The pepper-man

As a Danish man, if you are still unmarried when you turn 30, you are officially a “pebersvend” a pepper-man. This is the source of gentle mockery, in the shape of a pepper mill. Some ignore the tradition altogether of course, others will just give the regular pepper mill. And then you have the pranksters who build huge peppermills out of old gasoline cans, and plant them on your doorstep. Rubbin’ it in good. I have seen a lot of them over the years, but this one takes the cake:

Someone went through a lot of trouble to mock their friend. Special attention to the details, and all.

Mariannes lille Jimmi / Marianne's little Jimmi. Apparently having a girlfriend is not enough, you have to marry her too? I don't know about this pepper thing...

Nyboder, as the area is called, was built for the navy, as housing for the employees and families. Nyboder-yellow and cobblestones all the way, a real tourist magnet.

They must think we are crazy, here. Hahaha.

Handle with care

Last week democracy once again flexed its muscle, this time for the European Parliament. Voter turnout hit a record low 56,3 percent. Voters are losing faith that their opinion matter, and not everyone seem to understand or perhaps care about how an ever growing number of decisions are made in the EU.

The majority of those who did vote, did so on a right-wing party. A pattern repeated all over Europe. The options for someone who wish to maintain some sense of nationality, are few: you can go far left or far right. The subject is a minefield, and if you are not on board the current definition of the EU train, you are at best considered a sentimental fool.

I do very much feel like a European. To me Europe is a melting pot, and the diversity in cultures, customs and flavors is not what separate, but rather what defines us. Anything attempting to even out these “bumps”, are working against the very core of what makes it so special, which is why I don’t subscribe to the idea of the United States of Europe.

Surely there must be a way to collaborate on some issues, and still be an independent country? According to the politicians there is only one way. The options are limited, and speaking against the general direction comes with ridicule and threats of doom. That alone is a warning signal, to me.

My contribution to the EU election, is more hands-on, attempting to solve the poster strip problem. Candidates are required to remove the posters, but often the strips are left behind, strapped on trees, fences and light poles, and even used for birds nests (ugh!). The obvious fix is color coding the strips, or in other ways make them identifiable. Just to get started, I have covered my own neighborhood.

Tagging the individual strips with candidate's initials and party letter.

I was too late for this one.

 

Tag ansvar / take responsibility. 

I wonder if questioning the direction is as much a taboo in other European countries as it is here? Leave a comment if you dare.

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Silent Sunday, small pleasures

 

 

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Baby steps

Lately I have been widening my comfort zone, taking my bike further out both east (on Østerbro) and north (in the Northwest Quarter). It’s the strangest feeling to be lost in your own city, making you feel almost like a foreigner. The only thing to do is just keep coming back, until it feels familiar. Like breaking in a wild horse.

So far, one of the best surprises in the Northwest Quarter has been the Dare2Mansion. I have yet to muster the balls to knock on the door and ask them what they are up to. Evidently Thomas Dambo (the birdhouse man to us), rules here. And the urban farmers of “Tagtomat” (Roof Tomato). But sometimes you are just in the mood to take your pictures and flee the scene, you know?

Houses on a house with a reflection of a house. I call Jackpot, or something.

The Pink Pony. Instantly recognizable to me, from the video that went viral last year. Some idiot stole the creature, and they located him. It turns out pink ponies are not so easy to slip by your neighbors, these days.

The interactive fence.

Licorice good.

As I was taking my pictures, one of the neighbors, and old lady with a walker, made her way up to me, and started praising the art. She told me not to miss the indian. So sweet.

Geronimo!

Think of it as baby steps. Eventually I will make this part of the city mine too. Just give me time.

All it takes

Part of the (never ending) Copenhagen construction picture, are the big iron plates covering the ground, with holes for the attachment of hooks and cables. It is not often that I get excited about anything having to do with gutting my city, and leaving it exposed and messy, but by Assistens Cemetery I spotted a detail that made my whole day. Instead of the usual holes in the big iron plate, someone had taken the time and effort to cut out hearts. Hearts!? Oh!

I knelt to get closer, and the city seemed changed. From what was moments before an impersonal blur of cars, bikes, buses and people, everyone now played a part of the big picture. It was just a matter of waiting for the right moment. 

Once you get it you just know, and the feeling is like nothing else.

Sometimes all it takes is a heart.

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