CHRIST- IANIA! ARE WE FREE?
Sometimes, often more than sometimes, the urge to step out of societal trappings and norms, say boohoo to rules and regulations, shirk off all responsibilities and diddly off to a place where none of these things matter, I am sure, afflicts us all. Unfortunately, for whatever reasons it is not always possible. But then there is always Christiania (Copenhagen, Denmark) the freedom town where one can, even for half a day, think yeah! I am here and relish the unimaginable even though it may be only vicariously.
Long ago a TV documentary had piqued my interest especially one of the residents, a silver grey haired elderly woman, rather elegant looking, who smashed my wrong perception that all Christiania residents were young hipsters with long unkempt hair, low slung jeans on the verge of slipping down any moment, basically rebels for the sake of being rebels. So, the very next day after landing in Copenhagen it was mission Christiania. What is it about this 19 acres of area, a self-declared sovereign since the 1970s, that is so appealing? Anarchy is a word that one usually doesn't get to use in everyday talk, but I like to believe that it is anarchy, in the sense of thumping a nose at all authorities and an attempt at creating a free society without a government and its stipulations. Not anarchy that translates in free-for-all and chaos.
From the entrance gate itself, Christiania, makes its status absolutely clear - you are now leaving behind EU and stepping into a free town. The gate is two tall totems with a wooden plank across bearing its name and when you leave, its not possible to miss what is written on the back of the plank: You are now entering the EU. That is some declaration of independence!
The delicious irony is that Christiania was apparently an abandoned former military base and in 1971 some hippies broke down the barricades and starting squatting and before one could say jumping jeepers, Christiania flourished. So does all the 900 odd residents of the self-declared sovereign do as they please? Nah! The community has its own rules and regulations! I guess we humans are genetically wired that way. The foremost rule is No Photographs without permission and absolutely No Photographs of Pusher Street or more poetically, The Green Light District where cannabis was sold. After the September 2016 shootout over cannabis trade that saw death and injuries, the community has been campaigning to stop all such trades. There are no stalls selling cannabis, however, on the morning we visit the number of guys set up trays on stands displaying their wares. The area is also quiet thick with the smell of reefers. By afternoon their number has gone up. During the time we are in that area we see lots of curious visitors but nobody approaches the hawkers and nor do they solicit business. The other important rule, we are told, is No Running at all. Running creates panic and that's the last thing the residents want.
A tinge of Thamel (Kathmandu), a brush of some of Thai night markets, a wee feeling of some area of Goa but essentially everything wholly Christiania. The first impression, graffiti-ed walls or no, buntings or prayer flags - is just how clean the whole place is, everything in its place and it's like an invisible workforce around who seem to say that just because we don't believe in governments does not mean you can litter our world. There were the di rigueur houses that screamed 'me hippie' but there were those ones that could easily fit into the picket fence and two kids slot and some that seemed little tired and on the edge. Personally, it was an unexpected sense of calmness, all calm and clean. Maybe because we were there on a weekday, maybe it was the overhanging grey skies or simply maybe it could be indulging in what the nuns at schools always cautioned not to do- letting imagination fly away just because it happened to be Christiania. So, I didn't go checking patches of short greenery for what we call 'bhang'. Quite an appropriate name in fact, after all it creates a bang within you.
Yes, there were the expected stalls selling T-shirts by the dozens emblazoned with all kinds of messages in all shades of hue from neon to glittery; lots of jewellery most of which clearly winged its way from India, the kinds sold dime a dozen in Sarojini Market and Janpath in New Delhi; ditto with the stoles and shawls and some of the dresses and of course, plenty of smoking pipes. Then there are the eateries, quite an impressive variety- from organic to regular burgers, vegetarian to Thai, yummy desserts to different coffees. My favourite, the one with the big blue door that announced 'hot beer, lousy food, bad service' and cheerfully added 'welcome'. I don't know if that was just a joke or actually an eatery!
Then there is the Market, a huge, long rambling barn like structure with mezzanine floors and extra high ceiling which, for some reasons seemed to be selling almost everything related to gardening. No, I didn't mistake a nursery for a market because it loudly proclaimed that it was one. Sure, there were other stuff, but very few. Clearly, Chritiania has heavy duty gardening enthusiasts!
Another place that got me really curious was a bit of Nepal, a rather crude small copy of the famous Swayambhunath Temple in Kathmandu, complete with the third eye, Tibetan prayers flags, a blue hut like structure next to it, all in a small compound ringed by a cement and boulder wall. I crossed that place twice and lingered around a bit, hoping someone would pop out or someone would cross the lane in front of it and someone who know something about it. Nada! not a soul. I gave up while giving into my imagination running away ipicturing a hippie who so loved Nepal that he/she attempted to create a tiny however version of it in Christiania or many the occupant was a Nepalese or Tibetan. Was I secretly yearning for momos? Maybe!
The best statement about Christiania I guess came from the two fathers with one toddler each in their typical Danish cargo bikes, bare-chested hunks in just shorts peddling side by side carrying out conversations even as their kids behaved like all kids their age do -gibberish talks while reaching out their hands to touch each other. And since they couldn't do that, there would be another round of gibberish outburst interspersed with tiny laughter. In the end, I presume, hippie or prude, liberal or conservative, rebel or acquiescent, a father is a father. And nothing like a baby to level it all! I thought I'd sneak a silent shot from the back and scoot from there but there were others around and the No Photographs rule- sure I broke it at times but notice there are no humans around in them - went ping-ping in my head. That image will however be never forgotten.
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