Disco Infiltrator

Friday was the start of my first official EuroWeekend. On my way to Ryan and Toke's apartment, I literally bumped into John and Walter, two of my wandering buddies. They had just bought some Tuborgs from a convenience store and were heading to the park at Kongeporten (King's Gate) to drink them. I bought a can of Tuborg Grøen (green beer? sign this lil' irish wannabe up!) from 7-11 and decided to join them.

I'm standing quietly and, I thought, inconspicuously on line when all of a sudden some dude comes up to me and starts yammering in Danish. From the tone of his voice, I can tell he is teasing me, so I let him know that I don't speak Danish. "Oh," he says, "I just wanted to make sure you didn't go too crazy tonight! You're drinking one whole beer! Be sure to drink a lot of water before you go to bed tonight!" I laughed and thanked him for his concern, thinking that would be the end of it, but he just kept going. On and on with the same joke until I booked it out of there.
This dude was either a) a total a-hole, b) flirting with me, or c) drunk of his ass at 8 PM. I'm betting on A.

We sat on a bench in the park, drinking beer, chatting and people-watching. A group of teenagers started talking at us. When we didn't respond, one yelled, "where are you from?"
"America," we replied.
One kid perked up, "oh yeah? Me too! I'm from New Jersey!"
"Where in Jersey?" I asked, skeptical because of his thick, Scandinavian accent.
"Harlem!"
The three of us cracked up and walked away. "Next time you try that, remember that Harlem is in New York! " I called over my shoulder.

Whoever said Danes were unfriendly was a zillion percent wrong.

For the second time, we saw a group of tipsy young people twirling in a public place. "The Danes enjoy spinning and drinking," John mused. I proposed doing our final project for Danish language and culture class on the alcohol-induced vertigo that plagues the Danish people. "Wait until we see another, then it has to be more than a coincidence," advised John. 20 minutes later, we saw a kid run around a small pond 3 times, then stagger over to a tree, about to yak. I think our thesis is safe.

The DIS party at Luux was fun. I wound up leaving with Toke, Gabriel and a few girls for Vega, a popular Danish nightclub, around midnight. Toke knew a guy, so we skipped the velvet rope and got in for free (although Gabriel had to pretend to be "Simon Werner" and nobody knew why...). The second floor was a total Eurotrash techno bash - Eclectic parties on steroids and ecstasy, if you will. After a little raving, we headed over to Nørreport St. (aka Schwarma Street) for some late-night goodies.

The Danish party scene takes over the night air. House music blares from discos on every corner, drunk people stumble along the sidewalks, taking full advantage of the lack of open container laws, dudes with the munchies fall out of 7-11s like so many Tic-Tacs. Everyone is just stoked that its the weekend and wants you to have a good time as well: that is the best way to describe Danish nightlife.

Sidebar:
The 5 million DKK (1 million USD) question is:
How do these European women manage to walk on cobblestone streets in oh-so-stylish shoes 24/7 without breaking a heel or their necks? Discuss.