An unexpected discovery in Christiania

Copenhagen is one of those cities where doing without a car seems perfectly natural. Cycling is part of the Danish capital's identity. It is one of the most cycle-friendly cities in the world, and its excellent quality of life can be felt on virtually every street corner.

If there is one place in Copenhagen where cars are positively unwelcome, it is Christiania. This is a world of its own within the city, a place with its own rules, where the law has not always been applied in quite the same way as elsewhere in Denmark.

Often described as a 'free state' or an 'independent commune', Christiania was founded in the early 1970s by hippies and anarchist squatters who set out to establish a community based on collective decision-making and an alternative way of life.

Ever since they occupied the abandoned military barracks in Bådsmandsstræde, in the Christianshavn district, relations between Christiania's residents and the rest of Copenhagen have been complicated.

On the one hand, it has become an important cultural centre and a breeding ground for new ideas and trends, hosting concerts, exhibitions and all sorts of alternative workshops. On the other, Christiania is notorious for Pusher Street, where cannabis stalls operated until recently. The people running them were not particularly welcoming to anyone they caught taking photographs in the surrounding area, sometimes resorting to threats to make their point.

For almost half a century, Christiania has remained something of an island within the city, even having its own flag: three yellow circles on a red background. Its location, next to Christianshavn, one of Copenhagen's most expensive neighbourhoods, beneath the tower of the Church of Our Saviour and less than 500 metres from the spectacular Opera House, with the famous Little Mermaid not far away, has meant that property development and rising real estate pressures have become one of the main threats to its survival.

Christiania is also the birthplace of Christiania Bikes, the company behind the pedal-powered cargo tricycles that so many Danish families use to take their children to school. The idea came from one of the commune's residents, who built a bicycle for his partner in 1984.

Among the various pottery workshops, metal sculptures and craft studios, it was hardly surprising to find a bicycle manufacturer. What did surprise me, however, was stumbling across a classic car restoration workshop, particularly in a place where cars are forbidden.

The graffiti-covered Acadiane (known as the Dyane 6-400 in Spain) parked outside fitted perfectly into the surroundings. But discovering the silhouettes of a Traction Avant and a Type H van in the darkness of the workshop was quite another matter. Of course, if there is one car manufacturer that could embody the spirit of Christiania, it has to be Citroën, with its 2CVs and their many derivatives. Even so, I hadn't expected to find such a beautifully restored Traction Avant in this particular neighbourhood.

There was nobody inside, and after hearing what I had about the attitude towards photography in Christiania, I didn't dare venture in. At least I was able to photograph the workshop from outside.

It had the unmistakable atmosphere of a French garage from the 1950s. There were presses, axle stands, oil cans scattered everywhere and all sorts of workshop equipment, yet everything was neatly arranged. Besides the Traction Avant and the Type H, I could make out a chassis and what looked like the steering wheel of a Rosalie at the back. Perhaps the workshop specialised exclusively in Citroëns after all.

The wooden beams supporting the roof of the old military barracks gave the place a wonderfully retro feel, making it even more charming.

If I ever return to Copenhagen, I will certainly make another visit to this neighbourhood of anarchy and love, just to see whether they are still bringing old cars back to life.

You may also read this post in Catalan and Spanish