Roskilde

I have never been to a music festival before. At least not until last weekend.
Obviously it was reasonable to make my inaugural foray into the festival scene at one of Europe's largest: the legendary Roskilde Festival. This was an excellent idea.
For those of you lucky enough to know what I'm talking about, Roskilde Festival is essentially a ten day long P-Day, that just so happens to have some big-name bands playing at it. For those who don't know what a P-Day is, let me first of all say that Roskilde is not definitely a marathon not a sprint. There's a whole mindset that goes along with the festival, called the Orange Feeling. It's hard to define, but at its core it's a feeling of connection and bon homie with your fellow revelers. People are extraordinarily friendly, and they've all got each others' backs; cups of water are passed through the crowd during concerts in the sweltering tents, because lord knows if you're dancing for 12+ hours a day, you need your hydration. It's kind of beautiful. The music, as great and diverse as it may be, is very much secondary to the experience of being there.

Efterklang, a fairly famous Danish band.
Nothing brings people together like excitedly swatting at giant beach balls.

The National.

The best picture I was able to get of Metallica.

Roskilde Festival is an undeniably silly event. If you camp there, you are a resident of the world's largest temporary city. And if you don't camp there, you're missing out on 75% of the fun, though I will concede that festival camping is not for everyone. On the campgrounds, you don't set alarms to wake up; you get up when your tent gets too hot (around 8:00). No matter what time it is, someone near you will be loudly playing music. And you're not angry about it. It's not unusual to forget to eat meals. Naps are acceptable at any time, in any location that is clean. And most importantly, people help each other out.

The preferred napping pose of many.

Clothing is optional.

A very small section of the campground.

In all, I'd rate this experience a 10/10. Will go again.

Fourth of July, Abroad

As I sit here, after an unusually busy and sweaty day in the office, I finally have time to reflect on how weird it feels not to be celebrating the Fourth of July. Sure, I can (and did) blast the most American of music at my desk today- Bruce Springsteen, Creedence, John Mellencamp, Zac Brown Band- you know the deal. And sure, us American (and honorary Americans) can get together and celebrate. I've worked on a few Independence Days in my time. But there's a very big difference between working at Fayson Lakes and working IT support in Copenhagen.
It's also very strange to, for the first time in my life, not be spending this day outside, surrounded by the people I grew up with: family, friends and neighbors. This blog is primarily a place of glorifying travel and exploration and bursting out of comfort zones, of reveling in the semi-nomadic lifestyle. But there are times like today that I'm reminded why there are such things as comfort zones.

New Jersey can be beautiful.

And serene.

I miss the times when this was my office, and the guard chair was my desk.When the soundtrack to my day was the clack of knock-hockey pucks and shouts of 'Dibbles' rather than internet radio. When the most common question in my day was 'Can I get the ball?' not, 'What's the wifi password?' When a rumble of thunder meant a free half hour break. When days started with a swim to Sabeys and ended with swim out to the island  rather than a few laps in a pool and a trip to the gym.

When the end of the work day was signaled by the sunset.

This was a truly wonderful place to be a kid, and, for that matter, an adult- though I certainly don't think of myself as such. This will be the first summer I've spent fully away from the lake where I learned to swim, taught myself to do a backflip, worked my way back to full strength after two knee surgeries and spent innumerable fantastic days and nights with friends and family. 

Sunset is a particularly magical time.

Fayson leaves its mark on you. To this day I can't hear an airhorn without my stomach doing somersaults and my heartbeat increasing. Again and again I find myself wondering why cornhole isn't a thing in Europe. I still think Dibbles is the best water game ever and have tried unsuccessfully to convince my friends here that it will be awesome to play in the harbor. I wow strangers with the diving skills I honed at the dock. As far as I'm concerned, the best way to spend a Friday night will always be sitting around a bonfire or hanging out in the woods. And when I'm swimming in open water, there's always the thought in the back of my mind that there could be a turtle behind me.

So, to everyone back home, I wish you the best of summers. Live it up, and take full advantage of this beautiful place that I'm honored to call my home. Cheers to you all.

It is now approximately 8:00pm, lifeguards are off duty. Swim at your own risk.

Copenhagen Botanical Garden

I have a shameful confession to make: in the approximately ten months I have lived in my current apartment, I have never once visited the Copenhagen Botanical Garden. Oh yeah- I live two blocks from it. And after my visit to it today, I very much regret having squandered all that time. Simply put, the place is beautiful.

Waving grass, city skyline in the background.

Real trees, and undergrowth? In Copenhagen?

Especially for someone like me, who has never lived in a city before, and who is seriously jonesing for a taste of nature, this place is a godsend. It's bigger than it looks from outside, and much more full of trees. There's basically a small, if very well-kempt forest. I love it there.

It has a small lake, complete with fish.

A lake, and trees. It practically feels like home.

That statue doesn't look like New Jersey though. Ah well.

I saw my first Copenhagen squirrel today. He was adorable.

In among the trees, you find the more traditional features of a botanical garden- neatly planted beds of well manicured, well tended plants, complete with tidy little identification tags. Unfortunately, the tags only contained the scientific Latin names and their Danish vernacular names, so I'm not entirely sure what many of the plants I was looking at were. But I'm sure some of the master gardeners I know could...

Danish order.

I don't know what these are, but they were pretty.

I'm pretty sure this is a foxglove.

I know this one. It's a rose.

Again, I have no idea. But really cool looking.

Look forward to the next installment, in which I return during the opening hours of the cactus and orchid houses. Should be a rollicking adventure.