Chance brought me here to Århus so why should the reason for my trip to the "big city" be any different?
A few days before the weekend Tomas mentioned in passing there was an available seat on his dark, blue Volkswagen hatchback, destined for Copenhagen, the capital of Denmark, which is the largest city in the country.
I was bound for more disorientation and, more importantly, a new adventure of discovery and knowledge just a few weeks into my new chapter of life.
Although I was far from committing to the trip until the evening before I made sure to grab a few pieces of essential clothing and the usual hygienic products -- far less than the usual two large bags of stuff I would take with me an impromptu road trips back in Canada.
The consistent trend during this post-career life as been a conscious effort to get by on less. It's proved to be an interesting challenge for someone who loves to indulge.
An interesting thought, heading to one of the most expensive places to live, or, in my case, visit.
At the wrap up of class on Thursday I headed to the parking lot, trailing my travelling companions (and photojournalism peers) Tomas, Antonia, Nick, and Hendrik, for a three or four hour road trip.
Despite a short traffic delay on the highway, our spirits remained high and was buoyed by the prospect of exploration (although for Tomas I'm sure he was anxious to see his girlfriend and for Hendrick it was exciting to return home to not only receive a prestigious award for photojournalism in domestic reportage, but to see his family).
The brief delay gave us opportunities to practice a little flash photography and to scare the locals with the attack of the photographers when stopped beside other cars.
Under a veil of darkness we arrived in Copenhagen. Hendrick was the first to be dropped off as he was off to catch his flight back to Finland. The handshakes went around and the words of farewell and congratulations accompanied him as he left the warm confines of the car before he headed out into the cold air on the steps to the airport entrance.
Back on the road Tomas sped with purpose to the inner rings of the city. He drove through the city centre, showing us a few things, including the very famous Christiania -- a commune of sorts where the people have taken residence in a former military barracks. The self-sustained community exists despite the government's misgivings.
The dizzying lights of the town centre and urban sprawl left me with a sense of awe at the relative enormity compared to the, at least now, comfy confines of Århus. With hunger pains in our stomach, and the puzzling logistics of accommodation and transportation that preoccupied our minds, we asked Tomas for a drop off near some place of food and access to a Metro. None of us felt a particular yearning for anything in particular except that the food be warm and relatively inexpensive.
Tomas made good on our request and left us by a canal bridge with a variety of take-out and restaurants, including the Metro station.
With the promise to see each other again for the following day, we parted ways and Antonia, Nick and I were off to find food.
We walked a short a while, asking each other where to eat, but as we demonstrated an inability to be decisive Antonia looked to someone else for the choice.
Thankfully our minds were made for us when Antonia asked a youngish man in his late-twenties about where to eat. He suggested a middle-eastern restaurant just down the street. The small, quaint restaurant couldn't have had more than 10 tables, but the glow from the fluorescent lights, illuminating the street was a relief to a group who had spent the past three plus hours without food. It shone like a beacon, standing out from the grey pall of a snowy night.
The menu selection was a smorrgesbord of Pakistani delights. We feasted like it was a our last meal, savouring the samosa's, and the rice and chicken, slathered in a sauce that I cannot remember nor be able to pronounce with any authority.
We left the restaurants, ready for more discovery. The roads glistened, coloured by the light from the 7-Eleven sign, we walked with a chill from the winter air, moistened by the melting of the fallen snow, matting down our hair
Antonia spoke on the phone on the sidewalk under the streetlight to arrange for the accommodation on a submarine courtesy of Marianna's connection while Nick was inside the 7-Eleven buying something.
I, being the last minute guy, pondered my own accommodation dilemma, knowing hostel's are not always easy to find in the evening and hotel rooms in major city's are not cheap. C'est la vie. After all, I knew the risk of a last second trip...
With bellies full, we walked to the city centre.
Every few people we asked (thanks Antonia and Nick for coming with) about where the hostels were, and headed towards the central train station.
Many people were friendly, but distance becomes an interesting concept as close is a relative thing, particularly for people new to the city.
Needless to say I found my place, even if it was far more than I can truly say without being utterly embarrassed. One great thing was the location. Not interested in staying in for the evening, I explored walking the streets of the "colourful" neighbourhood of Vesterbro. The steady snowfall had the streetwalkers, carrying umbrellas while the young and old locals, laughed with each other, some huddled in the doorway to escape the night chill as others struggled to stay upright at the edge of the curb, forcing passing cars and bicycles to give them a wide berth.
The diversity of the area reminded me of the depiction of Brooklyn in the movies. Doorways and walls were covered in a mosaic of graffiti, unsure where one line started and another ended.
Fluorescent signs flickered and buzzed with the promise of topless women, beer and shawarmas.
Still restless I walked back the way I came towards the bright lights and stadium like space known as the city area.
Every other corner seemed to have a pub of some sort. It's probably more pubs than I've seen since being in Boston or New York. I suppose Ireland and Britain will need to be explored before I can say for certain about the city's standing.
Even with all the stores closed it seemed the Strøget (our street where no vehicles travel) was the main throughway for pedestrians...and drunks of all ages.
Although this city has not a skyscraper anywhere the sheer size of the buildings from days gone by (probably older than my country by a few centuries at least) are large in a way that does not loom over, but rather surround and impose a feeling of intimidation in the way an encircling wall does. Now don't get me wrong these buildings have the refinement and architecture that go with the various periods they represent and far exceed my imagination, but from the depth and width I never could get a feel for where one ended and where one began...
NOTE: I will continue...
