Scandinavian Psych Rock Birthday
June 10-14, 2015
Fresh off the plane from America, sitting at the kitchen table of our temporary Airbnb in our new hometown of Berlin, Kirb was looking on the Internet for fun things to do. He saw that one of his favorite bands, the Swedish psych rock group Dungen, was going to be playing at a psych rock festival in Sweden on his birthday, and thought, "I really wish I could go to that." He quickly realized that Sweden was not so very far away from Germany, and that he totally could go to that, and was filled with childlike glee. This would be the start of our relationship with European travel: See that something cool is happening in a foreign city? Flights are cheap, so just go!
The music festival, called Psykjunta, was being held in a preserved theme park from the 1960s in the Swedish countryside just outside of a small town called Alvesta. The cheapest flights to the general vicinity were to Copenhagen, so we decided to spend a few days there beforehand and then rent a car and go to Sweden for the weekend.
We stayed in a giant hostel in downtown Copenhagen based on the low price and seemingly neutral location. Though this area wasn't necessarily one we would want to hang out in, it was easy enough to get around in the city by bus, subway, and ferry from there, especially with an all-day metro pass that worked with all forms of public transit. We started our day with delicious pastries and coffee at Café Lillebror, the small café owned and operated by owners of the much-loved Copenhagen restaurant Bror. From there we meandered through nearby public parks before making our way to the historic waterfront Nyhavn district. This area is the classic visual representation of Copenhagen, lined with colorful 17th century buildings and a canal full of quaint wooden boats.
For lunch we made our way to Torvehallerne Market and slowly meandered through row after row of incredible-looking foods. Like a perfect microcosm of Copenhagen, all the wares in Torvehallerne were cleanly styled, gorgeous, and expensive, and we wanted all of it. After much wringing of hands, we finally settled on sharing a delicious Vietnamese Bánh Mì sandwich from LêLê Street Kitchen before sampling a number of traditional Danish Smørrebrød, which are essentially open-faced sandwiches with a variety of toppings.
Freetown Christiania has been an autonomous anarchist commune inside the city of Copenhagen since residents stormed and squatted unused military barracks in 1971. Entering Christiania, there is a wooden sign that reads, "Now Leaving the EU." Though there is constant push and pull between the commune and the Danish government, the residents of Christiania exist under their own set of self-made rules. This includes an open-air marijuana market known as Pusher Street, where visitors can queue up to buy recreational pot from intimidating men in balaclavas, or in strange contrast, a kind-looking older woman with a grey ponytail. Though the market is not technically "legal," it is tolerated by the local police, and has been a major tourist attraction for years. The throngs of pushers with their faces obscured, paired with the camouflage netting covering the stalls, give the distinct impression that the salesmen on Pusher Street are never too comfortable with the market's legal ambiguity. Taking pictures anywhere near Pusher Street is angrily discouraged; snap one of the street itself and your phone will likely be snapped in return.
We wandered through the commune enjoying the graffiti murals and derelict buildings until we made our way to the lake, which was lined with cute and unusual cottages that felt like an endless summer camp for adults. The fact that this prime waterfront real estate just outside the city center was owned by eclectic anarchists living life as they pleased was not something we had ever seen in a major city, and it made us think even more of Copenhagen for enabling this free-spirited way of life.
From the edge of Christiania, on the other side of the water from Nyhavn, we hopped on a ferry to continue our way north up the canal. The clouds that had been overhead all day seemed to clear out instantly, and we were greeted with clear blue skies, though it still wasn't particularly warm. From the boat, we spotted a geodesic dome, and decided we should get off and check it out when the ferry made a stop right next to it. "The Dome of Visions" is an updated community center that aims to facilitate art and public conversation by adding new life to a part of the Copenhagen urban space that was previously unused and barren. The abnormally warm, transparent dome is filled with plants that otherwise couldn't grow year-round in the cold city. When we walked in the dome there was an electronic band getting ready for a show that evening, and the atmosphere was comfortable and inviting. There was a small bar inside selling Carlsberg on tap, so we bought some beers and enjoyed the blue skies with insulated sunshine, lush greenery, and a waterfront view as we listened to live music.
The Dome of Visions
Copenhagen is in the midst of a culinary revolution, currently housing several of the world's top-rated restaurants. We had tried to get reservations at Noma for Kirb's birthday dinner, but they were not in the cards for this trip, so we "settled" for reservations at another highly acclaimed Danish restaurant, Amass. Matt Orlando, the head chef at Amass, is actually American, but worked at Noma for two years as the sous chef, as well as at Thomas Keller's Michelin three-starred restaurant Per Se in New York, before opening his own place in Copenhagen in 2013. Ranked in 2015 as the 66th best restaurant in the world, we were happy to be able to score a table there while we were in town.
We don't splurge often on eating at restaurants this fine, because it is way, way too expensive. But for us, it makes the times when we can justify eating so well that much more enjoyable. It amazes us when we eat in restaurants the caliber of Amass that we're usually the only people laughing and visually enjoying themselves. We speak candidly with the waiters, ask questions, and have fun with them, while everyone else in the restaurant seems to eat and drink in somber silence. As a result, the servers tend to really like us, and are happy to pour the wine tastings liberally and leave the bottles on the table for us (which only furthers our jovial mood).
The meal at Amass was superb, and the wines they paired with each course brought the flavors to another level. The restaurant is situated outside the main center of the city, with plenty of room around the building where they grow over 80 kinds of fruits, vegetables, and herbs that are used daily in the menu. When the sun goes down, they build a bonfire outside and encourage diners to bring their wine or coffee with them to sit and digest after they're done eating. Following such an amazing meal, it was particularly painful to hear a pretentious American jagoff complaining that he didn't think the wine was very good, and that he was generally unimpressed with the experience. He was currently traveling the world for some highbrow coffee company looking for "the best water in the world" to brew coffee with, and we both wished he had tripped into the fire pit.
The next morning we picked up our rental car from the airport and began our journey to Sweden. We stopped at a grocery store to pick up some food (including some sliced cheese we grabbed randomly that smelled so bad we had to throw it away as soon as we opened it) and in the 20 minutes we were inside the grocery store we managed to get a parking ticket. There was a little adjustable clock on the corner of the windshield, and we both wondered aloud about it when we picked up the car. We learned too late that you are supposed to set the clock to the time that you parked your car. We sent a complaint by email to the parking company after the trip explaining that the ticket said we had been there over 2 hours, but our enclosed rental agreement showed we had rented the car less than an hour before the ticket was printed, making the infraction impossible. They were not persuaded by our proof or logical thinking, and we paid the €80 fine.
Here's another thing we wish we would have known before we rented a car in Denmark: it costs €48 to cross the Øresund bridge into Sweden. You get to pay that fee again when you cross back into Denmark. The bridge is quite stunning, starting above the water and then submerging into a tunnel, but it would have been much cheaper for us to take the short train from Copenhagen into Malmö and get a car there.
It took about 3 hours to travel from Copenhagen to Alvesta, and the drive through the Swedish countryside was gorgeous. The festival was being held in an amusement park built in 1962 called Tyrolen that has been perfectly preserved like a time capsule and is surrounded by the picturesque Småland forest. We parked our rental car in the lot and lugged our camping gear over to the grassy field where people were setting up their tents, which was filling up quickly. Lots of festival attendees were decked out in their fanciest 60s flower children garb, and when combined with the meticulously well-maintained venue, it felt as though we had stumbled through a portal to 50 years ago.
The main stage was constructed in a building that looked like a huge circus tent, with original paintings of Swedish folk tales adorning each panel of the ceiling. The vast majority of the bands performing at the festival were Swedish, and we only really knew Dungen, so every new act was a surprise. We spent the first evening wandering between the two stages, sipping beers and soaking in the new music. It became clear pretty quickly that we were some of the only people at the festival who weren't Swedish. When we talked to others they were very surprised that we had come all the way from Berlin to go to their small festival, and were always very kind and happy that we were enjoying ourselves.
The vibe at the campsite was very positive, with everyone enjoying the early summer sunshine, playing songs on acoustic guitars and singing along. After a night spent sleeping in tents in a field, the impeccable vintage clothes and coiffed hairdos from Friday were replaced by more manageable, comfortable festival attire. On Saturday, we soaked in the sunny morning camp vibes for a bit and then took off from the festival grounds to explore the towns nearby. We ended up packing a picnic and heading to a park in Växjö, where we spent the afternoon relaxing, reading, and napping by a lake before another evening of live music.
The best surprise of the weekend was discovering Amason, a band in which Dungen frontman Gustav Estjes plays keyboards. A kind fellow named Felix we befriended explained to us that Amason were actually a Swedish supergroup of sorts, comprised of members from several very popular Swedish bands. Their set meandered between silky smooth jams like "Kelly," and tracks like "Margins" which sound closer to 60's AM radio gold than anything modern. Felix said their debut album "Sky City" was his favorite record of the year by any artist, and though we were initially skeptical, it quickly became one of our favorite records of 2015 as well. The other great band we discovered that night was the Italian noise rock band In Zaire, who were aggressively out of place compared to most of the lineup, but right in our wheelhouse.
Dungen were not playing a normal set at Psykjunta, but instead were performing an original score they had written for The Adventures of Prince Ahmed, the oldest surviving animated feature film, made in Germany in 1926. They set up a small projector screen in the middle of the room and played behind it in total darkness. After the film, which is only 65 minutes long, they finished their performance with a few favorite songs from their albums, concluding with an extended, possibly improvised psychedelic freakout. The whole experience was perfect, and Kirb couldn't have imagined a better way to celebrate his 32nd birthday.
The weather had begun to turn earlier in the evening, and by the time Dungen finished it was raining in sheets. People rushed back to their tents to try to minimize the soaking, but there was little anyone could do. Whole sections of the camp area flooded, and some people were forced to abandon their tents and sleep in their cars. Still, it wasn't enough to dampen the spirits of the Swedes, who stayed up for hours playing guitars and having sing-alongs in their tents all around us.
The next morning we packed up our soggy gear and made our way back toward Copenhagen. Some Swedes with big backpacks were asking everyone leaving the parking lot for a ride to the nearest town, which we were happy to give. As we drove through the small downtown area looking for the train station, I noticed there were several pizza places and almost no other types of restaurants, which seemed weird for a town that small. "No, that's normal," our passenger informed us. "Everyone in Sweden loves pizza." Clearly, Kirb should have been born a Swede.
We decided to take a different route back to Copenhagen, heading due west and then taking the coastal highway down to Malmö. We stopped at a beach in Gulbranna, which had excellent sand for such a northern locale and a large number of people wind surfing in the frigid waters. Later we found surprisingly good burritos in Malmö at a fast-foodish place called Zocalo, and then wandered aimlessly through the town and waterfront killing time until it was time to head back across the Øresund bridge to the Copenhagen airport.
Crossing the Øresund bridge
Kirb has fetishized Scandinavian culture, art, and design for most of his adult life, and his first trip to Denmark and Sweden only reinforced his positive prejudice. Mazz felt similarly, but mostly she was pleased that she finally got a decent burrito after six years living in Seattle, where in her opinion, there are none.