I approached this summer as all great endeavors must be approached: with doubt. Was it truly a wise decision to mount a full frontal assault on several of the world’s most expensive societies, armed only with the surplus of a couple months’ fistfuls of Chinese currency? Would my many hopes – for the hospitality of flashbulb friends met along the dusty trail many moons ago, for finding gainful employment along the way – prove too presumptuous to be true? Was I overstretching the bounds of a realistic itinerary by slating a massive rock festival, a trip to Berlin, a march through the three Viking countries of Scandinavia (including a camping expedition up into to the fjords of Norway), visits to friends’ hometowns in five corners of three different countries, and finally a couple months of respite in the home of a Swiss family I’d never met?
Well it’s all winding down now, the madness and adventure (which spawn a recklessly enjoyable offspring, “madventure” ) and I have come to a general conclusion: doubt is unnecessary.
This was undoubtedly the best summer in a lifetime spent wondering why the hell everyone liked such a hot, stagnant, miserable season so much. I proved a lot of things this season, things I had been pretty skeptical about. I’m still skeptical, but more ready than ever to say “yes” to almost anything and mean it. As my transition to Europe started I gradually began to lose the ability to say “no” to requests and invitations put forth by friends intent on having rad adventures (quite a rare hybrid of amazement and gusto known as “radventure” ). Anxieties and misgivings I’d had while still in China over logistics and pragmatics for the months ahead – “how much time? what is the cost? where the hell is Europe?” – dissipated at the gate in Copenhagen along with the stale, pressurized cabin air we’d brought over from Beijing.
From the very beginning I was rewarded with new friends, friends of friends, and friendly family friends – interesting people who could talk about anything and actually get me to shut up and listen once in a while. My wildest dreams about Denmark were confirmed and exceeded. I’d met a lot of Danes while traveling in Asia over the past 20 months, and every one was friendly and joyous. This made me understandably curious as to the nature of their homeland and it was a lifegoal to one day see it. Thanks to ~renberg, who invited and convinced me into this maniac campaign, it was fulfilled sooner than later. I was treated immediately to a witchburning festival, a community feast on the floor of the collegium, Egmont, at which I was staying…and then ROSKILDE, a music festival whose legend echoed back to the very first days I knew Denmark was indeed a fully-instated, populated nation with their own unique language (which wasn’t Dutch, go figure) and even a flag (the oldest in Europe, in fact). ROSKILDE (typed in all caps as it should be shouted as a standard) is a matter to be described at length elsewhere, but, as with most other things Danish, it did not disappoint – far exceeding my massive need to relieve a considerable constipation of over 20 months in Asia devoid of any decent live music concerts (a particular passion of mine). Eight days, three showers, 35 shows, and uncountable volumes of inebriating intoxicants passed and most of the following weeks in early July were admittedly a blur. Perhaps the best thing to come out of ROSKILDE was the cementing of a new true blue friend known to the blockmonkeys as Rasmus (most people in Denmark seem to be named either Rasmus, Casper, or Anders), hooligan charlatan and spliff-handling dabbler of the turntables. The fact that he was in a Tigger suit falling-down drunk with me for the majority of the festival is significant in my ability to remember anything amidst the hurricane of sound and colored lights – I can more deftly place events and defragment memories when bringing them under the context of an orange, striped companion.
My good friend shot down to visit me in Copenhagen many times and it is through his generosity and hospitality that I was able to experience two other monumental journeys – to Berlin and Norway. As one of the most unique and truly special people I have ever known, the chance to spend so much time with the Esben was a highlight in itself. He is indefatigable in his ability to maintain and propagate cheer, in direct opposition to my uncanny skill for dredging the world’s horrors, filth, and foulness to the surface for every scenario.
As I said, since I was aware of their existence the Danes have been significant to me. They marveled me with their expressiveness first (mostly on here, check out *Fealasy below, everpresent in my journals as a yardstick of sickness), and then, when I got to meet some in person, with the oddness of their cheer. The Danes stand as the happiest of peoples. High suicide rates and salaries aside, these are a people who present themselves as being devoid of worries or dilemma. Tribulation is a rarity for a Danish person – which would suggest an incapacity to manage difficulties when they arise – but a hopefulness and certainty of positive outcome permeates their mindset. Distress is a curiosity to Danes. Hard times are something to laugh about, even before they’ve passed. The weather moves quick over this island nation, and perhaps it’s for this reason that Danes are so resilient in their optimism, since no matter how bad it’s raining at the moment, there’s always sunshine around the corner. Either way, Thor rewards them with some of the most spectacular skyscapes I’ve seen. Regularity of rainbows, streaking beams of sunlight, and clouds to rival those in Laos race past overhead. It’s not a perfect society on the ground, there are definitely problems with the government and how people deal with each other. But overall Denmark works for the benefit of its citizens, with awareness and consideration for the rest of the world – it works a lot better than American society or Chinese society for sure, both bloated corpses of revolutionary idealism, imperial conglomerates with the social fabric worn so thin under the constant rubbing of their hell-bent masters that “nationality” is more a matter of subscription to collective fear than allegiance to any shared culture or values. Denmark, however biased my assessment, is a simple-looking island nation with friendly inhabitants where I get along well; it is one of the rare places I have gone where I could imagine myself living contentedly for a number of years. It was the launchpad for this summer’s bombardment and a place I expect to return many times.

witness the shenanigans!
[link]
[link]
[link]








_{coming soon: Part II. Sweden & Norway}




the party:


~h4t3sh33p
~Xardas90
~frease
~MikeGrun
~renberg
~Fatts
~frankboy521
~VonMalcolm

death squads



sickness: