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.”
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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).
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.
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?”
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.
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.
