Pre-game action

This is what Seth calls 'pre-game action' - a few 'quiet' drinks before we head out. All it requires is a stop at the Netto supermarket or 7-11. Perfect!

Loving the dedicated bike lane

 

Moose Bar

 

When it rains...

It really does pour... enough to make you wonder why you got out of bed, and why you bought a bike 

At Dansk

Heading for a coffee after class 

Malmø for a Night

Danish classes finished this week, and this was clearly cause for much celebration. Thursday night was big enough for most people to not show up to collect their test results on Friday. I passed the test, which means that I'm now officially bad at Danish. I bought my first Danish souvenir too - a laptop with three extra keys.... æ, å and ø. That's what I call value for money. Pity i can't pronounce them or distinguish them from the other vowels....

On Friday arvo, international students descended on Malmø, Sweden. In about the same time as it takes to catch a train from Blackburn to the city, and with far fewer ticket inspectors, we were in another country for a night out. There may be even more blondes in Sweden than in Denmark, but something that is certainly different is that in Malmø they were selling moose kebabs. Not cow, not sheep, not chicken. Moose. Even though the night was one of those special nights were you know a kebab will hit the spot (early dinner, a night of drinking), I chose to wait until I returned to the more familiar shawarma stores back in Copenhagen.

The festival was an eclectic mix of goths, ravers and families, who all merged seamlessly in the open parks in the middle of town. There were about 4 stages with different acts, but I for one was content enjoying the music from the bustle in the street, considering the main music options last night were a crazy swedish pop band or some light-hearted death metal.

As for the kebab back in copenhagen, it was possibly the best I have ever had. The quality of the late night lamb sandwich all depends on the circumstance, and there's nothing like having just spent a night out in another country. Speaking of which, tomorrow night I will be Rejkjavik, Iceland. We'll have a Rav4 from Monday to cruise around the island in, picking up hot icelandic chicks on the way of course. Although if we do, we might have to jettison some passengers (i'm looking at you, Bev and Stampy).

Cheers,
Ben

Words can't describe...

They do it differently in Sweden

Who would have thought a visit to a Swedish Maccas could provide such entertainment?

Nights Out

 

Taking over Strøget

Festival in Malmø

Crazy Swedish band in Malmø

Serg and the Poles

Me, Serg, Maciej + Kuba 

Why are we so confused?

Having woken up from another dazzlingly late night weekend, we arrived at Danish classes for another week. We were learning dates. The '2nd' is 'anden'. How do you pronounce that? Well, explains the teacher, you drop the 'd' because it is after an 'n'. You drop the 'e' because it is before an 'n'. Therefore you just say 'an'. Makes sense I suppose.

The Iceland Band

Guitarist Beverly; Jochen on drums; Stampy on background vocals; Seth lead vocalist
Produced by B. Langford

International Collage

Spanish Estel; Estel and Stampy; Italian Silvia;
Me; German Jochen; Brazilians Alide and Taciana;
Spanish Sergi; Mafiosi Silvia, Valentina and Daniella; me attacking a bloody water bottle that just would not open

Learning Spanish

Yup, with so many internationals around, you need to learn some new words every day in order to communicate... seriously. Muy bien!!

Uni Cafeteria

Seth and Jochen

Queuing

Outside Studenter Huset (the student house). This is where I work on Wednesdays!

Late Night Bus

Late night bus home. Time for the Italians to get a bike!

Lego Land

Silvia and Dave playing Lego at the police station, I think its a Danish thing

Nights out in the street

What are you doing next weekend?

I have booked a flight to Rejkjavik, Iceland for next Sunday!!!!!!
Will be road-trppin' with Seth, Jochen, Laura (Stampy) and Beverly.

I figure its a bit safer than the London-NY route at present.

The Danes have no idea

This is a milkshake, not a coffee. Viva Italia!!!

Mmm beer

Enjoying Carlsberg outside the Moose Bar with Seth the Road Trip American

Bucketing Down

Gotta love the Green Hippy Pants, courtesy of Excitable Landlord. And then there's Al - a real thinker with the boardies

7 Foot Viking Monsters

Last night I headed out with two Italians girls to meet the Spaniards and the Englishman Dave. It was a late night and the street lights illuminated the street, casting long shawdows over the bicycles along the narrow road. On all sides highrises streaked to the sky, as if competing for the last fleeting rays of sunshine. We walked along contentedly, having just stoped by the 7-11 for a few refreshements. The Italians joked noisely as pulled the 6 pack from my bag and prepared to crack open my first brew. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a group of large men walking our way. As this is one of the safest towns in all the world I was not worried, but I shifted my attention to them, watching their approach. I noticed that these men were dressed strangely, sporting a variety of bear skin robes and meatlic like helmets. Their pikes glinted in the moonlight and they grunted through their flaring nostrils.

Thanks for the intro Seth.

Well actually we were surrounded by a bunch of 16 year old kids; a fusion of middle east meets the bronx. They kindly requested the loan of Dave's phone, while brandishing one of the red&white wooden construction barriers strewn across most of Copenhagen. Somehow the body language didn't correspond withe the politeness of the request. I actually found it funny when the little squirts started swinging the wooden plank at us in this safe, safe city. I found it less funny when he hit me with it. He found it less funny when I grabbed the plank from him and he realised that I was about to kill him. One of his mates felt it justifiable to repay the attack on his posse's pride by pulling out a knife. Great. Safe City!! I yelled at him loud enough to wake all the locals, and they ran off.

A couple woke up to the shouting and leaned out their window to see what was going on. I realised I was standing at their window with a long red and white striped plank of wood, and was, just maybe, looking a little dodgy. It seems though that this group had been causing trouble lately. It also turns put we were in a bit of a housing commission area. Bloody spanish had to move there??? Last time we go drinking at their house!!!

The 7 foot viking monsters were the police. The application form must have the following requirements: Taller than 95% of the population and ridiculously blonde hair. They felt the need to release the sniffer dogs. Lucky some of the international students weren't with us or they'd have been mauled.

I blame Dave for the attack because he's english, because he's small and just because. But he provided the entertainment as we spent the following 3 hours telling 3 sets of police the same story. It had all started when Dave came out of his apartment without shoes to find us. The police asked if we would accompany them to the station. Of couse we did, choosing not to argue with the Vikings, even though Dave mumbled about his shoes. The Italians weren't going anywhere without a cigarette. I was pretty keen for a beer. Dave didn't get his request until at the police station, where he asked the blonde danish detective for a cup of tea. After all that, he wants a cup of tea? Oh so English!! And then he asked for milk and sugar.... Bloody poms.

Unfortunately, a few of our prized possessions were stolen. I had a Picasso in my bag, and the italians had the mona lisa (on loan from the louvre of course) wedged between the beers. The insurance claim has been lodged.

[all was fine, nothing was stolen, and we rocked up late for class the next day]

Handyman

The perils of glass bottles on the road when you're riding home in the rain after a few beers 

Canal Cruise

 

Hot Swedish Tourists

I got his number for whoever wants it. 

Please serve only when drunk

I know working for beer and pizza doesn't sound like much, but I had an awesome time pulling beers at the Student House in town last night. And considering you need an investment banker's salary to afford to buy beers when you're out, the payment becomes oh-so-much-more precious. You're encouraged to drink (kinda responsibly) while you work. At the intro, someone asked about whether to check IDs, and the reply was - "only if they are really young". Refuse service to intoxicated people? - "only if they're too drunk to pay." This probably isn't so surprising when you can (and we do!) spend half your night on the street drinking beers from 7-eleven. Just choose the bar of your choice and drink out the front! Sadly, I can see this tactic backfiring in the depths of winter. And speaking of the weather (well the Danes don't shut up about it!) I think someone up in the sky decided an extra long summer should be rewarded with some big fat chubby rain. The kind that makes you feel like going for a swim to dry off. The kind that makes you wonder whether riding to uni´is really such a great idea. The Danes get around this problem by wearing a 'rain set' - jacket, pants and even shoe coverings. The excitable landlord said he had a spare pair. Unfortunately, I think he may have purchased them at the height of the hippie revolution in Christiania. A real 70's green parachute material classic. I may be invested in my own pair soon!! Well now its time to head off to a lecture which is part of my Danish language course. This lecture is called 'Why is understanding Danish so difficult'. I have a suspicion that the lecture could be very short; I think it has something to do with how the pronunciation of Danish wants to have about as much in common with the spelling as the Pope wants to have in common with an ape. For example, one of our exercises is to listen to a phrase and cross out silent letters. You know you're in for a tough time when you cross out about 40% of the letters. Ridiculous. But if there's any language more out-there crazy than Danish, its probably Icelandic. A bit of a toss-up as to where the most random place to go would be has resulted in a group of 5 booking tickets to Rejkjavik. Stampy, Beverly and myself, the aussies, will be joined by Jochen, the german German, and Seth, our 'straight out of Road Trip' American friend. Promises to be a whole lot of fun for 6 days. Hope all is well back home!ben

Enjoying Summer

Sine, Stampy, Rune, and Fernando; dinner on my terrace 

Proud as Punch

My new bike, bought from the police auction.

Cycling to the Sunset

Better than a bus! Jochen and Alister heading home from uni.

The Foreigners

Morning Dansk classes have begun. As I write this it's now five minutes before half to three (that's the danish way of saying 2:25). This isn't an easy language, and they say the best way to learn is speak with a 'potato in your mouth'. Interesting, tasty concept. The international crew was divided into small groups. Ours is 14: there's the spanish with their crazy meal times, la italiani regazzi who are just plain crazy, a homeless polish guy (serious - accommodation here is tight), a german who is oh-so german despite his protestations, three americans who take the stereotype of being american just that little step further, and Stampy (Laura), Beverly and myself, the 3 Australians. And evidently we can't speak english, according to the Europeans - too much slang. A french girl swanned in today, and melted us all with her accent. Even Stampy admits to having a bit of a crush. And who could blame her?Bikes have been a godsend, although Stampy and I did spend more than a couple of hours in a shop fixing ours. My seat was high-pitched-talkingly high and as I think I have mentioned, stopping required a well timed and well aimed aerial dismount. As I began to think I may never sit down again by choice, we found a bike service shop. Very unwilling to wait 2 weeks, and with a little too much Aussia bravado, we figured they wouldn't be too hard to fix. It turned out the seat pole was so rusted that it had fused to the bike; I took the seat off a smacked the pole with a hammer. I turned it upside down and smashed it on the concrete. The guy in the shop felt sorry for us and lent us his tools, telling us we were far more fun to help that the Danish guy who'd been yelling at him. A can of wd-40 later, my seat is at a far more comfortable height. The danish lad earned his six-pack of Tuborg. Nights out in Copenhagen have thus far been a very outdoor experience. The weather has been amazing; so much so that the Danes can only talk about the unseasonal weather, global warming and the world going topsy-turvy. I have regreted not bringing a singlet, not to mention my broken thong, but it has been a good excuse to do a bit of topless sunbathing. Hey, if the Danish girls can do it, surely I can join them? Apart from this very compelling reason to pray daily for the sun to continue, it means we can go to the local Netto supermarket and buy cheap beer (ie 1/2 litre of carlsberg for $2-3) and drink in front of the bars serving the same stuff for 3-4x that. And we have such a large crowd of int'l students that it feels like the party is wherever we all are. Invariably nights out a followed by that awesome euro specialty, the kebab. You feel that if they are going to stay open til 3, 4, 5am then you should reward them with your patronage. And besides, that's the time the spaniards normally have their dinner. I am feeling decidedly spanish at the moment actually; the afternoon siesta has been rewarding. The sun wakes up at about 4.30am and often wakes me up with it, given that my curtains make celophane look opaque. Then again, not sure this will cause me too much trouble in winter. Ciao!

Do as the Vikings do

My left thong is broken from overuse. The weather is amazingly hot and walking all day long is tiring. Plus, not owning a bike is conspicuously non-Danish. My bike has 'character'. It is a renovator's dream. You may think that not having a cable between the hand brake and the brake mechanism is impractical; I'd call it unique. The seat will be too high until I can translate 'alan key' into Danish. At least no one will want to steal it. I bought the bike from a police auction. All through copenhagen there are old bikes lying in the streets, some badly damaged, some simlpy disused. The police routinely collect the old fellas and run a saturday morning auction. Actually the auction was a great introduction to learning danish numbers. In a sweaty crowded room full of bikes and Danes, you can bid bid bid. Laura, another aussie student here, and I only bought a one-way bus ticket and weren't planning on buying another. It turned out we bought 3 bikes. The second was a good example of caveat emptor. Fortunately we managed to sell that on to someone else, at a small loss. Most of the bikes have something wrong with them. As we rode back to town, Laura and I took advantage of a cycle shop being next to a beer cafe, and we celebrated our purchasing success with a carlsberg, as I attended to the brake situation. I intend to prove wrong all those people who say it won't last 5 months. Uni hasn't started yet, although I have met a few people already. On the internet at uni I overheard an aussie accent on the phone - which belonged to a girl called Beverly from Sydney. Next addition to the group was Laura, who I know a little from Melbourne. And then there's Fernando, who some of you know - the argentinian/american, investment banker/novelist whom I travelled with in Vietnam and NZ. He has been staying with me since Wed night. The exciteable landlord's daughter, Sine, and her musician boyfriend Ryne are heading to Buenos Aries for a month, so that was an easy sell. Even as they're teaching me Danish, Fernando is teaching them to speak like Argentines.My apartment has been the scene of feast after feast. Fernando, Sine and I all love to cook; this has resulted in a pastel de papas (argentinian pie of potato) and last night fresh sushi. We've enjoyed wine from NZ, Croatia, France and Argentina and oh-so-much beer. Sine's mum taught me to bake bread before she and Tom left to their normal house in Bornholm, so instead of cereal or those wierd scrambled eggs, we are having fresh bread and cheese for breakfast. Far more Danish. Tomorrow the whole uni thing starts, so we'll see how it goes. Just wait til I rock up on my brand new wheels, I'm tipping the tall blonde vikings will come running.

My Room

The view from my apartment in Norrebro 

View over the lakes

Good spot for beers on Beverly's terrace. Until the weather turns sour.... 

Boats and Coloured Houses

The harbour at Nyhavn, Copenhagen 

København, Firenze or Melbourne?

Hej Hej!!

And the junket begins! A quick driving orientation by my excitable landlord from the airport helped me get my bearings, and then I spent the afternoon walking through the streets of the old town. It looks like the compactness of the city and the mighty Kroner will keep me from stacking on pounds as a $6 capuccino or $10 sandwich is off-putting enough to convince you that you are not really so hungry after all.

I arrived in a town bathed in sunlight, and was thankful that I did remember to brings shorts and thongs (although a singlet and city map were casualties of my now infamous time management skills). Tom, the excitable landlord was proud as punch about the beach park which extended along part of the coast from the airport, but i didn't have the heart to ask if he'd been to Australia.

Evidently last night there was "Blitz", which I told Tom was lightning in English. But I didn't notice, having entered a rather deep sleep since about 6pm. And today is raining and overcast, leaving me to wonder - am I still in Melbourne?

The apartment is maybe 20mins walk north of the town centre, which is perfect. But those who shared the experience of stairs in Florence will empathise with the numerous floors I have to climb. Should keep me fit.

Shopping yesterday for some food, I found an Aldi, which stocked some 'different' items. In the bread section, my small knowledge of german helped me realise that 'kartoffel rugbrød' was probably potato bread and best left unpurchased. From the food I did find at Aldi, I made them some scrambled eggs for breakfast, which they found very unusual and curious. Turns out that Tom normally has 'potato bread' and honey. Go figure.

Rather disturbed by my inability to communicate yesterday, I quizzed Tom and his wife Winnie about some basic Danish, which has already reaped smiles today. Apart from some basics, Tom thought it was essential to teach me 'smukke kuinde' which he said means 'beautiful girl'. However his wife thought that saying that might lead to a slap on the face, leaving me curious as to the level of formality (or otherwise) of the phrase. Only one way to find out... Meanwhile an appropriate synonym would probably be 'Dansk kuinde'. It would appear that the sterotype is oh-so true. Certainly, it is the sheer number of intensely blonde people that remind me that I am actually in Scandinavia.

Love to you all,

ben