Ah, the Culture Night. Over 900 places to visit, not to mention the free S-train service. So where should we go? The National Gallery? The Opera House? Amalienborg castle? Any place which displays fine works of art, both old and new? Or did we just spend the night fooling around in armored fighting vehicles?


Is that even a question?



To be fair, we were limited in our options as all the good places had long lines of people queuing up to get in. So it was that we spent the first hour of the Culture Night on mapping out our route, the second hour in the Danish Knight’s Templar lodge and the third (and most probably the fourth) waiting in line to get in to the old prison.


Now, for some reason, it seemed to me like a damn fun idea to visit the Freemason’s lodge and walk around in it with a canny look and giggle at the abundant masonic symbols. The reality however saw us sitting through a lecture on the history of the Danish lodge (in Danish, of course) and me losing my command.


The prison was up next and as expected it turned out to be much more exhilarating than the boremasons temple of crap, as the police were more than willing to let us play with their riot gear and mace canisters.


With grave consequences.


In retrospect it should be said that beating each other with nightsticks formed the core experience of the visit, as did the sense of dread for many students as it was announced that the prison’s corridors would be patrolled by narcotics dogs. The toilets then became the main attraction of the place.


Apparently because people had forgiven me the failed trip to the Freemasons lodge, they cautiously agreed to on join me for a visit to the Rosenborg castle where, according to the Culture Night booklet, the Danish air force was displaying an F-16 fighter jet. And you know how culture goes right out the window when guys hear the word “fighter jet”. Upon our arrival however, we discovered that we must have missed the fine print in the brochure that said “F-16 represented only by a mock engine“. Because posing next to a stripped jet engine is retarded, we quickly turned our attention to the other goodies the Danish military had dragged out – namely guns and APC’s.


We honestly had the intention of joining the girls at the botanical garden after the jet show, but when confronted with the choice between “brightly lit palm trees” and “thermal imaging scopes“, the gender difference becomes apparent. So it was that we didn’t see anybody else from our original group until a rendezvous at the zoo two hours later.


I will say at the offset that the animals looked pissed. Their keepers had apparently kicked them out of their dens and chased them into the freezing night for us to make fun of, as the look on the polar bear’s face seemed to communicate nothing but hate. The snakes too were having none of our tomfoolery and had coiled up to put on their best murder face.


The fake turtles looked happy though.



Nonetheless, the lions seemed quite pleased with the extra carcass their caretakers had thrown in to compensate for the extended working hours. Also, I must admit that the zoo looked quite charming and the animals quite content, as opposed to the animals in Tallinn who look like they’ve been sentenced to prison for life for a crime they most likely did not commit.


"Kill me now!"


Because it was already midnight when we left the zoo, most culture venues had already closed. But us, yearning for more culture, namely the drinking kind, were unsatisfied with the prospect of going home to sleep and thus we responded with utmost enthusiasm to Fanny’s call for taking the night train to Roskilde.


As with all plans conceived at the spur of the moment, this one fell apart quite quickly and we ended up taking the first train to wherever. And where did we go? The place where all incapacitated students unconcerned with common sense go – Farum. If you’ve never been to Farum, it sort of looks something like this:


I suspect the local residents had, in anticipation of drunken students roaming around the greater Copenhagen area, barricaded themselves in and thus it took us a while to encounter the first Farum native. Still, as the case with Erasmus program is, it’s not about the places you visit – it’s who you visit them with. And soon enough we were already having our very own Farum street rave together with some mad techno beats, an improvised stroboscope and shopping cart rides. After all, if the culture won’t come to you, you must go to the culture – and kick it in the dick.