NO - Oslo

June 24                 Friday                                   Norway                                Oslo                                      

It was a pretty easy journey to the train station: walk toward the river, hop on the tram, and hop off pretty much right at the station’s entry.  Fortunately the train station and bus station where in a single continuous building, making it easy to work out an Oslo trip whether it be by bus or by rail.

I was a little surprised to learn that rail wasn’t going to be an option… apparently there was track work en route to Oslo, requiring that rail transfer to a bus midway through the journey.  So while it was technically an option, Swebus offered a bus which was cheaper, faster, and I could stay in the same seat the whole way.  So that won out, letting me immediately hop right onto the bus as soon as I’d bought my ticket.  Very little waiting required.

Overall Göteborg had shown itself a bit better than my initial impression, but I was leaving a day sooner than I’d originally guessed I might spend here… it just wasn’t the most endearing of cities; I’d say Stockholm was certainly the better.  While Göteborg certainly isn’t pretentious in the slightest (whereas Stockholm kind of is), its working class roots were still a bit strong in that it just wasn’t a city that geared itself toward tourists too well.

Oslo was different.  I got to take a bit of a tour after leaving the bus station because I went the wrong way… and then after backtracking from my initial northern trajectory I ended up going southwest… so I had to correct myself again to get further north.  All I wanted to go was go due northwest, but my Lonely Planet map was so incredibly inaccurate that this proved to be quite difficult.  Fortunately, despite the burden of carrying my full kit: Oslo’s pretty streets kept it rather bearable.

My lodging was at the Hotel Bondeheimen.  For the price I was paying: the room wasn’t nearly as luxurious as I’d hoped it would be… it was really just a room and naught much more; but it was very central.  Exceedingly central.  Really its location was pretty tough to beat.  So I tried to put the price of the rooms behind me and just accept it for what I now had.

I unloaded my gear and immediately went in search of dinner.  This ended up being Italian at the Trattoria Cappuccino located just behind the cathedral.  It was a linguine dish consisting of very thin homemade linguine & exquisitely tasty, but the serving was a bit on the small side.  While I usually do just fine with the smaller portions common in Europe (indeed, I actually appreciate it), this was a bit small even by European standards.  I suppose it was just incentive to indulge in dessert; a thought which I hadn’t considered until I’d already left.  I’d have actually rather liked to try their tiramisu.

The reason I’d completely forgotten about dessert was that I got to chatting with my waitress: a very beautiful girl who seemed to be quite interested in conversation.  She had remarked on my saying that I’m from America, noting something that’s always bothered me… I’m from America just as much as Canadians are & anyone from anywhere south of the border.  Of course, few Canadians will call themselves American simply because of the connotations that would bring… we kind of joked about that, but it was a Segway into learning that she’s originally from Costa Rica, hence her American remark.  She’s technically American, too.  I inquired as to how she ended up here & learned that she has Swedish parents (I may have misheard; she may have said Norwegian; clearly Swedish parents still wouldn’t completely explain being in Oslo).  She was also heading to Rome soon as a volunteer with the UN.  Here’s a girl with a strong international background, an ethic toward helping people, great at conversation, about to go to one of my favorite cities in a country that I hold dear, and she’s stunningly gorgeous… not even going the bottle blonde route like so many others in Scandinavia.  It wasn’t my favorite of moments when she was called away & we had to cut the conversation short so I could vacate and she could return to work.

I next made my way southward toward the Akershus Festning (Akershus Fortress), but not before first stopping at a place called Bagel & Juice just around the corner from the hotel to grab a rather tasty strawberry & mango smoothie.  At the fortress I did a quick tour of the Norwegian Armed Forces Museum.  I had 15 minutes to tour the museum and did it in 10… it had some interesting stuff, but overall it really wasn’t something that needed an immense amount of time.

Crossing through the gate and past the walls, I’d followed just in the footsteps of a guard only a few paces ahead of me.  As she returned to her post from her brief patrol across the bridge, I couldn’t help but be amused at her faint smile upon her realization that I was snapping several photos of her.  She had this look on her face that was clearly the desire to want to smile and pose for a photo; but unable to given her duty to remain stoic, composed, and alert.

The tourism information building was originally just going to be a brief pause for me to ask about the Oslo Card (which wasn’t available there), but I ended up spending considerably more time there after a passing glimpse at one of its informational signs turned into a full-fledged reading of every single one.  There were some amazing stories of convicts who had ended up at the prison for one reason or another, including a few who kept coming back after each time making an escape.  I suppose it doesn’t matter if you’re not very good at evading capture if you are good at getting back out again.  I was just approaching the last sign when I caught a figure out of the corner of my eye oriented directly toward me… the poor girl manning the desk was patiently waiting for me to finish.  While she insisted I keep reading, with the time at 17:05 and on a Friday evening: I dearly didn’t want to keep this young 20-something waiting; but I really was grateful and amazed at her patience in this tourist who insists on coming in right at closing time & then lingering about reading everything.  I was the kind of person that every employee despises :)

The fortress’ interior had closed, but I was still free to roam about its outside.  The winner here was the great views over the city, where despite the light drizzle the clouds were quite amazing above the city.  I’d come to love the clouds over Norway, where the effects of mixing ocean streams, rising mountains, and the clash of temperate and Arctic air all combine to create some amazing cloud formations; the like I’ve never seen.  Just beside the fortress was a massive cruise ship at dock.  I couldn’t help but smile at the cannons pointed directly at it, with the cruise ship’s multitude of openings upon its side seeming almost as if a massive battery of armaments aimed directly back.

I exited the castle and crossed along the harbor toward Aker Brygge, a pretty new waterfront neighborhood that I’ll come back to in just a second.  Along the way, in the harbor area by the Rådhus (city hall), were two concert areas… one I’d come to learn was for a gay rights celebration the next day; and the other was for Oslo Live, a concert series in its 2^nd to last day.  From the flyers I came to realize it was drawing some pretty huge acts.  The beats from the Oslo Live venue could be heard all the way into the center, and as I walked alongside its northeastern fringe the bass felt like it was moving blood through my body with more energy than my own heart.  It was some good dance beats, but I didn’t recognize them nor the artist… but it did cause me to slow my pace down a bit to appreciate the tunes.

Continuing on into Aker Brygge I reminisced upon all the waterfronts I’d seen thus far…

• ·         Reykjavik’s isn’t really built up much, but for what there is I’d say it’s mostly industrial.
• ·         Stockholm’s had a continuous tourist presence through most of it, but a lot of it was fronted by boats and such… while there were some plazas, I didn’t really feel that it actively engaged with the water so much as just look upon it; the private boat-bars more detracting from the public appreciation of it (although the boats tended to be rather vintage, so I’m not necessarily complaining; vintage boats can make for lovely photos regardless of function).
• ·         Kalmar embraced the water a bit more, with Kalmar’s Castle and adjacent park providing a nice waterside view and a pretty harbor; but like Stockholm not really working with the water rather than just looking upon it.
• ·         Karlskrona definitely used its resources, with several public plazas and parks offering plenty of opportunity to relax & appreciate the water; but not many businesses which actively engaged with the water.
• ·         Århus had a totally industrial waterfront.
• ·         Copenhagen kind of ignores the water, not really having many buildings of interest fronting the water with the exception of a few spots along the canals, except even then the focus tends to be more on the parallel walkways and not as much on the canals… not too many benches & too many boats (but again: in some cases the boats made for great photos).
• ·         Göteborg takes bottom rankings: pretty much covering its entire riverfront with nothing but industry.  I’d have expected more out of Sweden’s second city.

But then there’s Oslo.  It has its industrial fringes along the fjord (though I seem to recall reading that this bit technically isn’t a fjord), leaving its waterfront near the city center open for the tourism industry.  Of the three sides bound by land, there’s the castle/fortress on one side, the Aker Brygge neighborhood on the opposite side, and the harbor in the middle.  The harbor just serves bar-boats; none of which seemed to stay docked too long… they were bars that actually cruised around; not just sit there at the docks like in so many other cities.  This freed up the view from the promenade to look down the fjord, and the nature of the promenade offered plenty of room to avoid feeling crowded & also a number of spots to sit down.  The fortress likewise gave a great elevated view, really sparking one’s appreciation of the sea.

Now for Aker Brygge.  This is a mixed use development which replaced a bunch of warehousing and industry (which still remains just beyond the couple blocks of development).  With mid-rise buildings (about 6-10 stories) and ground level retail & restaurants, it definitely served as the place to be both by day and by night.  The restaurants tended to be a bit higher-end, but this was definitely where both the casual & fine dining seemed to be for most folk.  There were plenty of benches about and a number of water features in addition to the fjord and a canal, of which the canal was home to a line of boats on one side and the fjord-front hosted larger yachts geared toward fjord tours; but even then the view toward the fortress was still unimpeded from most points.

Even away from the docks, the interior of the neighborhood had a pedestrianized area… and I specifically enjoyed the architecture of the buildings themselves.  First, the were visibly modern but had a hint of traditional Nordic touch.  You could see the modern Scandinavian designs in the very geometric shapes, but somehow there just seemed to be a bit of classic influence in there… I’m not an architect so I can’t pinpoint it much better than that.

I especially liked the balconies, a component which I feel American design woefully misses in so many developments.   The balconies were varied, helping to keep the upward views from being monotonous; and the balconies also provided enough room for the residents to actually use them.  That might sound a bit trivial, but there’s a trend among architects in America to add balconies that are only 1-2 ft wide… they’re really just large windows at that point.  You can’t walk out on them; you can’t look down; you can’t appreciate or engage with what’s outdoors in the way you could if you could put out some chairs and a table.  With great views from each of these balconies, they all helped offer an “eyes on the street” that can not only make it more engaging from a civic perspective; but also help deter crime by making any would-be perpetrators feel that they’d be more likely to be seen.  And there’s the monotony element – something architects are guilty of worldwide whereby they just copy the same exterior over and over again.  With the varied shapes of the buildings, my eyes were continuously drawn upward just as much as the ground also engaged my senses.

So basically… I really liked Aker Brygge.  The only thing that seemed to be missing were some good cultural venues… but it could just be that I didn’t spot them.  A local theater space, perhaps.  Or even a school; but I also don’t know the Norwegian word for school… so maybe I just didn’t see that, either.  There were a couple statues & other art pieces which were pretty neat, including a rather odd piece that contorted the landscape at one of the central plazas.  Within the same plaza was also a statue of a relaxing nude woman… I wasn’t sure if it was vandalized or if was an approved art piece, but it’d been painted over with colored shoes, lipstick, and… pubic hair.  Without that latter coloring I probably wouldn’t have thought much of the differential between each of the legs, but with the coloring it suddenly became quite pornographic to view the statue from a certain angle.

Now back to those bar-boats in the harbor at the center of the fjord.  Just a slight interjection before I continue on with my day.  As I walked along one of the piers I couldn’t help but notice something peculiar about the crowds on each boat.  Every single woman… I mean right down to every single one… that is: 100% … so all of the women on each of three boats along the pier was a bottle blonde.  Not one brunette among them; not even someone who may have been a natural blonde.  Bah… not that I’m inherently against bottle blondes; but I just see people who have to change themselves so thoroughly as being people with some self-identity, esteem, and confidence issues… and more often than not I tend to be right; and more often than not they tend to be heinously annoying.  Now there are exceptions; and I’m good friends with some of those exceptions; but none of these women looked or sounded like the type to prove me wrong.

So in general, Scandinavian women have been at their prime in their 30’s.  Granted, by the time they hit 40: they start to look like your standard over-the-hill Cali-Mom: great body but a mummified face.  In their teens and 20’s, they just come off as too ditzy/trashy-looking; whereas they eventually become a bit more dignified, classy, and respectable… but these lasses on the boat – largely in their 20’s and 30’s – didn’t give much credence to my little theory.  The guys weren’t much better.  In line with what I said a few days ago, the guys on these boats just looked like a bunch of fratboys.  Though fortunately, the guys off the boats have tended to seem a bit more normal; not quite the Danish thugs or as much like the Swedish fratboys.  Bummer… I’m such a fan of Swedish backpackers; I just can’t stand its urbanites.

While I’m nitpicking over these things: I’ll also take a stab at the Norwegian’s sunglasses.  So aviator-style sunglasses are huge here, apparently.  I’m mixed on aviators… I love their look on, you know, aviators and other enforcement-type folk; but on your general layman they reinforce that whole fratboy persona.  So I’m ultimately not a huge fan.  But what bothers me here isn’t my inherent aversion to them so much as they the sunglasses they’re wearing are about 50% larger than they should be.  It makes it seem like they have very small heads; it’s an illusion that really bugs me.  And running with that: I’d still say it’s better than Americans’ current sunglasses obsession of wearing these huge round things that make them look like bugs… seriously, Americans have no fashion sense.

So I’m on a roll here, I’ll keep this rant going.  Fashion sense.  So back to women: if I had to pick a single physical trait that best defines Scandinavian women – yeah, I’m being a male pig here, I know – it’d absolutely be their legs.  Now normally I’m an arm guy… not because I’m sexually aroused by arms (that seems kind of weird), but because I find arms to be such a great signifier of the rest of the body.  You can tell if a woman is too heavy, too thin, if she’s very lean and toned, or if she’s just a good size.  It’s always been a consistently good indicator.  But here… Scandinavians have been quite thoroughly turning me into a leg man… partly because they show so much of them; partly because they’re all quite well toned; and partly because they somehow make them seem so incredibly smooth and long.  It all seems weird as I write it but makes perfect sense in my head.

And top it off with the jeans… firstly, European women know how to wear jeans.  Heck I’ll also credit European men with pulling off jeans.  Americans of both genders fail at both, and I take no shame in saying that I’m among them.  Not only do we wear jeans which don’t look nice to begin with – what’s this crap with pre-faded, pre-holed, pre-whatever – but our flabby excesses just roll on out with the ever-endearing term “muffin-tops”.  You flat-out don’t see those in Europe.  Every time I have seen them, 95% of the time they’ve ended up being American and 4% of the time Canadian; with the remaining 1% being the folk among the various European sub-cultures who could care less or even embrace bad fashion (this is pretty much where I’d count myself).

Basically: Europeans are much more fit to begin with, but even those who are a bit heavier wear jeans cut to hide it a bit better… in many cases they wrap along the waist higher, which with the right top makes it seem just fine.  Of course, with the wrong top you look like you’re stuck in the 80’s and have a massive rear-end… I have seen this on many occasions in Europe, where there’s definitely a larger proportion of people stuck in the 80’s (or at least early 90’s) than we have in America.

But no more ranting; back to the city!  I continued northward into a really pretty neighborhood.  This was the highlight of Oslo, but really in general: Oslo has been the first city that has really had the European joy of just wandering and getting yourself lost, with each street having a unique character.  Granted, this particular area was the home of embassies… so clearly it was a bit better off than the rest.  Among them was Fortress America: the mighty walls and fencing standing out among the quaint historic buildings in a manner that only America and Russia could do so well.  Nothing rouses feelings of patriotism quite like seeing your home embassy feel cold and forbidding even to you, its own offspring and kin.  I wouldn’t even know how to enter into an American embassy if I ever needed to… I feel like I’d end up in a tiny cold room with an uncomfortable seat and a single bright light whilst they attempted to find out why I was there, and after three hours of interrogation I’d have probably forgotten why I was there to begin with… making me only more suspicious before next thing I know I’ve scored a free trip to our little base in Cuba.

So instead I just take pictures.  Lots and lots of pictures.  I love putting our guys at unease.  That’s one of the great things about living in DC: you get to have fun with our safety paranoia and security theatre on a daily basis.  Because every terrorist will surely use a large expensive SLR… clearly they won’t use a point & shoot or a mobile phone… or just look up photos on the internet.  So yeah.

I ate dinner at a place called Rust.  From the name I knew it wasn’t a place for me… only hipster places have names like that; I’m not pretentious enough to dine at such places.  I actually ended up eating a quite tasty burger, but of course its presentation was in the true essence of a hipster sort of place… something so simple had to be presented like it came from a top-tier restaurant.

My return journey took me through the palace gardens.  Yet another strike against Lonely Planet is their complete absence of any reference whatsoever to the royal palace.  Even if there aren’t any tours, I’d have at least expected them to say so.  I really have no idea if there are or not.  And considering this is a European capital and seat of an existing monarchy, I feel like that’s kind of a big deal… even if it is a pretty young monarchy & capital (by European standards, at least).

I saw a woman pushing a baby stroller while on her mobile phone.  While she was dialing, she rolled right on through a pile of horse manure & also over a plastic bag with something in it.  I’m not sure what was actually in the bag, but I feel like you wouldn’t want to push your baby through it.  As she transfers to chatting, she starts meandering left and right before eventually crashing into the side of a park bench.  So… these people drive.

 A fun result of all the recent rain: the dirt plaza in front of the palace had channels that grew ever wider as you moved downhill toward the city center.  And where the dirt came to an end: the dirt continued, regardless, into the forked street – covering it in bright red-orange gravel.  I wondered at what their maintenance regimen is after such periods of rain… I assume they bring in more gravel to fill in the channels, rake it flat, and somehow flush the sewers.  Ahh, the thoughts of an engineer…

Moving into the central park I stopped at one of the theaters and watched a busker swirl about, forming massive bubbles.  I wouldn’t have given it too much heed if it weren’t for the couple of small children running about with pure joy on their faces.  I figured it’d be good photo fodder, and after about 20 minutes I finally moved on; but not before offering him a few coins of my own.  The guy had a hat quite full as it was, what-with parents supplying the wee ones with gifts; but I really felt the guy had a good performance persona… I quite like buskers who contribute to the community in such a way.

Other buskers in the area included your usual fare of musicians and fake statues.  I’ll sometimes give coins to the musicians, but they have to be good.  I’ve seen some stellar ones only in Rome, Salzburg, and Edinburgh… that’s been it.  They need to play original music; it needs to be captivating; it needs to show talent and skill; and it needs to either be a true community asset or it needs to be so skillful that I feel the musician is underappreciated.  And I’m not against handing out paper to those who are really good.

Fake statues aren’t among them.  Now I kind of like them… and standing very still does take some talent… and I’ve seen a couple which have a bit more fun with it; but the statues here in Oslo were just statue-ing; not hopping off to haunt people or anything mime-ish.  At least mimes & miming requires some animation; it’s entertaining.  But Treebeard would call them “tree-ish”.

Similarly the musicians weren’t very good, either.  But Oslo took claim of the worst busker I’ve ever seen: people just sitting around in a goofy costume.  One example: Mickey Mouse.  He was just sitting there with a hat out for coins.  No talent required.  It’s like the Mr. Plow of busking: I could hear the guy’s argument with his girlfriend (or parents)… “Sure the huge costume is expensive, but it’ll make money!”   I’m sure that’s worked out well.

My night in my excessively-expensive hotel room drew to a close.  Oh, how I wish lodging was cheaper in Scandinavia… or really if anything was cheaper.  While Britain may still rank highest on account of conversions, these Nordic countries are quite simply obscenely expensive.  A dorm bed at a hostel costs as much as a typical hotel room in the USA… a dorm bed in the rest of Europe is half or even a quarter the price.  I’m going to grimace when I see the credit card statements upon my return home.

SE - Göteborg

June 23                 Thursday                             Sweden                                                Göteborg                           

OK, Göteborg: show me your good side.  The sun was up, the air was warm, and I got a particularly good night’s sleep.  After grabbing some pizza, I made my way into the city’s center to take in its sights.  There weren’t too many things I’d marked as must-see; mostly just tall places where I could try and get some shots of the city.  So sure enough, I worked my way directly to the waterfront… well, the tourist-oriented waterfront; or what little there is of it.  The vast majority of Göteborg’s riverfront is given over to industry, leaving just a small sliver as a harbor featuring a couple boat-bars, cafés, and souvenir shops.

But there was also a tall red and white-striped office tower right by the river, including an elevator up to the top for the tourists (named Göteborgs-Utkiken).  This was another one of those cases where you had to show up on the hour to go, but the receptionist let me up despite being 10 minutes into the hour… when I reached the top I came to guess that it was because things were a bit quiet.  There were two other people up there: a mother and a 30-something daughter (or so I assumed it was a mother/daughter relation).  So that pretty much gave me free reign over circulating about the windows endlessly, nabbing photo after photo of everything I could set my lens upon.

Once I grew weary of that I made my way to a nearby Ferris wheel to do it all over again: rise up, photograph, circulate around… albeit circulating a bit more vertically rather than horizontally upon a level platform, as in the office tower.  En route to the Ferris wheel I passed by a trio of Italians, letting me get to use a bit of my Italian skills… which haven’t returned nearly with the pizzazz that my German skills have returned these past few weeks.  But with two of the three being absolutely phenomenal-looking women in their young or mid-20’s (and I’ll be first to say that I really don’t fine Italian women, on  average, to be that attractive), I didn’t hesitate in the slightest when they asked for a photo and I got a chance to strike up conversation.  When their battery died just as I was taking their photo: I think my heart skipped a couple beats when one of the girls came up to swap them out.  Of course, with them both traveling with a guy who could easily grace the cover of any European fashion magazine: I knew it wasn’t worth my time stopping to chat any more than necessary.

I boarded the Ferris wheel with only one other group: a team of Bulgarian athletes who took up two other cars.  While I’d been in the office tower the weather had started to cloud up considerably, and it was while I was hovering about in the Ferris wheel that the rain started up with abundance.  Fortunately I got some great photos before the rain & then used the rain to get some photos of a bit different variety… and I was very dry; that was good, too.  The rain quit just as I alighted and returned to the streets.

The Stadsmuseum (Göteborg Museum) was my next stop, really just because I wanted to see their Viking exhibit.  I’d been in Scandinavia for nearly a month and really haven’t seen anything Viking-related; I figure that might be a sin or something… but really, Norway is the center of the Vikings: so I haven’t forsaken it yet.  But I appeased the Viking heritage by finally getting my first taste of their culture, seeing the remains of a longboat and some neat statues of the various Norse deities.  The statues were really cool: almost cartoonish but exquisitely crafted… I was forced to wonder if they were actually more modern constructions; they seemed in far too good of condition.  Indeed, I’d put my money on that they are pretty new; but the longboat sure wasn’t.  The boats remains were laid out & left it very easy to visualize its shape and look.  I’ve always loved the longboats, and seeing one firsthand granted me a renewed appreciation for their ingenious structure.

My next stop was the Trägårdsföreningen, a botanic garden in the city center.  This was a lovely stroll and with the recent rain: it offered some great opportunities for photos.  The clouds were blocking the sun, but sometimes it’s worth thinking of the clouds not as an impediment but a very large diffuser… it helps reframe the situation when you’re trying to take photos.

After that I kept heading southeast toward the Universeum, a science museum specializing mostly in the earth sciences.  Along the way, however, I passed by some film crews in front of the city’s university.  Curious, I hovered about a bit and attempted to stay out of the way of the camera, which seemed to be focused on a vehicle parked on the sidewalk.  I started walking up the stairs to take a look and get a good shot of the action, as the stairs seemed to be out of the shot & there seemed to be a crowd of other onlookers.  But just as I’d ascended a couple stairs, one of the crew assistants stole my attention and asked me to hold on… and seconds later the scene started & all those folk along the stairs suddenly set in motion.  They were all extras.

I ended up getting to be an extra in that scene.  From speaking with the staffmember I learned that they were filming the next Johan Falk movie, a Swedish crime drama or something like that.  Apparently it’s quite popular; unless that was just her attempt to make her job feel valid… I really have no idea if it’s popular or not, but Wikipedia’s mention that the last couple movies have gone straight to video has me a bit concerned; or it could be that Swedes watch a lot of videos & “straight to video” isn’t such a bad thing?

At the Universeum: there was a great exhibit on water, focusing a bit more on its interrelationship with the Arctic regions.  Another exhibit was a large indoor rainforest, replete with free-roaming monkeys, birds, and other critters.  I watched as a monkey hopped onto a railing – inches away – and nabbed at a rather large insect which I hadn’t noticed right beside me… it made for fun photos as he consumed his dinner.  The water-oriented stuff was interesting, with one contraption showing a bunch of different hydraulic engineering concepts in a very hands-on manner, including locks, hydraulic jumps, and even Archimedes’ screw.  Seriously, every civil engineering lab should have one of these: what a great way to show the stuff I’ve spent 6 years of my life studying in classrooms.  Sure it was for kids, but what’s a college student (or even an adult) but a child at heart?

The aquarium was your pretty typical aquarium; not too much of interest considering I’ve been to some pretty phenomenal aquariums in my lifetime.  But one thing they did have going for themselves was a huge swordfish which seemed to enjoy coming right up to the windows.  There was also an underwater tunnel… always a win for an aquarium.

One of the museum’s rooms was clearly intended to make science fun for children, but I’d wager its designers knew full well that the parents would likewise have a blast.  There was a huge variety of interactive exhibits, including a bunch which used various lights and sounds to assault your senses, gauging your body’s reaction in various ways.  I was a bit surprised at how much warm colors increased my heart rate and how cooler colors really soothe me… but the musical aspect was more interesting: I was in motion along with the beats the whole time, but the rock & roll caused my heart rate to surge whereas the downtempo music caused me to become so calm that some doctors might have considered me legally dead.  The rock + warm colors combination contrasted immensely with the downtempo + cool colors bit… it was like comparing the Himalayas to Kansas.

Within that same room was a game where there were a bunch of large red buttons scattered about a board that I’d say was about 1.5 meters tall and 2.5 meters wide.  You had to press the one that lit up, and keep going for 30 seconds to see how many you could press.  It was basically a game of Whack-a-Mole.  There was a definite limit on how fast you could go based on the delay between hitting the button & the next one lighting up, but with my score of 44 almost doubling the best of everyone else who’d tried: I deemed myself to have done quite well at it.

There was one more room which was dedicated to forensic science.  I’d wager this would have been immensely more interesting had the translations worked… both English and German seemed to not work.  While the translations didn’t work in the previous room, either, at least the previous room was rather self-explanatory; this one had a bit more info on the science which I wasn’t able to understand.  But there were still some activities that I could figure out well enough… from fingerprinting to tracking footprints to DNA sampling to facial recognition… lots of fun stuff.  But my favorite was the laser room.

So in this darkened black box were a whole bunch of lasers going from wall to wall, leaving but the faintest red beam across the way.  Of course, as anyone who watched Mythbusters knows: real security lasers use invisible infrared; not visible red beams… so unless the dude who installed security decided to be a cheapskate: you’re not going to be able to see the beams in a real-life break-in situation.  But here: I didn’t care… this was my chance to be a thief; a criminal; to reenact Entrapment in all its Catherine Zeta-Jones’ rear-end’s glory.  And that I did.

I left my backpack and camera at the entry so that I could artfully maneuver up, over, and around each of the criss-crossing beams, with great deft making it to the very last trio of beams all crossing over one another.  I contorted my body and readied myself to pass through, when all of a sudden my thievery was foiled by a small child bursting in and dashing gleefully through the beams.  Alarms sounded, ruining all I had worked toward… but fortunately the otherwise pitch black room bored the child, and when no guards carrying AK’s showed up: I continued with my break-in and finished the room.  Alas, the exit just took me to the same room as the entry… no industrial secrets or extravagant wealth to be had for the taking.  So at the point I nonchalantly walked around to the entry to grab my gear and depart.

It was at a place called Smaka where I grabbed my dinner, and for once Lonely Planet served me quite well.  I got the standard Ikea meal: meatballs, mashed potatoes, and lingonberries.  The berries were actually berries, though, not the jelly-like paste of Ikea which I am personally not a fan of.  The actual berries tasted much the same (perhaps even a touch better), but had the berry texture that I love so dearly.  The meatballs and mashed potatoes weren’t Ikea, but they were still quite tasty… far better than the meal I’d had back in Stockholm.

Back at my hostel I tried to plan the next day, with much of the work consisting of trying to secure transport up to Oslo & then a room for me to stay in.  Once again, however, Oslo seemed to be booked solid… much like Stockholm had been.  Saturday night was easy to find a room for, but tomorrow night – Friday night – was considerably more difficult.  I ended up paying about $250 for a room on Friday night and about $100 for the same room on Saturday night… ouch.

This was all complicated by the rather lacking internet at my hostel, the Masthuggsterrassens Vandrarheim.  While they had wifi, there seemed to be some issue with their ISP in that I had to log into the ISP in order to activate my computer on it.  Since I didn’t have their username and password for the ISP (they’d be pretty dumb to give that out!), that meant that some pages redirected me to the ISP’s login page… but oddly some other pages didn’t.  This was a problem that everybody was having, but fortunately I seemed to be less affected by it than others… plus I learned how to cache pages & work around the redirect somewhat, but that didn’t work when I had to submit forms to book transit tickets or reserve rooms.

I ended up having to use the sole public-use computer to look up info & then use my email to book reservations, hoping they’d act upon my email just as readily as the online booking system.  Fortunately this worked for my hotel reservation, but left me open on the whole travel part… I figured I’d just show up at the station and catch the next ride to Oslo, whatever and whenever that might be.

While waiting for the public-use computer, I got to talking to a German guy, a man in his 40’s or so who worked as a pharmacist for Bayer. Apparently he was gearing up to do some work in Sweden and wanted to learn some Swedish in preparation for that, but we both commiserated over the difficulties in learning technical language when classes & daily use only teach more casual conversation.  I’ve been wanting to learn German for some time now in hopes of opening myself up to potential job opportunities through a large chunk of Europe, where I think my profession is a bit more progressive than in America; but learning my profession’s technical language isn’t the kind of thing that’s easy to do until you’re on the job.

The bed above me – occupied by the German girl the previous night – remained empty this time around, with only the French couple being my roommates over the night.  Once again the guy came back and still smelled horrendous, but once again I was able to tune it out.  Phew. 

SE - Göteborg

June 22                 Wednesday                        Sweden                                                Göteborg                           

Ug… my worst sleep of the trip.  The door had just enough slack that the pressure gradient caused it to keep knocking back and forth, exacerbated once folk started waking up (first at about 5:30am) and left the door open just a touch.  While everyone was personally quiet as they went about their business: that door soon became my nemesis.  In my highly intermittent sleep for the next three hours: I came to hate that door; to despise it; I wish ill upon it; I tried to lull myself back to sleep by thinking of the things I would like to do to that door… an axe; a chainsaw; a flamethrower!

I ultimately rose with a pounding headache, but of course I had no idea where I’d packed the painkillers that I’d been given at the hospital.  I hadn’t used any during my time there, so I knew I had some stowed away somewhere, but it hurt to think… so I tried not to.  It was like being on the Vogon homeworld.  Fortunately reception would come through on that end: sweet nourishing drugs!  My headache gone about 30 minutes later & the action of the day helping to keep it away.

The first step was a train north to Frederickshavn, a small industrial town at the northerneastern reaches of Jutland.  I slept a good deal of the train ride, albeit slightly distracted by another twin of my friend Svitlana sitting across the aisle from me.  I saw a twin back in Stockholm, and here was another; albeit with a tiny nose ring.  I mentally kicked myself for sitting across from her – at a table with some old woman stuck on her mobile – instead of with this cute girl… but it also gave me due excuse to concentrate on recouping sleep rather than attempting conversation.

Arriving in Frederickshavn I did a pretty good job at picking the correct street & walking a direct course to the ferry terminal.  With 30 minutes of available time, it took me 10 minutes to reach the walkway, 5 minutes to traverse the lengthy elevated walkway through the port, 5 minutes to check-in and board, and enough time to make it to the top deck & watch us depart.  Win!

The ferry is littered with slot machines, with queues of people taking full advantage of them.  I can get the desire to spend the last of your coins as you transition out of a country, but I’m pretty sure a good share of people had expended their spare coins already but were still there.  Ahh gambling: a tax on stupidity.  At least give us something more engaging than slots!  I’m more than willing to part with my money if I can at least have some fun doing it... slots just don’t cut it for me.

After watching us push away from Denmark I found a spot at the front of the boat down in one of the restaurants, sitting there tapping away on my laptop while the muzak alternated between piped-in tunes (mostly jazz) and a live band (folk music).  The girl in the band looks like a young version of the wife/mom from the National Lampoon’s Vacation movies; a rather cute blonde that looks to be in her young to mid 20’s… pretty voice, but I’ve discovered that the local folk music isn’t my particular interest.

Our arrival into Göteborg was gradual, as would be the case with a very large massive ferry that looks the city’s tallest buildings eye-to-eye… clearly not the sort of thing that should be moving fast up an urban river.  The effects of being up so high also made it all seem slower.  When we docked I came to realize that people were all carrying – and I mean all carrying – massive amounts of beer.  Seriously… two to three cases each; just what a single person could carry.  There were a pair of customs officers on the other end but neither seemed to care; I wager they were more interested in if anyone rolled off the boat with a pallet of booze.  The “red line” for customs – for those with something to claim – consisted simply of a telephone and a sign indicating to dial a number if you wanted to claim anything.  So yeah: Denmark is expensive; but I did learn that its price savings compared to Sweden is apparently enough to make it worth the trip when it comes to beer… or at least good enough to stock up if you just happen to be making the trip for one reason or another.

As I disembarked I found myself in a pretty run-down area… certainly not the city’s best point.  Fortunately, my hostel wasn’t far off, keeping the hike easy; but unfortunately that meant I was staying in this less-inspiring area.  It wasn’t the best first impression of the city.  My impressions were only reinforced by my evening walk to find some dinner.  The places my Lonely Planet guide suggested weren’t nearly as appetizing-looking upon arrival and there was a dearth of much else which didn’t cost an arm & a leg.  I ended up at a place which marketed pizza, pasta, salad, and kebabs.  As is true in America: places that try and hit multiple ethnic foods often falter at the other one… it’s best to stick with their native dish.  Hence my passing over Italian and option for the kebab: the backup food of choice in Europe.  It was a downright tasty kebab, so I’d say it was a perfect decision.

I wandered a little bit but ultimately made my way back to my room for an early evening.  I had a full room of four beds, with the first to return being a young French couple in their early 20’s.  They both seemed really nice & I talked to the girl quite a bit, but the dude had a downright toxic scent of body odor.  Even immediately after he showered: he returned and once again reeked of BO.  Now, I’ve grown up among the Amish and have smelled many an unbathed on a warm sunny Saturday during the planting or harvesting seasons, and I’d say this guy was worse… but fortunately my Lancaster County upbringing enabled me to tune it out after a few minutes.  Sometimes it’s a good thing that I can smell cow or horse manure and think it smells wonderful; it smells like home.

The last roommate to return was a German girl from near the border with Denmark – I’m drawing a blank on the name of the town.  I was a bit confused at first when I couldn’t place her accent; it was a German accent I’d never heard before, but then again most Germans I know come from quite a bit more southward.  I really wish I’d taken some more time to chat with her… especially because she had a carton of Philadelphia Cream Cheese -- easy initial conversation material.  Seriously: Philadelphia Cream Cheese is its own food group and anyone who would carry it along as a backpacker is clearly a zealous devotee.  Plus she looked to be in her mid-20’s, downright cute, and clearly had an interest in chatting with me… but my brain just didn’t seem to pickup on that; and when I woke up the next morning she was gone.  I’ve noticed that I seem to have a thing for German girls, but I’m pretty sure I’ve noticed (and probably said) that before.

DK - Århus

June 21                 Tuesday                               Denmark                             Århus                                   

I had to wake slightly early to make sure I showered & recombobulated myself after having settled in for a couple days.  My original plan upon arrival in Copenhagen had been to stick around another day and then catch a train back into Sweden and up to Göteborg, but I felt I’d seen enough of Copenhagen & decided it’d be a good chance to see a bit more of Denmark.  So I booked a train west and then north to Århus, Denmark’s second city.

Upon arrival I found myself in a bit of a dirty stretch by the train station, but a block later I was in the pedestrianized area and found it to be a rather pretty little city.  I actually enjoyed traveling around the streets, whereas in Copenhagen they felt just like a monotonous chore.   Århus ultimately felt sort of like DC: sure it’s technically a city, but it really preserves a small town feel within it.  It was far more walkable than Copenhagen, in part owing to its smaller size but also a greater balance toward pedestrians; whereas I’d previously noted that Copenhagen was definitely more bike-friendly at the cost of being ped-friendly.

Arriving at my hostel at 15:00, I knew I was strapped for time to see the city… so I immediately dropped off my bags in a storage room (checkout didn’t open for another hour) then went outside to see as much as I could.  With the two main churches first to close: those were my first target.  The Domkirke had some restored frescoes (whitewashed back in the day on account of seeming “too Catholic”) and a tower right on the central square.

The church’s staffmember was kind enough to chase down the key for me, letting me scale the tower in my lonesome with 30 minutes until closing.  It was fun having the whole tower to myself, arriving at the top & climbing about the bells’ structure to get at the windows; but fencing on the windows had too tight of a grid for me to get many good photos from.  It was a bit amusing as a live band in the plaza outside broke into Rage Against the Machine’s “Bulls On Parade”, adding a marked contrast to my present location within a church tower.  Even the staffmember laughed the moment I mentioned it; she was thinking the exact same thing.

The nearby Vor Frue Kirke had a crypt was which was partially lit with some candles, so that was nice; but otherwise I was in and out in 5 minutes and still managed to feel like I saw everything there was to see.  A large portion of it was under maintenance work & closed and it was otherwise pretty unadorned… of interest more to those with a huge interested in churches; not so much to those more interested in the neat & fancy.

Next was the ARoS Aarhus Kunstmuseum, the city’s major art museum.  I’d initially thought I only had an hour to explore it before it closed at 17:00, but when the clock struck 5pm just as I was finishing up my last stop: I’d taken note that no one else seemed to be making their way for the exit.  Turns out the museum was staying open late on account of it being summer… the first place in all of Scandinavia with a significant change in hours!  YES!!!  So I returned to the exhibits and took a bit more time to appreciate (or at least examine) all of their exhibits.

There was a section on Denmark’s golden age of art, which I’d noted on a previous day that I’m rather fond of.  Danes really did a great job creating photo-quality works, capturing landscapes and body expressions absolutely perfectly.  However, the lion’s share of the museum deals with modern art…  which is a form that I just don’t get.  It’s such a contrast to see it go from these ornate and lovely paintings to a sculpture of two figures that have been injured and disfigured in dozens of different ways, leaving limbs and debris behind them.  Or a canvas that’s orange.  Just orange.  Or a photo some girl took of her behind, with pants pull down but panties still on & the wire of the camera’s remote running back to the camera.  Why?  Is this supposed to be a statement about pornography?  Is it supposed to be a statement about narcissism?  Am I just supposed to admire her ass, which was only OK?  If I took a photo of my own rear end: could I get it into a museum?  Yeah, I didn’t get that room… although I did like the photo of the little girl holding a chainsaw; that amused me.

The first floor has a large life-like sculpture of a boy… it was pretty neat, I suppose, but I didn’t really get how it was the major draw of the museum up until the completion of their most recent bit… which actually ended up being my first stop but I’ll get into that last.  Below the Boy, in the basement, was a series of exhibits themed around Dante’s Inferno.  Well, loosely themed… I was really hoping for a greater tie-in, as I’m a huge fan of the Divine Comedy.  Each room had some sort of visual twist:

·         A large living head trapped underwater, formed by a projection on a huge egg-shaped object in a water tank.  It felt like a character in Myst.

·         A room of mirrors creating infinity all around

·         A film projection onto a sheet draping over E.T.   That is, a sculpture of E.T., replete with Reeses Pieces at his feet, and draped over him was a white sheet… that was the canvas that some uninteresting film was being projected upon.

·         Another projection room was decorated as if someone’s living room.  A film projection portrayed a person’s 24-hr day in 8 minutes, with the lighting in the room changing accordingly from twilight to dawn to midday to sunset to night.  From the video, I can only assume the person – clearly a woman – must’ve had a rather bad day… her morning consisted of her crawling naked along her lawn.

·         There was a large rounded monolithic object in a room which was pulsing bursts of light, as if souls were trapped within.  I didn’t think too much of it until I read that it was tied in with the University of Tokyo’s astronomy folk… every time a star was recorded as going nova it triggered a pulse of light; its location (I think) upon the monolith being derived from the stars’ location within the universe.  So the exhibit itself was dull but I liked the tie in with the real physical universe.

·         A room had a glowing red wall with a green line… I didn’t get that one.

·         The first room you pass by had several projections, which I eventually realized were all slow-motion videos of someone jumping into the water, albeit played backward.  I liked how it was set up, though: a very large open dark room.  It was quite relaxing.

·         And two more rooms I can’t recall…

Another floor had an exhibit on colors of light.  This one was actually kind of entertaining... one room included a fine mist being sprayed in front of a spotlight, with the droplets refracting a rainbow if you stood at the correct angle.  It was also fun watching people flail about in the otherwise pitch black room, with the spotlight making it difficult for people’s eyes to adjust to the room’s layout.  It was just a flat open room, but it felt like there would be a drop-off or objects or something; some barrier to prohibit you from getting into the mist.  But the whole point was to let you roam free & see it from all angles, even within it if you so desired.

Another room, part of that same light exhibit, consisted of a very dense fog illuminated with color, forming a color wheel room.  Different segments had red, blue, yellow, and green lights & you could walk through the color combinations… with absolutely nothing in front of you to help gauge distance or place; letting you become fully enveloped by the color.  Only a  few support poles & silhouettes of other people let you focus on anything; unless you opted to look up at the light racks or down at your feet… both pretty much at the limits of visibility.

Running with that color theme was the latest permanent installation: Your Rainbow Panorama.  Complementing a roof deck with good views over the city, another level up was this large circular walkway with windows of a massive color wheel.  The entry was in deep blue & you could walk around through the colors and back to deep blue.  I didn’t get why people kept taking pictures through the glass… all did was color the city; you could get a clear & more interesting view from the roof deck.  The color didn’t do anything interesting to the city worth of a photo.  To me, the real interest was in looking along the corridor (a few tourists did grasp this), taking in the color gradient and appreciating how the reflections in the glass created these neat visual effects.  My camera was always pointed along the hallway; if I want a colored photo of the city I’ll just add a filter.  I also liked capturing photos from outside the walkway, snapping images of peoples’ silhouettes within the colored glass.

For chow I stopped by Karl’s Sandwich Bar, toward the north end of the downtown area.  For once Lonely Planet succeeded: not only did I find it easily, but holy cow did they offer a good burger (specifically what my guide recommended).  It was huge and quite tasty, served alongside a box full of fries.  Like Five Guys, they actually provided more fries than I could even eat.  All for 60 DKK, which at about $12 is actually a pretty good deal for a meal in Denmark.

I swung through the downtown again and past the Domkirke, beside which were some festivities for some sort of youth soccer something or other.  I didn’t quite get what exactly it was for, but when I heard swing I knew it was something I had to swing by… er… yeah, pun not initially intended.  Some more jazzy/swingy tunes were played, including Duke Ellington and Van Morrison.  But eventually I had to get moving to plan the next day, which would involve a bit of complexity as I traveled by rail and sea.

As I sat and listened to the music, however, I dwelt a bit more upon the people of these two countries: Sweden and Denmark.  Between the two: Stockholm definitely has more hot women.  But Denmark succeeds at pretty, beautiful, ad cute.  Stockholm has bottle blondes who look like they could never hold a conversation; the Danes look very real, as if you could really engage with their minds.  So I’d say Denmark might actually be ahead in that regard, despite not necessarily claiming the greater world renown which Sweden enjoys.  And as for the guys?  To put it simply: in Denmark they’re thuggish; in Sweden they’re a bunch of fratboys; and in both there’s a good-sized subculture of both skaters and punks… both of which I’m rather OK with; but the thugs and fratboys just annoyed me as much as they do back home.

One of my roommates was already in the room of the Århus City Sleep-In when I walked in: a London guy whom I’d peg as being in his 40’s; a freelance journalist there to cover whatever that youth soccer thing was.  I later met another dude originally from northeastern China but now working at a hotel in England.  There was another Asian guy but he didn’t talk at all; either he simply wasn’t talkative or he didn’t even understand what “Hi” meant.  I’m guessing a mix… not talkative but probably because of a language barrier; but I’d be hard-pressed to believe he didn’t recognize a greetings when he heard one.  Just before midnight we picked up another roommate, a guy who appeared to be of Middle-Eastern descent (slightly tanned skin but definitely Mediterranean features) and was of about 50-60 yrs or so… English definitely wasn’t his strong point, leading me to guess he’s likely from one of the former French colonies.  Algerian, perhaps?  All in all we ended up with 5 out of 6 beds occupied; the bed above me remaining open.

DK - Copenhagen

June 20                 Monday                               Denmark                             Copenhagen                     

Another strange dream.  I was at my Dad’s place on the Jersey shore and he had two places… although the street grid was a bit different in that the town’s sole diagonal street – Broadway (not the same one as in NYC) – extended down to about 11^th or 12^th Street.  So we had houses in our current place & also on the east side of 10^th St.  Except our current house was a big 4 story boat… that seemed to simultaneously be at its current land-based location as well as on the water.  And it was a restaurant on the 2^nd and 3^rd floors… portions of the 3^rd and 4^th floors were the living areas and the 1^st floor was an office that also inexplicably had a Dominos facing the driveway (that was the land-based part).

My dream was all about me trying to figure out who left the “OPEN” sign turned on, causing all the customers to start showing up and dining… I was also trying to figure out who was serving them, as it seemed a full legion of employees had also turned up.  All because the open sign was on.  I seemed to be under the impression it wasn’t supposed to be open, but now that I think about it: perhaps it was and I’d misheard whatever it was I was supposed to do while I was staying there.  Whatever it was: I’m sure taking that massive house/boat out for a joyride probably wasn’t one of them… which I did and did poorly, but I somewhat relished in the glee of causing havoc within the restaurant below the pilot’s seat.

I brought back the boat then began getting myself wrapped up in local small-town gossip… apparently I was with my cousins Chris and Manima (the doesn’t-exist-in-real-life little sister – about 8 yrs old – of my other cousin Rachel, who was around but not there) and Manima had unfurled a property map of the town… going house by house talking about each one, but at some point Rachel showed up and it started ranting about high school boys (despite now being a college grad; it doesn’t help that I’ve barely talked to Rachel in a decade… hence she’s many years younger in my head than she actually is).

Then there was this girl my age who looked a lot like a young Cate Blanchett; she was daughter of the town’s Mormon preacher (I don’t think there is such a thing in the real-life version of our town).  I was chatting with her dad – who looked like the mayor from Spin City – and was getting on good terms with him… but unfortunately there isn’t much more to add to that one because the cleaning crews ARE ONCE AGAIN TREMENDOUSLY LOUD AT 10 AM.  So I woke up.

It was another day for exploration.  My route took me again past the east side of Tivoli, where I stood in wonderment at the construction of a new parking garage for the park; or at least I assumed it was for the park; it’s possibly it may be for the town hall or the downtown in general.  If it is for Tivoli, however, then it’d actually be a strike against the Danes’ amazing implementation of transit-oriented development considering that the amusement park has an entrance directly across the street from the central train station.

While on the subject of transportation: Denmark is yet another example of being bike-friendly but not particularly pedestrian-friendly.  While it’s easy walking in the immediate downtown & on the major shopping streets, in most cases there really isn’t any more sidewalk for pedestrians than you’d see in America.  Actually, in measuring pavement dedicated to pedestrians, there’s probably less than most American cities would provide… and even then: large portions of that are occupied by parked bikes.  I found myself walking in the bike lanes quite often to get around bikes & other people.  Signals also aren’t timed to be too pedestrian friendly… while I was fine as an able-bodied person, I saw many people run out of time to cross… the lack of the “flashing don’t walk” &/or countdowns at most crossings left many people unable to cross in time.  And the Danes stringently adhere to the red man: they do not cross unless it’s green.  I did; I jaywalked all the time.  My work as a traffic engineer has made me the worst pedestrian.  But one word of praise: the Swedes and Danes make adamant effort to maintain ped/bike access through or alongside the construction site; I don’t recall seeing a single closed pathway yet.

Now if you’re on a bike (or even rollerblades have been quite popular in these Nordic countries), then you’re in luck… you have some splendid infrastructure and plenty of companionship, with bikes seeming to be as plentiful as cars (if not moreso).  One caveat is parking: good luck finding an open bike rack space.  Fortunately there are plenty of walls to tie up to or just rest it against… while I understand that’s technically illegal: there’s zero enforcement.  At worst: a bike advocacy group just recently started moving illegally  parked bikes to the racks, where they’d inflate tires & do some other nice things.  Seems like more encouragement to park illegally, in my opinion, but I appreciate the intent.  But the problem is simply that there aren’t enough bike racks, despite there being a large bike rack at nearly every single intersection in the entire city.

Also- most bikes weren’t even locked… or at most they were locked in a manner that it seemed it was just to help keep them upright.  I thought back to America, where bike locking is both an art and science, often involving multiple locks to accommodate both wheels and the frame, and even then riders tend to take a wheel & a seat with them.

I made my way to the Vor Frue Kirke.  The interior isn’t anything too grand, but I definitely appreciated the sculptures lining its sides… it felt as much a museum as a church.  The sculptures, by Bertel Thorvaldsen, were quite exquisite in their depictions of the disciples; and an English handout helped to describe the symbolism within each statue.  At the front was the big man himself… well, the little man working for the big man: the statue of Jesus with open arms; an inspiration for the image of a loving Jesus copied by numerous other renditions around the world.  ...And then those copies went on to inspire Buddy Christ.  Evolution.

Just beyond the church was the Rundetårn (Round Tower), an aptly named classical observatory which is still in use today by amateur astronomers, making it the oldest continuously-used observatory in the world.  But mostly its height & up/down journey are the draw by day… it’s very very round; hence the name.  While most towers have spiral staircases, this tower is unique in that it’s a continuous ramp.  I opted for the inner track, hugging tight to the core and taking on the steeper ascent, flying by all those folk hurled outward by the centripetal force of their travel.  Well, OK maybe not quite to that extent… but most people didn’t seem as keen on the steeper climb as I was.

At the top a cloud had moved in and begun to drizzle, but the slight breeze was all it took to create a dry spot on one side of the tower.  While the tourists quickly disappeared into their descent, I stayed outside and parked myself on a bench: sheltered from the drizzle and able to appreciate the tranquility of a light rain from the peace of being high above the rest of the city.  It took just a few minutes for the rain to pass by before the sun was back out, illuminating the view of the urban landscape & low clouds with a lovely light.

Continuing northward I next reached Kongens Have, yet another palace set beside what is still a functioning military installation.  The surrounding gardens were pretty, but mostly grass & trees – not too many flowers; or at least certainly not on the scale of many other European cities.  The palace, itself, however, was a particularly pleasant experience.  It seemed so tiny from the outside but really opened up within.  The darker décor of the interior made it feel a bit more like a home to me and less that of a state building as yesterday’s palace tour had been.  It was inundated with artwork: many rooms absolutely covered with a variety of different art pieces, from paintings to engravings to tapestries to sculptures to exquisite wares to ornate clocks.  Even the loos were nice; the kind of place I wouldn’t mind dropping my pants for if I were king.  Heck, even if I weren’t king.  I was amused by the Mirror Room, which felt like something straight out of the 1980’s except for the obvious age of the mirrors & décor which was a bit more ornate than what you’d see in a typical 80’s home.

Beneath the palace was a legitimate treasury – indeed, the Danish treasury.  While I’ve still seen more grand elsewhere, this was a respectable trove that certainly beat Sweden’s presentation.  Among the first exhibits were a slew of small gold figurines which immediately prompted Aladdin’s “Prince Ali” to get stuck in my head.  There was a room of alabaster and amber & then on into the vault: home of the crown jewels.  I overheard a guide mention that the Danish royalty periodically pops in to grab some items for special occasions.

The next destination were the botanical gardens… the outdoors part was OK, but I’d missed the peak bloom of the roses and seemed to be a bit early for the peak bloom of other plants.  The indoors areas were all closed for renovations, so that was a bummer.  The grounds really look nice; had the greenhouses been open & the flowers been in full bloom: I’d say it could really be a lovely place.  I did spot some edelweiss.  I couldn't help but smile at thinking back to my time in Switzerland, where throngs of tourists crowded around each edelweiss flower and mobbed about for photos.  Here, however, I was the sole person anywhere around.

I decided to try out the city’s Metro system for a hop over the Christianshavn.  Having finished yesterday’s tower climb too late in the day to see the church, I’d hoped to make it over there in time to see the interior.  Alas, I didn’t make it… but really it was just an excuse to try out the Metro.  It’s driverless: that is, the trains are automated.  Trains were coming every couple of minutes… pretty much as soon one left; another was just about to arrive.  This contrasted with the S-Bahn headways of about 15-30 minutes, and also with Sweden’s peak period 2-minute headways and off-peak 12-minute headways (if I recall correctly).

Having missed the church, I hopped on Metro again for a one-stop ride into the center.  It was time for some more falafel at RizRaz.  This wasn’t really a dinner; more of a late lunch… even though dinner really didn’t seem that far off considering that I pretty much sat on my butt the rest of the evening.  Well actually I just took a really slow pace through the shopping streets again, this time meandering into a Lego store to marvel at some of their constructs.  I was also impressed by a video screen which would read whatever box you were holding on front of the scanner & then project a 3D image of its completed contents right there on top of the box you were holding… you could spin & rotate it, and at the same time the 3D imagery was animated: little guys would run out of a terminal, board a plane, and it’d take off!  Here I am, having grown up in the world of 8 bits… and now I understand how my parents and grandparents felt having grown up in a world of even fewer bits than that, watching as I moved mish-mash of colors meant to represent an Italian plumber as he crushed all his goombas.  Why an Italian would want to hurt his goombah, I do not know.

I finally met my friend for dinner… a dinner which was surely an interesting affair.  So her job, to put it bluntly, is prostitution.  More formally she has worked as an escort, which has enabled her to charge higher rates.  We met by sheer happenstance when I was studying in Budapest and just bumbling about the city as a tourist.  We got to talking and have been friends ever since.  To this day I’m the only person she’s ever told of her line of work at the first meeting, so I can't help but feel a little proud of that.  She actually doesn't really see many clients anymore: instead she now runs an escort business.  Most of the clients prefer women in their young 20's, so as she nears 30 it was a better career move for her to move into management.

Through her I’ve actually become friends with a couple other girls who work or have worked all around the world; some still in the business and some now out of it.  It became a fascinating subject to me, as I’m always interested in anything that happens out of sight of society… it’s why I work in infrastructure, professionally, and even when I'm relaxing by playing video games: I'm playing infrastructure-related games or if I'm doing a first-person shooter or RPG I'm almost always a support class.


Now for those curious: no, like most good friendships one doesn't mix business & friendship together… so it’s been a strictly friendly relationship; but one which has really developed my interest in the legal aspects & women’s rights issues relating to her industry.

Ultimately: I support prostitution as long as it is properly regulated, empowering the women to be their own business rather than forcing them into it.  At the very least, I certainly support decriminalizing it as an offense that the woman commits (as many countries have done); but personally I don’t see why it can’t be permitted to some extent as is the case in Denmark, Netherlands, New Zealand, and a number of other European countries.  Now, New Zealand takes it a bit far in that they legalize street walkers… I can see how that’d quickly sour public support for prostitution in that it’s more difficult to establish the bureaucracy to properly regulate it when you may not have a street address to work with; but I’m certainly intrigued by how central Europe has approached the issue in that they permit regulated brothels.

Now there are really two main issues to prostitution: women’s rights/safety and public health.  To address the former: from what I understand, the regulated businesses of central Europe empower the women.  Most are not forced into it; by and large it’s a choice as a means to an end.  That’s the important part: enabling women to make the choice.  When they don’t have a choice; I absolutely agree that it’s a form of sexual abuse tantamount to rape.  The same correlation can be made to any typical sexual encounter: if those involved don’t consent it’s rape; if they consent to it then it’s A-OK.  So as far as I see it: if we prohibit consensual prostitution where the woman is there of her own free will… we might as well take the next small step and prohibit consensual sex of all forms while we’re at it.

To oppose prostitution solely on the grounds of it seeming immoral is something best left to a theocratic society… if we were a theocracy then fine; but we’re not.  Even if we were a theocracy and fearing fire & brimstone wrath: what do you care, or ye without sin?  No one is forcing you into it; you still have full right to be as pious as you can be – let God be the judge of us all; not you.  Besides, the Bible is rife with prostitution… and there’s actually quite a bit of good to be said of it.

So casting aside the moral argument, there’s certainly a valid public health element.  Clearly, sex workers are at a higher risk of STDs and such, which plays in with the regulation aspect.  I’m unfamiliar with each and every country, but my understanding is that many of the countries permitting regulated prostitution also require that the women submit to regular health screenings -- in some cases STD testing each week.  Should they fail: they must be successfully treated in order to be permitted to return to work.  Now that’s not the way in every country… and even when it is that way there is still a risk; but the risks are mitigated to a great extent.  My friend actually referenced a report published by Danish authorities which found that AIDS infection among Danish prostitutes was less than that of the general population.

In addition to empowering women, there’s certainly a fair amount of money to be made off taxing the industry.  You know the old saying “sex sells”?  Yeah, well tax it & let us get a slice of that pie (pun not initially intended).  All this talk about legalizing drugs is well & good, but a case could be made that someone who gets high before work or before driving could be a risk to productivity & safety…  but someone who gets laid before work or before going driving?  I don’t know, but I’d say your typical man might actually be more productive and attentive.

So yeah… that’s that.  Those are my opinions for now, at least, but it’s a subject I’m fascinated by & my opinions are always open to change should I learn of something that does or does not work.  Hence why I was somewhat looking forward to this dinner, not just in that I hadn’t seen my friend in person for six years; but also because I had a chance to meet two more girls in the business.  I had to inquire how they got into their line of work… hey, it’s a question I often ask anyone regardless of what they do.  Also it was admittedly entertaining to think of how I'm going to write a blog post -- which I know my family reads -- about how I ate dinner with three prostitutes.

So my friend first got into it when she was 20 and ran out of money to pay for school.  She was a knock-out then and could make more money in four hours than she could working a full week in any other job.  Now to be fair, she’s still a knock-out now… but a client hearing an age of 26 is oftentimes immediately repulsed even before setting eyes upon her, so as I said: she’s a bit more in the business management side of things now and also has a more “proper” business job during normal hours; but she still works as a high-class escort… one client hiring her for a single night pays as much as I earn in a two-week paycheck.

Another girl was a cute 21-yr old brunette who was also a student.  I laughed when she said that and responded that yeah, that's the usual story… I phrased it more as a test to see how she reacted, and from her response I feel pretty confident she’s following the same path as my friend; legitimately a student and attracted by the economics of easy money doing something she enjoys.  She was a slight touch heavy for a European girl but would still be thin by American standards, and you’d never guess at her job from the look of her: she was about as innocent-looking a person as you’d ever lay eyes on; even almost like a geeky literati sort of girl.  I definitely got the feeling she’d stop working in the industry as soon as she finished college; or at least she’s one I’d definitely hope to get more out of her degree than some others have… this world just didn’t seem like it was for her; she seemed too nice.

The other wasn’t the strongest at English, but being 22 and looking like a clone of a young Uma Thurman is one sure-fire way to succeed in the business.   She was the second girl I’ve ever talked to who entered the business through more nefarious means: her ex-husband had forced her into it.  Despite her assertions of being Danish, from her accent I highly doubt she actually was…  I didn’t get a clear story nor did I prod for one, but I’d guess that her “husband” was a trafficker & she hails from the former Soviet Bloc; the accent was absolutely Eastern European of some sort, though I could not quite place where.

She assured me that she works by her own accord now, but I honestly didn’t get the warm fuzzy feeling that that was entirely true… she definitely didn’t seem to have the same interest and openness in discussing it as others, but it’s possibly the language barrier or some shyness arising from psychological issues just made her simply not wish to discuss it… my friend later assured me that their business strives to ensure every single woman is well-treated and there by choice.  So I hope that’s true, but while I support prostitution in general: there’s no denying that there can be a darker side to it… and even arguably more “progressive” approaches still aren’t without their failures.

Afterward I once again took a slow stroll through town as I made my way back to my room, albeit this time missing Tivoli’s sound & light show… though I admittedly didn’t make an effort given that I expected it’d once again be the exact same thing.