while i was browsing through blogs earlier, i was reminded of a particularly interesting night i had while bar-hopping in Copenhagen.
the night started out like our usual evenings in Scandinavia. the 13 of us pre-gamed in our hotel rooms, raised hell in the hallways, and i drank copious amounts of jack daniel’s (i am surprised i can even type that without throwing up).
we started out by going to our favorite restaurant, streckers, around the corner from our hotel. that was either A) the best burger i’ve ever had, or B) i was already shitfaced. the best part about this restaurant was that they had a live band and being as drunk as i was, i had a lot of guts that evening. 
normally i am shy around complete strangers but i noticed a very American ring to their voices so i decided to introduce myself. as it turned out, the band was from jersey and they sat and talked for a pretty good while. i talked them into playing some lynyrd skynyrd, poison, elton john, and of course, skid row. they even dedicated “i remember you”, to me and took pictures with us. i was happy.
after dinner, we all stumbled/ran/danced in the streets all the way to a little sports bar we found. the bouncer gave me hell letting me in, but i suppose it was a strange way of flirting. he finally let me in and continued to stare at me in a creepish way the remainder of the night. this turned out to be a really nice bar and it was here that my bank decided that it no longer was my friend. my debit card got cut off after i ordered my 3rd shot of whiskey and that… that pissed me off. i immediately ran outside called my dad and as it turns out, my account had been disabled. he fixed it, and all was well in my world. i decided to go the safe route and take money out at the ATM instead of using my card again for a while, so i left the bar and went scouting for an ATM. i found one… and it was out of order. 
there was a gay couple standing there staring at it just as i was, like “damn you! the 1 of 2 ATMs in this freaking city and you are broken!” i asked them if they knew where another one was and they gave me very good directions to the closest one around. it was a good 5 blocks but with Jack on my side, i was unstoppable that evening. it turns out those guys were tricky little bastards because they went another way to the same ATM and beat me there! they thought it was so funny that they had tricked a little american girl. i’m sure it wasn’t the first, or the last. assholes. i waited for them, we said our goodbyes, i got my money, and made my way back to the bar. creepy guy let me in after another 3 minutes of haggling.
i wasn’t much for sitting with our group when we went out every night because i wanted to meet everyone i could possibly meet everywhere we went. i was about 10 feet from the group so i wasn’t too worried about anything bad happening to me. i met some very nice girls who suggested a dance club (where i ended up later that night, stay tuned) and sat and chatted with me for a while. they also did that thing that girls do where they all link arms and skip to the bathroom as if they just came out of The Wizard of Oz. i learned that it’s a lot easier to skip in a group linking arms in heels than it is to walk on your own in heels. i understand now.
when i got back to my seat and there were 2 guys sitting on my other side. we were eating out of the same bucket of pistachios so i said hello and explained to them that i’m an American so they didn’t have to give me the speech about how Scandinavians hate whiskey and VODKA RULES! again. i’d heard this a few times already. we talked about computers for a while, talked about gaming, talked about traveling (they had taken a train all the way to Copenhagen that night because they lived 45 minutes away), talked about quite a lot of things. i did my usual routine and took a picture with them as well, and then our group decided it was time to switch bars.
the thing about bar-hopping with 13 people is that it SUCKS. you can’t have 13 rambunctious, drunk college students decide on the same thing at 1 in the morning. it just doesn’t happen. some people wanted to go to bed, some people wanted to go sit in a pub and drink beer, and some people (mostly just will and i) wanted to go do something fun. i don’t know how but i managed to remember the directions the girl from the sports bar had given me to the discotek. 
oddly enough, it was next to the cathedral we had toured earlier that day. it was 20 kronor to get in and it was 1 in the morning… i figured it would be packed. i was very, very wrong. will and i sat at the bar for a pretty long time. i asked the bartender where everyone was and she said that it would be another hour and a half before everyone started pouring in. i wasn’t tired and really did not want to go back to the hotel yet so i stayed. will wandered around. i made friends with the bartenders and they gave me lots of free shots. i was a very happy camper.
that hour and a half flew by and people started shoving each other through the doors. i am pretty sure i was the shortest person in there. i have never seen people as tall as the ones i saw in Scandinavia. i tried to stay perched on my stool for as much of the night as possible for fear of being stepped on. 
just my luck, a bachelor party rolled in next to me. apparently, the poor kid sitting next to me was the “responsible one”. no one freaking drives in Denmark so they didn’t have a DD, he explained. i met all their friends and they were all significantly more drunk than i was. the guy whose bachelor party it was asked me out on a date (i would’ve hit him but i don’t know the boundaries and political correctness of that in Europe). karma came back to bite him in the ass when he got hit in the face with a pineapple later on. i don’t know how a pineapple went from being behind the bar to being in the hands of a drunken idiot but it did and it became a lethal weapon that night/morning. people came in and out and i met quite a few that night. when things started dying down, one of the other bartenders and his friend sat and talked to me for a while. will had left at this point, so i knew i needed to leave soon. they tried to get me to come to an after-party with them. after-party? it was nearly 5 AM at this point and they wanted to party MORE? i learned that this was not unusual here, and he said they sometimes had after-parties that wouldn’t even start until 9 AM. Scandinavians are freaking INSANE. it was then that i left. if they kept feeding me fisherman’s friend i would’ve died.
i began the walk home and this is when things got a bit strange. i ran into these 3 ridiculously tall guys who turned out to be only 17 years old. the sun was up, birds were chirping, and these 3 guys were running around drunker’n shit in the square harrassing every girl they saw. they asked if they could sit down with me and take a picture with one of them holding my nose. yes, holding my nose. normally, i’d be tickled to death because this was the most weird request i’d ever heard in my life. but these were strange, drunk, European men and i wondered if there was a second meaning behind the phrase “holding my nose” and told them if they touched my nose i would kick their balls. i sat down with them and braced myself in case they tried to make a move and one guy took our picture and on the second picture, one of them tried to grab my nose and i let it all out and slapped the shit out of him. i think they felt bad after that, so they told me they would walk with me for a while.
i kept walking back to the hotel so they just kind of followed behind asking random questions about America and kept reminding me of how much they wanted to go to Vegas. i told them that i’d never even been there and i would never speak to them again if they got to go before i did. i think they got tired of walking so i lost them somewhere along the line.
then i met new friends. i turned the corner onto the street that our hotel was on and before i go any further, i want to say that i had not seen a single overweight or obese person the entire time i’d been in Europe thus far. not a single one. so it struck me as a bit weird when i saw 3 large women standing on the corner near our hotel. they started yelling something but they didn’t speak English so i had no clue what they were saying, or that they were in fact yelling at me. i guess they got irritated when they didn’t get a response so instead of yelling they started grunting and making some horrid noises that i could go 90 lifetimes without hearing again. i quickly found out they were hookers. it was then that i started running to the hotel. you’d think that it would be hard to run on cobblestone in heels, but when you have the right kind of motivation behind you, you can do just about anything. especially when being provoked by 3 angry prostitutes.
despite some insane events that occurred on my trip, this one and many others included, i am dying to go back. it will happen one day. :left: