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Kevin Horan
Destination: Copenhagen, Denmark
Semester/Year: Spring 2008
The land where bicyclists battle for bike
lanes
Upon hearing that I planned on spending a semester in
Copenhagen, several people made comments that played on a
variation of the theme: "You don't speak Dutch." The Danes love
that story.
They also like the one where I respond to, "Why Copenhagen?"
with, "To see the Eiffel Tower," or that I was supposed to go to
Sofia but got on the wrong bus and ended up in Denmark instead
of Bulgaria.
Denmark is the stuff of liberal and progressive fantasy. Not
only does the state pick up the tab for higher education for
Danes, it pays them to do it. It pays for baby-making with paid
maternity and paternity leave, plus subsidized day care. They
have free health care, as well, but not dental.
Thus, when Danes groan about their high taxes, I can't help
but remind them that at least their money seems to be put to
good use.
One of my first tasks after arriving in Denmark was to
purchase a bicycle. If memory serves me, I actually did this
before buying food to fill my empty cupboards. The urgency of
acquiring a bike arose so early because Copenhagen is a bit like
the mecca of bicycling.
If it's not the mecca, it's at least the Shangri-La. I have
seen, if I recall correctly, two gas stations since I landed
nearly a month past, but there is a bicycle shop on every block.
Most have handy air compressors stationed outdoors for refilling
tires running low.
All the major roads have parallel bike lanes, complete with
their own traffic signals. It is the primary mode of
transportation for most Copenhageners. As a result, cars will
not only hit bikers on purpose, but they are also conscientious
of bicyclists and tend not to hit them by accident either.
The morning commute can, subsequently, make for an
interesting scene. The bike paths are more congested than the
roads adjacent to them, and geriatric riders pedal lines through
automotive traffic so daring they would cause even seasoned
big-city couriers in the United States to gasp in horror.
Other than the occasional speeding ambulance and taxi
drivers, who drive with complete reckless abandon between
midnight and dawn, the only true dangers to bicyclists are the
green-clad, tights-wearing bicycle messengers.
They are somehow capable of traveling at the speed of sound.
Exiting bus passengers are either completely oblivious to the
fact they are essentially taking a blind leap of faith into an
oncoming flood of two-wheeled conveyances or merely have death
wishes.
Copenhagen is a beautiful city. Gorgeous, centuries-old
apartment buildings and gold-lined churches face sleek modernist
office buildings across artificial canals and lakes. The city is
dotted with parks, each populated with statues of various
Copenhagen notables and children's playgrounds.
Overlooking the Øresund Strait, nestled near the Queen's
palace and the new opera house, is the statue of the Little
Mermaid, the most famous symbol of Copenhagen. On the rare clear
days, you can see the coast of Sweden.
For a city of its size, Copenhagen is remarkably safe and,
for the most part, free of violent crime. That said, some
persons took it upon themselves to blow up the tanning salon
down the street from my apartment last week.
Many of the poor, immigrant neighborhoods have been suffering
various degrees of civil unrest as well. Due to the
republication of the infamous "Prophet Mohammed" cartoons and a
litany of instances of abuse and strong-armed tactics by the
police against immigrants and Muslim Danes.
Still, in spite of a few headline-catching torched cars and
schools each week, I told a Danish acquaintance how pleased I
was with how friendly and helpful all the Danes were that I had
met. She gave me a confused look and replied that most
foreigners visiting Denmark thought the locals were too reserved
and somewhat aloof. I corrected myself and apologized,
explaining that I must be mistaking a lack of outright hostility
and malice toward random passersby for geniality again. Such a
beautiful people! Skål!
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