Back in Denmark

Well, Norway got old quick, so I had to get out. Especially since my roommate turned out to be a crazy white seperatist. I won't even repeat what he said. But he did call me a stupid american, and that none of us can think, and I was lazy... I resent being called an American, but other than that he wasnt too far off.
So, I got the very next train to Sweden. I don't know why, really. But I ended up in this seemingly quiet city called Malmo. The O with two dots above it, you know the one.
Yet again, I seem to have a nack for awesome hostels, so I ended up at this place a half hour walk from the centre, that consisted mostly of 45+ year old men. I think the family that owned it had a bunch of friends or something living there too? I dont know. But it was weird. And maybe Im just paranoid, but they were looking at me funny.
You know in the Texas Chainsaw Massacre when that girl is forced to have dinner with the family or something. With every too-much-like-a-weird-family's-house kinda hostel, I get closer and closer to knowing how she felt in that scene.
But I digress!
I had to get out of that hostel, so I ended up walking around for 2 hours, finding only too posh looking bars filled with even more older people. Was I the only child they had seen in years? Like in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang?
When out of nowhere! I came across what looked like a church but turned out to be a club. The cross was lit up neon blue and there was soul music pumping out. Some girls explained to me that it was indeed not a church and explained the band. So I checked it out and was pleasantly surprised.
Talking to people in bars is awkward with friends in your home country. But meeting Swedish people alone in a bar is even more confusing. I broke the ice with the nerdiest guys I could find and the night took off from there.
In a nutshell I ended up being invited to some... not illegal, but, not legal Reggae show. The streets were covered in untouched snow when we left the club, and I soon found myself on the back of a Swedish bike following four other Swedes on bikes to said Reggae show. (Sidenote: It was Bob Marley's birthday too!) They reassured me that this place wasnt known very well yet, so it was very unlikely it would get broken up.
By the end of the night I found myself standing in the middle of a warehouse basement surrounded by blaring speakers, dread locks, and confused Swedes wondering how the hell a Canadian found this place.
Oh yeah, and being Canadian? It's like... cool! I just say, Hi, I'm Canadian' and people can scarcely contain their excitement to be in my presence. It's just like home, except at home I say I'm Kenzie Gunn... David Gunn's brother.
So, I'll explore Copenhagen a little more tomorrow and then it's Berlin! I can't believe you read all that. I don't even remember what I write in these posts as soon as they're done. I hope they replace your tears of sorrow, with tears of joy. (That one's for Francine, I'm trying to take over her column in the Oran when she retires.)
Hope everything is going good back home.

Ciao, Slainte, Cheers, Adios, yada yada
Kenzie