Walking down Gothersgade towards Kulørbar should be a strong indication of what kind of a night you’d expect in this part of town.
On one side of the street, there’s a young couple with their tongues down each others’ throats. On the other side, there’s a woman throwing up in a gutter with her friend holding her hair up. And in the middle of the road there’s a drunken fist fight in full swing.
Kulørbar itself is in a courtyard hidden away from the commotion, but that’s not to say that it’s a quiet joint. The huge building is complete with big bouncers in trench coats with ear pieces, flashing lights, and the muffled thump of heavy bass coming through the walls.
The bar/club is broken up into three sections. There’s Kulørbar itself, Top Dollar and Den Røde Baron, and each part offers a completely different experience.
Kulørbar for example, with its sticky floor and podium dance poles, is full of young girls wearing heavy make-up and 40-something men dancing around them. Then you have the drunks at the bar, barely able to keep their eyes open and swaying from side to side with their index fingers in the air, trying to sing along to the latest dance tracks.
Whereas Top Dollar is practically empty, bar a group of angry looking women with short hair and tattoos, arguing over a table football game.
But Den Røde Baron, on the other hand, is by far the most random of the lot. Everything seems to be vintage. Jack Daniel’s boxes lie next to life-sized cigar store Indian statues, and white candles drip hot wax onto wooden tables spread across the room.
The lack of strobe lights and green lasers is a relief for the eyes, yet the dark corners of the bar require you to strain them to see what’s lurking in the midst. However, what’s more of a concern is the terrible ‘90s music blaring from the speakers from the likes of Madonna, Dolly Parton, MC Hammer and the Spice Girls, and the mouths of a group in their late 30s, clearly nostalgic for the good old days, who are murdering choruses you thought couldn’t get any worse. Yeah, this bar oozes class, nowhere more so than from the toilet paper stuck to the women’s high heels as they leave the toilets.
The uneven pool tables, coarse from a decade of spilled beer, the cougar sitting in the corner of the room eyeing up anything that walks, the old men prying on young girls, the sinks clogged up with vomit, the cheap beer, cheap shots, cheesy music and fights outside. It all adds up to one hell of a night.
And you know what? You’ll love it!