scandoland - Tumblr blog

[scandoland]

KOREAN, THE NORWAY WAY

One of the highlights of living in Denmark has been our proximity to Norway. It is an astonishingly beautiful natural landscape and the sort of place where the inaugural ski wax is an anticipated ritual (instead of the release of the years Christmas beer, for example). That’s not to say that the Norwegians don’t enjoy a beverage, it’s just that they prefer to drink whiskey in association with extreme sports.

A breath of crisp fresh air is all the sweeter when someone holds the door open for you on exit from Oslo Central Station. The city itself is quite small and not as charming as Copenhagen, but that hardly seems to matter when three train stops will have you rock climbing, trail running or cross country skiing. It’s true that the winters are darker and colder, but so much so that it is possible to enjoy them. Colder temperatures are dryer and bearable. Fallen snow is reflective and gives the impression of an abundance of daylight. It’s easy to romanticise in a ‘snow is always whiter’ kind of way, but a nice alternative to hiding from the bone-chilling wind and relentless precipitation, donning Zakopane sheep booties and lighting some candles.

We were fortunate enough to be escorted to Holmenkollen for the World Cup Nordic Ski Championships. It was the most fun to be had in winter in Scandinavia. Those that don’t camp out on the course overnight trudge up the hill on race day, backpacks bulging with firewood, sausages and of course, whiskey. The 5-lap race is exciting in two stages, firstly when the pack flies by and lastly when the token Australian brings up the rear. But the real competition is setting up camp trackside – setting, lighting and stoking a fire is actually a sport in this country. So much so that one of the highest-rating TV shows featured a fire and for eight hours and viewers could text in the next log placement.

A Norwegian is simply content with his or her own company, wearing that deep melancholy we all possess is just a little bit closer to the surface, monitored and controlled but not suppressed. It is an incredibly humble state of being, a fragility that is most powerfully revealed by the nations most revered artist, Edvard Munch. Each work is a study of our inherent vulnerability, a revelation in the capacity for traces of doubt to cultivate in the mind. It has the power to consume and render us worthless in our own eyes. A Munch exhibition is a captivating journey of self-discovery, far more meaningful than one might expect from the man who inspired the Scream mask. 

Self-discovery is increasingly becoming a luxury in Australia, where learning institutions favour results oriented rote learning models. The cost and pressure of the system allows little room for experimentation, in contrast with the Scandinavian model that actually pays you to study. Other than the obvious benefits, it buys freedom. Freedom not to work during your degree(s), freedom to change direction in your studies and freedom to continue studying, as many do, into your thirties. After that, your working life is underscored by the security of good conditions for the redundant, the unemployed and a secure future regardless.

For the entrepreneurially inclined, conditions are ripe and small business appears to flourish. The mixed use, medium density urban model provides commercial real estate stock in abundance, with manageable square metres, yet reasonably priced and distributed throughout all areas of the city. Official registration is simple, fit-out’s are acceptably raw (yet always stylish) and there is a strong neighbourhood identity, with residents supporting the local community. So the risk of setting up shop is relatively low and it is a credit to the system that the retail and hospitality landscape is characterised by unique experiences. The proponents are often young and genuinely enthusiastic. It is a pleasure to support them in a climate where global giants are increasingly dominating commercial markets.

It was with no hesitation then, that we flew to Norway once more to eat at Pjoltergeist, a newly established Nordic Korean ‘fine-diner.’ It was an addictive mix of fine food, superb wine and a casual, unpretentious yet beautifully finished basement in central Oslo. The superb service and intimacy was in curious contradiction with the cardboard signage (“NO KIDS, NO DOGS, NO CREDIT CARDS”) and knowledge that the site previously belonged to the Hells Angels. Yet it is the sort of place you just want to linger, accompanied by a dim lamp and a never-ending bottle of wine. Jointly owned by three thirty something’s whom you could easily befriend, an Icelandic chef and two Norwegian sommeliers. Each service is run by the same team of five, each with equal earning power. The personal investment is evident and the atmosphere it propagates would be difficult to replicate (though it must be said that I am already looking forward to the threesomes next venture). 

Crude cool is punctuated by idiosyncratic, humorous moments that give Pjoltergeist a hard-edged yet affable identity: a visit to the leafy bathroom will have you perched under a giant pendant lamp. Finnish table wear featuring Moomin characters are served prematurely, an amusing stunt that creates the kind of suspense only an empty plate can. Alternating with a collection of coloured plastic bowls that one might normally associate with a Korean diner, the only constant is surprisingly experimental food and well-matched, quality wines.

The seven course ’Zuper Pakki’ begins with crispy prawn heads that are hugely popular according to chef Atli Mar Yngvason. It is a crispy and moorish reminder that this place transcends expectation. Later, the shells are served as a garnish that recalls Nordic environmental sensibilities and the particularly Asian tradition of whole animal eating. A cold oyster soup is followed by a kimchi pancake and takoyaki of prawn and crab, accompanied by Snorkmaiden and Moomintroll. Slow cooked arctic char is without doubt the pinnacle of the Asian Nordic fusion menu. It is difficult not to finish, despite warnings of the traditional pork barbecue still to come. The last laugh is the happy ending that you will just have to experience: Korean, the Norway way.

[scandoland]

STAR SPANGLED STEREOTYPES

America is the antithesis of Europe. It’s just too easy to pit Hollywood, fast food and advertising against theatre, fine food and the Arts. It’s all capitalism and no culture, sugar instead of spice, gratuitously lit up in neon lights.

The Mojave Desert is unlikely fertilising ground for the candy coloured Geissler tubes that proliferated throughout the United States between 1920 and 1960. But the electric mirage grows on the horizon, a semaphore for everything that is ‘wrong’ with contemporary America: mega scale, convenience, high-way oriented consumer culture. It is no longer a celebration of the automobile and the excitement of new wealth and mobility that it once signified. Having gorged ourselves, we now sit in the midst of an economic crisis. What was once outrageous excess has now degenerated into mere exaggeration. The classic casinos stand as monuments to their former selves, hemmed in by newer developments that have no complexity or contradiction. The strip is no longer a stage but a shopping mall, where you can eat for free if you tip the scales at over 350 pounds.

Germane was the opening of the Neon Museum in late 2012. It is a well-organised graveyard for neon signs and memorial to the era of “Fabulous Las Vegas.” The mostly dysfunctional collection lies dormant in the desert sand, with its paint peeling and metal rusting. Tour guides animate the works, with impassioned recounts of the context in which they were erected. That the voluptuous reception is actually the lobby of the, now defunct, La Concha Motel only further evinces the complete consummation of the strip by large corporations. It does, ironically, symbolise a revival of downtown Vegas, heralded also by the opening of Frank Gehry’s Centre for Brain Health in 2010. True to local form, the façade is but one large sign.

 Composed not of signs, but of skyscrapers, the Chicago skyline is a symbol of American ingenuity and resilience. The period following the great fire of 1871 saw the world’s first skyscraper supported by a structural steel frame. The tradition of building light, fast and high has continued and collectively, the skyline is one of the five tallest in the world. In fact, the former Sears Tower was the world’s tallest building until it was eclipsed by Singapore’s Petronas Twin Towers in 1998. So it is clear that steel made this city, and to walk around, it is all too apparent that the reverse is also true. The elevated loop duplicates ground level, providing vehicular streets below and a so called “rapid transit system” above. It is more like a rickety roller coaster than a metro but to be fair it is more than 100 years old. It is supported by steel beams, linked with ground level by steel stairs and provides a unique perspective of the latticework of steel fire escapes adorning the city.

Precious are the (ostensibly steel) jewels created by the city’s 1978 public art ordinance. Anish Kapoor’s ‘Cloud Gate,’ the coolest-piece-of-public-art-ever, is 100tonnes of hyper-polished stainless steel that weightlessly bends the reality of Millennium Park and Michigan Avenue. A circus mirror for the city. Three blocks west, Calder’s fire engine red stabile bows steel with a delicacy and plasticity at odds with its material properties. Juxtaposed against the black Bauhaus background, the Flamingo dances for lunch hour spectators. Meanwhile, three blocks north, Picasso’s solemn dog/insect/woman peers down on scores of children who have appropriated her paws/legs/dress for a slippery dip.

The city is also home to 89 Nobel laureates. Interestingly, American Universities hold 7 of the top ten places for number of affiliated laureates with ‘Europe’ (Cambridge, Oxford and Paris) taking the other three places at 3, 8 and 9 respectively. Chicago is also home to two of the twentieth century’s most influential houses. Unlike the CBD skyscrapers, the design is preoccupied with horizontality. The University of Chicago acquired Frank Lloyd’s Robie House in 1963, 52 years after it was built and it is still part of the campus. Managed by the Frank Lloyd Preservation Trust, restorations have been taking place since 1997. This includes re-grouting the roman brick, white for the horizontals and brick red for the verticals. An hour south-west of Chicago, Mies Van Der Rohe’s Farnsworth house almost disappears completely in his pursuit of ‘less.’ Just as Kapoor uses the malleability of steel to distort boundaries between nature and civilisation, Van Der Rohe exploits its high slenderness ratio.

The Golden Gate Bridge is probably the most beautiful steel construction in America, spanning 1.2km’s across the strait. It made for a spectacular backdrop for the 34th America’s Cup: the pinnacle of sailing events (for the sailing elite). This year’s duel saw Team America (with one American national on board) make an insurmountable comeback, despite beginning with a -2 penalty for cheating. The spectacle of 72ft foiling catamarans was underlined by the foreboding presence of Alcatraz, and the alternative lifestyles of this very photogenic city. It is the most European of U.S. cities, characterised by mid-rise density and a rather liberal disposition. It is the birthplace of the rainbow flag and the original hipster movement, increasingly diluted by the spread of Silicon Valley - even today. Despite the influx of wealth, the streets house the most homeless people per capita in the United States. It is an immediately perceptible indication of polarising wealth inequality in the country and at odds with a $100 million dollar America’s cup campaign.

For all the hackneyed stereotypes about America, three such dissimilar cities would be hard to find in Europe. The land-mass to equal Europe proffers cultural and urban diversity that just begs discovery.

[scandoland]

WHEN IN ROME

Visit an espresso bar often. Find a Trattoria that is well hidden - before 3pm or after 8. Drink at establishments that serve wine in a carafe rather than in bottles and learn a little something from a culture that has been around for a couple of thousand years.

Strolling amongst antiquity, in the heat of the Roman sun, sandstone gives way to bricks, so slim a proportion that the scale of each construction is magnified. The cool travertine underfoot begs for bare feet and pedestrians hug the walls, moving in the shadow between the buildings. Priests and nuns move about conspicuously and a little helplessly. North of the capital, Bologna built 40kms of vaulted colonnade for meandering comfortably on the hottest of days. The hilltop Tuscan towns alike are composed of impressively scaled buildings, of four floors where any contemporary building would squeeze six. The terracotta rainbow stretches across the rolling hills, cascading down the mountainside to the sapphire coastline.

It is easy to see where Italian architect Renzo Piano developed his affinity for terracotta. North of the city, at the site of the 1960 olympics, his signature detailing is all over the Parca Della Musica, which is just across from Pier Luigi Nervi’s Palazzetto Dello Sport. Unfortunately that now looks more like a wild mushroom than the ground-breaking reinforced concrete construction it was when it was built. Piano’s three lead ‘lutes’ contain the auditoriums and surround the central open-air ‘Cavea.’ They are beautiful objects in themselves, so full of character they could just begin to breathe, taking in the lush green public park and backdrop of well to do apartments surrounding them.

Around the corner, the Maxxi site is more of an urban park, Zaha’s signature waves made in concrete and pebbles. Even so, locals sit in the shade of lined trees, on designer chairs, reading the daily newspaper. Gallery 5 projects over the courtyard and reflects the colourful surroundings in its mirrored billboard. It’s a pretty nice space to be inside too, provided you are standing in front of the lift core. Open grid mesh stairs wind up toward the ribbed ceiling, but the way-finding becomes rather organic once you step into one of the adjacent galleries.

On the ground floor, MAXXI Architecture is exhibiting ideas based around energy: oil and post oil. How we have lost the romance speed. Of the automobile, the motorway and the gas station in their proliferation and homogenisation. Yet, to pit architecture alongside contemporary art will probably bias the design tool toward acquisition in the long run. Only too fitting for Zaha whose latest DAC exhibition would have been more interesting reimagined as a collection of vases with flowers in them.

The siesta passes street side, in the shade, with an ice-cold aperitif and self-service apertivo. As the heat of the day wears off, pedestrians take to the streets once more, gelati in hand.

[scandoland]

GEOTHERMAL RYE AND PINK SKIES

The sky stretches out over what looks like a moonscape, in a gradation of every blue that ever existed. The expansive base of charcoal basalt, peaks and undulates alongside the ‘highway’ and is broken, regularly, by waterfalls of every shape, size and speed. It is not hard to believe that 80% of electricity in Iceland is hydro-generated. Geothermal heating keeps the 300,000 residents warm and all but 1% of the country’s energy use is renewable.

Monster 4WD’s overtake as lone cyclists, fully-saddled and pushing into the relentless headwind, are overtaken. It is a long way between stops on this road. Sunset lingers in an ever-changing performance of colour and on the horizon, Europe’s largest glacier and set north of ‘the wall’. It is receding at a rate of knots, but even so an incredible natural phenomenon of a scale that really must be seen to be believed.

Growing up here, Icelanders are the sort of people that really know their place in the world. They are humble and a little philosophical, friendly and will give your conversation their full attention, all the while making direct, unwavering, eye contact. Style in the northernmost capital is precise and unapologetic: the boys are all bow ties and brillcream, accompanied by bohemian belles in astrology tights, woollen capes and bed hair.

Likewise, the menus are precisely crafted around local produce and traditional combinations: Menu #111, date stamped 29. Juni 2013 features arctic char and sour milk, cod and pickled white cabbage, raw rhubarb and tarragon. Surrounded by signature Aalto in Reykjavik’s Nordic House, four starters are served on a bed of slate - before our order is taken. The seven-course menu is a no brainer following the geothermally baked rye, sour cream and chives, scallops and DILL. There are two impeccably dressed staff and about 30 covers, overlooking the produce garden and pond, which is alive with ducklings at this time of year. Hallgrimskirkja makes its mark on the skyline beyond. It’s 9pm and the sky is beginning to turn from blue to orange.

The sommelier who matched the wines (and a beer) happens to be working, he is attentive but not overbearing, knowledgeable but not a snob, genuinely enthusiastic about his work and keen to talk to us about it. He owns one of the town’s best coffee bars, and so towards the end of the night we get a lesson in the complexities of filtered coffee. The Nordic dining experience to surpass Noma ends with birch snaps and tonic, about 1.30am, as the sky turns from orange to pink.

Downtown, the nightlife takes about as long to wind up as it takes the sun to go ‘down.’ It’s impossible to get into a bar on Laugavegur but the street is lively with line-ups and sound spill, faintly audible as the black out blinds are drawn.

[scandoland]

BOWIE: BEST OF BRITISH?

The London Underground is so synonymous with the city, the transport museum shop sports custom furniture in “district line moquette” and “exclusive tube line luggage racks.” It’s true, there’s nothing quite like boarding the Piccadilly line (en route for Soho) after work on a Friday. An hour stolen at 30,000 feet and for 8pm in late May the sun is still high in the sky. Surveying the crowd, the ethnic diversity is refreshing and at once exposes the homogeneity of Denmark. A gentleman to my left is reading - no, studying Shakespeare and I think: only in London.

Since the first performance of Shakespeare at the Globe in 1599, the city has spawned a theatrical epicentre, with 200 shows daily across West End. My appreciation for stage theatre stems not at all from the NSW curriculum. Memorably, my Mum and I went to see Patrick White’s "The Season of Sarsaparilla” at the Opera house drama theatre. The revolving and digitally enhanced stage set was an all too accurate portrayal of Sydney’s suburban sprawl. Edward Albee’s “The Goat, or who is Sylvia?” culminated with a slain goat being dragged downstage. Literally alarming, was Samuel Beckett’s “Waiting for Godot” that so well predicted life’s monotony I slept through most of it.

Equipment racks and roadie storage units line the laneways of West End and crowds wait anxiously at stage doors post performance. Whatever stereotyping might exist in Australia for the creative theatre going elite doesn’t seem to apply here. Perhaps most unsurprisingly in the foyer of the Prince of Wales Theatre, home to the British version of Book of Mormon. It is the musical debut of Southpark creators Matt Stone and Trey Parker in collaboration with the director of the saucy Avenue Q. A curious and politically incorrect combination no doubt and hopefuls line the street for a chance to see this sold out sensation. 

The Brit in J35 turns to me, beer in hand, “so have you seen this before”? I pause a moment, to relish in this social, English speaking world. Is this an awkwardly bad pick up line, or is this show so good you would pay £160 to see it again? Knowing Mr Hanky, I have my doubts and sure enough in Scene 3 we are introduced to “General Butt-Fucking-Naked” – leader of the clitoris murdering African militia. Eager and gullible are the class of boyishly handsome trainee missionaries. Brilliantly cast and animated to the point of caricature by clever, slightly camp choreography. The soundtrack is so good it is the highest charting Broadway cast album in four decades.  

The evening disappeared like one can in London, I imagine. A basement bar recommended by a barista, serving a storm in a teacup: Sailor Jerry and dark rums, shaken with raspberries, lime juice and spiced black tea, topped with ginger beer. Picked up a postcard that happened to advertise a pop up restaurant in Farringdon (Circle, Hammersmith and City, Metropolitan line: upholstered in striking triangle pattern with the purple line colour predominating).

The morning after begins with an English Breakfast tea and a long line out front of the Victoria and Albert Museum (purporting to be the world’s greatest museum of art and design). I’m only here to find out who David Bowie is so for now I suppose that must be true. The sold out exhibition is accompanied by a soundtrack (as opposed to an audio guide) and documents how Bowie married the great tradition of British rock to the stage. 

Merging gender, fashion, music, scores, performance, sexuality, film, costume, set design, album art, music video, lyrics, sketches, equipment and popular culture –it was a fascinatingly diverse lesson in recent history. I was left with an impression of this great period of discovery and I wonder what in my lifetime will rival that. The internet and terrorism seem more likely to swallow us than inspire individuals to greatness and perpetual reinvention.

[scandoland]

CITY BRANDING AND THE BILBAO EFFECT

Like Copenhagen, Sydney is a harbour city. Instantly recognisable are the sails of the Opera House and the steel arch of the Harbour Bridge. It is a magnificent gateway and iconic image, tying north and south together with six million hand driven rivets. Perhaps espousing its cultural pedigree over technological development, the harbour of Copenhagen is flanked by the Opera House and the Playhouse. The two buildings stand aggressively to attention, desperately reaching out into the harbour.

The site of the Opera is in fact re-claimed land, spawning from the ring of fortifications that were built by Christian IV to protect the historic city center. It is on the wrong side of the city, directly and unmistakeably opposite the royal residence. The building swells with importance, in the face of Jantelaw - and the public. It is not a well-liked building (even by the architect as it turns out), generous gift as it was from Mr Shipping Magnate Mærsk. Similarly embroiled in escalating costs and political wiles, it is hard to imagine now that there was a time when the Sydney Opera House was not well received. Public buildings are a difficult birth indeed and in 1966 (7 years before completion) architect Jørn Utzon left the project that is now the logo of Sydney.

‘I [heart] NY’ is probably one of the most successful city logos. So successful in fact that I’m wondering now what it is I love about NY, surely there’s more to it than Sex and the City and Girls? There was also that movie, Center Stage and perhaps that’s what had me jumping at the chance to see the New York City Ballet at the Copenhagen Opera House. For there is certainly no reason to think that New York City would be particularly good at ballet, only that anything associated with ‘New York City’ must be credible, edgy and chic.

Nonetheless it was a long awaited chance to visit the Opera House, having lived in the city for nearly a year. After missing the hourly ferry, it took forty minutes to get there - which in Copenhagen terms is an eternity and the equivalent of moving the Sydney Opera House to say, Balmain. The bells chimed just as I was handed a glass of champagne and the bustling foyer drained of activity.

At ground level, the auditorium walls disappear and you can walk straight into the stalls. There is a constant awareness of movement above, with pre-performance activity spread over three foyer levels, interconnecting bridges and staircases. Likewise, the 1800 seats are spread over 3 balconies, so the horseshoe auditorium is surprisingly intimate in scale. The Speirs + Major lighting design does little to compliment this aspect and can only be likened to the inside of a space ship. Coupled with the Nouvel imitation roof you would be forgiven for thinking that the entire island might just take off.

Intermission introduced yet another brilliantly Scandinavian custom founded on the pillars of egalitarianism. Akin to the security free, self service cloak room, it was possible to pre-pay for intermission food and beverages to be collected from an unmanned table on the second foyer. Avoiding the lengthy line up at the bar left plenty of time to sip champagne and admire the sunset over the ‘city.’ It was Copenhagen at it’s most photogenic and a nostalgic reminder of many an afternoon spent on the podium at Opera Bar or, for that matter, an afternoon spent on the rooftop of the Oslo Opera House.

As far as the rather impressive cast of Scandinavian opera houses go, it is safe to expect an installation by Danish-Icelandic light artist Olafur Eliasson. Even though the 2004 Copenhagen Opera House is itself a lantern, three giant chandeliers herald the bar and sparkle beautifully in the late evening sun. In 2008 in Oslo, his crystalline interpretation of glaciers wraps around the amenities, supporting what is essentially a large iceberg in the fjord. Steadily progressing toward total architectural integration, Eliasson has collaborated on the design of the ethereal façade of Harpa, the Reykjavik Concert Hall in Iceland. The modular three-dimensional construction shimmers like the local basalt from which several design queues are generated.

It is remarkable that the smallest capital in Scandinavia should have a concert hall of such grand proportions, probably owing to its extraordinary musical output in artists such as Sigur Rós, múm and Björk. It too has weathered bankruptcy of its primary private sponsor, an economic crisis and ultimately opened only partially finished. It will have an important role to play in post-crisis growth of the country, to which tourism makes a significant contribution. Adding culture as an attractive alternative to the inimitable landscape, Harpa is a beacon to the superlative sounds of Icelandic musicians. Distinctive, experimental and a little bit psychedelic …

[scandoland]

THE GOOD LIFE

Calendar week 13 is marked by Holy Thursday AND Good Friday. It is known as Påskeferie (Easter Holiday) despite the fact barely a working month has passed since Vinterferie (skiing holiday) in calendar weeks 7 and 8. Arriving in Grækenland mid-siesta it begs the question: have hard working Australians got it all wrong. Business between 2 and 5? Not a chance mate.

Few have recommended the 'dirty' capital, laden as it is with graffiti and increasingly empty, degenerating buildings. Emerging form the metro (mid protest) into Syntagma Square was quite the welcome party thrown by this struggling economy.

  There is no doubt that Athens is a geographically powerful city and it is easy to see why the Acropolis became the focal point of the ancient empire. From here to the foothills circumventing the city lies a formidable metropolis. In the harsh sunlight solar hot water tanks sparkle on rooftops all the way to the port of Piraeus. Giant Doric columns of the temple of Olympian Zeus stand amidst all this, lonely and devoid of any context or meaning. So too, the south slope of the Acropolis felt more like an overgrown junk yard than a site of historic significance. Dwarfed by scaffolding and an (albeit white) crane, the Parthenon itself was mottled by preservation attempts. Accustom as we are now to supersized buildings, the scale was somehow underwhelming, despite having a full appreciation for the achievements of a 2500 year old society.

Only Tschumi’s New Acropolis Museum offered the opportunity to stand ‘inside’ the Parthenon, replicating exactly its orientation, dimensions and structural rhythm. From the ruins that lie beneath the building, the circulation spirals skyward until the frieze is at eye level. The missing pieces are as numerous and thought provoking as the artworks themselves – many cast copies of originals held in the British Museum. The gallery is especially transparent making it possible to scrutinize what is left of the east and west pediment in direct view of the original site.

Disappointing as the site experience might have been, this birthplace of cinema is astounding to behold. The site imposes itself on the city making itself felt from every intersection, rooftop bar, café or restaurant. If you are prepared to search for it, this is where the charm of Athens reveals itself. A culture of long meals and lively conversation, of cold coffee and fantastic, reasonably priced house wine. Produce is fresh and local and there’s always something ‘on the house.’

  To eat at a restaurant is to be welcomed into a home, a highly personal dining experience that is only intensified on the islands. Probably a combination of small town hospitality and the increasing reliance on income from tourism. It is obvious that the flag takes its colours from the pale blue ocean and reflective white marble from which the gutters are made. It is hoisted at every opportunity in a patriotic display that must be unrivalled outside of international competitive sport.

Paros, the green isle, was slowly awakening from a ‘winter’ of hibernation. The change of pace was palpable and a poignant reminder that there are other ways to live in this world. Mountainous, the island is sprinkled with white villas each with external staircases and built in pizza ovens. Hillsides are terraced from ridge to beach, a 1:1 countour model of the landscape. Stone retaining walls support all manner of agriculture (olives and olives). As numerous as the churches were concrete skeletons, years abandoned. Monuments to the good life that might just be too good after all. 

[scandoland]

'TUR'KEY

The Øresund straight connects the Baltic Sea to the Atlantic Ocean and has historically been a significant shipping route between the UK, Scandinavia and the Baltic states. Importantly, it separates Sweden from Denmark and is guarded at its narrowest point by the ghost of Hamlet. Much of Denmark’s wealth was accumulated here by way of ‘Sound Dues’ that were only abolished in 1857! 

Istanbul inherited little from the wealthy capital of the Byzantine Empire, having been savagely plundered during the fourth crusade. Indeed the only visible remains of Constantinople’s ‘Hippodrome’ (Flemington) are actually adorning Piazza San Marco in Venice. Sixteen million people call this city home at the intersection of Europe and Asia, straddling the busiest shipping channel in the world. “BOSPHOROUS, BOSPHOROUS, BOSPHOROUS” is the chant of captains trying to sell a two hour sight seeing cruise. You can expect to pay in Euros, despite the price being listed in Lira and an exchange rate of 2.35:1. 

Unlike pancake-flat Copenhagen, the city is all rolling hills, a landscape of urban development cascading toward the harbour. The skyline is punctuated by domes and minarets, mosques the only moments of peace amidst a constant undercurrent of pedestrian movement. The masses flow effortlessly between Europe and Asia aboard giant ferries that dance at the docks and flirt with shipping containers. Hours pass overlooking the shoreline from the Galata Bridge. Fisherman line the top deck and below, a neon line up of restaurants and bars engulfed in sisha smog. 

The smell of fresh caught fish burgers is soon overpowered by wood fired kebabs, a welcome respite from gusts of B.O. as petite men strain under the weight of fully loaded goods carts. It is an emerging market that still supports manual labor: a lemming line of seven men pass new stock from the truck down to a partially submerged retail store. Well-dressed waiters skillfully run trays of Turkish tea through Taxim (Pitt Street) or plates of fresh kebab from one side of the Grand Bazaar to the other. Try some fresh blue mussels topped with a squeeze of lemon on one street corner, and wash it down with fresh pomegranate juice at the next. It would be entirely possible to eat your way through Istanbul, which is just as well because finding a bar on a sunny Sunday afternoon proved quite the challenge. 

Taxim was otherwise characterized by Topshop, Diesel, MAC Cosmetics, Camper and an absence of female shop assistants. So pretty much the same as any other European city excepting the subtle yet pervasive cultural differences. Tourists should be mindful of crafty shoe polishers and their well-rehearsed act - on the upside, so shiny are your shoes, no one else will bother to harass you. Five times daily the hard sell is overwhelmed by the call to prayer, sung from the myriad minarets across the city. 18% of practicing Muslims make for their nearest mosque and orient themselves toward Mecca by following signage sewn into the carpet. It is a strangely beautiful yet unfamiliar sound and another poignant reminder that as you sip on your Coca Cola, you sit at the intersection of two vastly different worlds. 

[scandoland]

SILENCE, SIGNATURES AND SOLIDARITY

Silence like I’ve never experienced before. Clad in a felt vienetta, the sound lock is the built equivalent of the hush right before the conductor draws his baton. The space literally prepares you for the performance, rather than simply minimising acoustic disturbance from the lobby. There is a lot to like and a lot not to like about Nouvel’s Copenhagen Concert Hall and for that matter his Musée du quai Branly. On visiting I am reminded of the 2008 Pritzker jury citation, where Nouvel was lauded for his effort to create truly unique contextual buildings, in contrast to starchitects that have an omnipresent signature style.

Much like the Australian fascination with a national style, the Scandinavian countries are also trying to come to terms with some kind of New Nordic, an identity that builds on “their predecessors … great masters of the twentieth century – Alvar Aalto, Arne Jacobsen, Erik Gunner Asplund, Jørn Utzon and others.” It’s not all just BIG ideas either.

3XN are one of the larger Danish practices yet small enough to operate out of one office in Copenhagen. They employ about 75 staff as opposed to 120 for Schmidt Hammer Lassen and 190 for Henning Larsen, working out of four and five offices respectively. The practice has a portfolio of significant recent projects in Copenhagen alone, the completion of Denmark’s new aquarium this year and the Copenhagen Arena in 2015 will no doubt be highly anticipated.

Emerging out of the 2008 and 2009 corporate headquarters at Tuborg Havn and Ørestad’s Bella Center appeared to be some kind of signature style. A hyper fascination with triangulation, perhaps long ingrained from the three original directors Kim, Lars and Hans – three times Nielsen. The projects literally support the claim that “Each new project rests on the shoulders of our previous work.”

The new generation of built projects; the UN headquarters at Nordhavn and the Frederiksberg Courthouse progress the triangulated folded skin to an intelligent, automated facade that literally folds in response to the weather. At the courthouse, these gilded shutters adorn the façade yet internally the jewel is an integrated light-work by UK artist Steven Scott. Functional spaces are arranged around a central top lit atrium. It is pared back in its detailing, displaying an almost gaol-like quality humanised by generously detailed timber window frames.

Circulation spaces run the perimeter of the atrium and there is extensive use of glazing throughout, distributing daylight deep into the building  and fritted for privacy with a pattern mimicking the external façade. A complex network of sight lines transcends functional zones, contributing to an awareness of being watched – again referencing themes of imprisonment, confinement and detention. Conversely, these view corridors mean Scott’s artwork permeates the building through direct sightlines, reflections and a subtle awareness of the changing light conditions.

In the same way that SHL’s ARoS Museum of Art would not be the same without Olafur Eliasson’s Rainbow Panorama, the atrium at the Frederiksberg Courthouse leans heavily on Scott’s artwork. Another fantastic example of the capacity of public art is James Angus’s ‘Day in Day Out’. Here making an otherwise uninspiring corporate foyer a nice place for breakfast. At the Australian National Portrait Gallery, his ‘Geo Face Distributor’ is a delightful signal for a building that so desperately needed to mark its entry (a chronic problem for buildings in the Arts and Civic Campus?). In Denmark, inclusion of public art is legislated with building regulations requiring 1.5% of the construction cost for public buildings to be spent on art (for government buildings this cost is fully covered by the Danish Arts Foundation and 75% for local government buildings).

At Frederiksberg, the artworks in the stairwells were a touch O.T.T. but the building was all the more interesting for this major art investment. Owing to the moving façade and living ‘Tree’ the building has a lively quality about it, contrasting with the solidity of the façade and the urban and judicial context.  

[scandoland]

BETWEEN THE CLOUDS AND THE SEA

To be a tourist in Europe is to frequent a disproportionate number of churches. Clearly, whoever said that Adelaide was the city of churches had never been to Krakow. Here we visited six churches and that’s only .05% of the places of worship in the city. Not unlike the facades of communist era housing blocks, there is not one surface in the interior of St. Francis of Assisi Church that isn’t meticulously hand painted by artist Stanislaw Wyspianski. His stroke only illuminated at the openings by surprisingly modern and strikingly beautiful stained glass windows. A truly divine moment - but perhaps it was just the magnificence of sunshine and 9° on New Years Day in Poland.

I’ve visited few churches in my time and more often than not for a thirty-minute wedding ceremony. Not being a religious person, it’s an environment I feel particularly uncomfortable in. I prefer the church of the 20th century: the cultural centre, of which Sydney has one of the most famous in its opera house. Conceived by Danish architect Jørn Utzon, there are no stained glass windows, only the reflection of Sydney Harbour on the curtain walls. It was with much anticipation that I visited Utzons’ first commission, post Sydney Opera House on his return to Denmark. A regional church just north of Copenhagen in a sleepy suburb not unlike Pennant Hills.

The site is a narrow strip of land adjacent a two lane arterial road (with two requisite bike lanes) equal distance from the freeway and the local s-train station. A row of single storey dwellings sit opposite, well set back from the street. It is the sort of uninspiring suburban setting you might expect to find a corner store or a G.P.  and you would be forgiven for walking straight past since the building looks more like a laboratory than a place of interest. It is almost like a secret clubhouse and the location is known only to members of the congregation. The entry faces a rear lane rather than the street and is similarly unassuming. A blue sign marks the entry, otherwise characterised by a void in the precast concrete and ceramic façade. It is a building closed to the outside world that cultivates a sanctuary within its walls.

In the main hall Utzon “formed a wondrous space in which the light fell through the ceiling … down on to the floor.” In stone he recreated the space between the clouds and the sea and it is undoubtedly “a place for [the] divine service.” The voluptuous concrete ceiling is only 120mm thick and spans 17m. Daylight washes over the curves onto the congregation below. In front the alter wall is a textured composition of (very nice) breeze blocks. The organ, adjacent, is rhythmically composed and somehow contained within the void of the ceiling. In the same way as the ‘clouds’ let light in, they also let music and gospel out. Top lit circulation galleries flank both sides of the nave and behind, a glazed screen open to the town and symbolising infinity.

The supporting spaces are organised around private courtyards (that are also the primary light source). Long corridors connect these spaces to the main hall and the structural frames mimic the rhythm and geometry of the undulating ceiling. Textiles (liturgical garments, hangings, curtains and carpets) and artworks colour the muted palette of concrete, ceramic and beech. Human elements in what is an ethereal space. For me, the beauty of Bagsværd church is the capacity for human interaction it engenders. For the first time, the meaning and role of the church became apparent to me: this is just the sort of place that a community should gather to share in and witness life’s most important moments.

[scandoland]

DANSK JULE-HYGGE

You would be forgiven for thinking that the religion of Denmark is the Evangelical Lutheran brand of Christianity, the state church to whom each resident pays 1% of their taxable income (unless they go to the trouble of opting out). It is in fact Danishness, a scripture underscored by the unique concept of ‘hygge’ and worshiped with abandon at Christmas. As with all important family celebrations, the red and white ‘dannebrog’ (Danish flag) is prominently featured. It crosses my mind whether this is the true origin of Christmas colours and not Coke-lore that would have their advertising agents as perpetrators of the modern image of red and white Santa. After all, traditional roast duck is served with red cabbage and white caramalised potatoes. To follow, white rice pudding with red cherry sauce.

The festive season begins on the last Friday of October with the 20.59 sharp release of this years ‘Julebryg’ (Christmas brew). Coined J-Day, it is a rare sight of late night drunken chaos in and around the city. Tuborg and Carlsberg trucks roam the streets distributing free beer and blue flashing santa hats. The beer itself is a strong (7%) dark beer crammed with festive spices and flavours like blackcurrant, cinnamon, liquorice and caramel. Between J-Day and Christmas one can expect to attend a number of ‘Julefrokosts’ with friends and colleagues. This formal Christmas dinner will begin with ‘snaps’ and include games amongst the afore-mentioned traditional meals. Colleagues will inevitably drink too much at the work ‘julefrokost’ and stumble home at about 4am. I guess this makes up for the other 364 days of the year where they don’t socialise with one another. 

The trees have been bare for some months now so seeing a proliferation of spruce sellers pop up about two weeks out is a welcome addition to every square, ‘plads’ and ‘torv’. The ritual of choosing that perfect tree and decorating over a mug of warm ‘gløgg’ was decidedly cosy I admit. But in this endeavour the Danes go one step too far and light the tree with real, smoking candles. Perhaps the threat of devastating bushfires at Christmas time is all too real for an Australian but this seems like a fire hazard indeed, only to be fuelled by metres of highly flammable wrapping paper at the base. Presuming that the tree survives long enough, it features prominently on Christmas eve – the day of celebrations. Custom would have families joining hands and dancing around the tree and I’m pretty sure that a large amount of ‘snaps’ is behind the making of this tradition. After all, it’s a long ‘Juleaften’ when it gets dark at 15.30.

The Danes don’t feed Santa’s reindeers on Christmas eve (presumably because Rudolph is skinned and warming the living room floor). Instead you had best ensure ‘Nisse’ (the attic monster) is well fed – lest he play pranks on you. A bowl of rice pudding is customary but there aren’t always leftovers. The dish is served with sugar, vanilla, lemon zest, cherry sauce and chopped almonds. Interestingly, the cooking process includes wrapping the saucepan in a doona for some hours and inside - always one whole nut. If you’re lucky enough to find the whole almond you win a prize and if not, everyone must keep eating until there’s none left, risking the wrath of the ‘Nisse.’

[scandoland]

NORDISK MAD

Historically, only Hans Christian Anderson’s little mermaid and ‘that’ Mohammed cartoon have elevated Copenhagen into the global consciousness. Of late, it’s the rise of gastronomy as a serious and almost academic discipline that has really put this city on the map. Interestingly, “af gå ud og spise” (to go out and eat) is a luxury that one who lives here can seldom afford. Yet as it turns out, this cultural foundation is extremely fertile ground for burgeoning Nordic cuisine: the food is expensive but you can expect a quality dining experience.

To eat out here is to expect unmistakeably Scandinavian décor, an almost clinical minimalism, unfinished and with a pinch of “hygge” (cosiness): likeable table lamps (like Pixar), handmade vintage-esque wooden chairs covered with reindeer skins. The waiters are professional but casual and at Restaurant Cofoco, you sit on high tables, eye to eye as they explain the tasting menu. At Pate Pate on the other hand, the staff were so casual we could hardly get served. Not that it was an inconvenience to linger in the candle light at this ex-pate factory in Copenhagen’s meat packing district. Visiting Höst, (Cofoco’s latest offering) just two weeks after opening had me wondering if the fit-out had actually been finished – so rustic and minimal it was. The designers were probably too busy with the finer details, like a nail in the side of the table to hang the wine list (a wooden clip board of course). It is yet another example of mid range restaurants aspirational to the point of serving an amuse-bouche to start (French term literally translating to “mouth amuser").

Such is the quality of dining in and around Copenhagen that the anticipation of eating at Noma was palpable, spawning a 14-day countdown to the 12th of the 12th, 12. You can imagine the anticipation as we walked further and further down a deserted dock entrance wondering if we had in fact taken the wrong street. The restaurant occupies the bottom floor of an old harbour side warehouse and ticks all the ‘Scandinavian design’ boxes but the waiters are certainly above average attentive. We were greeted by six at the door and just as well because at -10°C five people have a lot of coats. 

The night went like this: Part 1 - tapas style entrees. Part 2 - a more traditional degustation with matching wines. Part 3 – "snaps" in the lounge bar. To start we were presented with a Nordic Coconut. A hollowed out potato with soup inside to be sipped through a dill stalk straw. In quick succession came servings of moss, mussels, leaves, soft-boiled quail eggs, crispy pork skin wrapped in a ‘roll-up’ and the twigs in the table flowers were in fact edible. Everything was eaten (tentatively) with your hands. Twelve courses each came with a short story and usually ended with which parts of the presentation were edible and which weren’t. Having just sat down to dinner with four others the continual interruptions were a little frustrating, even if the delivery was shared by a team of good-looking-twenty-something-tattooed-males, each with a unique accent.

The most challenging part of the evening was the serving of live shrimp. Professional advice? Apply a liberal serving of butter and bite down quickly. I was hoping to be pleasantly surprised, but there’s nothing nice about chewing on prawn shell and having the antennae tickling your oesophagus. I began to wonder what all the hype was about - is this really the height of fine dining? Not the only dish to be served really cold, a number of courses were presented on a bed of ice or with ‘snow.’ Unusual for items that don’t belong to the ice cream family and for the record the last course, potato ice cream, was served at room temperature.

As the night wore on it dawned on me that this wasn’t a meal but an experience heightened by the lows of live shrimp and highs of cauliflower (yes, I did just say cauliflower).  It was more reminiscent of Hadid than the garden vegetable and best paired with exceptional wine. The evening was paced to perfection and the food didn’t stop coming, even after we retired to the lounge for some akvavit. It doesn’t taste any better when it’s from Noma, but it was the only way to end a night of “Nordisk mad.” 

[scandoland]

SUBTERRANEAN STOCKHOLM

Another weekend in Scandoland, another city and another efficient public transport system. Stockholm, a harbour city like Sydney but with old world charm, sub zero temperatures and a fraction of the population. Even for a seasoned Copenhagener it was ice cream headache kind of cold and there was nothing sweet or sugary about it. A taste of the winter yet to come, 100 Swedish miles closer to the equator and a rookie mistake indeed. All future winter holidays will include warmer destinations where the sun shines and the booze is cheaper than it is in Denmark.

Music to my ears were the airport and train station announcements in sing song Swedish: "T-centralen" was like a composition in itself. Swiftly orchestrated is the city's public transport, from the arrival gate to the Acne flagship store. The tunnelbana is considered to be one of the most beautiful rapid transit systems in the world and the longest underground art gallery. It doesn’t echo the sophisticated simplicity of, say, Flippa K (think streamlined aluminium, glass, polished concrete, linear fluorescent lighting) but is a surprisingly textured, playful and at times downright bizarre network of underground fantasy worlds (more like H&M’s fast-fashion).

The lines are so far underground it feels as if one might actually get to China before the appropriate platform. Thirty-eight of the stations are tunneled through bedrock and no effort has been made to conceal it. The grand stone archways and undulating ceilings are stained with bright colours and curious frescos. Fortunately on arrival, you need not look for the station sign - only a blur of lurid colour as the train pulls in. It’s like a set for some kind of hallucinatory dream like state and a world away from Ikea’s “modern but not trendy, functional yet attractive” home furnishings.

Volvo is the national automobile and for stylish Stockholmers, public transport is a necessary alternative. The system is well patroned, broad reaching and conveniently littered with stations spawning multiple entry points. The service is frequent and reliable – remarkably – just like the public transit systems in Oslo, Copenhagen, Berlin and Paris. To name but only those networks I’ve had the pleasure of using so far, after a lifetime of living strictly to train timetables. No need to rush out the door and run red lights in order to avoid a 20-minute wait on the platform. The next service will be along in under a minute and if you’re lucky the "T-centralen" announcement will play just one more time.

Copenhagen is currently building an ambitious extension to the already superb metro system. In length, it is nearly a duplication of the existing system encompassing the city circle. Construction continues, navigating the above ground landscape of rather dense century old buildings. Stockholm managed, despite being capital to the worlds’ largest archipelago of islands. Why then, is Sydney having so much trouble with a second harbour crossing?

[scandoland]

“WE WILL SEE YOU NAKED”

Courtesy of a bunch of rowdy Danes “vi vil se dig nøgen” or “we will see you naked” is the first Danish phrase I learnt on arrival. Six months later, I’m wishing for a little less of that matter of fact style nudity that is so prevalent here. There is of course the more glamorous style: solarium tanned well-kept blonds sunbaking in various states of undress all summer. There is also the cute type where kids play in the city's water fountains in their birthday suit. Mostly this is fine - except when boys approaching the age of ten are free-balling up and down the beach. Or when teenage girls are jumping off the 5m diving platform at the harbour bath - in only their H&M nickers. Summer is all but too short and the rest of the year is punctuated by uncomfortable encounters in communal bathrooms. Unless of course you’re into winter bathing: long dark evenings and moonlit buttocks lining the jetty.

In an old city like Copenhagen it is (even today) a luxury to have a private bathroom. Then, they are usually so small that you have to straddle the toilet to rinse your hair and it is impossible to wash your feet or pick up the soap without the shower curtain sticking all the way up your back. As Tom so eloquently put it: “a brand new meaning to the phrase shit, shower and shave.” In really small apartments it is quite common to have an off the shelf shower cubicle installed in the bedroom or the kitchen - and don’t expect to be able to wash your hair without banging your elbows on the plexiglass. The water is also really high in calcium and leaves a white scum on the tiles unless you squeegee the bathroom every time you use it. It's like having to do housework every time you shower.  Nej tak.

So there are a lot of benefits to showering at the gym or the pool and it’s too cold anyway to dash home in your sweaty work out gear. The first thing that struck me is the sign that says “ingen barbering” or “no shaving.” That totally grossed me out until I thought about how hard it would be to shave your legs in one of those miniscule cubicles. And at $80 for a full leg wax (twice what you'd pay in Australia) I’m still not sure how the Danes remain hairless. The open showers are not so bad, except when it’s busy and the line forms not one meter away from you. People hold their towels folded under one arm (instead of wrapping it around) and stand there, watching and waiting for you to finish up. Pretty awkward when I’m only on my first shampoo and have an army of beauty products aligned at my feet.

The local svømmehallen is a 1929 neo-classical bath house and although it has a 25m pool is mostly still used in the original way. The showering facilities are littered with kids and their plastic bath tubs and toys. Imagine trying to bathe a family of three in a bathroom that is one metre squared? The pool itself was packed with 15 people in each lane and this was nothing compared to the sauna. Dreaming of Caringbah pool and a 50m lane all to myself I rode out to the new pool at Bellahøj. It did not disappoint. The waterproof check in bracelet that also operates the lockers was impressive. So too the 1 and 3 metre diving boards open to the public. What was distinctly unimpressive was the saggy old bag who went out of her way to come and tell me that I should shower without my costume on. The fact that I didn’t understand only encouraged her to come even closer and I wished that we had learned something useful in dansk klassen like “mind your own business.” 

[scandoland]

WHO SAID THERE WAS NO SUCH THING AS A FREE LUNCH?

Breakfast is my favourite meal of the day. Incidentally, it is also the only meal that is habitually served with coffee. Lunch happens, merely filling a void and keeping you away from the jar of Jatz. At least in corporate Sydney it is more often than not served in a brown paper bag and eaten at your desk, slowly filling the gaps in your keyboard with breadcrumbs. On the rare occasion that is a sponsored team lunch it is usually the very economical yum-cha and comes with the expectation that you will work late to make up the hours anyway.

Not so in corporate Denmark - corporate being very loosely defined in this case. The working environment is casual: casual clothing, casual working hours and even casual attendance. In fact, work life balance is optimized to the point where I wonder how the economy sustains itself. ‘Working’ conditions include a minimum of 6 weeks annual leave, 120 sick days and a veritable smorgasbord daily at 12 noon.

Lunch is undoubtedly the most formal part of the day. Colleagues take half an hour away from their computer to sit together and enjoy a nutritionally balanced meal. Social interaction with a broad cross-section of the office improves communication generally (but can be a little awkward if you’re trying to discreetly spit out some pickled herring in front of the managing director).

For a foreigner, it’s like Danish cuisine 101 and a gentle introduction to such Nordic delicacies as crispy bacon served in proportions akin to a pork steak. Liverwurst days are spent wishing the low carb protein bar market existed here, instead helping myself to the crusty end of a fresh baguette or slab of seeded rye. But being a creature of habit, it’s the variety that I find most enjoyable. Lunch is a nice distraction from our nightly repertoire of ‘pork’ and three veg - an abundance of red meat I have clearly taken for granted all these years. Cake Thursday is followed by Carlsberg Friday and before you know it the week is all but over.

As a workplace practice, the formal lunch amounts to a daily show of appreciation that is typically absent in corporate environments. It breaks the day into two easily digestible parts. Served early, lunch is over before you know it. The afternoons are more productive and pass quickly, but that might just be because the flexi-office begins to empty as early as 3pm.

[scandoland]

PLAY AGAIN?

The nice thing about setting up shop for a while is that the impression of a new city is not lost on you. That Paris made quite the impression comes as no surprise. How nice it was to be in a city where nobody waits for the little green man to cross the road. It was so refreshing to be away from Nordic conformity and generally energised by chaotic traffic and temperate weather.

Naturally, we café’d our way from Montmarte to St Germain and from Beaubourg to Bastille. People watching from pavement seating is de rigueur – an enjoyable pursuit given the passing parade that is Le Marais on a sunny afternoon. Lunch at Café Flore, one of Saint Germain’s great literary café’s, was an experience to behold - as is the website. The company of forty-something waiters swiftly managed the full house, a black-tie ballet choreographed to perfection.

Along the cobblestone stretches between breakfast (pain au chocolat) and brunch (croque-monsieur) the last thing I expected to capture my imagination was street art. Who would have known that the city of Le Corbusier and Louis Vuitton was also the global street art capital? 

It all came back to me upon my first invader sighting. Featured in Banksy’s 2010 film Exit Through the Gift Shop, these delightful mosaics have been plastered all over the world and Paris boasts 1000 invasions. A temporal signature, yet permanently adhered to the façade in a brightly coloured durable material. The characters themselves have an endearing cartoon like quality, peering down on you just like the locals might from their juliet balconies. It becomes impossible to walk around without surveying the streetscape and in an unusual turn of events – this means looking above the shop windows.    

That a menacing act of vandalism can foster an appreciation for the built environment (even for an architect) is quite the paradox. But once you start to look you just can’t stop. Blank walls between lot boundaries become points of interest. Unlike Ladurée and the Lourve there is no lining up to see these little suckers - even on the busiest street corner. Walking is preferable to taking the subway and one never takes the same street twice in search of new invasions. Not a bad legacy for an 80’s arcade amusement and it’s certainly not game over yet. How many invasions have you witnessed?

[scandoland]

IS DENMARK TRYING TO TELL ME SOMETHING?

The last time I thought about having kids was in 2008, just after graduation. My then boss sat me down and said; “if you are going to have kids, think about how it is going to affect your career.” An awkward situation since I hadn’t really thought about it and didn’t intend to for another ten years. But living in Scandinavia, it is impossible not to.

Rest assured, this is not my biological clock talking. Things are genuinely different here. It might just be the high density and mixed-use urban environment but kids are really visible. Not just in the well to do suburbs characterized by well-maintained apartment blocks, quiet streets and the yummy-mummy - but all over town. They aren’t attention deprived little brats either. Generally the kids are quiet, well adapted and happy to be in the company of their parents, going about their daily chores.

Perhaps that’s just it. Kids are used to spending time with their parents. Social norms (constructed around a broad reaching welfare system) support and prioritise the family unit. But it must also be said that generous benefits (such as state childcare) certainly lighten the financial and lifestyle burden of starting a family.

Or maybe the kids here are just tougher. From an early age they have to deal with a brutal winter, often being left outside to sleep in a ridiculously oversized, insulated, waterproof, 4WD buggy. (I’m pretty sure ‘helicopter parenting’ has no direct translation). ‘Sweets on Saturdays’ is a common household rule and after 7pm the cartoon channel literally sleeps: costumed characters tossing and turning in their bed, snoring and farting, but mostly just breathing heavily. 

Yet, surprisingly, Denmark has a staggeringly low birthrate. So much so that a group of childcare centres are providing extended care one night a week: date night. A keen initiative indeed, but I doubt it will do much in the way of making babies. The real problem here is the peculiar Scandinavian custom of the private doona. In the spirit of cultural exchange we decided to give it a go, heading straight to Marimekko to conceal our cheap Ikea doonas with some distinctive Finnish graphics. Let it be said, the spectular prints were the only fireworks in our bedroom.

It might not seem like much, but having a separate doona is as good as sleeping in another bed and I have a sneaking suspicion that this phenomenon is also behind the remarkably high divorce rate. I wonder, are Danes really the happiest people in the world? It must be that notions of happiness are constructed in our infancy. It is no mistake then, that Scandinavia is the home of Lego and my personal favourite childhood toy, Brio.