and discover there was more to the Bayou City than oil refineries and overpasses.

Part of the reason I applied for the Fulbright grant was to experience a place I wouldn’t otherwise have the chance to see. I was also inspired by my other opportunity to live for an extended period in a new place, my semester abroad in Chile. Unfortunately, I think my wonderful experience there made me misjudge, to a degree, how quickly one can get a sense for a place. In Chile, I lived with a host family and, within a relative short time, was pretty comfortable speaking the native language. In addition, I was part of a program that placed great, almost paramount, emphasis on developing our sense of what Chile was as a place.

In Denmark, I have found it much harder to get a feel for what it means to live here. Though I have some great Danish friends, it’s certainly not the same as living every day in the home of a native. And then there’s the language. I can make the excuse that Danes are so ready to speak in English that it’s hard to practice any Danish, but the truth is I haven’t devoted the time and effort required to learn it. That one’s on me. During my wonderful trip around Western Europe a few weeks ago, I was struck by the fact that a tourist’s experience in a city like Paris or Amsterdam is pretty uniform, consisting of a series of “must-see” sights, “must-do” activities and “must-eat” foods. It felt like, even though I wasn’t part of a guided tour, I was forced through one by my own preconceptions, with an assist to various travel books and websites that all suggested doing the same things. When you go to Madrid for three days, you expect, and are readily spoon-fed, a pre-packaged “value-meal” of Spain.

What was even more disturbing was the realization that I hadn’t really ventured much further from Denmark’s own value meal. Sure, I’ve absorbed a lot more than any tourist would in a week’s time, but I still felt that my sense of Copenhagen in particular was confined to various small areas around major metro stops.

I’m happy to say that I’ve begun to overcome this deficiency through a confluence of factors, some deliberate and some not. For starters, spring has finally arrived. You have to remember, I spent the first three months of my time in Denmark living right beside my university. It’s a nice place, but there’s nothing much there besides the school. When I moved to Copenhagen, I spent my first two weeks at the COP15 conference and then went home for Christmas. When I got back, I had three months of winter weather that made exploring my new city a less-than-inviting proposition. But, with the sun finally shining and the mercury finally rising, I decided to take advantage, and save transit-money, by getting another bike. I had been putting this off, ostensibly, because of the weather, but more because I was still frustrated about my first bike being stolen. However, I finally ran out of excuses and ended up renting a nice road bike from a cool place that uses their profits to send bikes to impoverished areas of Africa.

The reason for the (nicer) road bike was that I had decided to make the three-day-per-week journey to class by cycle instead of by train. I’ve certainly thought twice about my decision when I’ve had to make the 15-mile ride into a stiff Danish wind, but it saves me having to pay both for train tickets and a gym membership. At a little over an hour, it’s not that much longer door-to-door than taking public transit. OK, maybe that’s not true, but still.

As a very welcome consequence, however, I’ve been able to use my bike to explore around Copenhagen, as well. And in this city, more than probably any other in the world, by bike is the only way to travel. Not only does virtually every street have a separate bike lane (not to mention separate traffic signals), but the distances also melt away. I knew Copenhagen was a compact city, but being able to get from my apartment to almost anywhere I’d want to go in 45 minutes max really drives it home.

No longer confined to the most popular metro stops, I’ve been free to roam the immigrant neighborhood of Nørrebro, filled with Turkish bazaars and Jordanian barbershops. I’ve biked along the canals of Christianshavn as young professionals walk their dogs on the old fortress works. In fifteen minutes I can be at a friend’s place in the former working class apartments of Sydhavn. I can fly down Vestergade on a Saturday morning to buy fresh bread from my favorite bakery.

With this newfound freedom of movement, I feel as if Copenhagen has finally opened up to me. By bike, I’m able to get a better sense of the people on the streets around me, not to mention in the cycle lane next to me. I can stop if I see something interesting, rather than being forced to whizz by on a train. It helps that, now that the sun is out (and doesn’t set until 9 pm) everyone is eager to soak it up. I was told during my Fulbright orientation that “the Danes go a little crazy when they get sun” and now I can safely say this wasn’t a lie. You can feel the excitement in the air on a sunny Saturday afternoon as practically the entire city heads to the parks with a blanket and a few beers.

I’m certainly not the first person to feel that they are finally getting a handle on a place as their time there is drawing to a close, and I’d venture a guess that the pressure of leaving forces many to step up their exploration efforts. Regardless, I’m feeling especially excited about my final two months in a city that is just starting to feel, at least a little bit, like home.

Highlights of my Eurotrip

Hi All,

Well, after 17 days and roughly 4000 miles, I'm back in Copenhagen. I'm a little less healthy, a lot less wealthy, and unmeasurably more enriched by all I have seen and done. If I went into detail about everything I did, you'd be reading this post for a week, so I've decided to offer a recap by dolling out some Eurotrip "awards."

Before we get to the hardware, a brief intro to my travels:

My comrade-in-adventure for the duration of the trip was Sam Bagg, a long-time friend (we met when we were about 8) who was a classmate from 6th through 12th grade before he had the nerve to attend Yale for college. Sam is currently teaching history at a small Swiss boarding school with quirky educational philosophies like "learn based on how you're feeling today" and "let's spend two afternoons a week skiing."

Our primary mode of travel would be Europe's extensive train system, and our golden ticket the Interail Pass. This allows persons having lived in Europe for more than 6 months to travel on 10 different days within a 22-day period. Since we were under 26, this cost us 239 Euro ($325) plus reservation fees if we wanted to use high speed trains, sleeper trains, and/or guarantee ourselves a seat. While trains were our main transport we also made use of: a bus, taxis, canal bikes, ferries, real bikes, trams, subways, our two feet (a lot) and a zebra. Just kidding.

Our route was the following: Sam, having left a few days earlier (another funky philosophy of his school: 3-week Spring Break!) and passing through Berlin, would meet me in Copenhagen where we would hangout for a couple days. Then, it was off to Amsterdam, followed by Paris, Madrid, Grenada, Palma de Majorca, Barcelona and back to Sam's mountain-top Swiss abode before my final journey back to Copenhagen.

Now, the awards:

Best Hostel - Hostal 1 Puerta del Sol, Madrid

This gem is located right off of Madrid's central plaza and is in easy walking distance of almost anything a tourist might want to see. The staff was friendly, there was free internet 24 hours a day and we met some fascinating fellow travels over beers in the lounge area. The kicker: 12 euro ($16 per night) including sheets. Plus, bathrooms and showers were among the nicest we had during the whole trip. One theory as to why it's not better known: apparently there's a famous gay hostel with a very similar name. In fact, when Sam's co-worker Erik (who traveled with us for a bit) tried to find our place online he went to the website of the more, um, "fabulous" establishment and proceeded to send us a rather awkward email.

Runner-Up: The Flying Pig, Amsterdam; Oasis, Granda (tie)

Worst: Kabul, Barcelona

Best Train - Madrid-to-Grenada Renfe Altaria

Far and away the best because we were inexplicable upgraded to first class, which included full breakfast (with as many rolls as you wanted) and even little "airplane bottles" of olive oil. The Southern Spanish scenery (strangely similar to west Texas) didn't hurt, either.

Worst: Montpellier-to-Geneva TGV

What's a trip to Europe without a French railway strike? Upon arriving at the Barcelona station, we noticed that instead of a gate number for our train to Montpellier, France, there was only the word "Bus." Uh-oh. Luckily, it is apparently just as fast on the road as by rail and we reached Montpellier in time for our connection to Geneva...which was cancelled. (Is taking a bus instead of a train because of a railway strike the same as crossing a picket line? Is the fact that this crossed my mind evidence that I've gone off the lefty deep-end?)

Luckily, we were able to get on another train to Geneva and made it one stop...before the train sat on the tracks for 2 hours for no apparent reason. Every so often an announcement was made in French and various groups of passengers would shout angrily and leave the train. Each time I would look at the woman next to me and say "Geneva?" and she would say "c'est bon." In the end, everything was indeed "c'est bon" and we made it to Switzerland where we completed our journey by hiking for an hour-and-a-half up the mountain to Sam's school...at 1 am.

Best Club - El Divino, Palma de Majorca

We were in true Spanish-mode for this one: finished dinner after midnight, left for the club at 2:15 and came home at 7 am. Even though (according to the Swedes we were staying with) the music was too "minimalist House" (that's a type of european techno, but you already knew that, right?), the atmosphere was lively and the ladies proved Palma's reputation isn't just hype.

Worst: Escape, Amsterdam

Best Beer - Alhambra, Granada

Once we realized that there wasn't time for a stop in Belgium, I got a little anxious about the quality of the cold ones we'd find in France and Spain - nations not necessarily known for their breweries. However, Granada once again came through for us. The local favorite ("la agua de Granada," according to one bartender) was a pleasant surprise.

Worst: Kronenbourg 1664, France; San Miguel, Spain (tie)

Best Food - Cinc Sentits, Barcelona

Sam and I decided early on that we wouldn't skimp on food during our travels, subsisting only on kebab stand fare and fast food chains (though, in a moment of weakness, we made one KFC stop). This quest to find the best culinary offerings we could find (and/or afford) in each city became a pretty big part of our trip, and one could argue that we did as much food tourism as anything else during our two-plus weeks. In light of this, it isn't fair to just describe one meal (though there was clearly a winner). So, I'm gonna do a city-by-city breakdown:

Amsterdam: A friend of Sam's who currently lives in Amsterdam suggested a little Italian place in the Jordaan neighborhood. We when got there, only one table was left and the place was packed with locals, always a good sign. To be honest, I know I had pasta but I don't remember what kind, and I don't remember the name of the restaurant. But I DO remember that it was delicious.

Paris: While wandering around the Latin Quarter with Sam's co-worker Erik, we stumbled upon a tiny establishment called "Coup de Torchon." After establishing that it passed our "full of locals" test, we each ordered an appetizer-entree combination. I got onion soup followed by beef medalions - amazing. The champ, however, was Erik's appetizer (which we all tried): crab-stuffed avocado. This time, I made sure to get a card with the restaurant's name an address.

Madrid: We met up with some fellow travelers at our hostel and decided to go our for tapas. The eclectic group included: a Canadian corrections officer from Winnipeg, an exuberant Dutchmen who insisted on being called "Danny Awesome," a waitress who had quit her job in Toronto to travel, a Brooklyner teaching English in Spain, and a five-foot Norwegian girl who took offense to almost everything the jail guard said. Our motley crew discovered an excellent Basque tapas restaurant (the name was like "Ktxchxis" or something else completely unpronounceable) and gorged on pieces of bread toped with delicious meats, cheeses and vegetables. One mistake: we asked for a bottle of red wine with our tapas, without specifying what kind, and wound up with what must have been the most expensive the place had...

Grenada: At a cafe in the cathedral square, Sam and I split a delicious "paella negra" filled with all types of seafood and vegetables and, giving its name and color, squid ink(!).

Palma: I can't decide between the amazing gespacho followed by baked chicken that our Swedish hosts made for us on our first night, the delicious pasta puttanesca that Sam (his recipe) and I made to pay them back, and the scrumptious "Pizza Donnie Brasco" I had at a local Italian place. Thinking about them makes my mouth water, so I'll move on.

Barcelona: A family friend of Sam's gave him, as a present, a not-unsubstantial amount of Euros on the condition that he spend it on something he wouldn't otherwise do. Being the gastronomical fanatic that he his, he decided to use it at one of Barcelona's most chic restaurants. That is how two decidedly under-dressed backpackers wound up at Cinc Sentits (that's "five senses" in Catalan). After doing a little research (and discovering that "Michelin Star" was not a tire-rating system) we realized that to get the full experience, we would need to order the 8-course "tasting menu." What followed was guided tour through the strangest, most wondrous cuisine I have ever tasted: to begin, a "cinc sentits shot" of maple syrup, cream and salt crystals, followed by such delights as clam in asparagus sauce, blue cheese with honey crust, mediterranean red snapper with peppers, iberian suckling pig, sorbet with crazy foam, peas made in such a way that they shouldn't even be called peas anymore, foie gras, and an unfairly-rich chocolate brownie-thing.

(Disclaimer: The above is what I remember. I'm pretty sure there was more, and I'm certain the descriptions do not match the dishes perfectly. The deliciousness of the food seems to have blurred my memory, that or the wine. The only evidence I have is a hard-to-see photo of the menu...in Catalan)

Honorable Mention: The Boqueria market in Barcelona is stall after stall of every kind of fresh food one can imagine. Highlights included fresh squeezed strawberry coconut juice and chocolate croissants.

Honorable Mention II: The Iberian Flauta sandwich at Cafe Viena may not be "the best sandwich in the world" (per the New York Times' Mark Bittman) but it was darn good. Those Iberians know ham.

(Note: Despite what you may think, I do not now weigh 300 pounds. We did A LOT of walking)

Best Museum - Louvre, Paris

What, you thought I was gonna say the Museum of Catalan History? Just because it's probably the most well-known, well-publicized museum in the world doesn't make it any less amazing. Two-and-a-half hours wasn't nearly enough time, especially as I spent the first half just in the Ancient Middle East wing of the first floor before I realized that I should probably get moving if I wanted to see things like, for instance, the Mona Lisa.

Runners Up - Prado, Madrid (again, way too little time); Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam (second time around didn't make it any less cool) and the aforementioned Museum of Catalan History (yes, it's real and yes, I thought it was sweet).

Best City - Grenada

This southern Spanish city had it all: History in the small, steep, winding streets of the Albaicín neighborhood. Beauty in the colorful and poignant wall murals. Power in the enrapturing step of the flamenco dancer. Taste in the free tapas that come with any drink. Creepiness in the Holy Week parade filled with marchers in white robes and pointed hoods. Glory in the glittering gold adorning the Virgin Mary's palanquin in the same parade. Wonder at the gardens of the Sultana perched high above the city in the tranquil confines of the Alhambra palace.

I sincerely hope to one day return to Grenada, and to all the places I visited, but I want to make sure it's with some dear friend or family member with whom I can share the amazing experience.

P.S. Sam's created a facebook album with the highlights of our combined pictures. You can find it on my profile (titled Sam, Daniel, Barcelona) or (if this works like it should) here

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2162063&id=311251&l=66678c62a0

I'm working on a way to get a permanent link to the pictures independent of facebook (for you stalwart holdouts) and I will post it here as soon as I can.