An Evening in Christiania

On my last evening in Copenhagen, I asked the waitress whether Christiania was worth visiting on a Sunday night. She encouraged me to go for the architecture and the nature. It was June, and there was still enough light to make setting off feel like an easy decision.

I had heard so much about the place that arriving meant working through a collection of other people’s impressions. A boy pointed me towards an arch, and I followed the path inside.

A place to sit

The houses and trees caught my attention before I found somewhere to stop. There were old barracks, painted surfaces and people spending the evening outdoors. I remember the red flag with its three yellow dots, and the feeling of having stepped into a different rhythm within the city.

At a picnic table, I asked two men whether I could join them. We began talking, and the conversation eventually reached music: J Dilla, Slum Village, Mos Def. When Biggie’s “Juicy” came on, there was suddenly a familiar point of reference in a place I was still trying to understand.

They offered to show me around. We walked past houses, stages and sculpture, continuing the conversation as the light changed. Near the trees, it had become dark enough that we turned back.

The way home

Later, while trying to work out the bus back to my hotel, I began talking to another man waiting nearby. He spoke about music, his studio and the art around us. He invited me to see the studio, but I had an early flight and decided to continue to the hotel.

Our discussion on the bus stayed with me. I mentioned museums when we spoke about art in Chicago. He was more interested in work encountered outside an institution, as part of the street and the day. We were using the same word and imagining different ways of living with it.

This is a memory of that evening, rather than a guide to Christiania now. The pleasure was in being briefly included: offered a seat, shown around, drawn into a conversation that continued beyond the visit.