As for the Tyska Kyrkan, which name translates to “German Church”, it was established in the days of the Hanseatic League, and still conducts services in the German language. It was exciting to be able to speak to the church staff in German and admire the detailed paintings on the ceiling, but I was confused by the architecture of the church itself, because the nave was divided into two by a row of columns, resulting in blocked views of the chancel from many angles.

Left: Riddarholmskyrkan; Right: Tyska Kyrkan

Up till this point I had not yet eaten, so I strolled along the streets of Gamla Stan looking for something attractive and affordably priced. I settled on a café called Muren, which had an enticing assortment of Swedish ice creams and sorbets. It was not easy deciding among the many tempting flavours, but I settled on a Svea, which was blueberry and strawberry ice cream as well as raspberry sorbet topped with fresh cream and strawberries and served in a cinammon cone. The blueberry ice cream was a bit of a disappointment, but otherwise the Svea made for an unconventionally excellent breakfast, and the scoop of very sublime raspberry sorbet reminded me The Bent Spoon, the Princeton ice cream place which is also one of my favourite eateries in the world.

Left: Inside the Swedish ice cream store Muren; Right: My Svea

Then I walked to the Stockholms Slott, where I narrowly missed the changing of the guards, but still could hear the fantastic military band that accompanied it. The palace itself defied the image of old Sweden as an unconspicuous, pastoral country and was quite the opposite of the humble Stockrykan that I had seen on the previous day. Just the royal chapel itself was probably the most extravagant place of worship I have seen – The lack of transcept in such a large space and the curved ceiling reminded me of a ballroom more than a chapel, but this did not matter. The rococo building was brightly lit by skylights, column capitals were brilliantly detailed, and so was the ceiling with its murals and patterned decorations. And the pulpit was an extraordinarily extravagant work, vividly depicting a series of biblical animals swirling around the structure, all of them set splendidly in gold.

Left: Guard house in front of Stockholms Slott; Right: The royal chapel

I then went to the royal apartments, which proved to be a very different experience from going to palaces in Germany. The Wittelsbach palaces I had visited in Munich – Schleißheim, Nymphenburg and the Residenz were beautiful, but because they had not been used as royal residences or venues for state events for more than a hundred years, they were not in very good condition. Some of the rooms of Nymphenburg, for example, was badly in need of restoration. But since Sweden still has a royal family that regularly hosts foreign dignatories, organizes state dinners and the Nobel banquet at Stockholms Slott, every room was extremely well maintained and completely furnished, the mirrors were perfectly polished and imposing chandeliers absolutely spotless. Though the constant renovation and refurbishment of this palace (one of the rooms was completely redecorated in contemporary style just a decade ago to commemorate the King’s silver jubilee) may take away from historical authenticity, I preferred it this way because it allowed me to feel royal flair, pomp and grandeur at its fullest.

Left: The dining room where state dinners are held; Right: Inside the royal apartments

After a short visit to the Treasury, in which few but nonetheless lavish items of royal jewellry were on display, I went to the Galleria Shopping Centre near the Centralstation to grab a quick lunch. The Soup Lounge there proved to be the perfect spot. Upon recommendation from the convivial shopkeeper, who spoke English with a most charming accent, I ordered a chunky mushroom soup. The creamy yet refreshing soup base with a generous helping of tender mushroom slices was well accentuated by a hint of fragrant rucola oil and parmesan. The small slice of rye bread and cheese dip that came with it was also delicious, and this was washed down with pear-flavoured sparkling mineral water. For SEK 65 this was a bargain by Scandinavian standards, and it definitely left me content for the rest of the day.

Left: Soup Lounge in Galleria shopping centre; Right: Chunky mushroom soup

Next came the most important part of my day – a trip to Djurgården, the former hunting grounds of the Swedish monarch. Instead of doing it on foot or by bike, I opted to join a Segway tour, and it turned out to be one of the best decisions I have made on this trip. Though I had never used a Segway before, it was exceedingly easy to learn and control. The Segway i2 I used could measure my body weight distribution 100 times per minute and adjust the balance accordingly, so staying on two wheels required absolutely no effort on my part. Steering was also extraordinary intuitive, so within five minutes on the practice track in the basement of the Galleria I was breezing around and making rapid turns without any difficulty at all.

Soon it was time to head out. There were only three other people including our guide, so it did not feel like the conventional city tour in which stereotypical tourists provide a continuous source of annoyance. As we made our way on the bicycle path on the Strandvägen, an avenue along the coast of Östermalm, I could not help but put a massive smile on my face. It was one of those moments in which the adrenalin and delight completely overwhelms you and forces its way out through irrepressible chuckles – this was the most exhilarating part of my trip so far! Within ten minutes we were in Djurgården, cutting through sun-kissed meadows and verdant woods, passing by the bright hues of blossoming flowers, admiring the traditional architecture of the occasional museum building, and enjoying the impressive view of the city from across the unbelievably blue bodies of water. Naturally we attracted a lot of attention from others in the park – not only pedestrians, but also a dachshund as well as a lady in a Porsche Carrera GT. Her means of transport might have been many times more expensive than mine, but this didn’t take away from the fact that mine was infinitely better!

The Segway tour to Djurgården was beyond doubt the best part of my day

It was hard to say goodbye to the Segway, but an hour and a half later I had to. I then went to Östermalms Saluhall, which was every bit a gastronome’s paradise. Inside this 19th century market were shops with all types of delicatessen – luxuriant cheeses, freshly baked pastries, colourful fruits, juicy meats, and most importantly impossibly fresh seafood. I stood in front of the trays of lobsters and king crab legs for so long and stared at them with such intense Sehnsucht that the shopkeepers probably started feeling uneasy…

The very alluring delicacies of the Östermalms Saluhall left me salivating in fantasy

Eventually I pulled myself out of the market and took the bus to Kaknästornet, the somewhat oddly-shaped TV-tower. The observation deck had two levels that I could access – sadly one had windows which glass was in desparate need for replacement, whereas the other was caged. The angle of sunlight prevented me from taking a good picture of the main islands, but to make up for that there was still a decent view of the Stockholm archipelago.

Left: Kaknästornet, Stockholm’s TV tower; Right: View of the Stockholm Archipelago from Kaknästornet

The good thing about museums in Stockholm is that most of them have different days on which there are evening opening hours, so I could still make one visit even though it was beyond 5pm. I chose the Tekniska Museet, since I still had not visited a science museum on the trip. It was better than what I had expected. The vast main hall with planes, bikes (including the iconic penny-farthing, on which I find hard to imagine somebody actually riding), motorbikes, cars, plane engines and ship propellors. A smaller hall adjacent to it was dedicated to space travel, where one could watch videos from the most significant space exploration events such as the launch of Yuri Gagarin’s Vostok 1, Neil Armstrong’s moon landing, Apollo 13′s splashdown on the Pacific Ocean, and the explosion of Space Shuttle Challenger. There were also simulation booths in which one could get into an astronaut’s sleeping bag, try out the exercise machines typically found on space stations, and even experience weightlessness (unfortunately, that one was not in operation). Though I am no longer as fond of space exploration as I was as a child, it was still a great exhibition.

Exhibits in the Tekniska Museet

More enjoyable, still, was the 4D movie I watched at Cino4, the museum’s cinema. Most 4D movies are extremely short (the one I watched in Legoland lasted for 12 minutes) and have no educational value to speak of, but this proved to be an exception. The 30-minute film was titled Building Beyond Limits, and it described the history of buildings, from the most primitive wooden huts to modern-day skyscrapers. The film took viewers from one continent to another, showing how varying climates and cultures result in a large range of buildings from past to present, and described the pros and cons of main types of building materials one by one. Riding on the moving seats, which also had a “massage” function to hit you on the back or bottom from time to time as well as too many sprinkers or outlets for aromas to count, we watched simulations of the pyramids of Giza being constructed, watched an Inuit put together an igloo, went across the Öresundsbron, flew to the top of the Empire State Buiding, saw the wildly ambitious building projects in Dubai, and even explored a probable future city on Mars. I know these are not words that one typically uses to describe a film seen at a museum, but Building Beyond Limits was indeed a triumphant achievement.

So just two days into my visit, I had experienced enough to declare that Stockholm is one of the best cities in Earth. If I ever manage to find some place to learn Swedish, I would do it just so that I can live here some day!

After a brisk walk through the Dansmuseet (Dance Museum), which was obviously not my cup of tea, I headed to the nearby Kungliga Operan, Sweden’s royal opera house. Earlier on when I was still on the Princeton campus, I planned this trip with the goal of watching a show in the opera house of every city I visited. This did not happen – while I did get to see some great performances while I was in Munich, Nuremberg and Berlin, I chose not to go in Bremen because the only show available was Verdi’s Aida, which I had already seen at the Bayerische Staatsoper. As for Copenhagen and Stockholm, by this leg of my trip the 2008-09 performance seasons of both the Royal Danish and Swedish Operas were over. But anyhow, I decided that taking part in a guided tour of the opera house would be better than not going there at all, so that was what I did.

While the Kungliga Operan has none of the innovative architecture that defines Copenhagen’s Operaen and is dwarfed by the Bayersiche Staatsoper in terms of physical size and prominence, there was still a lot to see. This opera house was built at the turn of the 20th century and deliberately designed in the continental style so as to emphasize Sweden’s emerging status as an European power. Despite its somewhat restricted size, the interior is nothing short of opulent, with extremely ornate decorations garnering almost every vertical surface. The good thing about visiting on a guided tour as opposed to watching a show is that you get to use seats for which people typically pay more than 1000 SEK. The view from there was of course fantastic, though this opera house was designed so that the seats in the uppermost balcony actually enjoyed better acoustics. The best sound, however, is found in a place where seats cannot be placed – right inside the chandelier. This is where microphones are located, for live broadcasts on Swedish radio as well as CD/DVD recordings.

And the golden hall, in which opera patrons relaxed and socialized during intermissions, was just as extravagant. Built to imitate the luxurious style of Versailles, this hall boasted a row of impressive chandeliers, detailed ceiling murals depicting the development of Swedish music, plenty of golden rococo decorations, elegant furniture and full-length windows to create a greater sense of space.

The Kungliga Operan, Sweden’s royal opera house

The tour also brought me to three places into which normal opera patrons may not set foot – the royal chambers, the backstage, and the stage itself. The former was a slightly smaller version of the golden hall, still used exclusively by the Swedish royal family and visiting heads of state. As for the backstage, it was unexpectedly enormous. Though not a particularly grand building from the outside, the opera house actually has 12 floors and almost 1000 rooms, making it quite easy to get lost. We saw the trap doors, as well as the large sunken area in which whole sets were kept, and the small chair on which the first prompter typically sat. The stage, however, was most odd, for instead of being a horizontal surface, it had a 4° incline so as to provide the audience with a better view. The downside was that small props would have to be fastened onto the stage by nails so that they would not roll off in the middle of a scene, and more disastrously, ballet performers could easily injure themselves on such a surface. In order to remedy this problem the performers actually have rehearsal rooms with similarly slanted floors. In spite of that, I imagine that would still be exceedingly disorienting to have to dance on a slope!

The Nationalmuseum was just a 5-minute walk along the coast away. While the collection of this museum was far inferior to that of the Statens Museum for Kunst, it’s Danish equivalent, I was interested by its experiments on new ways to display sculpture. Instead of putting each piece on its own fancy marble pedestal, the museum placed marble statues either on fruit crates or wooden platforms and arranged them irregularly, whereas busts were cluttered together on a makeshift case made out of scaffolding material. One work was even displayed in the packaging with which it had come to the museum. It was not the most elegant way of doing things, but it definitely helps the visitor to reassess the ability of art to transform the environment in which it is placed.

Left: Exterior of the Nationalmuseum; Right: An innovative way of displaying sculpture

One good exhibit was Design 19002000, which featured many very sleek and creative household items which I would love to be able to afford. It’s renaissance counterpart, Design 15001600, also had a broad collection of objects from different cultures – there were Chinese porcelain, Turkish tapestries and carpets, Indian chairs and German metalware. The top floor, on the other hand, was pleasantly decorated but the 19th century paintings on display were decidedly much less attractive than those I had seen in equivalent museums in Germany.

Left: An exhibit in Design 19002000; The top floor of the National Museum

The rainy weather of the morning had cleared up by the time I exited the Nationalmuseum. So instead of going to another museum right away, I decided that I would explore the cobblestone streets of Gamla Stan, Stockholm’s old town. I absolutely loved the alternating yellow, ochre and orange buildings, traditional lampposts and canopies as well as irresistibly adorable shops, which included the kitsch souvenir shops typical of a tourist area, but also high-end chocolate stores, art galleries, antique dealerships, cafes, ice cream parlours. There I managed to pick up some small souvenirs for my family. I would have loved to buy more, but my very limited baggage allowance for the flight from Stockholm to Hong Kong would probably not allow it.

The picturesque cobblestone streets and charming boutique stores of Gamla Stan

But Gamla Stan was more than just a bunch of charming streets. There were also some very important and impressive buildings in the area, including the Riddarholmskyrkan with its soaring spire, and the Tyska Kyrkan which has German instead of Swedish text at its entrance gate. Unfortunately both churches had closed by the time I got there.

Left: Riddarholmskyrkan; Right: On the street right outside the Tyska Kyrkan

The one church in the area that was open was the Stockrykan, which means “Stockholm Cathedral”, where royal coronations and weddings were once held. The cathedral was built more than 700 years ago, back in the day when Sweden was a poor nation at the periphery of Europe instead of an affluent industrial power, so it really cannot be compared to its much more established equivalents in continental Europe. In terms of size, it could seat less than 1000 people, which made it smaller than the Princeton University Chapel (in case you are curious, yes I do miss Princeton in spite of having a wonderful time in Europe). The columns and arches were generally plain and the stained glass window somewhat ordinary, but the two relatively newer royal pews at the front of the cathedral were very eye-catching. Designed by Nicodemus Tessin the Younger, architect of the Stockholm palace, each pew consisted of gracefully attired angels carrying a resplendent crown more than a metre in diameter above the area where the sovereign or his consort would be seated. The entire pews were covered in gold, which gave them a particularly distinctive appearance in the nave, which was otherwise constructed out of humble red brick. And in one of the transcepts was St. George and the Dragon, a gothic sculpture by the German artist Berdnt Notke commissioned by the Swedish royal court to commemorate a decisive victory over Denmark in 1471. The detail was incredibly elaborate, the postures and expressions were so lively that despite the sculpture’s more than 500 years of age, it still fills the viewer in awe and wonder of the admirable chivalry of the military saint.

The Stockyrkan, Sweden’s oldest parish church and former venue for royal weddings and coronations

Finally I went to the Swedish Academy next door, which housed the Nobelmuseet, with exhibitions on the Nobel Foundation as well as the achievements of Nobel laureates over the years. The permanent offerings were pleasant, but it was the temporary exhibit which was truly remarkable. Titled “Freedom of Expression: How Free is Free?”, it discussed the human right to free expression of opinion, its protections and boundaries, as well as examples of pertinent controversies. In a set of three red lighting-shaped drawers, one could read the stories of and quotes from people who were persecuted or censored in the past because they dared to say what those in power were not eager to hear: from Socrates and Martin Luther to Lech Wałęsa and Nelson Mandela. A set of display boards nearby addressed more recent controversies, such as Salman Rushdie’s The Satanic Verses, which prompted a fatwa from the Iranian Ayatollah demanding his execution, and the assassination of Anna Politkovskaya, the Russian journalist who authored the groundbreaking bestseller Putin’s Russia. Another one called into question the permissibilty of video games that glorify explicit violence, offensive content by the likes of Danish cartoonist Kurt Westergaard and extreme anti-Islamic claims by public figures like Italian writer Oriana Fallaci. Often the information was presented matter-of-factly and the viewer was left to reach his own decisions, which was a challening but deeply interesting task. I also liked the media station playing forbidden music throughout the ages, with works ranging from Wagner’s Der Ring des Nibelungen to Paul McCartney’s Give Ireland back to the Irish.

Left: Foyer of the Nobelmuseet; Right: Temporary exhibition on freedom of expression

There was finally a small role-play quiz involving a hypothetical scandal involving a nuclear tests that were poisoning the lives of thousands of people (The scandal was set in Norway instead of Sweden. I guess that says something about how the Swedes view their neighbours…). One could decide on whether or not to leak the scandal to the press, whether or not to maintain anonymity, how to handle the subsequent publicity and deal with death threats and the like. In the end the results would be analysed to tell the player whether he was conservative, moderate or liberal in terms of allowing freedom of expression, whether one would protect secrets against conscience or unravel them and put other’s lives in danger. It was anything but easy because of the ethical dilemmas it presented, but it definitely prompted me to reconsider how human rights were defined and when it is appropriate to take risks.

Though it wasn’t a very large exhibit, I spent an hour and a half inside, reading every single English word and watching most of the videos. This was definitely one of the most memorable non-art museums I have seen on this trip, and if other museums in Stockholm are of similar quality, I would be extremely delighted. Anyway, after browsing titles by Nobel laureates at the museum bookstore and trying extremely hard not to purchase anything that was available on Amazon.com, I had dinner at Vapiano (Sara had insisted that I should try something else, but other restaurants in the area were much more expensive), and then returned to my hostel. It was a great first day in this exciting city!

This was followed by a lunch of Smørrebrød (the traditional Danish open-faced sandwich) at M Restaurant, a place which decor I found to be brilliantly hip, though Fe noted that this was typical of eateries in Copenhagen. I ordered a quintessentially Danish smoked eel with scrambled egg Smørrebrød, which sounded odd at first but turned out to be very refreshing. Then as we stepped out of the restaurant, we were lured by the rich taste of dairy from the cheese shop called Ostehjørnet right underneath the restaurant. The shopkeeper there was extremely friendly and kept providing us with brilliant recommendations and generous samples. Fe was so impressed, she told her she would work at the shop for free whenever help was needed! I would have done the same had I lived in Copenhagen. Anyway, I ended up buying a slab of Norwegian goat cheese which melts in the mouth like caramel, in addition to two chunks of delicious Danish cheese, all of which were now packed in air-tight bags and sitting in my luggage case. Being able to unwrap the cheeses, enjoy their wonderful aromas once again and devour them ravenously is one big reason for me to look forward to getting home at the end of the week.

A quick cup of espresso and two mini pastries at an outdoor cafe later, I bid Fe goodbye and was off to the airport on Copenhagen’s modern and comfortable Metro. Public transportation in the Danish capital is generally horrifyingly expensive, but the ride from Kongens Nytorv (right next to Nyhavn) to the airport was surprisingly reasonably priced. The Norwegian Airlines flight was of course much less enjoyable, but since I got the ticket for just a little more than €40, I definitely am not complaining.

Soon after I arrived at Stockholm’s Arlanda airport I was whisked off to the city centre on the Arlanda Express. This was one train service which quality rivals that of Deutsche Bahn: travelling at 200 km/h, the train completed its journey within 20 minutes. I would not have minded if the ride had taken longer though, for the tennis court inspired train interiors done by Swedish sports legend Björn Borg was comfortable and very attractive. The Stockholm Metro (or Tunnelbana, as locals call it), which I next used, was also quite the paragon of efficiency. It had 100 stations compared to Copenhagen’s meager 22, and was much cheaper for me as well, mainly due to the fact that the age limit for concessionary tickets is 25.

By six in the afternoon I was already in my hostel, converted from the former imperial prison which closed down in 1975. But since I had used my clean clothing up to the very last article in Copenhagen, I could not spend the evening exploring the city, and instead stayed in to do my laundry. Then I uploaded my photos from Legoland Billund, wrote the blog entry on Copenhagen Day 4, and headed to bed in anticipation of the exciting day ahead – the day about which you shall soon read!

The sculpture collection was breathtaking. At its entrance to was Rodin’s Monument to Victor Hugo – not his most famous work, but nonetheless a perfect illustration of how French excellence in sculpture rooted from a desperate need for public monuments after being defeated in the Franco-Prussian war of 1870. Adjacent to this was a cast of The Thinker, probably the most famous sculpture in the world, and right across the hall was another of The Burghers of Calais. The latter recalled an important scene in French national consciousness: during the Hundred Year’s War, the French city of Calais was sieged by the Edward III of England and its people were starved to the brink of death. Edward III offered to spare the Calaisians, on condition that six of the city’s leaders surrendered their lives to him. The sculpture vividly depicts the six volunteers, capturing their agony in defeat and courage in self-sacrifice with a finesse that is very rarely seen. Though I have always been fond of the Rodin’s work, it was this sculpture which made me truly fascinated by the great French master and opened my eyes to how expressive a chunk of copper can be transformed into.

I also enjoyed the works of other sculptors in an adjacent room – Louis-Ernst Barrias’ The Infant Mozart brilliantly conveyed the unparalled genius of the greatest composer of all time, Jean Gautherin’s Paradise Lost expressed the strong sense of regret and fear of uncertainty experienced by Adam and Eve upon tasting the forbidden fruit, and Laurent-Honore Marqueste’s Perseus slaying Medusa was a stronger representation of the famous Greek myth than any retelling I have read.

But more memorable was my subsequent visit to the rooms which featured sculptured from ancient civilizations. I had avoided the Glyptothek in Munich (yes, Danes and Germans have different ways of spelling the word) because I am not very fond of busts which features have long since been eroded and sculptures missing an arm and a leg. But since I was in this Glyptotek already, I decided to see the ancient art. And it turned out to be a great decision, because the main hall was magnificent and its works extremely well preserved. The smaller rooms were great as well, and one thing I really liked was how the exhibits for the Greek and Roman civilizations were organized according to time period instead of themes. While I still maintain the somewhat Hegelian belief that 19th century pieces are more remarkable in terms of artistic value, I was quite captivated to see how the works on display here reflected developments in history: how cultural changes were echoed in artistic trends and technological development was demonstrated by increasing sophistication. It gave me a new perspective as to how ancient art can be appreciated and for the first time sparked my interest in them.

Left: The main hall of the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek; Right: one of the many rooms with ancient Roman artifacts

A brief break under the palm shades of the Glyptotek’s gardens later, I took the train to the town of Humlebæk, where the Louisiana Museum for Modern Art was located. The walk from the Humlebæk station to the museum was pleasant, but very ordinary – short, small and conventionally Danish houses lined the road, with humble trees interspersed among them. At the entrance was a two-storey white hut which facade was overgrown with ivy, in other words as far removed from glamour as any decent building could be. So as I approached the museum, I honestly did not hold a high opinion of it, and wondered whether it was a wise decision to allocate four whole hours to this visit.

But this unostentatious museum soon won me over with its wonderful collection, and more importantly, its detailed yet accessible descriptions for them. The first gallery I visited showed 48 pieces acquired in the past year, and there alone I spent more than an hour. I was greeted by Shadows, a typical Warhol piece which involved silk-screening, painting and the use of diamond dusk. It was at first rather difficult for me to comprehend, for all I could say about the piece was that it was pop art, and pop art represented ordinary objects in an extraordinary manner so as to invite viewers to reassess their meaning. The explanation provided by the museum therefore proved to be very helpful. I learned that silk-screening aimed at removing all traces of the painter’s emotions or life, but the use of paint and diamond dust achieves a sensitivity associated with shadow and limelight. An abstract distance is therefore created. Upon reading this, I was reminded of encountering Warhol’s works in other venues – MoMA in New York City, Museum Brandhorst and the Pinakothek der Moderne in Munich, and the Hamburger Bahnhof in Berlin. Everything I had seen, from the four-metre high Mao painting with red lipstick to the cans of Campbell Soup of different flavours, made a lot more sense immediately.

This was only the beginning of the many treasures that Louisiana had to offer. There was a set of three paintings by Eugene Leroy nearby, all of which I found extremely interesting. Leroy’s paintings, at a first glance, were very chaotic and reminded me of the messes by Cecily Brown which I had seen in Hamburg’s Deichtorshallen. But careful observation revealed that each stroke he applied and each shade of colour he selected worked in brilliant harmony to create a subtle but striking image. This was what Leroy himself called “slow art”, art that only because obvious after in-depth study and endless absorption. It required a lot of patience, but the reward of seeing a hidden world open up in front of your eyes was well worth its while.

Other works that I enjoyed included the young British artist Peter Doig’s Music of the Future, which odd colours had a dark but somewhat calming effect that I cannot quite explain. The fluidity of the image and the dream-like theme prompted me to admire the painting for a good five minutes even while other visitors walked right in front of me. Then there was David Hockney’s A Closer Grand Canyon, which seemed to be the anthesis of the works of Gerhard Richter. While many of Richter’s works are created such that the viewer can only appreciate them as organic wholes (see my entry on the Martin-Gropius-Bau), Hockney deliberately painted A Closer Grand Canyon on many small canvases pieced together, inviting the viewer to focus on one detail at a time. It was a technique aimed at simulating natural human vision, which pieces things together in living, changeable relationships insead of encompassing reality in one uninterrupted moment. Though the depiction of the Grand Canyon itself was not very special, and I think that the Grand Canyon as a geographical phenomenon receives more hype than it deserves, the painting became enormously interesting once I had this piece of information.

One storey below I found my two favourite pieces in the museum, both by the artist duo Michael Elmgreen and Ingar Dragset, whose brilliant The Incidental Self, Fig 4 I had encountered in Nikolaj Kirke three days before. First was Uncollected-baggage reclaim, which showed a piece of luggage being continuously carried around a circular conveyor belt. It was a twist on a regular activity in life – collecting baggages at airport arrival terminals – but through simple modifications it expressed a sense of abandonment, repetitiveness, solitude and insecurity which seemed to be a commentary on modern human anxieties. Right behind it was a photograph titled When a country falls in love with itself, a parody of Danish self-satisfaction. Elmgreen and Dragset placed a mirror next to Edvard Eriksen’s famous Den lille havfrue, such that instead of gazing at the far horizon, the mermaid would seem as though she were admiring her own reflection. It made a national icon into a remarkable protest against conservatism and indulgence. I thought both pieces were absolutely genius.

Left: Elmgreen and Dragset’s Uncollected-baggage reclaim
(When a country falls in love with itself in the background);
Right: Peter Doig’s Music of the Future

The older items in the permanent collection were also delightful. There was an entire room featuring the works of Asger Jorn, one of the most important 20th century Danish artists, whose innovative use of colour and contours were very refreshing. Another room nearby had a collection of Arnold Newman’s portraits of prominent 20th century artists such as Picasso, Strawinsky, Pollock and de Kooning. Neuman adjusted his perspective, framing and staging so as to reflect the styles of the artists he photographed rather than that of his own. Picasso, for example, had one hand covering part of his eye in homage to his revolutionary method of reinterpreting shapes, and Strawinsky sat unconspicuously in the corner of a photograph which ostensible subject was a grand piano in the middle, so as to demonstrate how music itself instead of the musician was of highest importance. It was a very intimate experience, because through these portraits you could feel the personalities of the artists, and catch a glimpse of their triumphs and tribulations as though you knew them as personal acquiantances.

Left: Exhibition room dedicated to works of Asger Jorn;
Right: Works by international artists, with Andy Warhol’s Marilyn Monroes in the centre

The temporary exhibition in the basement of the museum was titled Frontiers of Architecture II: Green Architecture for the Future, and presented very bold visions of what architecture can be. The first section, titled “Cities”, asked some very inspiring questions as to what defines a city and how its relationship with inhabitants can be. It was, to employ a common cliche, some good thinking outside the box. The next section, titled “Climate and Comfort”, was an illustration of how modern-day buildings conserve resources and maximize utility by taking climate into consideration. As usual there were some cutting-edge buildings with environmentally-friendly designs, but more surprising was how simple structures created for impoverished or disaster-stricken areas could also fully utilize and harness their surroundings. The final section, titled “Metabolism”, featured William McDonough and Michael Braungart’s idea of “Cradle to Cradle”. In opposed to the artificial model of cradle to grave, in which an object loses utility as it ages and ultimately becomes waste, McDonough and Braungart envisioned the lifetime of a product as a cycle where “the very concept of waste does not exist”. It is an extremely ambitious idea, but it can indeed be realized, and one very memorable illustration stood at the end of the exhibition. It was a small pavilion made up of material that would decompose upon coming into contact with water, an example of temporary architecture of the future. This exhibition was so good that I had to pick up the corresponding book at the museum store before I left, though I had warned myself that I had already purchased too many books on this trip.

Inside Frontiers of Architecture II: Green Architecture for the Future

As I walked along the galleries, I saw many windows letting in the view of the lush sculpture gardens surrounding the museum building. The juxtaposition of nature and art gave rise to their presentation as continous rather than opposing entities, reminding me of Nietzsche’s discussion on art which I had studied with Professor Jennings in the previous semester. Anyway, the garden itself was very large and had an unbelievable view of the sea. Works on display there included a big mobius strip on which visitors could try walking, and a Joan Miro sculpture which I believe could have been an inspiration for Stephen Spielberg’s ET. It was hard to resist having a photo taken with that one.

Left: Joan Miro’s Personnage and I; Right: Part of the sculpture garden

I spent the evening at the Tivoli Gardens, the world’s oldest amusement park. The admission fee was quite reasonable by Danish standards, and despite it’s very limited size and the cluttered placement of attractions, I felt that this was what a great amusement park should be. It had something for every taste and budget – roller coasters, theatres, band shows, carnival parades, both classical and rock concerts by well-known groups, small video game arcades, fashion and design boutiques, fast food stands, cafes, even two restaurants with Michelin stars (unfortunately, those were way beyond what I could afford). I especially enjoyed the Rutsjebanen, a wooden roller coaster built in 1914. Very interestingly, the roller coaster required drivers to control the brakes so that they would not go too fast when rushing downhill. Imagine sitting in a roller coaster for six hours a day! That must be one of the professions I ever have heard of. Equally special was the Himmelskibet, which at 80m was the world’s highest carousel. Due to Tivoli’s central location, the view that the Himmelskibet provided were even better than what I had on top of the Vor Frelsers Kirke. It was beyond doubt the highlight of my visit.

Tivoli Gardens, the world’s oldest amusement park

And however beautiful Tivoli is by day, it is after the sun sets that it trully becomes a sight. The lighting was traditional, but arranged in a brilliant way that created sights which look as though they come from paradise. I stayed until 11pm to take photos. And by the time I left, I was convinced that I will have to come back to Copenhagen some day. And I hope my next visit will be as memorable (but much more extravagant, of course) than this one.

More Tivoli: the Chinese pavilion and the main entrance

Left: Statue of children playing lego near the entrance of the park; Right: Copenhagen’s iconic Nyhavn

Left: Los Angeles, with the world-famous Mann’s Theater in the bottom left;
Right: The fairy-tale like Schloss Neuschwanstein

Left: Amsterdam; Right: Mount Rushmore near a wild-west themed mini roller coaster ride

Left: one of the funniest (and somewhat PG) lego constructions in the park;
Right: A pirate-themed ride which evoked happy memories of visiting Legoland California as a child

Atlantis Sealife, an aquariam with lego divers and submaries among actual sharks and fishes

Left: A pirate-themed ride: Right: A Thai Temple which brilliantly built roof curves

Left: The US Capitol; Right: Statues of Pharoah Ramesses II outside the Abu Simbel

Left: The statue of liberty; Right: The most Danish attraction of all – a Viking themed ride

This brilliant show involving twists on the classical princess fairy tale plot provided plenty of laughs

Left: An explorer statue pointing at a trash can; Right: Hans Christian Andersen and I

Left: Det kongelige Teater; Right: Jazz Concert in Frederiksberg Have

Although Copenhagen does not have very hospitable weather in the winter, its Zoologisk Have is one of the oldest zoos in the world, and celebrates its 150th anniversary this year. It is a small zoo, definitely not the size of Berlin’s Zoologischer Garten or Munich’s Tierpark Hellabrunn, but admission was the most expensive among all zoos I have visited in Europe. Nevertheless, because of the exceptional quality of this zoo, I think the price is well justified. Within ten minutes of entering the zoo, I already had my first encounter with a lion cub, and was standing face to face with a camel which seemed to be very intrigued by my camera.

Left: A family of lions (notice the cubs!); Right: Camel staring at me

The zoo is split into two areas by a main road which can be traversed by means of a tunnel. I soon crossed to the other side, where there was a petting area. There were cows, pigs, hens and plenty of kids (as in young goats, not young humans) which roamed in an area freely accessible to visitors, as well as a rabbit hutch which made children squeal with delight and put an enormous smile on my face. The Holland lop rabbit (my favourite breed, since I used to have one myself) lay half-asleep in a corner and wouldn’t respond to my repeated attempts to attract its attention, but I decided to photograph it anyway. And had I been able to get away with this, I would definitely have brought it home with me.

Left: One of the kids which visitors could pet;
Right: This Holland lop rabbit didn’t bother to open its eyes though I was standing right in front of it

The Australian area had a mob of small kangaroos, and unlike the very lethargic ones I have seen at other zoos, these were very energetic, hopping around and chasing each other without displaying any sign of exhaustion. The emu chick and its mother which shared the enclosure were understandably not very amused! This part of the zoo is the only place outside Australasia that has Tasmanian Devils in captivity, but I was in for a disappointment because they were all in hiding. The nearby hippopotamus house, however, was highly enjoyable because it provided an underwater view of the habitat, so instead of just looking at the top 20% of the gigantic creature’s body, I could see the whole thing, including the stumpy yet small legs which by some miracle was capable to support such heavy torsos. Next came the African area, where three unusually adorable rhinos were feeding on a stack of fresh grass. There was also a very modern and brilliantly designed giraffe house. Zoos are typically not the place to go for admiring architecture, but this one proves to be an exception!

Left: Giraffes, with the Zoo’s observation tower in the background; Right: Rhinos feeding

Being a loyal Princetonian, I certainly had to say hello to the zoo’s Siberian tiger, but failed to take a good picture of it. Nearby, however, was a tropical house full of wonderful photo opportunities. It was a little bit cluttered, and rather strangely the butterflies had to share an area with the alligator, but I appreciated the extraordinary number of animals that were here. I spied on a yellow and black poison dart frog mating with a blue one, and wondered in what colour the combination of genetics would result. Does anybody know?

Finally came Norman Foster’s elephant house, which was the main reason for my visit to the zoo. I was very fascinated by the illustrations of this place when I visited the Dansk Architektur Center on the previous day, so I was especially delighted to be seeing the actual thing. The elephants were outdoors, but I could imagine how the indoor area would provide for an ideal habitat on rainy or cold days as well as a great space for viewing. Because of the time-honoured Danish fascination for elephants (the highest honour in Denmark, i.e. their equivalent of the Order of the Garter, has been known as the Order of the Elephant since 1693), there was also a large exhibition space on the species itself. The exhibits detailed the evolutionary process of elephants, their religious and traditional associations in Asian societies, their history in Denmark, the controversies surrounding their taming, as well as conservation efforts to ensure the perpetuation of the species. With plenty of artifacts, videos, photographs and computer simulations, this was exceptionally good for a zoo exhibit, and I spent a lot of time there before going to the outdoor area to see the actual elephants. And here is where my complaint comes – while this is a state of art facility, it makes no sense that people in the neighbouring Frederikbergs Have, which is behind the fence in the photo on the bottom right, enjoy a better view of the elephants than those who paid the 130DKK for admission to the zoo!

Left: The Elephant House by Norman Foster; Right: A young elephant in front of the house

Next I went to the Carlsberg headquarters, which was just 15 minutes away. Not only did it have plenty of offices, it also housed the Carlsberg laboratory, which does research to improve the quality of crops used for beer production, and develops new techniques in malting, brewing and fermentation. The visitor center was more than just a glorified effort to promote the brand, for there was a lot to see and learn. Apart from the world’s largest collection of different unopened beer bottles, which occupied an area half the size of a tennis court, there was also a detailed history of brewing and the development of the Carlsberg company from a family brewery to a multinational conglomerate, as well as brewing facilities from the late 19th century. In one garden was a collection of sculptures by Carl Jacobsen, the second generation owner of the company, which included a Rodin, and a nearby stable had a few shetland horses, which are the company’s mascots. At the end of the tour was a bar which had beers in all sorts of surprising flavours – banana, strawberry, even coffee. Each visitor received two complimentary drinks. For my first one I ordered a Tuborg Gold, which was what the barister recommended. It had a special refined taste which I appreciated, but because I still had other places to visit before concluding my day, my second drink ended up being mineral water (also bottled by Carlsberg!). Though I still insist that I shall only order a beer voluntarily if it was produced by a Bavarian brewery, this visit definitely opened my eyes to how diverse and interesting beer can be.

Left: The world’s largest collection of beer bottles; Right: A modern brewing facility

Fe had recommended that I see the Statens Museum for Kunst (National Art Museum), so I made a visit right after going to Carlsberg. Much to my delight, it offered free admission, something that had been virtually non-existent when I was Germany. The museum had a very large collection of Danish art, from renaissance times to the modern day, and they were very well captioned so as to explain the styles, techniques and trends each work represented. Unfortunately, those who do not understand Danish can only rely on very small text on laminated leaflets that hang near the entrance of each exhibition room, and in some cases these leaflets were missing. Nevertheless, though Danish art is not as famous as that of larger European countries such as Germany and France, it is also very rich in diversity and can at times be extremely creative in style. I particularly enjoyed a room which consisted exclusively of works by Carl-Henning Pedersen, one of the most prominent Danish artists of the 20th century. His brilliant use of colours to convey imaginative landscapes and creatures were very fascinating.

The museum also had a good collection of art from other European nations, and among the collections were works by some of the most famous German artists – Georg Baselitz, Gerhard Richter, etc., and more paintings by Henri Matisse than I had ever seen. Then among the more recent works were an entire temporary exhibition on the young Danish artist Jakob Boeskov, whose cartoons and videos expressed the conflict between the “merciless, dynamic and globalized world” and the “closed, static welfare states” that Scandinavian live in. One cartoon, titled Scandinavian Crash, showed a SAS jet stranded on an island. The survivors had written “We are not American” on the sand, hoping that passing ships would not decline their plee for help because of their identity, but under these words a German wrote “Es macht nichts, Papnase” (It doesn’t work, dumbass). Scandinavian states are often famed for being models for good government, so it was thought-provoking to get to know what people’s frustrations were.

And the whole top level of the museum’s extension was occupied by an installation titled x-rummet by the British artist Mike Nelson. Upon entering, one is guided into a set of sparsely decorated and sometimes oddly-shaped rooms. Not very special, until one is directed to a seemingly circular corridor and enters what seems to be the same set of rooms one just left, and searches in vain for an exit from the loop. Turns out the other end of the corridor is actually a separate set of rooms, though of exactly the same design. It made for an ambiguous, disorienting, but also very memorable experience.

Crema (Georg Baselitz); The Blue Phoenix (Carl-Henning Pedersen); Self-Portrait (Henri Matisse)

Because I wanted to visit Legoland Billund on the next day, I decided to return to Fe’s apartment early so as to get enough rest. Instead of walking along the streets as usual, I decided to take a detour through Kongens Have, Copenhagen’s oldest park. It was small but definitely enjoyable – broad paths were flanked by rows of trees, flower beds were gorgeously arranged, and the aesthetically unpleasant facilities such as basketball courts were concealed by neatly trimmed hedges. It also provided an excellent view of Rosenberg Slot, a renaissance palace which is now home to the Danish crown jewels. I stood for a few moments in front of the grave of Hans Christian Andersen – after all, his fascinating fairy tales have played an integral role in defining our common childhoods – and then left with a happy face and a thankful heart.

Left: View of Rosenborg Slot from Kongens Have; Right: Tomb of Hans Christian Andersen

Next entry will be on Legoland. Though it was a phenomenal, I find it quite challenging to write about a theme park, so expect that the entry will be more photo-oriented. Check back in a day or so.

I met my hostess Fe (short for Fernanda) at my hostel in Berlin on my second visit. A native of Sao Paulo, Brazil, she has been in Copenhagen since late December last year in order to do her master’s degree in anthropology at the University of Copenhagen. When I told her that I would be coming to Copenhagen after my travels in Germany, she very graciously invited me to stay at her apartment, so that is what I am doing now.

My first full day began with a breakfast with Fe. Danish blueberry yoghurt mixed with honey and kiwi slices and topped with muesli made for an extremely clever combination. The fresh Danish bread that came next was better than anything I had in Germany (which says a lot, because Germans are already very good with bread), and the boysenberry jam was so delicious that I am considering getting some as a souvenir!

Left: The best breakfast I’ve had in 6 weeks; Right: One of Copenhagen’s many canals

After Fe gave me a walking tour of the most popular and beautiful district of the city, I explored the city on my own. It was not easy navigating a place on your own, when the main language is one you do not understand. Although Danish has its similarities with both German and English, I was still very confused, and struggled with the ticketing machine at the Metro station for 10 minutes before I could go to the neighbourhood of Christianhavn. There, a brief visit to the theatre-like Christians Kirke was followed by a climb up the tower of Vor Frelsers Kirke, one of the most prominent landmarks that define Copenhagen’s skyline. The difference between this climb and the one I did at St. Jacobis in Hamburg was that the last 150 steps of the climb wrap around the spire instead of going up inside it. This exposed me to the strong winds which threatened to blow my camera (and perhaps me as well) away, but in turn it offered me a most spectacular view of the entire Copenhagen – spires of other churches, parks, palaces, the cutting-edge architecture of the Opera House, Royal Play House and the Royal Library (nicknamed the Black Diamond), traditional Scandinavian buildings, canals and the magnificent harbour. There were a few clouds in the sky, but visibility was excellent and made for the most exciting and enjoyable tower climb I have done.

Left: The towering spire of Vor Frelsers Kirke; View of the harbour

One of the reasons why I insisted on coming to Scandinavia, although Professor Jennings advised me to go to Italy instead, is that brilliant modern architecture is an integral part of the culture here, so I made the Dansk Architektur Center my next stop. The current exhibition was on the work of Norman Foster, probably the most successful living architect in the world. Titled Foster+Partners: Working with History, it focused on how Foster’s additions or modifications to old buildings gave them a fresh face while preserving the history that makes them special.

Left: Dansk Architektur Center; Right: Inside the Foster+Partners: Working with History exhibit

Featured projects included the Reichstagsgebäude, Dresden Hauptbahnhof, the Smithsonian Institution, the British Museum, the Elephant House at Copenhagen’s Zoologisk Have, and some others that are yet to be realized but equally creative and aesthetically pleasant. In addition to architectural drawings, computer visualizations and photos of the finished products, there were also detailed models for each project. One of them illustrated the evolution of the Reichstagsgebäude dome design in 15 steps. It was quite staggering to see how much steps were involved before the eventual magnificent product came into being! Having stayed in the small but interesting exhibition halls for half an hour or so, I spent some time browsing the collections of the adjacent architecture bookstore. It had an impressive variety of titles, both for the coffee table and for serious study. Had I the money and the baggage allowance, I definitely would have picked up a few. But since I need to ration my funds carefully in order to prevent bankruptcy in this ridiculously expensive country, and knowing that Amazon.com would probably have these books at more attractive prices anyway, I just wrote down a few ISBNs and left.

Left: Model of the Reichstagsgebäude Dome; Right: Bookstore of the Dansk Architektur Center

After wandering in the shopping district and stopping briefly by two free jazz concerts (the Copenhagen Jazz Festival runs from 3rd to 12th July), I spotted the large Nikolaj Kirke and decided to walk in. Surprisingly, this 13th century church has been converted into a museum for contemporary Danish art, and even more surprisingly, unlike most museums in Copenhagen, this one has rather long opening hours. The exhibits on the first floor did not quite suit my tastes – one artist did a video montage of himself singing more than 1000 love songs, almost invariably off pitch, and another invited friends and acquiantances to write expletives and insults on his arm, and had them carved onto his skin so as to create an inkless tattoo (there are extremely few art forms which I despise more than body art). But the second floor, dedicated to alternative culture, was worth the visit. I liked Flemming Rolighed’s Darkroom, created by a net of work gloves knotted to each other at the middle finger. Visitors were invited to walk in and experience the blend of encirclement and solidarity felt by those who do not fit into mainstream society. Elmgreen and Dragset’s The Incidental Self, Fig 4, which envisioned a world without discrimination, was equally thought-provoking.

Left: Darkroom by Flemming Rolighed; Right: The Incidental Self, Fig 4 by Elmgreen and Dragset

Then I did a bit more random strolling, and came across a very talented street artist who goes by the name Derek Derek. Not only was he a brilliant flame juggler who seemed to have absolutely no fear at all, he also had a good sense of humour and knew very well how to work a crowd. His demonstrations of “juggling around the world”, which spoofed regional stereotypes, were most hilarious – Italian juggling involved striking ostentatious poses as if one were on a fashion runway, Icelandic juggling was holding the flame torches in the way a Neanderthal would, and Swedish juggling was laying the torches on the ground and shuffling them like one would while playing Solitaire! By the time he finished his last act, which involved juggling a flame torch, an axe and a knife on the shoulders of two spectators, he had attracted a crowd of more than 150 from all ages and nationalities. I hope he went home with a fat wallet that night, because it was one of the best street shows I have ever seen!

Street performance by Derek Derek

The Hans Christian Andersen Museum, which I visited next, was a big disappointment. There were very few artifacts, the exhibits reminded me of a cheap theme park, and the text that accompanied them was far from well written (though I did appreciate that there was German text, because after almost six weeks in Germany I instinctively look for the language once I step into a museum). Though I learned something from reading his fairy tales without Disney adulteration, and liked the computer at which one could see Andersen’s works in e-Book form in 127 languages, this museum definitely did not do justice to the great author. But then, I should have known better to trust a museum that shares its cashier and information desk with Ripley’s Believe it or Not Odditorium…

Anyway, the last part of my evening was a walk along the harbour. The Copenhagen Opera House looked stunning as its windows glittered bronze from the last rays from the setting sun, the winter palace of the Queen was elegant but not overly imposing, and the star-shaped Churchillparken was pleasant. Den lille havfrue (the little mermaid statue), however, was much less impressive than what I would expect from the symbol of the Danish capital. She was so small that I almost walked by without seeing it, and if she were placed alongside the works of renowned sculptors such as Auguste Rodin, I doubt that she would have merited much attention. But then, I think it’s Andersen’s story of the little mermaid that gives the statue its importance.

Left: Copenhagen Opera House; Right: Den lille havfrue by Edvard Eriksen

Day 2 (Zoologisk Have, Carlsberg Visitor Centre, Statens Museum for Kunst and Kongens Have) coming up!

The Deichtorhallen, converted from a former fruit market, is Hamburg’s biggest exhibition space for contemporary art. It was rather expensive – a concessionary ticket set me back €8 – but the items on display definitely justified the price. I started with the south hall, which current exhibitions were by the German photographers Herbert Tobias and Wolfgang Zuborn. Tobias, being the more accomplished of the two, occupied most of the hall, while Zuborn had a small space in the middle.

Outside and inside the north wing of the Deichtorhalle

I generally find it harder to appreciate a good painting than a good photo. Even the works of the most famous photographers (say Candida Hofer) do not impress me that much, because I considered photography to be less a medium of personal expression than one of historical documentation. After all, images can explode out of a paintbrush onto a blank canvas even when there is no motivation other than the artist’s thought processes alone, whereas photography always requires a physical subject, and is therefore more defined and limited by boundaries of reality. This exhibition of Tobias’ works, however, opened my eyes to how powerful photography can be. The images he captured were mostly subtle and melancholic, but had a very expressive quality that made them harder to forget than some of the most strong, explicit photography I have seen.

From left: An der russischen Front; Selbstportrait; Sonntags am Wannsee

The first set of photographs on display was made when Tobias was serving in the Germany army on the Eastern Front in 1943. There were no grand images of war and destruction, just simple depictions of dead animals, destroyed religious objects, and Russian children painstakingly shining the shoes of soldiers in order to make a living. Even so, they articulated a sense of pain, loneliness and poesy which immediately reminded me of The Chariots Rattle On by the great Chinese poet Du Fu.

Tobias spent a lot of time in the European capitals of Paris and Berlin, so many of his photos were taken there. His images of Berlin give a striking account of the city’s reemergence after the destruction of WWII and the heartbreak associated with the tearing of the city into east and west divisions. Symbols of purity were often paired up with settings of destruction and aggression: the innocent faces of children were photographed in midst of rubble left behind from Allied Bombings, whereas florists were shown selling elegant bouquets in front of bricked-up windows that were typical of the East-West Berlin border. The contradiction of themes very vividly conveyed the complex, confusing yet fascinating character of the city in the 1950s and 60s. Paris, on the other hand, was the venue for Tobias’ exploration of the relationship between romance and solitude. Through unorchestrated yet perfectly composed images of commoners in the city, he provided a penetrating glimpse into the hearts of its residents, and shared with the viewers their fears and passions.

From Left: Zoobrücke (Berlin); Eisenacher Str. Berlin; Jardin Luxembourg (Paris)

Another two sets of photos that I particularly enjoyed were “Einsamkeit, Verlorenheit” (Loneliness, Lostness) and “Das Lied von der sexuellen Hörigkeit” (The Song of Sexual Dependence), both of them consisting mainly of portraits. The latter gave a remarkable picture of West German youths struggling with, exploring and discovering their sexual identity in the Adenauer Era. These photos showed an increasing amount of sensuality, desire and seduction: the earlier ones were more figurative, reflecting the conservatism and prejudice against alternative lifestyles that were prevalent at the time, whereas the latter became more straightforward as a sign of liberation. I thought it was absolutely fantastic.

And at the end of the exhibition there was a quote which made me admire this great photographer even more:

Es ist manchmal lästig, nicht genug Geld zu haben. Arm, wirklich arm, würde ich mich nur fühlen, wenn ich keine Lebensfreude, keine Liebe, keine Schmerz mehr fühlen konnte. (It is sometimes inconvenient to not have enough money. But I shall only feel poor, really poor, if I can feel no joy in living, no love and no pain more.)

Unlike Tobias, Zuborn mainly photographed objects instead of people. Many of the images on display were of modern-day Shanghai and China, and through clever use of framing, shadows, reflections, divisions and blurs, the collision of old and new, west and east as well as poor and rich were subtlely illustrated. The mix of joy and frustration that accompanies China’s emergence as a world power has always been of interest to me, so I definitely enjoyed Zuborn’s works.

The north hall had two exhibitions as well, by the Austrian painter Herbert Brandl and the British-American painter Cecily Brown respectively. Brandl never bothered to title his paintings, so it is difficult to refer to a particular one, but I especially liked his collection of Mount Everest images, which showed a wonderful blend of grandeur, ambition, formidability and mystique. Brown, however, did not appeal to me that much. I can characterize most of her works into three categories: ugly splatters of colour more incomprehensible than what Jackson Pollock made, glorified pornography and improvisations by somebody high on drugs. I generally would not use the word conservative to describe my own tastes, but Brown’s paintings were way beyond what I can stomach.

Three untitled works by Herbert Brandl

After the Deichtorhallen I went to the Hamburger Kunsthalle, one of the most respected venues for art exhibitions in Germany. It was probably as big as the three Pinakotheks in Munich put into one, and it had visual art of all imaginable categories, from traditional religious paintings to modern-day installations. A typical walk starting from the north entrance would go through the gallery of old masters, continue with 19th century works by the likes of Caspar David Friedrich, and then go on to representative masterpieces of impressionism and classical modernism. Then one goes across a square or through a tunnel to an extension known as the Gallerie der Gegenwart (Gallery of the Present), which showcases the more recent art.

I walked briskly through the gallery of old masters so that I could spend more time with the 19th century works. Caspar David Friedrich’s Wanderer über dem Nebelmeer was the painting which had brought me to this museum, so naturally I spent a couple minutes admiring it, and discovering many intricacies that I had not noticed in reproductions. As I continued to the impressionist works, I realized how the finest paintings instantly stand out even in an enormous sea of treasures – Claude Monet’s Birnen and Trauben and Vincent van Gogh’s Mohnfeld (on loan from the Bremen Kunsthalle), for example, easily stole the spotlight from all the works that surrounded them. (Note that the images here do not do justice to these paintings, because the thick layers and rich texturing of oil paint is what makes them come to life.)

From left: Wanderer über dem Nebelmeer (Caspar David Friedrich);
Birnen und Trauben (Claude Monet); Mohnfeld (Vincent van Gogh)

There was a vast collection of 20th century works, of which Kandinsky’s Arabs I (Cemetery) particularly stood out to me. I found it enormously intriguing how he could use such vibrant colours to create a sense of exoticism which preserving the tranquility and melancholy that defines a place of burial. And although they were not placed next to each other in the museum, Paul Klee’s Der Goldfisch and Ernst Ludwig Kirchner’s Das Paar vor den Menschen both provided insightful social commentary into diversity and discrimination. Of course, there were many other excellent pieces of which I took note, particularly Max Ernst’s Ein schöner Morgen and Picasso’s Tete de femme.

From left: Arabs I (Cemetery) (Wassily Kandinsky); Der Goldfisch (Paul Klee);
Das Paar vor den Menschen (Ernst Ludwig Kirchner)

The Gallerie der Gegenwart had works and installations from the decade after WWII to recent years. There was a special exhibition called “Wir Kleinbürger” by Sigmar Polke, whose works Professor Jennings had explained to me earlier, but unfortunately it was closed for the day. I still, however, had a great time there because there was just so much to see, from creative videos to iconic paintings and groundbreaking sculptures.

From left: 192 Farben (Gerhard Richter); Menschenschlange (Wir Kleinbürger) (Sigmar Polke);
Series of Vulnerable Arrangements – 7 Basle Lights (Haegue Yang)

Had I known earlier that there was so much to see in the Kunsthalle, I would have allocated a full day to it. Alas, this was my last day in Hamburg, and I had purchased a ticket for the train at 17:28, so I had to go after two and a half hours of roaming the museums corridors and halls. It felt somewhat strange to be leaving Germany after spending almost six weeks here, and I know that I definitely will miss the country, the language, the delicious food (and people), and the superb mix of history and innovation. But this is not the time for nostalgia – after all, I had both Copenhagen and Stockholm to look forward to! I will have to use to new currencies, cultures, systems, and deal with not understanding the text that is around me, but I know there will be a lot to see and do, and I am very, very excited about it!