Saturday, October 02, 2010

4:47 PM

Sweden

Train from Copenhagen, having just crossed onto the mainland.

The rest of my time in Innsbruck was lovely. I spent pretty much the rest of my time just wandering around and enjoying the town. My train ride to Copenhagen was nice as well. I was, at first, in a compartment with a woman who spoke virtually no English, yet insisted, for a good five minutes, on talking to me. Eventually the shrugging and lack of response must have clued her in because I was able to spend the next three hours in peace, reading.

Eventually our train was practically taken over by a travelling class heading home to Hamburg. They were chatting away in German and I mumbled to myself, “I’m so confused.” One of them heard this and asked, “You’re English?” “American,” was my reply. Well, that was it. They grabbed some friends from the hall and began talking to me excitedly in English. One of their friends sat next to me, one who had spent a year in Colorado and was apparently quite enthused to use her American English again.

It was very interesting to listen to the girls chatting in their native tongue, because I’ve noticed more and more that the young people of the world act all the same. Their words are different, but their intonations are the same, their frantic gesticulations the same.

Anyway, I was eventually allowed to go to sleep (after much discussion of our respective countries and their related benefits/drawbacks, and my German prasebook with its occasionally funny translations). At some point I awoke to a dark and empty car. I stretched out and fell back asleep, not awakening again until there was sun and many fields around me. Soon the fields gave way to endless ocean which we travelled across on a bridge for at least fifteen minutes before entering a tunnel beneath the water.

When I finally disembarked from the train and set out into Copenhagen, I was pleasantly surprised. Much as had happened when I had first set eyes on Paris, I got an immediate feeling of both comfort and excitement from the city I was in. Copenhagen is truly lovely. I wish I could put my finger on what makes it so much more wonderful than Munich or Berlin, but it is. To an objective eye it may seem much the same as those other cities, but this Danish gem is something else altogether.

For one it has the distinct sense of being “put together.” It’s a town that knows what it’s doing—where, when, and why. I wandered through their bohemian neighborhood, along canals, small shops, and charming buildings. I made my way through the quiet city center to an old fortress standing since 1663 (I believe) and still in military operation today. I wandered back through the streets, through a highly commercial center, out into a park, and back to the train.

I didn’t really want to leave.

For a town that blends the contemporary with the traditional, they do it very skillfully. It’s something Munich seems to be trying to do, but failing in my opinion. Perhaps I will return for the Tivoli(?) amusement park’s Halloween set-up!

Anyway, now I’m on the path to Stockhom, Sweden. I’ll spend the night there and then hopefully have a place to stay in Oslo for tomorrow night. Norway is so close.

Something I’ve noticed about Europe as a whole, now: they really like their graffiti. It’s everywhere on this continent, in every town, on every surface. But it’s some sort of high art, functioning communication here, even in some of its most obscure placement, unlike in NYC. The designs are detailed, intricate, and, frankly, beautiful sometimes. They are, at other times, loud. They say something short and powerful, and often in a place that forces you to imagine the vandal was in possession of wings.

And, finally, I think I am beginning to understand a fundamental difference between Americans and Europeans (or, at least, Northern Europeans, since I have not been to the south yet). This is the reason that I think Europeans, at least the one’s I’ve met, are so desperately in love with America. We Americans—we live out loud. We are fucking loud. And expressive. When you walk through the shopping district of Munich or Copenhagen, there is a soft murmur of activity. Not so in the States! In America there is violent laughter, shouting, running, pushing, screaming, fighting, yelling, and a whole range of extreme bodily expressions. When a group of Americans get on the train, you know. They’re the ones shouting down the length of the train, “Hey BOB! This first class or second? What? NO! We’ll get food later. NO BOB! No we can’t just sit in the food carriage. BOB! Just find our seats okay? And where’re the kids, for Christ-sake?” The only people who seem to compare are Italians—but, then, what did you expect?