It all started as I was looking into a German working visa. I wasn't wanting to work - one of the points of this exercise is to not work - but if the process was free and relatively simple I thought it might give me just a little bit of flexibility as I tried to cram more than 90 days worth of things into 90 days. Instead I happened across an interesting little factoid.
The Schengen Agreement went into force in 1999, but Australians were obviously roaming about Europe, and Europeans around Australia, long before then. And visas were as much of a nuisance then as they are now, so way back in the 1950s the government negotiated a bunch of visa waiver agreements with European countries. It's not a coincidence, I'm sure, that the priority was on making it easier for relatively rich, mostly white people to visit each other's countries.
Australia and Germany had entered into one of these agreements. More importantly, they never got around to removing it, and because it's older than the Schengen Agreement, it overrides it. As far as Germany is concerned, then, the Schengen zone simply doesn’t apply to me. They'd start counting my 90 days only from when I turned up in Germany.
This seemed too good to be true, so I emailed the German Embassy to check. They sent a copy/paste email back: it was the exact same text that was on the website where I'd first stumbled upon this wonderful loophole. Ja, the Germans said, but I'd have to leave the Schengen zone and come back to Germany, and it *only* applied to Germany.
That simply wouldn't do. I wanted to travel only by surface transport, and there was nowhere that was outside the Schengen zone from which I could travel directly to Germany without a flight. So I began to negotiate, sending draft outlines of trip plans and asking them to confirm their illegality. And, happily, my diplomatic efforts led to a mutually satisfactory outcome: they told me my plans were legal as long as I could prove I hadn't been in Germany for more than 90 days at any point, and in return I finally left them alone.
With the German question resolved (and without the need for two world wars), I began looking for other holes in the Schengen border fence. Austria, Belgium and Greece told me I was dreaming, and the Greeks even went to the trouble of emailing a PDF of the order rescinding the old visa agreement. I think France has one, but it didn't work for me because Portugal and Spain apparently didn't: I couldn't simply skirt around France on my way out of Spain, so I left their embassy alone. The Netherlands made things easy: it’s written on the embassy website that the agreement is still in force.
The Scandinavian countries proved a little complicated, because the deal was between Australia and the five Nordic countries as a whole. Denmark recognises the old agreement, and counts your 90 days from the time you first entered a Nordic country. Sweden, annoyingly, only honours the deal if Sweden is the first Nordic country you visit: no good to me, because going from Tallinn to Stockholm, then to Helsinki and back through Sweden to Copenhagen, made very little sense.
Finland initially told me there was no such treaty. That wasn't what I wanted to hear, so I replied by sending a link to the Australian copy of the agreement and asked the consular official to confirm it had been rescinded. It took a few days while she checked with Helsinki, but she eventually replied and told me I was right. Because she had never heard of this thing, though, she doubted Finnish border officials would have either, and suggested I have the email handy just in case.
My girlfriend liked to imagine European consular officials gathering for Friday drinks in Canberra and complaining about this pain in the arse named Charlie.
I didn’t end up using my special loophole in Sweden or Finland, but I crossed into Denmark with about two hours to spare before my 90 Schengen days were up. If the train had been delayed past midnight I would have been in Sweden illegally, but the Swedes are reasonable people, so I figured they’d understand and besides, their trains tend to run on time. This is Scandinavia, not Australia. They know how to do things.
My time in Copenhagen took a while to get going. Unlike most cities, the ‘Copenhagen Welcome’ card – a pass you can buy that combines unlimited public transport with entry to major attractions – actually added up to being good value. I bought it, but it subtly changed the way I tried to use my time. For the most part I’ve accepted I need to take each day slowly, doing one or at most two things in a day, but suddenly I had this card that gave me unfettered access to 30 different things over three days. The temptation was there to rush about madly and try to do as much as possible, to extract maximum value from the pass.
For various reasons – a tardy start, a hopelessly confusing public transport network and bad weather – I only managed to use it for one thing, the aquarium, on the first day. The next morning I was in a hurry to try to make up for lost time, but kept getting waylaid: the clothes dryer needed more time before I left, then I got lost again, then my blood sugar was so low that I needed to rest twice before continuing to walk. I was increasingly frustrated, but realised I needed to change how I thought about the pass: it was how much I had paid for the places I always intended to visit, so as long as I made it to those it was good value. Anything else was a freebie.
One such freebie was the Danish Workers’ Museum. Set in a building that once served as Copenhagen’s equivalent of trades hall, it has the usual exhibits on (mostly manufacturing) labour history, as well as an imitation 1950s shopping street and the entire contents of a home donated by a working class family, right down to the wallpaper in the bedrooms. I didn’t quite unravel who owns or operates the place, but I assume it’s more or less part or the union movement. The ACTU should do something similar.
It was while I was at the museum, however, that I became convinced I am being followed. Everywhere I’ve gone in Europe I’ve seen the same stony-faced man staring at me:
Apparently this one was donated to the museum after a communist-aligned trade union wound up. An MP from the One Nation-esque Danish People’s Party tried to force them to either display the statue with a caption calling him an ‘executioner and murderer’ or have it removed. He was both of those things, but the museum quite rightly told her where she could stick her selectively-applied freedom of speech.
Later that day I was at the Copenhagen zoo, where I was approached by a market research interviewer. I’ve done a similar thankless task myself, so I obliged him happily enough, but as we were going I realised that my thoughts on the zoo – my 96th – might not be representative of the broader population of Copenhagen Zoo visitors. “I’m a bit of a zoo nerd”, I warned, by way of full and frank disclosure.
“Zoo… nerd?” My interviewer, whose name is Allan, asked me to explain. He’s a freelance journalist – the interviewing plugs gaps between commissions – and he sniffed a human interest story about grown adults who roam across continents looking at animals.
“There’s at least 30 or 40 of us”, I told Allan, by way of assurance that I’m not all *that* weird. My 96 is nothing, I insisted. I know people closing in on 400. Nevertheless, he was intrigued, and our interview extended well past the prepared questions as I strived to explain what I find fascinating about them. He took my email address in case he decides to follow up, though not being one for the limelight I’ll probably refer him on to someone else. I don’t want to have to deal with the inevitable paparazzi attention.
I didn’t really have much else that I wanted to do with the pass, but it kept coming in handy. It got me into the Tivoli Gardens – a vintage-style theme park and ‘pleasure garden’, like a less depressing Luna Park, with restaurants and concert halls – so I went in for a look around. I didn’t pay for any rides: if I want to scare myself half to death I can just lose my insulin again. And I made an impromptu free stop at the Danish Architecture Centre to use the toilet, where the woman scanning my pass seemed so happy to have a visitor that I was guilted into spending 20 minutes there, pretending to be interested in models of sustainable apartment buildings, before I felt able to make a dignified exit.
I finally went for a semi-aimless wander the next day. The basic plan was to keep heading north from my hostel until I got to the Little Mermaid statue, which I wasn’t really interested in at all, but everything else I wanted to go past was more or less on the way. And besides, going to Copenhagen and not seeing the Little Mermaid would be like going to Coffs Harbour and not seeing the Big Banana. They’re each about as impressive as the other (have you ever seen the Big Banana? It’s at best a Medium Sized Banana), and by the time I got there it was pouring with rain as well. Sometimes you have to focus on the journey, not the destination.
I first made my way towards Nyhavn, which is… a canal with some painted buildings. It’s one of the most picturesque spots Copenhagen has, which unfortunately isn’t saying a great deal. Where Stockholm is full of colour – perhaps trying to compensate for just how dark it is there for so much of the year – Copenhagen is all earth tones. It looks dour by comparison, but Nyhavn is a bright spot, or at least as bright as Copenhagen gets:
A more interesting part of the walk was the self-proclaimed ‘Free Town’ of Christiania. This little pocket of formerly military land seceded from Denmark in 1971, and now purports to be an independent commune. It even has its own flag:
And a cutting-edge education system:
The good citizens of Christiania have chosen a lovely spot to proclaim their independence – many of the houses are strung out around an enormous lake – and it’s a convenient five minute bike ride from the centre of Copenhagen, too. Something tells me, meanwhile, that the mains electricity wires I saw going into each property aren’t being maintained or powered by the local anarchist collective. I fear I might be a touch too cynical to live the Christiania dream.
My blood sugar was running low – again – so I stopped to buy a drink in the local store (Christiania still accepts Danish kroner as currency, despite its secession), and I dropped my sunglasses as I was juggling the drink and my camera. “Take care of your glasses”, came some unsolicited advice from somewhere to my (far, far) left.
I turned and tried to make light of my clumsiness. “It’s ok. They cost €5. I’m a forgetful klutz, I’m always either breaking or losing them.” I smiled.
“Ah, so you like to buy and then throw away,” my adviser accompanied this observation with a deep drag on his joint.
No, I’m just –
“Ah ha, I got you. Lose, throw away, it’s the same way. Don’t give a shit about it!”
Oh good. A self-righteous hippy: my favourite type of hippy. I left him to his moral high ground and moved on towards ‘Pusher Street’, Copenhagen’s go-to place to buy weed.
Christiania legalised marijuana long ago, and the Copenhagen authorities – no doubt fearing an outbreak of hostilities between the two countries – appear not to intervene (though apparently taking photos here is a no-no, just in case). Pusher Street is like a farmers’ market for hydroponic goods, with brand name outlets – such as ‘Your Ganga Man’ and ‘Moroccan Hash Café’ – each set up with a display stall for half a dozen different varieties. No free samples, but they have little boxes you can pick up and sniff as you mull over a purchase. I saw some mushrooms as well, but no harder drugs, and I saw a sign that suggests that’s a rule enforced by the locals. Organic produce only, it seems.
Day four was given over to having my mood soured by the Hawthorn Football Club. They’re the only team to beat us since I was in Vienna, by a goal each time, and it’s a terrible shame – a terrible, terrible shame – that we won’t meet again September. So disappointing that they won’t be joining us.
After the footy I had yet another train ride. I’ve started to take fast, reliable trains for granted – a rude shock awaits me when I get back home – but I was particularly looking forward to this one. A small corner of the Baltic Sea gets in the way of a direct train ride between Copenhagen and Hamburg, my next destination, and to go overland would add at least a couple of hours to the journey. Instead I would get a train part of the way, switch to a ferry to cross the strait and then another train.
Or not quite. It would be the same train, because it was coming too:
I would have liked to be present when it was decided that this was the most sensible way of getting people between Denmark and Germany. “So”, the minister might have asked the engineer. “We need a boat to get the train from one side to the other?”
Yes, I’m afraid. It’s a long detour to go by land. It’ll be annoying having to change trains, but these things can’t be helped…
“Of course they can. The boat will take the train.”
… sorry? I’m confused. The boat will… what? Boats can’t board trains, minister -
“No, the train will catch the boat. We’ll carry it across on the boat. Then we’ll only need one train!”
But… trains can’t board boats, either. You need tracks. Ferries don’t have train tracks...
“Then we’ll get a new boat. Put tracks in that.”
Right… that’ll be expensive, and –
“Worth it, though. A boat train – or maybe it’s a train boat? Anyway, it’s unique. Nothing like it in the world. People will come all the way from Australia to ride it and gently take the mickey out of the concept in their travel blogs!”
… I see. I’m just not sure this is practical, Minister. I mean, train tracks are narrow. You’ll need the boat to line up just perfectly with the tracks each time…
“Good. Then it’s decided. Hey, so this boat. It’ll start in Denmark, then to Germany, then return to Denmark, then to Germany, and just go back and forth forever?”
… I guess so. Nobody else is going to want a boat with a train station, so…
“Great. Then I know what we’re gonna call it”:
Who knew Germans had a sense of humour?
thanks for taking me to Copenhagen. made my day
ReplyDelete