Countercultural Christiania

Countercultural Christiania

A small community in the middle of Copenhagen, occupying an area no bigger than a hundred acres, is the true heart and soul of the 1960s counterculture revolution. Christiania, originally designed as an anarchist's commune, has been a safe haven from the vagaries of modern city life for more than thirty years. Christiania was built on the foundations of self-government, communal living, and freedom. Without automobile traffic and street lights, Christiania begets an idyllic charm. Certainly other places in the world resemble Christiania in spirit -- the Haight-Ashbury district in San Francisco comes to mind -- but none can match Christiania's salt-of-the-earth feel. Today, the village stands as a utopian experiment.

A friend and I were met with a questioning glance when we asked our Danish taxi driver to take us to Christiania. The area, we would soon learn, is viscerally divisive among the Danish population, who consider it either a project in communal cooperation or a national eyesore. It's been recognized by the government of Denmark as a "free zone," which means that the village governs itself. As we passed through the village gates, a sign overhead clued us into the culture we were about to dive into: "You are now leaving the E.U."

On the outside, Christiania might seem like a rundown Jamaican shantytown, but the warmth of Christianians more than makes up for their lack of comfortable housing. Greenery overhangs ledges and runs down walls, in stark contrast to the ubiquitous graffiti art, created (legally) by village residents. There are no street lights, no cars -- nothing that would keep the village from being a creative, free-thinking haven. This means that there are also no hard drugs (marijuana is allowed), violence, or weapons.

Once inside Christiania, we noticed a high number of atypical restaurants. An outdoor fast-food joint in the center of the village, for example, served consistently engaging Thai food. We also discovered tons of bars and clubs along the main drag, Prinsessegade. Our favorite was Woodstock. They serve premium Danish lagers for a reasonable sum and stay open until the last paying customer leaves. Across from Woodstock is Musikloppen, an infamous music club within Christiania known for attracting popular Danish rock bands (such as Kashmir) as well as the occasional international act (like The Fugees). The staff behind the bar may seem contemptuous to outsiders at first, but they're warm and welcoming to foreigners who have an open mind.

As we made our way around Christiania, we noticed a certain slogan everywhere: "Bevar Christiania," or "Save Christiania." The slogan has become a common saying among Christianians, nearly replacing the standard goodbye and hello in Danish because of the current political debate surrounding the village. Although Christiania is an autonomous community within Copenhagen, some people are looking to close the village down because residents don't own their houses, and, as such, are seen as squatters. A strong, outside police presence is now in the village -- one that many Christianians consider harassment. Only time will tell if the villagers' self-reliant way of life will continue as it has for decades, or disappear as a footnote in Danish history.

-Nima Adl