The summer of 1965 was another memory that still shimmers for a then 10-year-old boy named Buzz Patterson. At home in Oslo, Norway, the days stretched long under the midnight sun, but my brother and I found adventure in almost everything.
One summer, my Dad packed up my Mom, myself, my younger brother Mike, and my baby sister Kristen, and off we went with a few other American ex-pat families on a camping trip across Europe. American families deployed to Norway became very tight.
The journey began with an overnight ferry from Oslo harbor. I pressed my nose against the salt-streaked window as the ship glided out, the city lights fading like dying embers. Mike and I raced around the decks, dodging grown-ups in smart coats, while Dad pointed out the fading landmarks of Oslo. I don’t think I slept all night.
By morning, we docked in Copenhagen and drove south to a modest campground near the coast. Tents dotted the grassy fields like colorful mushrooms. Red, green, orange, blue. We pitched ours under a cluster of beech trees. I distinctly remember the air thick with the scent of pine, and grilled sausages from neighboring tent sites.
Evenings meant crackling campfires, my dad and his friends talking shop, and my brother and I exploring our campground. Mornings brought chill, dew-kissed grass, and the thrill of the beach, where cold Baltic waves nipped at our toes. We explored some of the Nazi WWII bunkers on the beach, Mike and I crawled through, looking for war treasure. We didn’t find any.
One sun-drenched Wednesday, Dad announced a special day trip to Copenhagen proper. The drive hummed with excitement. I clutched a small paper map in my lap, tracing the route with my finger. As we entered the city, cobblestone streets clattered under the tires, and spires of copper-green churches pierced the blue sky. And people were biking everywhere! I hardly saw any cars.
But nothing prepared me for Tivoli Gardens.
The Entrance to Tivoli, Copenhagen - Postmarked May 16, 1967
— Kenneth J Weiss (@KennethJWeiss) October 23, 2023
Postcard Of The Day#postcard #vintage #ephemera #copenhagenhttps://t.co/oiMuPhDRPf pic.twitter.com/QnBcaMHjAu
The Main Entrance of Tivoli in Copenhagen,Denmark（丹麦哥本哈根tivoli的正门）. 1900 vs 2018. pic.twitter.com/MBcflD8glg
— Videos for Education （💯 互FO） (@Adam77365585) April 4, 2022
It was unlike any amusement park I’d ever seen. Not some garish Six Flags or over-the-top Disney princess experience. No, this was European, old-school stuff. We stepped through the grand entrance into a world of pure enchantment.
Opened over a century earlier in 1843, Tivoli felt like stepping into a living fairy tale. In fact, earlier that day, we’d visited the home of Hans Christian Andersen and the statue of the Little Mermaid. Flowerbeds burst with vibrant tulips and roses; petals nodding in the gentle breeze. Lanterns dangled from ornate lampposts, promising magic once dusk fell. Music floated everywhere—brass bands in crisp uniforms playing jaunty marches, and the distant tinkle of a carousel.
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Musikalske gardere fra hele Danmark indtager Tivoli 🇩🇰⁰ i dag 13 juni fyldes Haven af trommer, fløjter & præcise formationer når 7 ungdomsgarder marcherer gennem Plænen og stierne.
— Torben Plank (@TorbenPlank) June 13, 2026
Dagens højdepunkt: Massed Band med 200+ gardere ⁰Oplev det hele kl. 12–17.@tv2newsdk #dkmedier pic.twitter.com/TdwMPsIRlo
And then, there it was. The mighty wooden roller coaster, Rutschebanen, built in 1914, its timber tracks twisting against the skyline. My heart hammered as we got in line. Then up we climbed, the car rattling and creaking.
At the peak, I looked around. Copenhagen sprawled below: red rooftops, the harbor glittering. Then the plunge! Wind whipped my face, screams blending with laughter as we hurtled down. I emerged breathless, legs wobbly, begging to ride again.🤣
As we walked around the park, I stuffed myself with Danish hot dogs. They were different but delicious! I remember thinking, “the mayonnaise is a little different but man, it’s delicious!”
Striking at any time of day, the entrance arch to #Tivoli Gardens in #Copenhagen, #Denmark, is one of the world's most beautiful #arches. Discover more at https://t.co/9VV5jI81AE @copenhagencvb @GoVisitDenmark #visitdenmark 🇩🇰 pic.twitter.com/8crXmoMk07
— Stephen Garone (@StephenGarone) February 5, 2022
As evening painted the sky in pinks and golds, Tivoli transformed. Thousands of lights twinkled like brilliant stars, reflecting off the lake where swan boats glided along. A fountain danced in colorful sprays. We found seats near the open-air theater for a pantomime show—clowns and harlequins. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen. A firework show capped the night, bursting overhead in showers of gold and silver, their booms echoing my young heart. They still do.
Driving back to the campground under a starlit sky, I leaned against the window, memories etched forever. That day in Tivoli wasn’t just about rides, candy, and weird hot dogs, it was the spark of wonder that an American boy from Oslo carried home. I wasn’t realizing it yet but these were my formative years. Forced to adapt to a foreign culture, I embraced it. My parents wouldn’t let me not enjoy it. It would serve me well.
Denmark had shown me a world beyond the fjords—full of laughter, lights, and the promise that adventure waited just across the water. Even now, decades later, the scent of summer flowers or the creak of old wood brings it rushing back: pure, unfiltered joy from a magical summer in 1965.
