Burnt Out.

For whom the bell trolls.

Copenhagen, Denmark – Stepping into Freetown Christiania feels much like peeling away the multiple layers of faded posters affixed to the walls.

The sharp edge of history is still there, but it's mostly buried beneath changing times. 

And and it's vanishing quickly.

Founded by squatters in 1971 as an autonomous hippie commune, Christiania has endured its fair share of troubles, as one might expect from a community predicated on anarchy.

Just last month, the infamous Pusher Street – home to the so-called 'Green Light District,' where illegal drugs were openly sold – was torn up, its cobblestones tucked into the corner of a construction site. A sign tells visitors that violent gangs forced the community to take action.

Skating by.

Soon, a new apartment complex will take its place.

And yet, a definite vibe still twists through the marijuana smoke. 

Mostly, it's a visceral feeling that something is different. Rough buildings and a skate park are made up in bright graffiti. Faded hippies twirl in the grass. Paintings of cameras in red circles still warn you of where you’re actually allowed to take photographs. 

It's hard to imagine anywhere being off-limits now.

Amidst the presumed chaos, there's a hipster coffee shop and several food trucks. An outdoor market sells flowing elephant pants you'd find at any North American music festival. Late-stage capitalism has entered the chat.

It seems anarchy becomes impractical with maturity.

The vibe itself has become an anachronism. Seemingly existing between two states – figuratively and literally – Christinia's time as it was once imagined seems now to have passed. And I'm not sure that's necessarily a bad thing.

But I'm certainly glad I got to see it – and feel it – before the final poster was peeled away and replaced by a shiny glass building.