Tales of travelling from Lisbon to Copenhagen – and hitting Christiania Freetown.
As we rearrange our cases ready for today’s flight, I am pleased to report I still have lots of clean (and dry) pants left. Because I haven’t shit myself yet, which is a good thing. Early days though, this tour ain’t quite over yet.
I’m gutted when I see that Fat Freddy’s Drop are playing Lisbon down by the river tonight. Frustrating timing.
Again I ponder on the age-old question of flight times. Flying at stupid o’clock in the morning is a pain, but it does mean more time to explore the destination. Sensible flight time is easier on the body, but you can spend all day travelling and cutting down time at the destination. Our flight is midday, meaning we don’t arrive until evening, but at least we are not getting up at stupid o’clock.
We zip through airport security fairly quickly – although I am confused as to why we don’t have to go through passport control. The flight is just shy of four hours and we are soon in Copenhagen. Just like Lisbon, they have a strange set up where arrival passengers and departure passengers are not separated – you just wander through the duty free and departure lounges. And boy do they like their departure lounges, there are bars everywhere. Again, no passport control, which confuses me.
Apparently the cost of hiring a coach here was prohibitive, so Wonky have left us to our own devices for getting to the hotel. This is not a major issue though, as public transport is as efficient as you would expect from a Scandinavian country. We have the option of train, metro or bus. We opt for the train which was around a fiver each.
We are soon checking in to our hotel, which is rather splendid, dispite being in the meat packing district. It’s bloody big though. We could have got an Uber to our room. As we walked down the long corridor I had visions a twin girls coming towards us on little trikes, like in The Shining.
No time to hang about, Copenhagen is calling. And today is the 55th anniversary of Christiania. They’re having a party.
Cristiania in Denmark is not a shit Gareth Bale, like it was in Lisbon. It’s a semi-autonomous anarchist community. It’s a former army barracks that was squatted by hippies back in 1971 and very quickly became established as a commune that operated on slightly different rules to the rest of the city, hence its other name, Freetown.
They have shops, bars, theatres, restaurants, workshops, garages – everything you would expect from a small town.
Drugs were tolerated, making it similar to Amsterdam. Initially there were quite a lot of hard drugs being dealt, but following ten deaths from overdose in 1979 the people of Freetown drove the hard drug dealers out themselves.
In 1987 there was a gang war between Hells Angels and The Bullshit Motorcycle Club over the remaining hash trade. The Bullshit MC won. Eventually the Bullshitters were broken up by the police.
One of the reasons Freetown has survived so long is that the one thousand inhabitants police themselves and keep things under control. Ish. There have still been a number of gang-related killings in the area.
Whilst Amsterdam has its Red Light District, Christiania has a Green Light district, literally named Pusher Street.
As I’m reading the last few paragraphs back I can seem I am painting a dark picture, but on the whole Freetown is an example of a creative autonomous community that has more positives than negatives. It’s a place where free thinkers don’t just talk about anarchism, they act upon it. They have their own council and look after each other. And it is a magnet for the creative and artistic.
Since day one there has been a constant battle with the authorities to keep the place open. The army had originally tried to reclaim their property and it has been a game of cat and mouse ever since. One of the original anarchist thinkers, Pier Joseph Proudhon, once said ‘All property is theft’, and anarchists have always been opposed to the ownership of personal property. However, if the community was going to survive, something needed to be done and in 2012, forty one years after squatting the land, the community bought the land.
Clearly this is just skipping over the history of the site whilst I sit here in my hotel blogging, waiting for football to break out. But if you’re interested in counterculture and alternative ways of living it is a fascinating story worth reading up on.
I think it’s always a good sign when your taxi driver struggles to find a place and says ‘are you sure you want to go here?’ It is generally the start of an interesting night.
As we walk through the gates we are immediately met by a festival atmosphere. Loud music, flashing lights and crowds busily making their way to unknown pleasures.
It’s like Boomtown Festival without the hills, the heat and the dust. And less drugs. And quieter. Actually it’s nothing like Boomtown. It’s like Glastonbury but flatter, with less mud and more drugs. Actually it’s not like anywhere else. It’s unique.
We wander past a live band with flame throwers on the side of the stage, past a DJ and sit in a cafe to eat street food and have a beer. The whole area is like a giant art gallery, street art / graffiti on the walls, motorcycles sticking out of the side of buildings, sculptures everywhere. We wander further.
The place is buzzing with young people from all over the world. Many that look like they approve of the alternative lifestyle, some look like they are just hedonists out for a good night. Some just stand chatting with friends whilst others appear to be on a mission, as if this is a normal Saturday night out and they’re heading for their favourite bar.
We wander round, soaking in the sights and sounds, occasionally stopping for a beer. We even buy a fridge magnet. It seems like a magical place tonight. It’s clearly very different in the day and I’m unsure how lively it is on an weekend that isn’t the 55th anniversary. I’ve wanted to come here for years and tonight we go away with a good impression. Couldn’t have timed it better. And a big consolation for missing Fat Freddy in Lisbon.