In an attempt to convince the doubters (and there are numerous of you) that my Danish adventure is not just beer and skittles, I should let you know that classes have now begun. I am even presently sitting in the Royal Library of Copenhagen, surrounded by books. It's one of those libraries where the books are so old you can smell them. The beginning of the Danish semester has had two important demographic effects: an influx of yet more international students, and the return of the danish students from their holidays. You can tell by the blindingly blonde hair swanning around the university buildings.
I am taking three law subjects, which is equivalent to a full load. They may seem out of character, but they are:
- International Crimes in National Jurisdictions, which basically is about the legal efforts and problems in prosecuting people who have committed crimes such as genocide (eg Rwanda, the Balkans) and who try to attain a safe haven in, say, Denmark.
- International Protection of Refugees, in order to avoid 8am classes on Tuesday and Thursday.
- The Law of Armed Conflicts, for which I have had no classes yet.
Plus I am also enrolled in a Danish culture course, not for credit but they take us on excursions around Copenhagen and Denmark; and Introduction to EU Law, which lost in a war with a siesta on Friday afternoon.
In ground-breaking news, I am enrolled in another subject, one which interests me. This is a whole new concept of study!! Its called History of the Modern Middle East, and covers the last 200 years of the various conflicts, growth and activity in the region, as well as a country by country synopsis.
So, for a fleeting moment, there was a danger that life here would quieten. There was even an introduction for the international students, involving a danish choir and guest speakers, including Mary Donaldson's father (a guest professor in mathematics). This was held in the 500 year old main university hall, the type with frescoes along the walls and wooden floors, walls, roof. It seemed very formal until a dividing wall sank into the ground to reveal a very danish introduction - a bar with barrels and barrels of beer. I was not the only one to emerge from the choral trance with renewed fervour. That was Thursday.
And then there is the Fredagsbar or Friday Bar. Starting at around 4pm, going through until god know when; serving deliciously cheap (and delicious) beer - who could ask for more? But i digress from the attempted savoury theme. On Saturday arvo I found myself playing for the Copenhagen Crocs. I had turned up late to watch a mate here, Big Al, fill in for the Nth Copenhagen Barracudas (due to the Fredagsbar), and was itching on the sidelines. The bottom of the ladder Crocs were a player short for this, the last game of the season, and I quickly obliged. It only took five minutes to seriously regret that decision. Clearly cycling to uni and the pub is
not sufficient exercise on its own. Surprisingly I lasted through the game, although not without embarrassment. Running with the ball I ended up flat on the ground as I encountered what must be the biggest hill in Denmark (it's a flat country). The undulations of the field were a bogey; I'm glad Al didn't get pictures of either occasion!
Sunday afternoon soccer (i'm told it's called football) is a glorious thing. The sun is shining this week in Denmark and its good to be outside, even if my muscles aren't paying me back with every bit of pain they can muster. Another week here has passed (they go so quickly) - a week of new people, uni classes, sport and, yes, beer... but no mention of skittles. It's not all beer and skittles. Did you doubt me?
Check it! There's also still more videos to come...
With the boss Marianne, Big Al before the famous collarbone incident, myself and Kev 
Everyone loves a trip to a brewery, especially when there's beer at the end. Not as extravagent as Amsterdam's Heineken brewery, but great nonetheless. 
Serg and I; Al and Bev, Vale and Silvia, Estel, Al, Serg, Vale, Silvia, Daniella and Me! 
iceland 
hours of darkness have taken their toll on the Icelanders. Reykjavik has an eery feel to it. I'm not sure if it's the modern, monolithic, mormon-like church in the centre; or that it has as many people walking the streets as an old ghost town; or whether it was because everyone living there who we bumped into was quirky at best. Admittedly we missed the key drawcard of Reykjavik - the most incredible and infamous Friday and Saturday nights out imaginable, we are told. But there's always next time that I'm in Iceland.
for an afternoon. The area is 'famous', if Iceland can be famous for anything, for it's silica mud which is meant to be great for your skin. That morning we had spent riding Icelandic horses through lava fields, fording streams and generally having a great time, and so an afternoon lazing in the lagoon was just the ticket. Hot springs quickly became an important part of our trip agenda, although we traded the horses for a RAV4.
shaped by lava formations in the west; glacial erosion in the east. Apparently, and dubiously, our RAV4 was deemed sufficiently suitable for 4wd driving, and we took full advantage of this. "Should we take the fast asphalt road or the dodgy and treacherous gravel road?" was not a consideration for Jochen, Seth and myself. The girls weren't given the option. But our road less travelled approach provided us with magical rewards - bumping over moon rocks and around craters; boulders strewn across the landscape; the weather turning from sunny to 'slightly inclement' in a matter of seconds while we crossed a narrow road between snow-capped mountains.
Even more surreal are the plumes of sulphurous steam that billow from fissures throughout the western half of the country. This is the geothermal activity that heats the hot springs and pervades the senses with the unmistakable smell of sulphur. Mmmmm... rotten egg. The RAV took us across such everchanging scenery that we soon realised that we had no idea what would be around the next corner, and no hope of guessing.
The offroad tracks were winding, and even the main ring road, road number one, could sometimes degenerate to gravel. There are no railings and sometimes no warnings at all that you are approaching a cliff with a double blind turn. The first and second gears certainly got a workout. 
The Red RAV
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Swiss Alps
Phi Phi Cliff Jump
Laos
