It was about time // Copenhagen and Malmö, 2016

Observations, notes, thoughts, music from a short trip to Copenhagen and Malmö in summer 2016. Ramblings written down while hanging out in hotel beds, strolling around, or riding boats and trains; because everything needs to go somewhere.

Day 1

It was about time that I left. I almost didn’t go.

It was about time and distance. I know that I need to get out of the city every once in a while. The last time’s been too long.

I throw some clothes into a bag, check twice if I have all cables and batteries, I take a plane, and on my way out of the airport, I pay too much money for the coffee I’ve been waiting for all day.

For the first time in a year, I see the sea (and I’d almost missed it, had I not looked up from my phone). At the hotel, I look into the mirror, nod, and tell myself, “well done.”

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I walk through a park. Before now, I had no idea that there’s such thing like Apple Cinnamon Juice. Apple Cinnamon Juice is love turned beverage. [Things we lost in the fire.] By a pond, a sign says Problem med döda ander. It’s sad, because it’s about dead ducks, but I have to laugh anyway.

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There’s a beagle that walks as if it was dancing. There’s coffee. And then there’s the Barista who takes his shirt off. I sit in front of the café and I have nowhere to be. This is one of my favourite feelings.


[Sunburnt Days.] Feelings I haven’t had in a while:

  • The urge to read a book
  • The urge to write something into a notebook.
    In the station, there’s a sign that says “No Balloons”. As with every sign, I wonder what must’ve happened that made someone put it up there.

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On a crossroads, there’s a white dove on the ground, and a plush tiger sits under a tree. I’m walking it all off.


No matter how often I go to Scandinavia: every time I come back, I’m fascinated by the light again. I love this light. I’ve known this light for a very long time (this light got me into photography). It’s always the light.


I run into a very blonde Swedish guy with a very blonde beard. I get burgers with cheese & garlic fries, walk to the marina, and sit there eating, watching the sunset.


I leave before the sunset is over.

Day 2

The machine must keep on processing. The machine must never stop.

Many of the moments I’ve enjoyed most happened at times that were about the very basics: sleep, food, moving, water. I should go camping again. For the first time in months, I manage to sleep for 8 hours straight.

I get coffee and take a train to Copenhagen. Over the past weeks, I’ve been half-kidding (maybe rather 10-percent-kidding) about my goal to develop a decent caffeine addiction again. And, what can I say — overachiever.


I feel very light today; I don’t know where this comes from, but I like it. Is that what having had some decent sleep is like? [5 mins later] Or maybe it’s just the coffee kicking in again?

The sea. A field full of sunflowers. It’s been ages since I’ve seen one of these.

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Leaving a power socket adapter at home is saving luggage weight at the wrong place. [25 mins later] I think that light feeling was only more tiredness.

I wonder how much of my energy is consumed by language processing – or why else it’s so relaxing for me to be at places where I generally don’t understand the language, and only get certain bits if I really pay attention.

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Mest for rigtige maend – Cars for real men. No place to hide from gendered advertising.


The grass here is so green and so soft. No matter where you go, there’ll always be a guy who felt the urge to take his shirt off.

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I sit down in the garden and have focaccia for breakfast/lunch. I never have focaccia at home (although I once made a very good one myself, but that was a very long time ago). Focaccia is a regular when I’m travelling. When i look up from where i sit, eating my focaccia, (statue observation, no. 1 –), I see an old dude’s ass.

As I keep walking, I find the second single sock today. They don’t match. The fact that I encounter enormous numbers of couples must be a classic case of confirmation bias. I walk up to the castle.

Sometimes life’s about trying out if a door opens. And finding out it doesn’t.

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There’s an incredibly cute, young puppy sitting in his owner’s shadow; this is one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen.

Brass bands sound the same everywhere. (Statue observation, no. 2 —) It’s always the dudes that sit on the horses. I’m the person who raises her hand when they ask who wants to go on the boat tour alone; this is even cooler since everyone else will have to wait in the damn sun for 20 more minutes.

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I want to move here and rent a small boat with my friends on the weekend and cruise around the canals. Questions:

  • Why are all the people here so extremely tanned?
  • Why didn’t I make a reservation for noma?
  • Why am I so tired?
  • Why do I still not live here?

Sometimes life is about having to take the right bridge, else having to walk a much longer path. More coffee, and elderflower lemonade. Elderflower lemonade is love turned beverage.


In the middle of the shopping street (that I visit to get to the hot dog stand), a guy plays Imagine on a Keyboard. Why. 95% of the men here look like they came directly from shooting a Hugo Boss commercial. 



There’s a girl with an excavator balloon; when I grow up, I want to be her. At least (in contrast to having stayed in Berlin) I got my sunburn here with less heat on the side. I sit in a café and enjoy the view (and this time it might mean what you think it means; or not).

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I meet a super soft super cute corgi. And a group of 10 people who all seem to be related and who are all wearing something blue. I don’t feel completely broken anymore, and that’s a very good thing. I enjoy the squishing sound of the burger and fries boxes in my backpack.


It’s a gentle light. Gentle is good. Chokladmjölk is love turned beverage.

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Day 3

Day 3 is usually the toughest day. And I didn’t expect the sun to come out today. I didn’t expect to learn the Swedish word for lubricant today (it’s intimgélé, and learning that happens when you stroll around and pass a sex shop).


I meet the barista who took his shirt off again. I meet the artist who asks for relationship advice and ends up telling me I should’ve become a philosopher. “What do you do when one of them breaks your heart?”

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I think if you can make someone feel better about themselves, that’s already a lot. “If I ever need a manager, I’ll let you know.” So many women with flowers on their bikes. [This one love song that keeps playing everywhere I go.]

Pastry with cardamom is love turned pastry. No matter where you go, there’ll always be an old man fishing. Everywhere I go, I leave a hairpin behind. Sometimes I try to observe the ways in which I’m changing.

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I meet the Barista with the incredibly blue eyes again. And then the rain sets in.

I like being in a cozy hotel bed (or, well, basically any bed), looking at the rain outside. I ponder going abroad for a while. I start watching a movie and hate it. I really wish there were more good movies without the foreseeable romantic heteronormative monogamous love story, ffs.

I’ve become such a cynic. It’s funny how my interest in all things sweet has turned into an interest that’s purely about the aesthetics. Sometimes I’d love to be a person who gets picked up at an airport. The few times it happened though were rather disappointing. That’s the blockbuster-reality-gap I fell for.


I keep thinking about what the artist said about “this.” I read my note from yesterday about “if I ever need a manager” again, and question all my life choices. That’s probably why I was always writing so much when I was single. — all this stuff needs to go places.

I think this hotel “room” is bigger than my place at home. When I’m moving abroad for all eternity, I need to move to a country with a broad pastry selection according to my taste.


When travelling, my life moves at a different pace. That’s why it feels like I’ve been gone for ages, while it was only for 69 hours. Throughout all my travels so far, I only lost two things, both of them on a plane. One I got back, one is forever gone.

It was about time. Again.

Categorised as youandme

By Lena

Fast walker, avid reader, poetry fan, public speaker, violinist, pianist in the making, intersectional feminist. Works in tech, writes about anything here (and less frequently than in the past).

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