Day 46. Architecture, Part 4: Free rein.

I went with my coworkers to Ørestad, a neighborhood in Vestamager that has seen a recent boom in ambitious and wildly designed buildings. Up-and-coming designers like Bjarke Ingels (<<website is awesome) have been given relatively free rein to dream up and construct living spaces and office buildings that Europe often shies away from, a result of strict zoning that prevents bold new architecture from mingling with quaint old architecture.

With tons of open land and license to experiment, architects have bent glass and steel into crazy apartment blocks like 8TALLET and the Tietgen Students' Residence. Honestly, the trip to Ørestad felt a bit like a trip into Orbit City - all that was missing was a Spacely Sprockets factory.

Inside 8TALLET

Ørestad Plejecenter: the coolest nursing home on the planet?

Day 45. Architecture, Part 3: Cultural buildings.

This is part three of four. My architectural knowledge is sorely lacking, and you're probably over it with the buildings.

Like any good European city, Copenhagen has its fair share of public cultural spaces, including art museums, libraries and concert halls. The most grand is the Operaen, the Opera House, financed by the family behind Mærsk, Denmark's most powerful corporation. Built at a cost of over $500 million, the Operahuset København is imposing and flashy in its place along the main harbor. It's just one of the many striking cultural spaces scattered around the capital. The Royal Library's new extension, nicknamed Den Sorte Diamant (the Black Diamond), is another.

Operahuset København
(thanks, Jefferson, for these pics)

Det Kongeliget Bibliotek (The Royal Library), a.k.a. Den Sorte Diamant (The Black Diamond)

Day 44. Architecture, Part 2: Churches.

The grand cathedrals of Europe often marked the dawning or even the apex of a particular architectural era. Notre Dame de Paris is a temple to the gothic, Rome's Church of the Gesù to the Baroque, Imperial Russia's Smolny Cathedral to the Rococo. Churches are simply the best indicators of architectural standards before, say, World War I, because money and talent flowed to these projects.

The same can be said for the churches of Denmark. I've already included a few churches, including one from Amager, a traditional stave church and Grundtvigs Kirke, all of which have unique character. Even when conforming to period-specific architectural forms, the Danes made their churches distinctly Danish.

The corkscrew spire of Vor Frelsers Kirke, Copenhagen, Baroque

St. Albans Kirke, Odense, Neogothic

Day 43. Architecture, Part 1: Row houses.

Modern apartment blocks dominate much of "new" Copenhagen, especially the district of Vestamager and along the main harbor. Glass and steel are the materials of choice for Denmark's current batch of architects, and the buildings they design are incredibly imaginative. I'll write about these soon.

Conversely, most of "old" Copenhagen (especially Indre By, where I live), is a charming mishmash of row houses that crowd the streets and sidewalks below. They're filled with character, slanting and spilling toward each other, and yet they're very often expensive to purchase or rent. Never do two adjacent match in color and rarely do they match in size or detail.

This is the Copenhagen tourists love.

Day 42. Sommerferie.

The average Dane takes five to six weeks of vacation a year. Most take half or more of that time off in the summer. My drycleaner is but one of the small businesses - restaurants, salons and bakeries, too - that decide to simply close their doors for sommerferie, summer holiday.

Day 41. Hven.

One of my Danish friends grew up on the coast of Zealand, forty minutes north of Copenhagen. A handful of us headed up to her house, borrowed the family boat and set sail (well, motorboat) for Hven. Sitting just about halfway between Denmark and Sweden on the Øresund strait, Hven is a Swedish island with little on it besides summer homes, an old church and harbor, and a lot of wheat fields.

At one point we waded into the Baltic Sea, but we spent most of the afternoon along the beach, grilling and hanging out. Remember hygge? Yes, this was a day full of hygge.

Day 40. Earth berries.

Factoid: The Danish word for strawberry, jordbær, literally translates to "earth berry." Now you know.

The Nordic countries love their berries. Strawberries, blueberries, lingonberries, raspberries, elderberries and on and on. The strawberries, on average, tend to be smaller but much sweeter than the ones found in American supermarkets. And no, not just because of pesticides or GMO or whatever (in fact, you won't find any GMO strawberries sold anywhere). The size difference is largely due to the fact that, in the US, California produces 80% or more of the domestic strawberry crop. There, the growing season is much longer and much hotter than in, say, Sweden. Either way, I love these Danish earthberries.

Day 39. Skyline.

It's rarely hazy in Copenhagen. Strong winds blow straight across the North Sea and meet little resistance passing over the flat, open lands of Denmark. Yesterday, however, the wind died down as I was biking from the southeastern part of Copenhagen back toward downtown. I stopped and faced the city. With the sun hanging behind and the air above it fuzzy, the famous spire-filled skyline was drained of most of its color. I drained it only a bit more for the silhouette.

The tallest of these spires the famous spiral tower of Vor Frelsers Kirke. Immediately to its left is Rådhus (City Hall).

Day 38. Crow-steps.

Across Europe - but particularly in Scandinavia and the Netherlands - crow-step gables are a popular architectural detail. The design is most commonly found on churches, from the small one from Amager pictured below to the big ones like Grundtvigs Kirke and Roskilde Cathedral. It's a subtle quirk that adds a lot of character to these otherwise stark buildings, and I love spotting them throughout the city.

Day 37. Wind.

If one were to boil down the Danish economy into its four most profitable exports, it'd look something like this:

• Diabetes medication
• Oil (thanks to these guys)
• Pork
• Wind energy machinery

Since I'm probably not allowed in Novo Nordisk's laboratories with a camera, and I'd rather not visit a slaughterhouse or an oil rig, you get to read about wind energy. Vestas, based in Aarhus, is the world's largest producer of wind turbines and one of the country's largest corporations. Given the nation's love for all things eco-friendly, the company's footprint is everywhere in – and around – Denmark.

(Legos, incidentally, would be number eight on that list.)

Day 36. Chairs.

Denmark's talent for design: admirable. Denmark's love for funky chairs: a veritable smorgasbord of hazard.

Exhibit 1: Physics says no.

Exhibit 2: Ooooh, my coccyx.

Day 35. Hygge.

Growing up in Milwaukee, I'd often see references to Gemütlichkeit. It's one of those great German words that is somehow both long and concise. Gemütlichkeit, according to Wikipedia, means "a situation that induces a cheerful mood, peace of mind, with connotation of belonging and social acceptance, coziness and unhurry."

The Danes have something similar, and they're quite proud of it: hygge. Like Gemütlichkeit, hygge is a sort of state of relaxed and cheerful peace found in the company of good friends and family. There's evidence of it everywhere in Copenhagen: picnics, open-air jazz concerts, families relaxing in a park, and friends sharing a beer or a long meal. Sometimes, it's as simple as joining your buddies and watching boats pass by.

Day 34. Roskilde.

Roskilde is best known for its UNESCO-listed cathedral, its Viking Ship Museum, and its raucous music festival (don't Google Image Search it unless you want to see lots of naked folks). I saw the cathedral and the museum; sweaty-hippy music fests are my own personal hell, so I made sure to head to Roskilde a week later. It's only a 30-minute train ride west of Copenhagen, so I spent the afternoon strolling around.

The cathedral and museum were both impressive and well worth the visit. I'm sure the music festival is awe-inspiring in its own right. But as is the case with so many places that have become famous for a few sights, Roskilde is most charming when one steps ever so slightly off of the beaten path.

Day 33. Taxis.

A picture like the one below would come as no surprise to anybody who has visited Germany or much of Central or Northern Europe.

One hears a lot of sayings like, "You can tell a lot about a man by the shoes he wears," and so forth. I think one could derive similar inferences about nations from their Mercedes/BMW taxis. In Denmark's case, it would be expensive, exceptionally clean and detail-obsessed.

Day 32. Neighbors.

Danes and Swedes have a long and contentious past. Each group has taken the other over at some point in history, and the story of their relationship throughout time has been varyingly hostile and friendly.

Today, they share a national airline (with Norway, too), opened up an incredible bridge connecting their borders and the personal and commercial ties are deep.

Really, any sort of animosity between Sweden and Denmark is basically playful. In Nataly Kelly and Jost Zetzsche's Found in Translation, a nonfiction book filled with linguistic anecdotes, the authors note that (Swedish company) Ikea named a toilet seat after the strait dividing the two nations and several doormats after Danish towns. Of course, it goes both ways. I got a laugh out of this drawing...

found in Helsingør, on the wall of a children's area in a museum

Days 30 and 31. Half-timbers.

Though they're more common in smaller towns, Danish half-timbered buildings do still exist in Copenhagen. Spotting one in the middle of a modern city, with cars and buses buzzing past, always reminds me of when somebody superimposes an old photograph on a present day scene. Spatially, the buildings fit, but they're entirely anachronistic with their sagging frames and bright colors.

central Copenhagen

Odense

near Christianshavn, Copenhagen

Day 29. Rosenborg again.

I keep coming back to the Rosenborg Castle grounds. Yes, the castle itself is beautiful, the lawns are perfect, and the gardens are striking. What stands out, though, is how consistently peaceful it is despite the fact that it's always filled with people.

Day 28. Jazz.

Copenhagen loves jazz. It's like the forgotten, cold-weather, European cousin of the Mississippi Delta... except with socialized medicine and such. Louis Armstrong visited, recorded and played live (amazing video in that link, by the way). So did Thelonious Monk, Dizzy Gillespie and the Giants of Jazz. Dexter Gordon made CPH his second home. Jazzhus Montmartre is the closest thing, east of Paris, that you'll find to the legendary jazz clubs of Harlem.

Every July, the city itself becomes festival grounds, and jazz musicians pop up in parks, in city squares, in courtyards, at music halls, along canals and in cafés. The Copenhagen Jazz Festival began Friday, and bands from near and far descended upon the town. Already I've run into multiple shows that seem to have sprouted up spontaneously and attracted a steady swarm of onlookers.

There's a jazz band under that bridge.  I promise.

Day 27, Part 2. Ice cream forbidden.

My friend and I stopped at a cathedral in Helsingør and saw this sign:

After seeing this, I'm torn. Helsingør is either...

1. the worst place on Earth because its churches explicitly ban ice cream;
2. the best place on Earth because so many people eat ice cream that its churches feel the need to post a sign banning its consumption.

Days 26 and 27. Helsingør.

GUILDENSTERN: Prison, my lord?
HAMLET: Denmark's a prison.
GUILDENSTERN: Then is the world one.
Hamlet - Act II, Scene II

Shakespeare's most-performed play takes place at the Castle of Elsinore in Denmark. Prince Hamlet's legacy lives on, and tourists flock to see the castle (Kronborg) and town (Helsingør) on which the play is based. Still, the real story of Helsingør is compelling in its own right.

For nearly three centuries, the Danish Kingdom controlled much of present-day Sweden, and the Realm's most valuable geographical asset was the Øresund strait. This thin stretch of water joined the Baltic Sea with the wider Atlantic Ocean. With few alternative shipping routes, the success of the Hanseatic League depended almost entirely upon the safe passage of cargo through Øresund, not unlike the Panama or Suez Canals of today.

At Helsingør, the Sound reaches its narrowest point, with Helsingborg, Sweden, less than four kilometers to the east. In the 1420s, Denmark built Kronborg as a show of strength and positioned a battery of cannons on both coasts. Any ship passing through the strait would pay a toll or face a barrage of cannonballs from either or both directions. The tax was wildly successful from the Danish standpoint, and the collections were used to build castles, roads, churches and buildings across the country.

Believe it or not, the system lasted from 1427 until 1857, when an American ship refused to pay the tax (our distate for taxes is practically hereditary). This exchange set off an international trade conference, which resulted in the abolishment of the toll.

The courtyard of Kronborg. Helsingborg, Sweden, sits across Øresund.

A proper fortress.

Day 25. Uafhængighedsdag.

Today there were no morning parades, no afternoon barbecues, no nighttime fireworks. Still, I felt my patriotic obligation to do something at least semi-American on Independence Day -- or Uafhængighedsdag in Danish. Around noon, I made a pilgrimage to the FDR memorial statue, which sits on a leafy boulevard along Sankt Annes Plads.

The bronze disembodied head of Mr. Roosevelt is, to my knowledge, the only statue of an American in Copenhagen (Randers, in the west, has an entire Elvis Presley museum). That FDR would have this singular honor makes sense. In 1940, the Nazis marched north into Denmark, quickly establishing a puppet government and planning an attack on the far more strategically-valuable Norway. Though the occupation was relatively bloodless, the Germans nonetheless tossed Danish sovereignty aside. 

Denmark therefore benefited when the Allied forces prevailed in 1945. I suppose this sculpture is a thank-you, though I'm not certain. The Danes gave the American government a former Nazi-owned mansion as a token of gratitude for the liberation; that same mansion is now the US ambassador's residence.

Days 23 and 24. Nyboder.

As an American, it's always impressive to see buildings that are older than the US itself. Europe does a great job keeping its castles, churches, forts, museums and the like in shape for generations to enjoy. The centuries-old buildings that impress me the most, however, are the residential ones. That countless families have walked up and down the same steps, slept in the same bedrooms and peered out the same windows for hundreds of years -- without the wealth of the state for upkeep -- is a remarkable thing.

Smack dab in the middle of Copenhagen, between Rosenborg Castle and Kastellet, sits a collection of identical row houses called Nyboder. The distinct yellow hue of Nyboder has been copied on homes across Denmark, and today the row houses stand in stark contrast to the ornate six-story buildings surrounding them. Construction began by royal decree in 1631 to accommodate military families, but most of the homes standing today were built just before the American Revolution in the mid to late 1700s.

Day 22. Studenterfester.

This past weekend, thousands of young Danes graduated from high school and then promptly proceeded to drink themselves silly. An otherwise quiet and orderly town, Copenhagen turns into a sort of mass pub crawl for 18-year olds celebrating their accomplishment. The students don sailor caps and hire covered flatbed trucks to drive them throughout the city streets while they blast music and lose their voices.

You hear the cacophony approaching for blocks, shattering the Copenhagen calm. Locals honk their car horns like crazy in support of the graduates who are simply keeping up the Danish rite of passage known as studenterfester.

Their joy is contagious. Somehow it's impossible not to smile and wave, all while some hammered blond kids toss their empty beer cans onto the otherwise spotless sidewalks and sing along -- terribly off-key -- to Nicki Minaj.

Day 21. Front lawns.

Front lawns as Americans know them hardly exist in Denmark. The homes themselves instead often act as personal gardens, with English climbing roses, thick ivy, or tidy flower boxes adding flashes of color to an already charming picture. It's easy to stop and smell the roses when they spill onto the sidewalks.

Day 20. Gardens.

Then, they turned southward, and the air became fragrant with the perfume of spices and flowers... Here they both descended to the earth, and stretched themselves on the soft grass, while the flowers bowed to the breath of the wind as if to welcome it. “Are we now in the garden of paradise?” asked the prince. “No, indeed,” replied the East Wind; “but we shall be there very soon."

"The Garden of Paradise," Hans Christian Andersen 

  

Day 19. Gods of the sea.

In 1904, a prominent Danish sea captain named Peter Mærsk-Møller founded the Steamship Company Svendborg with his son, Arnold Peter. The father and son team achieved enough success towing cargo in their first few years to finance the construction of a shipyard in Odense, where their company began fabricating increasingly massive cargo liners. The fledgling Steamship Company Svendborg would, over the decades, evolve into the world's biggest shipping enterprise: A.P. Møller-Mærsk.

The size and scale of the company's ships is mindblowing. Today, each one of Mærsk's trademark sky blue E-class container ships can haul 36,000 automobiles at a time. According to The Guardian, "just 15 of the world's biggest ships," most of which belong to Mærsk, "may now emit as much pollution as all the world's 760 million cars." If you could lay the Empire State Building on its side, it would be over 100 feet shorter than Mærsk's largest freighters. And yet here, in unassuming Copenhagen, sit the people who rule the ships that rule the seas.

Poseidon at the gates of Mærsk's world headquarters in Copenhagen

Day 18. The candlestick store.

Copenhagen prides itself on the accomplishments of homegrown industrial designers and architects. Such pride is well-deserved; the city gave the world Jørn Utzon, after all. 

Of course, hip communities often run the risk of becoming caricatures of themselves. Like Spatula City or the Knot and Doily stores from Portlandia, there are a fair share of establishments in Copenhagen that literally sell one product, presumably on the basis of their superior design. The thing is, these stores aren't selling wristwatches or Ferraris or anything particularly complicated and expensive. For example, I recently passed a store that only sold white t-shirts with a quote: "Be yourself - everybody else is taken." That's it.

My favorite, though, is my neighborhood's designer candlestick store. Copper or silver? Your choice.

Day 17. Rainbows.

Beautiful city, beautiful day.

Day 16. Getting lost.

It happened. The intended ten-mile bike ride became a 35-mile one. I had put far too much faith in my own sense of direction. The result was an erratic zigzag around the outskirts and suburbs of the capital. I never bothered to ask for directions. The sun would be out until nearly 11pm anyway, and what better way to explore Copenhagen than by doing so in an utterly mindless manner?

Along the way, an Ikea appeared, and I was thrilled to experience the giant furniture store in its native Scandinavian environment. As it turns out Danish Ikeas are identical the ones in suburban America, though I don't know what I expected... massive hordes of smiling blondes making their pilgrimage, maybe. Or just Swedish meatballs everywhere, I don't know.

One surprise along the route of my Tour de Copenhagen was stumbling upon Grundtvigs Kirke, a wildly unique and dominating structure. The church, built in the 1920s and '30s is all at once weird, beautiful, alarming and unlike anything I've ever seen.

Day 15. Sankt Hans.

It's an odd feeling sitting in a Copenhagen apartment and noticing the thick smell of campfire. There aren't campgrounds for dozens of miles. Denmark is too wet and the trees too sparse for forest fires. I couldn't figure it out, until I remembered that my landlord had sent an email earlier that day with a postscript attached: 

Have a nice evening- try a stroll along the harbourside. There will be bonfires as we celebrate "Sankt Hans"- Midsummer night.

At Nyhavn, the rich smell of burning wood was overwhelming. Though it was Sunday night, hundreds of people lined the canal, watching the bonfire that city officials had lit on a small floating platform. There was a jazz band playing quietly in the background. Jazz has long been a big draw in Copenhagen.

Sankt Hans, or Midsummer, is a Nordic tradition that dates back to pagan times. My Danish coworkers said that Swedes party the most because it's actually a national holiday there. Estonians, Finns and Norwegians celebrate it quite seriously as well. The Danes tend to be relaxed about Sankt Hans and make it into a quiet community affair. Neighborhoods celebrate by burning a big pile of wood along the waterfront. I'm told the view from just off the beaches is incredible: at dusk, bonfires dot the Zealand coast every quarter-mile all the way to the horizon.

Sometimes, people will tie a fake witch to a stake for old times' sake. Apparently nothing brings the town together like a good ol' fashioned witch burning.

Day 14. Cemeteries.

At first glance, I assumed the thickly forested and beautifully groomed space behind the American Embassy in Copenhagen was just another handsome park. "It's not a park," a Danish coworker remarked, "It's Garnisons Cemetery."

Based on my observations and on the opinions of my coworkers, Danish cemeteries are all quite beautiful. It helps that they're maintained by government employees. Like the UK, Denmark is a constitutional monarchy where the king/queen serves as head of both church and state. There's little to no separation between the two institutions.

In fact, the upkeep of cemeteries and anything else related to the Lutheran Church of Denmark is largely supported not by collection plate donations but by taxes: kirkeskat (kirke = church, skat = tax). The exact percentage of tax varies by municipality, but Danes might pay upwards of 1.5% of their income toward kirkeskat. Citizens have an option not to pay, though doing so voids their right to a free wedding ceremony and funeral at a Danish church and a plot in one of these incredible cemeteries.

I walked through Holmens Kirkegård (kirkegård = cemetery) today and - perhaps this is in bad taste - took some pictures. I was impressed by the bright flowers everywhere, the tidy rows of shrubs separating the plots and the little benches for visitors. A flock of ladies in black "Holmens Kirke" vests tended the gardens as I explored.

"Beloved husband, father and grandfather"

The cemetery's chapel, in the style of Norse stave churches

Day 13. Odense.

I ventured west for the first time, making it to the island of Fyn. I took the train to Denmark's third-largest city, Odense. First of all, any town named after Odin - essentially the Zeus of Norse mythology and the father of Thor - is automatically a winner in my book.

In reality, Odense should be called 'Andersenville,' given its  obsession with native son, Hans Christian Andersen. The author of The Little Mermaid, The Ugly Duckling and so many other famous works was born in Odense. Andersen grew up in grinding poverty, the son of a struggling, single alcoholic mother. By the end of his rich life, Andersen had written 212 fairy tales, 51 theater works, several books and thousands of notes. Born a pauper, he died while earning a "national treasure" stipend provided by the Danish crown, and he received a state funeral in Copenhagen.

I visited the Hans Christian Andersen Museum in Odense, which includes the house in which he was born and a series of rooms detailing his life, complete with daguerreotype portraits and hundreds of his drawings, notes and paper cuttings. My favorite part may have been the quotes scattered around: "To travel is to live," "My life will be the best illustration of all my work," and so on.

The birthplace of Hans Christian Andersen, now a museum

Along the same street. H.C.A.'s house is the small yellow one with the visible chimney

Day 12. Rosenborg Slot.

Danish society seems perfectly engineered for a spontaneous picnic. Danes take entire months off in the summer, and when they do work it's generally a half day. They bike everywhere. There's no open alcohol container ban. The summer air is relaxed, with temperatures hovering around 70 degrees. 

The key ingredient, though, is the Danish aptitude for constructing incredible parks. Sprinkled throughout busy Copenhagen are dozens of them, completely fenced off from streets, traffic and commercialism. Ørstedsparken, for example, feels a world apart from the rest of the city. When visiting, one only catches a glance of the tidy rainbow of row houses peeking through the thick treetops.

The Danes outdid themselves with Rosenborg Slot (slot = castle) and its surrounding grounds. Only yesterday after work did I finally make it to this beautiful park, with a 17th century castle tucked behind acres of manicured lawns and trees. Families, friends, couples and tourists scattered across the grounds were enjoying the sun, the breeze, their wine and their smørrebrød. I popped into a minimart, grabbed an iced tea and spent a few hours reading a book and wishing the sunset would be delayed even longer than it already is.

(As with all the other photos on this site, click the picture to view a larger version)

Day 11. A Danish workplace.

I could try spinning out some longwinded explanation of Danish attitudes toward their jobs and the appearance of their workplaces, but I won't. Really, I just want to share a picture of a very cool Danish office that I had the chance to visit during an offsite conference.

Day 11. Dannebrog.

The Nordic countries share a common template for their flags. The pattern even has its own Wikipedia entry. Iceland, Norway, Sweden, Finland, Denmark and the Åland, Faroe, Orkney and Shetland Islands all use some variation of the Nordic Cross. Denmark set the standard with its red and white Dannebrog (apparently in the 1200s), and the neighboring regions followed suit in subsequent centuries.

While the US tends to overdo the whole let's-put-flags-everywhere thing, Denmark is only a tiny bit less excited about theirs. I see the Dannebrog quite often, though it could be because I'm staying in the capital; since I haven't strayed from Copenhagen yet, I have yet to see how much the rural areas fly the flag.

Day 10. Smørrebrød.

It took two weeks before I could pronounce smørrebrød in a remotely intelligible manner. Smørrebrød is Denmark's lunch staple, an open-faced sandwich where the only rule is that one uses a very heavy, seedy rye bread as the base. We individually make and eat our own at the office nearly every day, and they end up being tasty little creations. When purchased at a restaurant - Copenhagen is teeming with smørrebrod-only cafés - the sandwiches can be beautiful culinary works.

Common toppings include some combination of eggs, shrimp, tomatoes, salad greens, remoulade, mayonnaise, smoked salmon, pâté, fried whitefish, cheese, chives, bacon... etc... etc... etc...

My favorite topping is definitely salmon. And the best part is that a plate of smørrebrød almost always comes with some assembly required.