Beware, here be dragons,” says the sign beside a mystical mural, as I enter the gate. Tumbledown shacks and hobbit-like cottages with roofs made of recycled materials line the streets; teenage skateboarders and middle-aged hippies with torn jeans and dreadlocks whizz past on bicycles. Art installations made from recycled parts of old machinery, a tall Statue of Liberty-like statue with the tiara made of metal spikes, wheels and mechanical parts made into funky chairs and table and creative artwork reflect the community’s bohemian character.
Creative energy seeps from every wall and hand-painted street sign. Strains of reggae float in the air. “Expect the unexpected” seems to be the dictum.
I am in Christiania, the leafy hippie neighbourhood of Copenhagen in Denmark, just a 10-minute walk from the Danish Parliament.
Christiania was founded by a group of squatters, artists and hippies in 1971 as a sanctuary from the materialistic world. They took over abandoned military barracks of 84 acres and set up their own community, free and unbound by any governmental rules or regulations. They made their own laws, flew their own flag, built their own homes, and had their own currency. They wanted to keep a distance from the mainstream Danish society and culture.
During the 70s and 80s, there were drug-related deaths, but today, the community has certain rules in place: no cars, no stealing, no guns, no bullet-proof vests, no hard drugs. Today there are about 800 residents in Christiania from many nationalities, and around 200 children. Our guide Morton Nielson is one of the earliest residents of the commune, and has been a baker, guide, bartender and gardener. “When I arrived in Christiania there were no plumbing, no electricity and no bathrooms,” he says with a smile.
Christiania is divided into 15 communities around a lake. “We believe that like the letters of the alphabet, people come with different personalities and we have room for all of them.” Young people here work at music venues and build houses.
The locals own rubbish, recycling and sewage systems. “We have a collective responsibility for dealing with crime and resolve issues by democratic discussion,” Morten explains. Residents meet at The Common Meeting to discuss and resolve issues.
Restaurants serve organic food, there is a kindergarten, a metal hall called Wonderland where skateboarders defy gravity, a Gay House for LGBT culture, and musical concerts. Woodstock Café plays live music and serves organic beer and coffee till 5 am. There is a house built with straw bales by German travelling carpenters, who travel to learn skills as part of a medieval tradition. Another hand-hewn geometric building, Banana House, was built by German volunteers who came here to construct bridges.
Pusher Street in the infamous Green Light area is where decorated stalls sell marijuana. As we walk here, we are told to hide our cameras and are asked not to run. I see masked men with sunglasses, behind stalls draped in camouflage netting who sell, buy, smoke or roll joints. Giant cones of pre-rolled hash are sold openly. Menacing Pit Bulls keep an eye on everything. Sale of drugs is not legal, and police visits are frequent. Despite its friendly stance on hash and cannabis, the community forbids the use and selling of hard drugs, including cocaine, ecstasy and heroin.
There is more to Christiania than meets the eye. We discover productive enterprises, creative art galleries, an all-women blacksmith’s forge. Their biggest commercial success is Christiania Smedie, which makes the popular Christiania bike with a special cargo box in front for the kids or carrying goods, seen all over the city. A cheery store sells the Indian beedi. The Grey Hall is a performance space where performers from Bob Dylan to Red Hot Chilli Peppers have performed.
Morten says the commune started paying taxes in 1994 and bought land at vastly discounted rates in 2012 to keep Christiania running. “We had a dream, and somehow it has kept us going for more than 40 years,” says Morten. This hippie commune may be one of the longest-lasting in modern history that speaks of Denmark’s tolerance for the quirky.