Two weeks have elapsed since the last blog post, which seemed to be enough time to fill out another adequately. St. Patrick's Day has come and gone and March Madness has descended upon us, making this my favorite time of year. As it happens, I will be travelling throughout the tournament, so I will not get to view it in its entirety, but brackets are still filled out and bragging rights are on the line. Just like Obama's inauguration and the Super Bowl, I will have a vivid memory of where I was when it transpired. The days are growing longer and the country is becoming more beautiful with the changing of the season. Denmark is remarkable.
Going back two weekends, I was able to hitch a ride with my host parents to watch my host sister Mie do a dance/gymnastics performance with her team. Hundreds of people piled into this smallish, dimly-lit gymnasium to watch kids/teens/adults of all ages to perform feats of acrobatics with dance routines thrown in-between. The whole experience was intriguing because even though all these fans came from different places to cheer different gymnasts, when the music played for the dancing, everyone stood up in the stands dancing and clapping. I have never seen such a collective movement of fun and entertainment by fans ever, at least in a venue like that. Once Mie's team came up, I was impressed by their skill and athleticism, being as they are only teenagers. Everything was so on-point, and they managed to land almost every flip or move they attempted. The routine was even comical, with one guy dressed up as Zorro "sword-fighting" with another guy on a mat that was being carried by their teammates. I tried to take pictures, but fast-motion is hard to capture, and my host parents brought the wrong camera, so we did not manage to record any of the performance, but we didn't tell Mie that. It was an early day (6:30 am on a Saturday), so luckily we just left right after Mie finished. That was the big excitement of the weekend for me.
Wednesdays usually hold no obligations for me, but this time, we had an optional study tour to the Norrebro Brewhouse, which is a microbrewery in downtown Copenhagen. The facility was not very large, but the owner showed us the vats where they brew the beer and gave us the rundown on the entire process. He provided us with samples, like a cranberry beer and a beer that was 10% alcohol, which were all inspired by the owner's trips around the world to various brewing destinations. You can never pass up the opportunity to learn about beer and try free samples, and 5 samples were surely enough to warrant a visit. The other part of the day that stood out was the lingerie store across the street from the brewery. Its name was Lingerie til store piger, which translated means lingerie for big girls. I mean, big and tall shops are not uncommon, but to see one specifically for women's underwear so conveniently placed on the street corner with such an obvious name was comical. Their merchandise made me laugh.
I reiterate that I have been saving up for a month for this travelling extravaganza I am just about to partake in, so the excitement of these last two weeks is minimal. However, I cannot deny the most compelling part of the whole time period, the Brondby-Arhus football match last Sunday. I took the train to Brondby Strand to meet up with my friend Fisty, and we hopped a bus to meet up with Allison, Nicky, their friend Amber and her friend visiting from the U.S. We ordered pizza, went to a local bar to get a beer from an outside stand, and then we migrated over to the stadium with a bunch of riled-up soccer fans. Nikki and Allison bought Brondby scarves, a few of us bought this mega beers for 12 dollars essentially, and we made the trek up flights and flights of stairs to our seats in the nose-bleed section. You could see everything from our vantage point, and after the pre-celebration song by some unknown Seal wannabe, as Fisty so righteously put it, the teams entered the stadium to raucous cheers, or at least Brondby did. Arhus is not very good to begin with, but they were smacked with a smattering of boos, except for the small grouping of fans gathered in the visitors section. The whistle sounded, and the game was under way.
The whole stadium wasn't really filled, but it was loud with emotion and drunken singing, which is what you would expect from Danish soccer fans. When Brondby scored their first goal early, the crowd was electric, and the electricity never ceased. Like any normal soccer match, there was tight defense and no scoring throughout most of the remainder. I am not the biggest soccer fan, so my interest waned from time to time, but we were taking pictures, laughing, and having a great time. It was fun to watch billowy clouds of smoke waft up from the lower levels of the stadium, which I was later discovered was lit flares. (I was just happy it wasn't tear gas) The best part was late in the second half when the Arhus section started a fire in the stands with fans huddled around it, I am guessing to inspire the team, but I'm not sure. It was put out after a few minutes, but it didn't help. Fisty was cheering for Arhus in a Brondby section, and I joined him some, despite Allison's displeasure. I was really just cheering for scoring, which of course, there wasn't much of throughout. Brondby put one in late to go ahead for good and they won 2-0. Everyone was ecstatic, and I felt it. I tried to sing the Brondby fight song, but it just sounded like grunting to me, so I grunted along with the fans. It was special to witness, and it is just one of those experiences you have to enjoy while in Europe, definitely not in the United States.
I am sorry to say that this will be the last blog for quite a while, unless I spend some of my well-earned travel break in an internet café writing about my experiences on the rail. I don't intend on doing that, but I promise, when I return after 3 weeks, I will write a few blogs here and there a few days apart to make up for lost time. I plan on writing down the majority of the experience in my journal, and hopefully it will be easy to translate into blog form. Thus, we come to the quote portion of the blog. I found this one written by famous novelist John Steinbeck regarding travel. It took me some time to sift through different travel quotes and find a decent one to insert, but here we go, "A journey is like marriage. The certain way to be wrong is to think you can control it."
Goodbye, Chao, Au revoir and Auf wiedersehen.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
My name is Robert Castner, and I Wanna Recruit You!
Hello fellow readers, I apologize for the delay, but I was hoping to have a few decently exciting things to talk about before I made this post. To start off, I have, from time to time, sulked about my experience here so far in Copenhagen because of a cash flow problem and lousy weather. As February has become March, the weather has improved and so has my mood, making my father believe I had SAD (seasonal affective disorder), which is basically minor depression about winter weather. Typically, winters never really bother me; I see them as a time of family togetherness and mild discomfort. While here, there had been no change in climate for weeks at a time, and I am out of my normal comfort zone. In essence, I think I agree with my father's assessment, because I was walking around the city yesterday, on a decent day, not gorgeous, but decent, and after this crazy drink I had called the "Keith Richards" (4 shots of espresso in a hot chocolate, I know what you are thinking, caffeine addiction), I noticed the beauty of the city really for the first time. I was inspired and cheerful, and I knew everything was gonna progress positively for the next 2 months. I couldn't be more grateful.
Last week was incredibly unsatisfying, due to my desire to lay low in order to save my money for my 3+ week travel break, where I am planning to travel to Germany, Czech Republic, Austria, Italy, Switzerland, and France (I know, quite the haul). The core of the interesting stuff happened over the weekend, starting with my awakening at 8:30 on Saturday morning. I thought it was two hours later than it was, and I frantically got out of bed to realize I had much more time before my lacrosse practice. However, I felt like an ice pick was being driven in to the left side of my back, which would seem like a bad omen for the day, but it wasn't. Practice went fine, and I ended up being healthy enough to join my very good friends out for a night on the town. Before we made it to our initial destination, I had miscommunication with them about the main entrance to Central Station and walked outside to be asked by two men if I wanted dope. (Side bar: When unshaven and with a hood up, do I really look like a druggie? Think about that, and possibly respond.) When I finally met up with them, we made our way to Ice Bar, which, consequently, is a bar made of ice. After paying an exorbitant entrance fee, the people at the front desk fit you with a thermal parka and gloves, and they let u enter. All the walls and the tables and the bar itself is crafted from ice blocks. We went up to the bartender to get our complimentary Absolut beverage (all except Tom, his was fruit punch), and we drank them out of ice blocks, which is spectacular.
After our round robin of picture-taking, we couldn't feel most of our extremities, so we left for a warmer, more intimate setting at Cafe Klimt. It was suggested by Fisty and Allison, and for good reason. With good music and affordable prices on beverages, it was an easy place to like. Once the first cocktails were downed and Tom went to catch his train, Kira, Allison, Fisty and me ordered 5 shots for each of us, and downed them within the next hour. A quick dash, or stumble, if you were the girls, led us to Burger King, where we were supposed to grab a quick bite before dancing, but it was getting late and night buses only run so often. We were supplied with a lovely drunk performance by Ms. Nightingale, who had some trouble understanding the cashier when paying for her food, and thought the emergency exit was the bathroom. (To be fair, she had a Long Island Iced Tea, some cocktails before, and the shots, and she's wafer thin, so she deserves a break) For some stupid reason, we let her stumble to the bus stop on her own and get home. Allison, Fisty, and I then went two doors down to McDonald's, Fisty and I began the road to heart disease with a few Big Macs a piece, and we went to the main bus stop. Now, I did not know where my bus, in this whole wide area, was gonna stop, and I missed the one that came at the same time as Fisty and Allison's. I bid them farewell, then located the right bus stop for me, only to wait half an hour and have to endure a long line in the cold, but I digress for the moment. After the forty or so minute ride, the bus got to my stop at Ishøj Train Station, but I could not get to the door fast enough before the bus driver closed it on me. I was asking why, but getting no response, prompting me to think that he didn't speak English. (Not everyone here does speak English, which makes situations like this difficult) So, I kept pressing the button for a stop, but nothing was happening. We continued on this main road behind the station away from my original stop. Eventually, the bus stopped at the next actual bus stop, but instead of opening the doors at the front of the bus where I was, he opened the doors at the middle of the bus, which I couldn't get back to quick enough before he closed them and continued. At this point, I'm cursing and getting upset, so he stops further down the road at a piss-poor excuse for a bus stop, and I almost literally leap out of the middle part before he speeds off, and I curse him until I finish the 30-40 minute trek back home. I returned at 4:30, which I later learned was the time that Kira, who left over an hour before me, got home. (She had an interesting journey back too, but I won't tell the details, this is my blog dammit!)
That brings me to Sunday, the day of my scrimmage for lacrosse. My back felt better with medication, and I headed off in the afternoon to get picked up at the train station by one of the older players. We arrived, and it was overcast and cold (typical), and I saw the other team, who had a lot more guys than we did. I went into the locker room to get my jersey and official Copenhagen Lacrosse shorts, and I put my pads on to get ready. We did line drills (and looked awful), then we hastily put together positions and explained the rules to the newer players. We only ran 11 deep, which if you know lacrosse, there are 10 people playing at a time. The other team had 17 I believe, so along with being inexperienced on the whole, we had few bodies. I play offense, and the guy covering me is like 6 inches taller than me and at least 70 lbs heavier. In essence, the game starts, and the ball is on the ground pretty much the whole time, so it wasn't very crisp. The good thing, there was a lot of hitting. Usually, I like the contact, but that day, I was out of shape and getting knocked around like a pinball. In the 2nd quarter, I'm getting beat to hell, and I keep losing the ball, prompting one of my teammates to lecture me about ball security, which, at the time, I'm working my ass off and didn't appreciate it. The 2nd half I play a lot better, but make myself less available and let the "stars" run the offense. We don't score throughout the whole game, but with no coaches, few bodies, and no game plan, it was a decent effort. They only scored six goals, which was an accomplishment from what I understand. My first game with grown men was not a great experience: I came out bruised, limping slightly, and dog tired. Afterwards, I took off my glove and noticed that a stick smack, the sticks are made of metal, left a bruise on my thumb that left it look like an over-ripe banana. I went home, and found another flaw with my host house, no bath to soak my wounds. I went to bed hurting.
With that Hallmark story complete, the beginning of the week was like any other, class and movies to watch. Luckily, the pain subsided, and I went back to the routine. This leads to the great day yesterday, where I managed to finally complete my hostel bookings for the travel break. Wednesdays are my day off, so I went into the city to explore and avoid my work. I also learned of no practice on Saturday, and the one we will have next week calls for warm weather and girls in bikinis, the staples of any lacrosse practice. Wednesday culminated with a free movie trip instituted by my film professor. (This was our version of a field study) We went to see Milk, a truly wonderful picture that earned Sean Penn his 2nd Oscar. (I never thought he should've won the 1st, but whatever) The great thing was the movie theatre, which was like a movie theatre in the United States with jacked-up refreshment prices, but the popcorn tubs were massive. Also, some of my classmates got glasses of beer, which reminded me of another Pulp Fiction reference like I left you with in an earlier blog post. (I LOVE that movie) John Travolta describes the subtle differences of America and Europe to Samuel L. Jackson and the first thing he talks about is the glass of beer. I never thought I would ever get to experience these subtle differences. In the theatre itself, there was assigned seating, like going to a ball game. The movie screen was behind a curtain which hung above a stage, like it was an actual play. The movie was great, so inspiring, and it capped an ultimately great day in Copenhagen.
I don't rightly know when my next post will be, because nothing much will be going on due to some recent money splurges. I will make sure I get at least one in before I leave for travel break, maybe do a piece on something I notice or tell more about DIS itself, seeing as how my work load is gonna ramp up for the next few weeks, with midterms and such. Now is time for the quote, which I heard at the end of Milk from Sean Penn, playing the role of Harvey Milk. In the course of recording his story of being the first openly gay public official in office on tape, he leads up to the conclusion with this powerful statement: "We cannot live on hope, but without hope, our lives are not worth living." I cannot tell you how true that really is, and if you think about it, you will realize that too.
Last week was incredibly unsatisfying, due to my desire to lay low in order to save my money for my 3+ week travel break, where I am planning to travel to Germany, Czech Republic, Austria, Italy, Switzerland, and France (I know, quite the haul). The core of the interesting stuff happened over the weekend, starting with my awakening at 8:30 on Saturday morning. I thought it was two hours later than it was, and I frantically got out of bed to realize I had much more time before my lacrosse practice. However, I felt like an ice pick was being driven in to the left side of my back, which would seem like a bad omen for the day, but it wasn't. Practice went fine, and I ended up being healthy enough to join my very good friends out for a night on the town. Before we made it to our initial destination, I had miscommunication with them about the main entrance to Central Station and walked outside to be asked by two men if I wanted dope. (Side bar: When unshaven and with a hood up, do I really look like a druggie? Think about that, and possibly respond.) When I finally met up with them, we made our way to Ice Bar, which, consequently, is a bar made of ice. After paying an exorbitant entrance fee, the people at the front desk fit you with a thermal parka and gloves, and they let u enter. All the walls and the tables and the bar itself is crafted from ice blocks. We went up to the bartender to get our complimentary Absolut beverage (all except Tom, his was fruit punch), and we drank them out of ice blocks, which is spectacular.
After our round robin of picture-taking, we couldn't feel most of our extremities, so we left for a warmer, more intimate setting at Cafe Klimt. It was suggested by Fisty and Allison, and for good reason. With good music and affordable prices on beverages, it was an easy place to like. Once the first cocktails were downed and Tom went to catch his train, Kira, Allison, Fisty and me ordered 5 shots for each of us, and downed them within the next hour. A quick dash, or stumble, if you were the girls, led us to Burger King, where we were supposed to grab a quick bite before dancing, but it was getting late and night buses only run so often. We were supplied with a lovely drunk performance by Ms. Nightingale, who had some trouble understanding the cashier when paying for her food, and thought the emergency exit was the bathroom. (To be fair, she had a Long Island Iced Tea, some cocktails before, and the shots, and she's wafer thin, so she deserves a break) For some stupid reason, we let her stumble to the bus stop on her own and get home. Allison, Fisty, and I then went two doors down to McDonald's, Fisty and I began the road to heart disease with a few Big Macs a piece, and we went to the main bus stop. Now, I did not know where my bus, in this whole wide area, was gonna stop, and I missed the one that came at the same time as Fisty and Allison's. I bid them farewell, then located the right bus stop for me, only to wait half an hour and have to endure a long line in the cold, but I digress for the moment. After the forty or so minute ride, the bus got to my stop at Ishøj Train Station, but I could not get to the door fast enough before the bus driver closed it on me. I was asking why, but getting no response, prompting me to think that he didn't speak English. (Not everyone here does speak English, which makes situations like this difficult) So, I kept pressing the button for a stop, but nothing was happening. We continued on this main road behind the station away from my original stop. Eventually, the bus stopped at the next actual bus stop, but instead of opening the doors at the front of the bus where I was, he opened the doors at the middle of the bus, which I couldn't get back to quick enough before he closed them and continued. At this point, I'm cursing and getting upset, so he stops further down the road at a piss-poor excuse for a bus stop, and I almost literally leap out of the middle part before he speeds off, and I curse him until I finish the 30-40 minute trek back home. I returned at 4:30, which I later learned was the time that Kira, who left over an hour before me, got home. (She had an interesting journey back too, but I won't tell the details, this is my blog dammit!)
That brings me to Sunday, the day of my scrimmage for lacrosse. My back felt better with medication, and I headed off in the afternoon to get picked up at the train station by one of the older players. We arrived, and it was overcast and cold (typical), and I saw the other team, who had a lot more guys than we did. I went into the locker room to get my jersey and official Copenhagen Lacrosse shorts, and I put my pads on to get ready. We did line drills (and looked awful), then we hastily put together positions and explained the rules to the newer players. We only ran 11 deep, which if you know lacrosse, there are 10 people playing at a time. The other team had 17 I believe, so along with being inexperienced on the whole, we had few bodies. I play offense, and the guy covering me is like 6 inches taller than me and at least 70 lbs heavier. In essence, the game starts, and the ball is on the ground pretty much the whole time, so it wasn't very crisp. The good thing, there was a lot of hitting. Usually, I like the contact, but that day, I was out of shape and getting knocked around like a pinball. In the 2nd quarter, I'm getting beat to hell, and I keep losing the ball, prompting one of my teammates to lecture me about ball security, which, at the time, I'm working my ass off and didn't appreciate it. The 2nd half I play a lot better, but make myself less available and let the "stars" run the offense. We don't score throughout the whole game, but with no coaches, few bodies, and no game plan, it was a decent effort. They only scored six goals, which was an accomplishment from what I understand. My first game with grown men was not a great experience: I came out bruised, limping slightly, and dog tired. Afterwards, I took off my glove and noticed that a stick smack, the sticks are made of metal, left a bruise on my thumb that left it look like an over-ripe banana. I went home, and found another flaw with my host house, no bath to soak my wounds. I went to bed hurting.
With that Hallmark story complete, the beginning of the week was like any other, class and movies to watch. Luckily, the pain subsided, and I went back to the routine. This leads to the great day yesterday, where I managed to finally complete my hostel bookings for the travel break. Wednesdays are my day off, so I went into the city to explore and avoid my work. I also learned of no practice on Saturday, and the one we will have next week calls for warm weather and girls in bikinis, the staples of any lacrosse practice. Wednesday culminated with a free movie trip instituted by my film professor. (This was our version of a field study) We went to see Milk, a truly wonderful picture that earned Sean Penn his 2nd Oscar. (I never thought he should've won the 1st, but whatever) The great thing was the movie theatre, which was like a movie theatre in the United States with jacked-up refreshment prices, but the popcorn tubs were massive. Also, some of my classmates got glasses of beer, which reminded me of another Pulp Fiction reference like I left you with in an earlier blog post. (I LOVE that movie) John Travolta describes the subtle differences of America and Europe to Samuel L. Jackson and the first thing he talks about is the glass of beer. I never thought I would ever get to experience these subtle differences. In the theatre itself, there was assigned seating, like going to a ball game. The movie screen was behind a curtain which hung above a stage, like it was an actual play. The movie was great, so inspiring, and it capped an ultimately great day in Copenhagen.
I don't rightly know when my next post will be, because nothing much will be going on due to some recent money splurges. I will make sure I get at least one in before I leave for travel break, maybe do a piece on something I notice or tell more about DIS itself, seeing as how my work load is gonna ramp up for the next few weeks, with midterms and such. Now is time for the quote, which I heard at the end of Milk from Sean Penn, playing the role of Harvey Milk. In the course of recording his story of being the first openly gay public official in office on tape, he leads up to the conclusion with this powerful statement: "We cannot live on hope, but without hope, our lives are not worth living." I cannot tell you how true that really is, and if you think about it, you will realize that too.
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