Copenhagen

'70S UTOPIA SOON TO BE JUST ANOTHER BRICK IN THE WALL

I was strolling through the commotion of downtown Copenhagen, past
chain restaurants dressed up to look old and under towering hotels
that seem to be part of a different international chain each year.
Then, as if from another age, a man pedaled his wife on a Christiania
Bike -- two wheels pushing a big, utilitarian, rounded bucket. You'd
call the couple "granola" in the United States -- they look as out of
place here in Copenhagen as an Amish couple in Manhattan.

Later that same day, I paused to watch a parade of ragtag
soldiers-against-conformity dressed in black venture through the
modern bustle of downtown Copenhagen. They walked sadly behind a
World War II-vintage truck blasting Pink Floyd's "Another Brick in
the Wall." I never listened to the words until now. They're fighting
a rising tide of conformity. They want to raise their children to be
not cogs but free spirits. On their banner -- painted onto an old
sheet -- was a slogan you see in their Christiania squatter
community: "Lev livet kunstnerisk! Kun dode fisk flyder med
strommen." ("Live life artistically! Only dead fish follow the
current.") They flew the Christiania flag -- three yellow dots on an
orange background. They say the dots are from the o's in "Love, Love, Love."

In 1971, the original 700 Christianians established squatters' rights
in an abandoned military barracks, just a 10-minute walk from the
Danish parliament building. A generation later, this "free city"
still stands -- an ultra-human mishmash of idealists, hippies,
potheads, non-materialists and happy children (600 adults, 200 kids,
200 cats, 200 dogs, 17 horses and two parrots), even a handful of
Willie Nelson-type seniors among the 180 remaining here from the
original takeover. And an amazing thing has happened: The place has
become the third-most-visited sight among tourists in Copenhagen.
Move over, Little Mermaid.

Christiania, which sprawls just behind the spiral tower of Our
Savior's Church in the trendy district of Christianshavn, welcomes
visitors (even offering tours daily through the summer). They've
become a major part of the economy. Tourists react in very different
ways to the place. Some see dogs, dirt and dazed people. Others see a
haven of peace, freedom and no taboos. Locals will remind judgmental
Americans (whose country incarcerates more than a quarter of the
world's prison inmates) that a society must make the choice: Allow
for alternative lifestyles ... or build more prisons.

At the community's entrance is a sign announcing that you are leaving
the EU (European Union). The main drag is nicknamed "Pusher Street"
for the marijuana-selling stands that lined it before the recent
police crackdown. Now the police drop in 10 times a day, and cafes
post signs warning "No pot smoking." (Hard drugs have always been
strictly forbidden.)

As you walk down Pusher Street, you'll see Nemoland, a kind of food
circus. A huge warehouse called the Green Hall (Den Gronne Hal) does
triple-duty as a recycling center (where people get most of their
building material), a craft center for kids and an evening concert
hall. Nearby is a barracks housing Spiseloppen, a bohemian chic loft
whose near-gourmet cuisine attracts smartly dressed professional
types from all over town. Eventually Pusher Street takes you to the
ramparts overlooking a lake lined with cozy, if ramshackle, cottages.

While biking through the community, it occurred to me that, except
for the bottled beer being sold, there was not a hint of any
corporate entity in the entire free city. Everything was handmade.
Nothing was packaged. And, of course, that will not stand.

The current conservative government is feeling the pressure from
developers to "normalize" Christiania. There is a take-it-or-leave-it
"final solution" on the table for leaders of the commune to deal
with. The verdict is that land (which no one wanted 35 years ago but
is now in huge demand) needs to be developed. Much of it will be
opened to market forces, and 1,600 outsiders will be allowed to move
in. This will drastically change Europe's last and only surviving
attempt at a socialist utopia dating from flower-power days.

I recently received an e-mail from some traveling readers. They said:
"We're not prudes, but Christiania was creepy. Don't take kids here
or go after dark." A free city is not pretty, I agree. But watching
parents raise their children with Christiania values, I came to
believe more strongly than ever in this social experiment. Giving
alternative-type people a place to be alternative is a kind of
alternative beauty that deserves a place.