Denmark: The Conclusion
Posted on | July 11, 2011 | No Comments
By Katy Scrogin
My delay in reporting may have had you wondering if I’d wandered straight off the map—an event which did, in fact, happen on my last full day in Copenhagen. On Saturday morning, a friend and I set out for a stroll around the Nørrebro neighborhood. We were out and about too early to take advantage of the funky shops and smorgasborg of cultures that are said to populate the place, but we did see some great murals, and soon found our way to the Assistens Cemetery. It was great to walk around in the quiet greenery, and we found the graves of Søren Kierkegaard, Niels Bohr, and Hans Christian Andersen. I wanted to leave poor Søren a cookie, but such forms of tribute weren’t in vogue in this cemetery, so I kept my offering to myself. The spot seemed to be popular with walkers and bikers as well, and for good reason: the garden-like feel of the place is a nice way to escape city noise and traffic.
A mural near Assistens Cemetery
Maybe it was all of that bustle after the calm that disoriented me; when my friend and I split off after our visit, I headed towards what I thought would be Fredericksberg, what was described to me as a very posh and green neighborhood. What I was experiencing though, was something increasingly opposed to that description; when missionaries began approaching me outside of secondhand electronics stores, I decided I’d taken a wrong turn somewhere. Noticing that the cross streets I was on were nowhere on the map, and now completely disoriented, I did the only thing I could think of, and headed back to the cemetery. Once there, I realized I had been on the right street—only I’d been going in the wrong direction. Too tired now, though, to trudge back towards Fredericksberg and wash up before my afternoon conference activities, I decided to go back to the hostel. On the way, I picked up a chickpea salad at ChiliMili on Rådhusplads. After a quick lunch, shower, and a micro-nap, I went back to the university for a few panels.
The evening was spent with great new people I met at the conference, hanging out at Riz-Raz until I realized I hadn’t packed yet, and that my 4:45 a.m. wake-up time the next morning was going to be pretty painful. Unwillingly leaving the group behind, I went back to the hostel, packed, and was in bed by 1:00.
Although I wasn’t up before sunrise, the morning still came too soon. Thankfully, though, it was no problem to catch the train back to the airport, and this time, I had change to buy the 36-kroner ticket from the machine. A good thing, too, as the travel office in the station was still closed.
An owl on Niels Bohr's gravestone
The airport was already a madhouse upon our arrival, and my friend and I went off to find our respective gates. When I got to my own terminal, I was so tired that I didn’t even realize I’d walked into the men’s room until I was filling my water bottle up at the sink. I thought it was strange that there were urinals against the wall, but the guy who walked into a stall and gave me a puzzled look set me straight. As I slunk out into the hall, I looked up at the sign above the bathroom; I chalked up my gaffe to the fact that, in addition to the little male figure above the door, there was also the picture of a baby on a changing station. Unused to seeing the two symbols combined, I think my exhausted eyes added a skirt to the would-be indicator of gender.
As for the plane ride, I was again consigned to the nightmare that is a transatlantic journey in a small aircraft, specifically, I think, a Boeing 757. Part of the reason that my flight to Denmark wasn’t so bad was that it took place in an Airbus, and we all had room to move around. With only one aisle between the two rows of three seats each, though, we were all squashed in for the duration this time. Before I make another long flight, I’m checking which type of aircraft is making the journey, and not settling for anything less than a plane with at least two aisles.
Prepared for an ungodly eight-hour layover in Newark, I took my time going through customs and changing my money. The boarding pass I’d been issued in Copenhagen, though, had me on a different flight and a different route than originally planned, and so I headed over to Continental’s service desk to make sure everything was in order. All was OK—but the angel of mercy behind the counter offered to put me on a flight that took off five hours earlier, and even though it was a middle seat, I thanked her profusely and accepted her offer. With an hour to spare, I made the unbelievable purchase of a macrobiotic vegan dinner to take along, thanks to Balducci’s right near terminal C’s security checkpoint.
Stocked up and ready to fly, I got on the plane, made it home long before I’d expected to, and was in bed by 7:15. Although I got a good amount of sleep last night, I’m still discombobulated, and as soon as the laundry’s done, I’m heading back to bed, where all lingering questions about time zone and sleep schedules will hopefully be answered to my body’s satisfaction. Until then, I’m functioning as a zombie.
All in all, then, an excellent trip, with great sights and even more fantastic new friends. In general, I’ll leave you with a few bullet points. Enjoy your own travels!
- Copenhagen is expensive. I’d budget $20-$50 more per day for this city than I would on other travels.
- The place is easy to get around on foot: I had no problem orienting myself (save for my last day), and the locals seemed friendly and willing to help turned-around strangers.
- The Danhostel is adequate at best. If you value quiet and some sort of order, I’d recommend getting a private room with friends. The front counter, right off the always-busy and techno-blasting lobby, is continually busy, and you’ll probably need to wait a while in line before getting questions answered. All transactions, down to vending machines and washer and dryer, are done by adding money to your room card—so if you get there before check-in and want a snack, you’ll need to go somewhere else. The main draw of the place is that it’s more affordable than other hotels in the city center—but if you want a bit of luxury, I’d go elsewhere.
- I didn’t mind the long hours of sunshine—from before 4 a.m. to after 10 p.m.—but if the light bothers your sleep, you might not want to visit during the summer—or should at least find a room with thick curtains.
- Make sure that you have a PIN number if you want to use a credit card.
Copenhagen from the Rundetårn
Copenhagen Restaurant Hopping
Posted on | July 8, 2011 | No Comments
By Katy Scrogin
Since yesterday was mostly taken up by conference activities, there wasn’t much sightseeing that ensued. We did, however, end up at a few eating establishments, all of which were fantastic.
A celebratory post-paper lunch took place at the café of the Danish Architecture Center. Located on the third floor, if you’re lucky enough to grab one of the tables in the window room that juts out over the water, you’ll have a great panoramic view of the city. Inside seating, though, is also fantastic, and one corner of the room features large whimsical chairs great for snapping a few pictures. Being a museum café, the price is of course not that cheap, but it’s a nice little getaway, especially on a rainy day like yesterday. Although it took up some room in the luggage, I was infinitely thankful that I’d packed my rain jacket.
Our hostess had been wanting to try a coffee and dessert shop down the road for a while, so she invited us to drop in with her and investigate. Sweet Treats, on Sankt Annae Gade, is a cozy spot for coffee and cookies, and at the time, at least, the gal behind the counter was playing some fantastic music. We lingered for a while over our desserts, but finally experienced collective exhaustion, and all headed our separate ways for an afternoon nap.
Thankfully, there was no restaurant of the same name in sight.
Sort of refreshed—I could’ve slept through until the morning—my friend and I ventured out for dinner, making a fortuitous find in Spicy Kitchen Café, on Torvegade. Not only are the portions right and the food excellent at this Indian restaurant; the prices, for Copenhagen, are a relief (my aloo palak was a surprising 55 kroners). While we were there, a seemingly endless river of rollerbladers rushed by. It had to have been an organized event; I’ve never seen more people zooming simultaneously through the street on skates—and with a police escort to boot.
We left soon after the wheeled revelers raced through town, and wound our indirect way back to the hostel, hitting the city center and area behind Tivoli as we went. Although it was 10:30 on a Friday night, bars, street cafes, and 7/11 seemed to be the only places that were open; the coffee shops had all shut down. Plenty of people were out, though, and looking as if they had much more energy than we did.
Tivoli at night
I’m hoping for some sort of second wind today, since it’s my last day in Copenhagen before heading early on Sunday morning to the airport. Before attending some afternoon conference activities, I’d like to check out the Norrebro neighborhood, and grab a lenthgy snack at Pauladan Bogcafe. The sun is out today, so I’m not stashing my L.L. Bean in my bag. Off for some tea, then, and we’ll see what happens!
Towers and Spires and Squatters, Oh My!
Posted on | July 8, 2011 | No Comments
By Katy Scrogin
I was hoping yesterday that the clouds would clear off for optimal panoramic viewing from a couple of tall buildings, a weather event that just didn’t come to pass when I had the time to make my climbs. In the end, though, it was fine, as all of those stairs made for a pretty warm few hours even without the sun’s assistance.
Since the Rundetaarn, or Round Tower, didn’t open until 10, we decided to stop by Sankt Peders Kirke, a German-speaking church, before that. I’d read that they had a crypt, a feature I always find interesting. That part of the church, in fact, was the only thing we did see on the site, as the building itself didn’t open until 10. Around the courtyard are graves built into the walls, with at least one going back to the 1690s.
By the time we’d finished walking around the crypt, the tower was open, and so we headed on over to the place where Tycho Brahe did much of his work. After getting past the cashier to pay the 25-kroner entrance fee, it soon became obvious why the tower had earned its name; to get to the top, you simply hike in a slow spiral over mostly-smooth stones. The simple white walls, stone floors, and good natural lighting make for a serene climb—when small, screaming children don’t pass you by. On the way to the top, you can check out the room where the university’s library was once housed, now used for art installations and small concerts. The floors in the old library are made of beautiful, thick wood, and the lack of adornment in there only heightens the grace of the spot, if that makes any sense. A feature of the tower that doesn’t exactly contribute to aesthetics, but is interesting all the same, is the original lavatory situated right outside the room. Thankfully, there are also a few newer, working bathrooms next to it.
Rundetaarn
After taking advantage of the free bathrooms, we finished our climb to the top, where we had a good view of the city. The observatory was closed when we were there; it’s only open for a few hours on a couple of days of the week, so if you’re hyped about seeing it, make sure to check the schedule before you go.
Our next destination, the Church of Our Savior, wasn’t open until 11, and so we dropped by a great little café-and-bookstore that we’d visited the night before. That first time at Pauludan Bogcafe, we’d only sat outside for our coffee and cookies; this time, we wandered through what turned out to be more a coffee shop to die for than a substantial bookstore. Before I leave, I’m hoping to spend some more time sitting among the old volumes and big rugs.
Arriving at the church just after 11, it was already crowded with sightseers. Walking into the church itself is free, but to see the tower, you’ll need to hand over 30 kroners, which I did gladly. The climb wasn’t bad on its own, but in that closed space with all those people, it got warm pretty quickly, and I was glad I’d opted out of the scarf and jacket that morning. A good part of the climb is inside, and for that section, footwear doesn’t really seem to be an issue. If it’s remotely wet out, though, it’s probably a good idea to don some shoes with traction, as the metal plating on the steps was a little slick from the morning’s occasional mist. As you get higher and higher, the steps become increasingly smaller, and disappear altogether once you reach the globe at the top of the spire. It was only at that point, scrunched against the side of the structure, that I realized just how little was separating me from the stairs and the great wide open; unlike many a publicly accessible viewing point, this church’s spire steps are enclosed by only a waist-high handrail. If you have issues with heights, then—or small spaces inside—it’s probably a better idea to enjoy this sight from the ground.
Church of Our Savior
After our morning workout, it was time to return to the university, where we hung out until our afternoon tour of Christiania by one of its residents. This event was arranged by our conference, but it’s apparently still possible to get a guided tour through the area by a local.
How to characterize this place? My description of it yesterday as a hippie-squatter free zone was incredibly premature and inexcusably flippant. Before we left, we watched a documentary on the area and had a talk with its director, the aforementioned guide and resident of Christiania. I don’t have enough space or time here to cover the experience thoroughly, but guidebooks and media coverage have done the place an injustice by claiming it a crime- and drug-ridden area. Founded in 1971 when families started squatting on an abandoned military barracks, the residents kicked out hard drug dealers and addicts in 1974. Hash is still sold there, as is obvious on Pusher Alley—where it’s completely unacceptable to take photos, so don’t even think of whipping out your camera if you go, unless you want one of the alley’s vendors to tell you in all-too-plain language what the “no photos” signs on the sides of the buildings mean. Once past that area, though, there are restaurants, bars, and businesses, one of the coolest being Christiania Bikes, which makes some pretty funky cycles. The houses here are of all sorts, shapes, and colors, and we were lucky enough to go inside one of them, a redone military warehouse whose original hardwood floors bore traces of the gunpowder barrels that had sat there for ages. I’m still processing the experience, thanks to my walk through a place that to me seemed full of contradictions, hope, oddity, and many other things—but if you want to get a small glimpse of it as of the early ‘90s, check out Niels Vest’s 1991 documentary, Christiania, You Have My Heart!
Three yellow dots on red: the symbol of Christiania
Our dinner after the tour at Café Oven Vande in Christianshavn involved a big, fantastic avocado salad for me, accompanied by an akvavit, a Scandinavian liqueur made with caraway seeds. It was sweeter than I expected it to be, but pretty tasty all the same. Unfortunately, my craving for chocolate capped off a great meal on a not-so-great note; the only thing open on our way home was a 7/11. Just take it from me: no matter how badly you think you need a sweet treat, do not buy a pastry from a convenience store.
Right now, though, the hostel kitchen I’m sitting in is rapidly taking on a smell too pungent to handle this early in the morning, as a couple of guys are cooking up what seems to be a mixture of sardines and Chef Boy-ar-Dee. The soundtrack to their routine involves a lot of Rolling Stones coming out of a transistor-radio-quality player hooked onto a butt pocket, and so concentration has become doubly difficult. Before my brain completely dissipates, then, I’ll close and get ready to deliver my paper this morning. No idea what the rest of the day holds in store, so I’ll update you when it’s over with what will hopefully have been some good surprises.
Sweden, ho!
Posted on | July 7, 2011 | No Comments
By Katy Scrogin
After a hearty bowlful of muesli, my friends and I dropped by the University of Copenhagen, South Campus, to register for our conference. We hadn’t been to that part of the city before, but I didn’t get much time for a leisurely observational stroll, as I was in a hurry to get back to the train station for my international day trip. It was neat, though, to see what from the outside looks like great campus housing, as well as a lively student population hanging around, even in summer.
Once registered, I headed to Copenhagen Central, where the guy at the travel office was very helpful, getting me onto a non-stop Oresund regional train to Lund. Round-trip price was 214 kroner—and once again, my PIN-less credit card was useless. If you head out to Lund, make sure to see whether you have to transfer in Malmo—and also pay attention to the kind of ticket you have. What I bought, for example, wouldn’t have been good on an express train, and I would have had to pay a fine for hopping onto the latter with my regional ticket. Ask the travel office if you’re unsure about the type of ticket you have.
Since I had twenty minutes before the train left, I ran over to the currency exchange booth, where I grabbed some Swedish kroner for the day. The booth operator reminded me to save my receipt; if I needed to change money back after my trip (as indeed I did), the commission fee would be waived upon presentation of said receipt.
Everything in order, I made my way down to track 6, where I ran into some American retirees out for their own day trip to Malmo. After some good conversation, we boarded the train. As they got settled in their seats, I turned to find my own place further down the train—and heard them being scolded for talking in the quiet compartment. Hallelujah, everyone: trains in Denmark have a designated conversation- and cell-phone-free zone, and you will be reminded of the rules, should you decide to challenge them.
I was wondering whether I should have stayed in the quiet area, since soon after the train left the station, a Frenchman headed to Malmo made sure to show me all sorts of pictures of his hometown, and I completely missed the view from the Oresund bridge, the new structure that connects Denmark and Sweden. It was nice to have someone to talk to, though, and it made the thirty-minute ride to Malmo seem much shorter than that. Lund was the next stop, and within ten minutes, I was off the train and walking around in Sweden.
Lund Cathedral
From the station, I made my way to the Cathedral, an imposing, gray 12th-century structure. Entrance is free, and when I wound up at the impressive astronomical clock, I was thankful to find out that I’d be able to hear the thing ring, something it does every day at 12 and 3. About ten minutes before the show, a guide came out and told us in Swedish and English about the medieval contraption, and pointed out how the thing indicated not only the time, but the day, month, year, and season as well. When noon came around, two knights on horseback at the top of the clock banged their swords together, once for each strike of the hour, after which two trumpeters below them raised their horns and announced the entry of the wise men and their servants. To the tune of a hymn that sounded strangely synthesized, the three kings and their servants filed past Mary and Baby Jesus, bowing as they came front and center. A pretty impressive display, especially when considering the fact that all of it was constructed without even the remote possibility of computer technology.
During her information session, the guide had invited us to a short mass after the clock struck. Even though it was all in Swedish, I decided to stick around. I could only get a few words here and there, but, used to the ritual, was at least able to figure out where we were and what we were doing.
After about half an hour, the service was over, and so I wandered around Lundagard, the little park that serves as a sort of border between the cathedral and the university campus. It’s a beautiful green space, and everything felt fresh and clean. Wherever I was in town (and I never really made it out of the center), it seemed that a lawn and some trees were never far away.
Having passed through cozy streets and a couple of markets, though, it was time to go in serious search of a bathroom, so I ended up at the tourist information office, where the very nice lady at the desk gave me change for one of my bills, and I scurried to the coin-op toilet in the back of the building. While at the information office, I looked around at the ads and brochures posted all over the place, and found out about a Poul Gernes retrospective going down at the Konsthall, or art museum. It looked interesting, and when I got there, was also pleased to find that entry was free. The museum is a nice, bright little space, and is refreshingly free from headphone tours and the clumps of plugged-in tourists so often found at larger art museums. After an enjoyable stroll through the building and a brief conversation about the Raymond Carver book one of the receptionists was reading, I stopped in at a little falafel joint to pick up what seemed at first to be a deceptively cheap lunch. When I walked in to order my 25-kroner falafel roll, though, all conversation in the tiny joint stopped. I realized I’d probably committed some low-grade faux pas; I was the only woman in this immigrant-run and –patronized establishment, and my tromping in with a big museum poster probably didn’t help me, either, in terms of blending in with the crowd. Luckily for all involved, though, I was able to take my food to go—and conversation only picked up again once I’d made my way to the door.
I sat down on a bench in the outside farmer’s market to eat my bargain lunch; a small falafel roll was plenty for this normally-ravenous individual. It was messy, though, and the old local who plopped down beside me gave me a pretty disapproving look at my half-successful attempts to keep everything in order. Tummy full, though, and generally loving the mostly-cloudy weather, I did some more walking before heading back to the station. This time, I ambled through the graveyard at the abbey, a beautiful, quiet space filled with tree-lined gravely paths and a feeling of calm that was a complete mystery to me, given the fact that the place is located right next to the train station. When I was there, there wasn’t a soul about, which was another nice little escape from the bustle of Copenhagen. I was amazed that the few people at the hostel I’d asked about Lund had given me the disparaging “why would I go there?” looks and tones of city dwellers in response to my questions—along with apparently proud declarations that they’d never been.
Klosterkyrkan (The Abbey at Lund)
Needing to get back to the city, though, I hopped back onto the regional train, and was able this time to focus fully on the scenery, and to check out the Oresund and all of the wind generators plunked down into the water. And since the quiet compartment was full, I was also treated to a British toddler singing her ABC’s—and had to laugh at my sense of disconnect when she finished with “w, x, y and zed.”
Once back in town, I walked back to the hostel, got in some pilates and a shower, and headed over for the opening reception of my conference. I had some free time before it all got underway, and one of my friends gave me a tour around the premises. The south campus is a great place, filled with modernist buildings and welcoming pathways and landscaping. It’s evident that someone here recognized the need for aesthetics in an education—as well as for a one-stop shopping source on campus, where you can pick up sunscreen and stockings along with your pastries and meals to go.
After the reception was over, my friends, new and old, and I went through Chrisitanshavn into the city center for an evening of great conversation at a sidewalk café. It was during this excursion that I realized that what look like blankets on the backs of café chairs are just that—fleece there for your comfort when the evenings turn cool. Customers up and down the entire street were decked out in their establishment’s fabric of choice, a nice touch that added to the feeling of a common experience between strangers.
Once again, though, the long hours of sunlight brought us up short when we realized it was 10:30, and that we needed to be up and about on the following day. Calling it a night, then, we all made our separate ways back to our lodgings, and my roommates and I were soon konked out. This morning, it’s cloudy and cool, and I’m hoping that the sun comes out for the slice of free time I have, which I plan to spend climbing the winding spire of Our Savior’s church. This evening, too, I’m joining in a conference-sponsored tour of Christiania, an area that’s been explained to me as a squatter-hippie free zone. Keep your fingers crossed, then, for a bit of clear sky; I’ll let you know whether my hope paid off or not!
Walking the soles off my shoes
Posted on | July 5, 2011 | No Comments
By Katy Scrogin
Jetlag, time-zone change, and the fact that the sun rises here around 4 a.m. all combined to have me unwillingly able to sleep yesterday morning past 4:15. So, cold shower assisting with the wake-up, I tried to take my time over muesli and tea, read a bit, and then finally wandered out at 7, figuring that it at least wasn’t as crazy as 6 as a tourist start time.
The great thing about being out so early is that you miss all the tourists– and so, I was able to grab a picture of the Little Mermaid statue without including a ton of other camera-wielding wackos in the shot. On my way down there, I passed Nyhavn, one of Copenhagen’s oldest ports– and probably one of its most photographed areas. In the evenings, people are all over the place, hanging out in its sidewalk cafes, or just taking their own beer and plunking down by the side of the canal. At 7 a.m., though, I got the rare treat of experiencing it without a soul to say hello to.
Also along the path were the playhouse, Ofelia Beach, and a good view of the new opera house, a gift to the city by shipping magnate Maersk McKinney-Moller. I also crossed through Amalienhaven (a little park across the street from the royals’ residence, Amalienborg), Churchill Park, and by Gefion Fountain and St. Alban’s Church, the only Anglican church in Copenhagen. And then there I was, in front of the little (an apt adjective) Andersen character of yore, looking appropriately downhearted at her fate. 
I walked a little further on to check out some of the ships docked along the water, but then turned back, by this time in serious need of a bathroom. The one I’d seen along the way was closed, and so I was truly (TRULY) thankful to come across a little station that was clean, open, and actually had soap available, unlike many a rest area I’ve visited in the States. The only disappointment was when I tried to cut through Kastellet, an old fortification; my plan was foiled, as the place was closed. The sign didn’t specify why, but I’m guessing it was due to the flooding that hit every other place in town.
No longer on an urgent, bladder-related mission, I took my time heading back to the center of town, wandering through the King’s Gardens that I’d only walked by the day before. It’s a nice bit of greenery in a concrete-heavy city, and its peacefulness was only interrupted by some sort of drum-and-fife corps playing what sounded like American revolutionary tunes and marching around in the same square over and over. Puzzled, but not curious enough to find out what was going on, I moved on.
With some time to kill before I was to meet my friends back at the hostel, I dove into one of my favorite activities when visiting any new town: hitting the bookstores. Thanks to the excellent Bookstore Guide, I had my route planned out, and moseyed through Danish chains and independent antiquarian dealers. Remarkably, I walked out empty-handed, which had more to do with prices that were just too high to justify, something that seems to be the trend all over this town. The experience was enjoyable, though, and in between shops, I also visited the Vor Frue Kirke– a strangely sparse Greek pantheon-cum-hall of Christian saints– and had a snack next to the Fountain of Charity near the Gammeltorv. Think old-timey sculptors’ stuff would seem modest by today’s standards? Take a close look at where the water’s squirting from the people in this statue, and you’ll wonder whether this thing would pass public approval, if the duo consisted of live human beings standing around.
With aching feet, I headed back to the hostel and met my friends. After grabbing a great and cheap (for Copenhagen, at 79 kroner per person) lunch at Riz-Raz, we all konked out on our bunks for a while, then walked back to Nyhavn for a canal tour. On the way, we were kept on our toes by the constant flood of cyclists. Although I go pretty much everywhere on a bike at home, I think it would take me a good while to feel confident among these pedalers, who are assertive, quick, and determined. It helps, of course, that they have huge bike lanes over which any U.S. cyclist would go into raptures– but still, I’m guessing I’d probably get impatiently run over were I to join in the fray. I also wouldn’t mess with the city’s joggers, many of whom were speeding around with backpacks on. Not sure what that’s about, but it still seemed strange, even after I realized it was a trend, and not an idiosyncrasy coincidentally shared by a few individuals.
At any rate, we boarded a Netto Badene boat at Nyhavn around 6:30, and made our way in and out of the canals of Christianhavn and the open water, thanks to Skipper Hans and our tour guide, Maria. It was a great, 60-kroner way to see the city, even if some of the Danish parts of Maria’s spiel didn’t get included in the English version. When we passed by the Little Mermaid, I was once again reminded of how glad I was to have missed the tourists that morning; the poor gal was being swarmed.
Hungry again, we hit a grocery store and took our wares to the King’s Gardens for a picnic, where half the city’s youth were doing the same. It was a great way to spend an evening with friends, and, the sun never feeling like going down, we were surprised to find that it was close to nine when we finally left. Once again, though, the search for a bathroom took on a sense of urgency, and, not finding one in nearby Norreport Station, we made a break for the back-up American Embassy, McDonald’s. The place seems to’ve copped on to its status, though, as one of Europe’s only free public toilets; at this location, at least, you needed a code for the door found on the receipt. Thanks to a kid coming out, though, I and another near-frantic Dutch couple were able to sneak in for some relief.
One thing we hadn’t found at the grocery store was the post-meal cookie that I’m usually in need of– and so, after our non-purchase at McDonald’s, we plopped down at a great bookstore and cafe for coffee and dessert, on a sidewalk across from one of the University of Copenhagen’s libraries. The twilight reminded us, though, that it was late, and so we headed back to the hostel to settle in for the night.
My switch to a private four-person room has been a great improvement over the frat dorm I was in before– and I was also pleasantly surprised to find that the hot water’s back and strong. I did have some problems with Internet connectivity, though (hence the late post), but as of this morning, everything seems to be alright.
So, then, on schedule for today is a jaunt over to Lund, in Sweden. I’ll have to change some money at the train station, since Swedish kroner are different than Danish. Then, I’ll just head off and see where I get when I get there. I know there’s an old cathedral in the city, and that it’s a little university town– but other than that, all I know is that I’m headed to a different country for the day, and that’s enough for me. As long as the net’s working fine, I’ll tell you all about it when I’m back. Until then, farvel!
We are not amused… well, maybe a little bit
Posted on | July 4, 2011 | No Comments
So: following through on my vow to drink lots of water and to get up and head for the plane’s lavatory every hour, even if I didn’t need to go, my muscles didn’t get nearly as irritated with me as they did on my last plane ride. It probably also helped that I had a five-hour layover in Chicago, where I copped an abandoned corner and engaged in some pre-flight yoga.
Those five hours actually weren’t as long as they should have felt; for one thing, switching from a domestic to an international terminal at O’Hare is no simple matter. If you’re transferring there, give yourself at least an hour to get off the plane, figure out where in the world the mysterious M gates are (they’re in terminal 5, and the signs aren’t at all clear about that), go out of the airport to catch a train and get to said gates, go back through security, and find your gate. Be aware, too, that there’s just not much in the way of food once you’re in terminal 5– so bring your own victuals, or allow enough time between flights to find something in one of the other terminals.
Before I made use of the neck pillow (it did help a bit), I marveled at SAS’s souped-up seat backs, complete with separate cup holders, a few mesh pockets, including a little one specially made for your specs (truly appreciated), and the standard meal tray. The SAS ladies were friendly, and my vegan meal included artichokes and asparagus– pretty tasty. I was even in a good enough mood to have a high-five-a-thon with a Danish toddler seated in front of me, and even nabbed what probably amounted to a total of four hours of sleep. Unheard of!
Arrival by train into Copenhagen was unproblematic– after I found the ticket booth in the terminal. I was getting nervous, because the automatic machine in luggage claim doesn’t take bills, and it also won’t accept credit cards that don’t come with a PIN number. The humans in the ticket booth wouldn’t accept the latter, either– but would take the huge denomination that my bank so idiotically gave me when I bought kroners before leaving. The lesson here: European credit cards are starting to work slightly differently than American ones (I did ask Visa about this when I made a pre-travel call to let them know where I’d be traveling, and they said I could get one of the new-fangled things, but it wouldn’t arrive before this particular trip). Also, if possible, have not only bills on hand, but coin currency as well.
At any rate, 36 kroners poorer (but with a good, free map in hand, courtesy of the ticket booth), I arrived at Copenhagen Main Station, right next to Tivoli Gardens, and had an easy walk to Danhostel Copenhagen City. That’s when the fun started.
Upon checking in, I was told that, thanks to a freak rainstorm a few days ago, the entire block had been left without hot water. As I write, the city is still trying to fix the problem– but the shower that should’ve boiled the airplane muck right off of me was quick and cold. Not too horrible, as it was pretty hot and humid out– but I’m hoping I won’t have to repeat the same process on a cool morning.
The slightly good part about this little water-related fiasco is that the hostel is offering compensation in the form of not charging me the usual “penalty” for not having a Hosteling International card, a surcharge that’s incurred every night you stay. This is the first time in years that one’s been thrown at me, and I’m guessing it also bodes ill, where being nickeled and dimed for other services is concerned. The wireless is free– but you need to get a new password every twenty-four hours.
The ten-person room in Danhostel Copenhagen City
Tonight, I’m in a ten-person room. The disarray, combined with the fact that our little group has one tiny, equally disheveled bathroom between us, makes me feel all too close to college life for comfort. The locker that was advertised as part of the deal is also non-existent; the only one available for the room was broken, the door hanging on one hinge and more or less useless. The receptionist tried to call the maintenance guy, but he was gone for the day. She then offered to switch me to a new room, but on finding out that I was in a ten-person cell, she realized it wasn’t possible. Well– tomorrow, my friends come in, and we’ll have a small room to ourselves. It’s only one night of this, then, and I can handle it, especially after meeting three of my roommates for the night: an Australian guy, a gal from Norway, and another girl from Finland, all of whom just got in from the big music festival in Roskilde and seem like nice people.
After my shower woke me up, I headed out to explore the city, and get in a much-needed walk. Wanting to check out a health food store I’d heard about, I made may way there via the Stroget, a massive street full of shops and cafes. On the way, I stopped in at the Helligaands Church, where various concerts, evensongs, and other musical events were on the schedule. I grabbed a free copy, and might just check out a vespers service while I’m here.
I followed Stroget until it ended near the Royal Theatre, then headed up Gothersgade, passing the Danish Film Institute, the King’s Gardens, and part of the botanical gardens before turning off in search of my grocery store. The little boutique wasn’t all it was cracked up to be– and was much more expensive than I’d imagined, so I ended up grabbing some still-pricey muesli and soy milk at a chain, and made my roundabout way back to the hostel via Kobmagergade, down to the trippy spire at the Old Stock Exchange,
The spire at the Old Stock Exchange
passing by the Royal Library and coming unexpectedly across Soren Kierkegaards Plads. What a sad little piece of concrete that last stop was– but somehow fitting all the same, if only due to the fact that it probably reflects a general ignorance about the guy these days.
At some point in that walk, I popped in at a bakery for a muesli roll– making my first foray into Danish, and getting rewarded by receiving exactly what I’d asked for, without the girl at the counter batting an eye. I plopped down at a fountain in Hojbro Plads with a ton of other people doing the same, and half-listened to the Peruvian recorder player who seems to be at every major tourist plaza in Europe.
Poor Kierkegaard...
So: nothing too spectacular for my first day in Copenhagen, but then again, my internal clock is extremely confused and demanding I make things right. After finishing this post, then, I’ll call it a night, hopefully to wake up tomorrow refreshed and ready to do some more thorough exploring– and if I get a hot shower to help me along in that endeavor, you certainly won’t hear me complain.
Off to more temperate climes
Posted on | July 3, 2011 | No Comments
By Katy Scrogin
It seems as if it were just yesterday when I was suffering through a long plane ride home from Portugal– and now here I am again, facing up to another Atlantic crossing. Well, the pleasant weather that awaits me in Copenhagen is sure to ease my flight-related grumbles.
New packing challenges on this trip:
- My voyage comes about thanks to a conference I’m attending, so I had to pack dress clothes that really aren’t as travel-friendly as the casual wear I usually go for on trips. One side effect? A wardrobe heavy on black.
- Combine that situation with the fact that there should be cool nights and some rain at my destination, and I really had to work to fit in some layerable apparel and my turquoise L.L. Bean slicker that, in hot climates, is about as comfortable as a trash bag. We’ll see if it’s any more pleasant to tote around in Denmark.
Given my aversion to sitting down for more than thirty minutes, and my miserable experience on my last flight, I’m attempting more proactive measures on this go-round. In-flight yoga, for one; YogaXoga has some recommendations for stretching when you can’t get out of your seat, and for recovery once you finally do get off the plane. Those inflatable travel pillows have never really done that much for me, but I’ll take any improvement I can get, and so I’m including one of those in my luggage as well.
Other than that, I’m hoping we get a pilot who keeps us informed of any Women’s World Cup developments that might pop up. Updates to follow when next I have web access. A good weekend to all!
Safe and Sound and Relatively Conscious
Posted on | May 20, 2011 | No Comments
By Katy Scrogin
Currently in a state about level with that of an overachieving vegetable, I probably have no business documenting my last day in Portugal, or my return trip home. There’s no time like the present, though, and it may end up being unintentionally comedic when all’s said and done.
Having accomplished most of what we wanted to see and do, my friend and I decided to engage in some low-stress wandering on Wednesday. We’d only passed by the ruins of the Carmo Convent on our first day in the city, so we headed back again to take another look.
Carmo Convent
The walls are survivors of the earthquake that razed most of Lisbon in 1755, and stand out from the development around it. You need to pay to enter the archaeological museum inside, but sitting out in the square and having a coffee under the jacaranda tress is a pleasure in itself.
Both fans of vintage treasure hunting, we decided to check out some of the stores that one of the guys at the Poets Hostel had recommended to us. We found a couple in the Baixa neighborhood, one of which, A Outra Face da Lua, serves as both vintage clothing headquarters and neat cafe. If the prices at these places are indicative of rates throughout the city, then secondhand shopping in Lisbon isn’t all that cheap, even if the dollar and Euro were 1:1. That didn’t stop me, though, from buying a fantastic dress at A Outra Face da Lua, and the girl behind the counter was friendly, helpful, and eager to share information about musical goings-on about town.
After dropping by our now-dependable health food store for lunch, we popped in and out of Lisbon’s many bookstores. One of the things I find hands-down fantastic about this city is the sheer number of apparently successful book dealers– as in, books made of that old stuff called paper– you can find in just about any neighborhood. Right next to the Shiado Hostel, in fact, is Livraria Bertrand, in business since 1732, and, according to most Lisbonites and web sources I consulted, the oldest bookstore in the world. Independent and/or antiquarian dealers also abound, and if a multinational is what you crave, there’s always Fnac.
Our bags heavy, we dumped our stuff at the hostel and headed out to meet a new friend from earlier in the week, the owner of a vintage shop near Rossio station who had invited us to the store for vinho verde and conversation. We talked for a few hours as customers came and went, after which he escorted us to the hostel and wished us safe travels. Occasions like this one are my favorite part of traveling, and I always appreciate the spontaneous connections you can make just by trying out your language skills and asking about something on a shelf. Had we not had to get up at five the next morning to catch the bus to the airport, I’m positive we would have gabbed into the early morning hours.
As it was, though, we clomped down the cobblestones to Rossio and bought a 1.5-Euro bus ticket that took us directly to the airport. We hopped on the 745, but the 44 will also take you there. The 3.50-Euro Aerobus is also a good, and quicker, option– but it wasn’t running early enough for us to take. Since we were on different airlines, my friend and I said goodbye after we arrived, and headed to our respective check-in points.
And then began the end-of-travel game which consists of getting rid of as many coins as possible, while purchasing the best objects for your buck. Unless you want a lot of coinage as decoration when you get home, this undertaking is a necessity, since exchange offices won’t take anything but paper money. Having started the mission the day before, I was left with 4.06 Euros, and was determined to spend it on something better than junk food. After looking around, I found a great little notebook for four Euro, and headed off satisfied to my gate, with only three wee pieces of metal rattling around in my wallet. I was almost irritated at my impractical buy, though, when I remembered that water fountains are more or less nonexistent in European establishments. Luckily, however, I had my empty water bottle with me, and just filled it up at the bathroom tap. I’ve never had any problem drinking tap water in Europe, and this go-round, where I just kept filling up my bottle in the hostel kitchens, was no exception to that rule.
The rest of the journey was an uncomfortable slog involving a six-hour layover in Newark and screaming babies on the last leg of the flight. I’m unable to sleep on planes, so by the time I was mercifully picked up at the airport at 11 p.m., my twenty-four hour trek had made me more useless than a drugged zombie. Although I’m still groggy and confused about exactly what time zone my body’s operating on, a good night’s sleep proved blissful, and I’m hoping to be fully recovered by tomorrow.
In closing, then, I’ll offer a few random observations and/or suggestions:
* If you want to get around Lisbon without wasting oodles of time and taxing your brain, purchase a super-fantastic map that includes all of the little alleys and stairs that pop up out of nowhere. The free maps at hostels, train stations, and information booths are good for general orientation, but sometimes even add to the confusion when you’re stuck in a winding neighborhood and can’t even use the sun to figure out where you are.
* The Lisbon Poets Hostel is absolutely the best hostel I’ve ever stayed in. Go there. Get to know the staff. Feel the gratitude, if you have dietary anomalies, of people who will eagerly tackle the challenge of preparing good, cheap dinners you can eat and enjoy. Bask in the joy of their lockers, which are big enough to hold all of the stuff you’re dragging along with you.
* As always, have at least a few words of the language down. Lisbonites and the people of Sintra seem friendly in general, but they were especially cool and patient when I spoke with them in Portuguese, whether halting or not.
* Be prepared for a hike. Lisbon and Sintra are pretty hilly places, and exploring on foot will keep you fit on your vacation. Driving in Lisbon seemed a ridiculous prospect to me, and if you don’t enjoy walking around, the trams, buses, and subways will get you where you’re going– but maybe not without the surprise finds that often occur on foot.
* Don’t expect to get everywhere with a credit card. Even some places with less-than-cheap offerings (such as the establishment where I bought my individual espresso maker) aren’t big fans of Visa and its cousins. Having cash on hand is always a good idea.
Cabo da Roca, Europe's westernmost point
Finally, because my Mac seems to be more cooperative than the little Asus netbook I had with me abroad, I can offer a view now of our trip to Cabo da Roca. Thanks for reading, and enjoy your own travels!
Lisbon, Again
Posted on | May 17, 2011 | 2 Comments
By Katy Scrogin
It seems fitting that on the day when some of the most beautiful views I’ve seen on this trip, or in general, in fact, were on offer, my camera decided to work only in fits and starts, and to refuse to cooperate with my computer. Luckily, I got the shots I wanted before everything pooped out. Sharing photos, however, just won’t be possible until I get back home and have an expert work some magic.
After toast and cornflakes and not as much coffee as we wanted at our hostel, we gave 3.75 Euros to the driver of a regional bus (the 403), and got carted through beautifully winding lanes to Cabo da Roca, the westernmost point in Europe. The approximately thirty-five-minute jaunt consisted of a cheery charge through roads that sometimes seemed entirely too narrow to fit through, and at one point, the driver got out and consulted with some construction workers taking up half of the road, folding in side mirrors and doing some slick maneuvering to get us safely to our location, all the while maintaining a friendly smile and apparent relish for his job.
The entire way can best be described as intensely green– as can the hills and cliffs around Cabo da Roca. We wandered around and away from the official drop-off point, through hillsides and down a few tracks that turned into perilous erosion paths that didn’t seem all that safe for day trippers. The guys at the hostel– Portuguese boy scouts– told us that you can get down to the bottom of the cliffs, but I’m guessing it requires more time and more energy than we had on hand.
We returned to Sintra, then, for another 3.75 Euros, grabbed some snacks at the grocery store, picked up our luggage at the hostel, and headed to the train station. Our return to Lisbon (1.80 Euros) took less than an hour, and, familiar with the city, we made it to the hostel where we’ll be lodging tonight and tomorrow. We decided to check out as many places to stay as possible, so we’re in the Shiado Hostel until we leave– and although it’s nice and clean, we really do miss the Lisbon Poets Hostel, with its super-friendly staff and open feel. This place does have free tea, coffee, and cereal all day, though, so we’re hoping it’ll grow on us. Tomorrow morning, I’m taking advantage of laundry service for 6 Euro; otherwise, I might have to burn all of my clothes when I get back home.
The rest of the day was spent walking through the neighborhood, as well as hitting the grocery store and fighting our way through what seemed to be an entire shipful of Russian sailors and soldiers stocking up on candy and soda. We only have one other person sharing our room, a talkative Croatian art student in town to have a look at some exhibitions, so I’m hoping I can catch up on my sleep tonight. Maybe my camera will also get a good rest in, and be in a better mood tomorrow. It’s a futile hope, but it’s a hope all the same. Tune in for the next report to find out if I’m graced by electronic miracles.
Castles and climbing
Posted on | May 16, 2011 | No Comments
By Katy Scrogin
There seems to come a point in all of my travels when the exhaustion catches up with me, and it’s all I can do to put one foot in front of the other. I reached that pass today, after a morning and early afternoon spent exploring the Castelo dos Mouros, the mid-8th-century Moorish castle that looks down over Sintra. The town is a radically hilly place on its own, cobbled in slippery tiles, so good shoes are a must for walking the streets. It’s sheer masochism, then, to try and climb to its upper reaches in sandals, pumps, or flip flops– which I saw a number of visibly miserable people attempting to do today.
Castelo dos Mouros
We made the hike with only a couple of wrong turns, and were rewarded with fantastic views and an amazingly preserved outer wall and lookout towers. Some archaeological work is still going on on the lower slopes of the place, but overall, there weren’t an obnoxious amount of people, and moving about freely was no trouble at all. Maybe the physical exertion necessary to get to the top scared off a sizable portion of tourists; maybe the rain predicted for the day had people visiting other locales. By the time we started back down, a few drops were falling, and I could imagine the trouble it would be to navigate the already-slick pathways, especially in poor footwear. My loyal Chacos, though, got me back just fine.
We walked into town for lunch near the train station, where a Vin Diesel lookalike served each of us a 6.50-Euro “vegetarian hamburger”– which turned out to be some sort of pre-packaged veggie patty with a fried egg on top and lettuce, tomatoes, and onions on the side. It wasn’t at all what we were expecting, but it actually hit the spot, and so we moved on to grab snacks for the rest of the day at a little supermarket. Soy milk in this small town goes for 2.35 Euros– more than double the price in Lisbon, but lactose-intolerant me was so thrilled at the thought of being able to have something other than black coffee that I brushed off the incredible fact that I’d paid nearly five dollars for a box of milk substitute.
The bed in the garden at the hostel
All of the climbing, combined with the minute amount of sleep I’d gotten the night before, sent me to the hostel for the afternoon, where I crashed on the bed on one side of the garden. Absolute bliss– and by dinnertime, I was up and ready to give my legs another workout. We clambered back into town for dinner at Cafe Bernardo, staffed by a fantastic guy named Bruno, who served us a fixed-price meal of mushroom quiche (dairy-free!), couscous, salad, espresso, and travesseiros for 6 Euros. As we ate, he talked with us on the patio; when it began to rain, we went inside, and he gave us a sample of white port (delicious!) and an umbrella to get us back to the hostel in as dry a state as possible.
Here we are, then, sitting in the hostel’s common room and listening to the rain and thunder and watching the lightning– another magnificent contrast to Lisbon. The starlings this morning were swooping and diving outside our open windows, though, just as enthusiastically as they were in the city, so some sense of continuity remains. We’ll be spending our last day in/near Sintra tomorrow in Cabo da Roca, the westernmost point of Europe. The starlings are welcome to join us; I’m hoping the rain takes off for other parts by then.
