Copenhagen Continued

---

---

I had a pretty comfortable flight to Reykjavik and then I had a not so comfortable flight from Keflavik to CPH, but fortunately it was only 3 more hours. The first leg took a long time, but I ate a REALLY good marijuana cookie and spent that entire 12 hours chillin' out! It was nice. Again, I can't say that I was comfortable on the second flight, but hey, at least I was almost there. My much awaited trip out of the place that was literally going to kill me. Not because of drugs or alcohol, but the complicated stresses of American life. I couldn't wait to go and I left not knowing if I'd come back at all and It has made all the difference. Anyway, back to it. So I finally arrived in Copenhagen, Denmark with one more bag than I had intended to bring because my dingaling of a buddy forgot to bring his shoes that weren't destroyed so I ended up couriering his big, heavy, clunky boots ALLLLL the way from Miami Beach, FL to Copenhagen, Denmark.

Ahhh...FInally! I was here! I've arrived at the place I've been waiting for with bated breath, but now what? I hadn't a plan at all, just a big ass bag on my back, a smaller bag strapped to my front side as if I was carrying an infant and finally, my tertiary and unneccessary bag hanging from my fatigued hand at my side which I would switch every few minutes so as not to completely wear myself out. No clue where I was going or where I'd even rest, but I was certain I'd figure it out! Survival depends on things like this. After all, wasn't that the whole reason I left in the first place? An adventurer without and adventure. Drop yourself in the deep end. Throw yourself in. What do you have to lose? Nothing, but EVERYTHING to gain. Learn to swim. I had no cellular service as I was on international roaming so I needed to get that sim card out and got it out fast I did! I wasn't in a hurry anyway, that would defeat the purpose to stress about anything. I looked up and to my surprise was a vending machine next to the baggage belt that I was waiting at that contained Lebara SIM card. Sweet! I'd already researched these...and now I have cell service.

I finally see my bag on the conveyor. I went and retrieved it and found my way outside and smoked that sweet cigarette I'd been waiting and craving for for many hours. Alas! Dipshit finally replied! I made my way on down to the ticketing machine and bought a pass to the trains and busses...that was my best bet anyway. So I get to the train station and for an hour solid I text-battled with diingaling and then I finally saw him. Looking like Aladdin and reaking like a hobo, but I'd found him.

After a brief cuss-out, I forgave him and said, "Let's do this!"

That's when we ended up at Vaeshetsut Pinden...a very old pub just outside of the train station not too far from the BackPackers Hostel...a seedy little place right next to the train station not far from what was going to turn out to be the most dangerous street in Denmark. The most dangerous street of the safest country in the world...we'll get to that...

Long story short, the bartender, Ib (a traditional, old-fashioned Danish name) asked if we had anywhere to stay and we shook our heads which were already hung a lil low and answered "No."

He replied without any hesitation, as if he'd known us for a long time or something, asked if we would like to stay over at his place.

Later that night, I was honestly craving a puff (if you catch my drift). So I talked my drunken travel buddy into going with me to a place in Denmark called Kristiania which was apparently an industrial complex that became defunct during the cold war at which point hippies are said to have taken over and made it their own...a freetown in the middle of the Capital of Denmark which seemed to have the amnesty from the law that it was said to have had. So we, went there. It was very dark and frankly, quite shady. A place where you keep your hands in your pockets and place one cannot help but to watch his back and so in we went. We didn't make it far before we stopped a passer by and asked where the weed booth was. He was friendly, as most Danes are if asked for a bit of help or assistance, and pointed us in the right direction and then I saw it.

Much to my chagrin, there he was, the weed man at the weed booth with buckets joy for sale. Prerolled joints and hash and a some other things that I wasn't paying much mind to because I already had my eye on my prize...that beautiful spliff in the 80 Kroner bucker 😊

Shortly after, there it was, that beautiful preroll. She was screaming my name. I knew it was her...it was love at first sight (at least for me anyway). I asked dude for her and traded him 80 Danske Kroner for it. I thanked him in my finest Danish, "Mange Tak." To which he replied, "Sel Tak."

I took it eagerly in hand and found a bench to sit down at and spark that bitch up, I did. We sat and smoked there on that bench in Kristiania when another man came up and sat and said something in clearly American English. I asked him where he was from and he told me that he was from Detroit. He was a Social Studies teacher I came to find out. So we sat and talked over our joints that we could freely smoke right there in the middle of the capital city without any concern.

I looked at my watched and suddenly realized...

"OH SHIT! Ib had asked us to be back the bar to get our bags that he was holding for us and take us back to his place before 2am!" I exclaimed.

So my buddy and I sprung up and wished our new American friend a good night and safe travels and took off. We had about 25 minutes to make what Google Maps said would be a 40 minute transit and walk. I'll be damned if we didn't make it in 20. We walked into Vaershetsut Pinden like we were hot shit. Though we were out of breath and worn the fuck out we were proud that we had made it and with 5 minute to spare.

The Danish do things a bit differently. The police don't really seem to give a shit what you do so long as you're not hurting anybody or being an outright asshole. Which leads me into the part aforementioned. That street...Istegade. I can't really describe just how ugly that street was without saying unsavory things that would likely lead to an my social status being downgraded to "Pariah" or something to that effect. They just seem to turn a blind eye to Istegade...

We had to walk straight down Istegade at about 3am to get to our hosts charitable accommodation. Hookers and pimps and drug dealers...the scum of the earth, but we made it and rest we did.

And that was my first night in Copenhagen.

---