I didn’t arrive in Copenhagen with an entirely clean slate. As some of your might remember, I spent a good deal of the spring with a half-Danish intern who lives most of the year in Copenhagen, and he talked about the city enough that it was inevitable for me to develop some preconceived notions. Despite his constant adulations to the city, rantings and ravings about how he could never settle anywhere else, most of these notions I developed had more to do with his national pride than they did the city itself. It was great that he loved where he lived, but surely that had as much to do with his Danish roots and social network as it did with the city itself.
Well, I don’t think I ever voiced these notions, but if I had, I would be eating my words.
Copenhagen is spectacular. I arrived on a Saturday evening, sweaty and sore from alternately standing and sitting on the floor of the most crowded train I had been on thus far, disappointed that I had missed free dinner at the hostel because the overcrowding had made us late, and quite ready to just retreat from the world for a bit. No sooner had I stepped out of the train station though then all that disappeared.
Copenhagen has a feeling about it. I wouldn’t have compared it to the Alps until my mother mentioned them last night, there’s none of that same helplessness but to stare, and yet its like the city itself is made of contentedness and calm. Unlike Vienna, when my tour guide told us that Copenhagen was named not only the most livable city last year, but also the happiest and most environmentally friendly, I had no trouble believing.
I had a perfectly located hostel, only five or ten minutes from the train station by foot and barely a block away from Town Hall Square. It helps that downtown Copenhagen isn’t that big to begin with, but the location, and the fact that the sun doesn’t set until 11pm, meant that I had some time to explore, even with my late arrival.
I went to Town Hall Square first, because it was closest. The are used to be taken up by the westernmost city walls until they were knocked down and the space left empty for events and exhibitions. The event taking place while I was in town was a protest supporting Gaza. It was just a booth that first night, but the following day they had added rows and rows of black body bags to represent the casualties thus far. It was moving and, as I imagine it was meant to, made me uncomfortable, but was also a prime example of the culturally prevalent social consciousness in Denmark.
After the the square, I walked another two blocks to the Christiansborg Palace complex. This palace used to be the main residence of the Danish royal family, but when it burned down several hundred years ago it took so long to rebuild that the family ended up permanently moving into their temporary residence at the Amalienborg Palace a fifteen minute walk away. Now the old palace houses the Parliament, the Supreme Court, and a number of museums. I very much wanted to visit the State Rooms and the ruins, but alas, it was not to be. I didn’t know that at the time however, and so took note of entry prices and opening times and went on my merry way.
I might have made it all the way to Amalienborg that night, except a happy coincidence caught me up. The receptionist at the hostel had mentioned while checking me in that the canal tours were a good way to see the city - especially the infamous statute of the Little Mermaid that’s not much to look at for its distance from the city center. When I happened to pass one of the two docks, with two departures left despite the late hour, I figured it was worth a quick hop on to get acquainted with the city on the sea. It was a good decision.
It began to get chilly as the sun set, but there is nothing like Copenhagen from the water at dusk. Many of the grandest buildings overlook the water: the National Theatre, the Opera House, the old stock exchange, the new library extension, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and that Amalienborg Palace I mentioned.
As promised, I also saw the Little Mermaid, at least from behind, and learned that far from being popular in Copenhagen as the storybook figure she is for the rest of the world, she is best known to the locals for the vandalism she has suffered. She’s lost her head twice, it turns out, as well as been painted completely pink.
That night there was a fireworks show at Tivoli Gardens, the amusement park just off Town Hall Square. It’s the second oldest amusement park in the world, actually, beaten only by a smaller one about an hour from Copenhagen. The Danes likes their amusements it seems. I didn’t go to the park, because that was far too much money to spend for an attraction that would be little to no fun to visit alone, but I had a perfect view of the show from the hostel windows.
Funny note about my hostel: the top floor I was staying on is new. Now, that might have been part of why the facilities were so nice, but according to the staff that’s also why the door to my room tended to stick. I spent a good ten minutes trying to open it the first time before heading down to reception where they sent someone up to teach me to kick it in just the right spot. We collectively decided as a room shortly thereafter that as long as someone was in we didn’t really need to close it. It was far too much work to open just to run to the restroom or go take a shower.
Door drama aside though, it was a lovely hostel. Breakfast, while expensive, was spectacular, and considering how expensive all the other food in Copenhagen is, it wasn’t that bad. As a welfare state, taxes in Denmark are astronomical. Groceries aren’t that much more expensive, but eating out costs at least three times as much as anywhere else in Europe. That includes street food, ice creams, and all manner of consumables you buy out but don’t necessarily eat at the establishment. I survived on sandwiches stolen from breakfast and a bunch of apples I bought from the supermarket. For the exorbitant prices, I actually ate very well in Denmark. Go figure.
The next morning, as I do on the first morning in most cities, I queued up for a free walking tour around the city. My guide, I was excited to note, was a Torontonian. It is unfortunate that that was where my excitement stopped. While a sweetheart in most respects of the word, it was clear from the way she spoke that tour guiding was her job and not her passion. Not even her hobby for that matter. She had the script down, told all the necessary stories, but she was long winded, imprecise, and unsure of her facts. She also kept passing judgement on things that were none of her business, like implying that Danish history wasn’t worth learning because all but one of the kings is named either Christian or Fredrich. In the end, the tour lasted twice as long as it should have, took twice as much effort to absorb, and only imparted about half as much information and enjoyment as I feel like most walking tours do. I wouldn’t have minded so much, seeing as it was Copenhagen and thus the nicest of walks…
Except on the course of the tour I found myself running into an unforeseen and very critical scheduling conflict.
Mondays are the bane of my existence. Not because it’s the end of the weekend. I’m living a perpetual weekend. But because chances are if cool things are closed one day a week, that day is Monday.
You see, in the course of rearranging my travel plans, I had forgotten to account for that tiny Monday fact. Which meant the National Museum that I had planned to wander all morning the next day before my train was going to be closed, and that was something I just couldn’t miss. So as we were walking, I began to rearrange. Having already noted the Christiansborg times, daily 09:00-17:00, I decided that could be moved to Monday and I could see the museum in the afternoon. Except the tour didn’t end until the late afternoon, so I only had two hours at the museum instead of four. Even four wouldn’t have been enough.
The Copenhagen National Museum is by far one of my favorite museums ever. The first floor is full of exhibits dedicated to pre-historic man, leading into exhibits on the Vikings. I knew the Vikings were from Scandinavia, but I hadn’t known they were from Denmark in particular. In fact, according to the museum, it was the Danish decline in the mid-nineteenth century that led to the cultural romanticization of the Vikings. I thought that was noble of them to admit, but pride driven or not, the entire exhibit gave me a craving for some Viking history and lore. They’re definitely now on my list of civilizations I’d like to learn a lot more about. I even took some pictures of Viking garments I hope to replicate into costumes when I finally make it home.
My sub-par tour guide had insisted the entire first floor of the museum would only take an hour, and while I hadn’t believed her, I also hadn’t expected to be less than halfway through an hour and a half in. I picked up the pace a bit, but not being able to stop and read more than the main ideas made me want to cry. My look around the second floor of Renaissance artifacts and 18th century rooms was so cursory I even missed the sword they used to execute Dr. Struensee, which I had been very much looking forward to seeing. I didn’t even make it to the third floor of international ethnographic artifacts, though I think I’ve seen plenty of Egyptian and Middle Eastern artifacts to last me for a while.
When the museum closed I wandered back to the hostel, only a block away, to inquire after dinner. The hostel serves the meal free every day at 18:30, but they only make a limited quantity, so it’s first come first serve. Problem is, it’s not always vegetarian, so I wanted to make sure I could eat it before I got in line. Sure enough, I couldn’t. It was beef goulash, which drove me to the apple buying I mentioned before. It was still too early though, and too bright, to call it a day. As such, I wandered back into the city proper, headed first for the Round Tower which, surprise surprise, is just a big tower that is round. Right next to the Round Tower, however, is the city park, bordering an art museum contained in Rosenborg Palace. The museum was closed, but it was a lovely place to lounge in the grass, read, and munch on my tasty, tasty apples.
As the sun got lower and I more tired of Hitler’s sniveling tripe (I’m still reading Mein Kampf, though it’s become a struggle not to abandon it), I decided dessert was in order, and not just any dessert, but Danish dessert.
Now, let me digress for a moment about the complete incomprehensibility of Danish pastries. Clearly, in English, we just call them Danishes, which one would assume means Danish pastry. I had been told, however, that the traditional pastry in Denmark is called Wienerbrod, a name that literally translates as Viennese bread. When I went to order this Wienerbrod, however, I was quickly informed that there are a wealth of types of Viennese bread, all with completely dissimilar names, which was why I hadn’t been able to find signs for it in any of the shop windows. The kind girl at the bakery pointed them each out to me, explaining that this one had cinnamon and that one apple and the one over there cream. That made sense at least, but when I asked her to pick for me, the Danish Viennese bread pastry thing I ended up with? It was a cinnamon roll. But it was a tasty cinnamon roll, so I wasn’t about to complain.
Anyway, I got my Danish, if we can call it that, and began to walk, as much to enjoy the feeling of being in the streets as to walk off some of the decadent pastry. Stroget, the main shopping street, is always full of buskers in the evenings, so wandering from show to show was a nice way to pass the time. I also stopped back by Nyhavn, the old port (even though the name means ‘new port’) and de facto red light district that has since been gentrified for tourists and lined with historical boats for show.
There are still plenty of Danes who sit along the canal to relax and chat with their friends though. They even jump in for a swim on occasion, a fact which was most apparent on the boat tour the day before where it seemed almost everyone we passed gave a wave and a smile before cannonballing into the canal.
I feel like I should stop for a moment to discuss the Danes as a whole. First, as the Viking thing might suggest, they are a very proud people. That pride, however, has in no way affected their friendliness. I don’t think I ran into a single person who wasn’t kind, helpful, and incredibly well spoken in English. The English thing, coupled with the pride, is a bit strange to me. I have been told several times over, by Mark and others, that all the Danes speak English, and indeed it is true, but they do it with such skill and frequency that I still find it hard to understand. Their nationalism is in no way tied to their language, they feel no compulsion to avoid English, even when speaking to each other, and yet I have heard that when it comes to those living in Denmark, working there or studying, that they will never be truly accepted without perfect, flawless Danish. It’s an enigma, but an interesting one at least.
One of those ‘others’ that had pointed out this language paradigm was Clara, one of Anna’s friends in Venice who studied abroad in Copenhagen for a bit. She’d pointed out something else, however, that I’d found more difficult to understand at the time. Danish architecture, she said, knew how to incorporate nature. I brought up Gaudi at the time, the Catalan architect who loved to mimic nature at every chance, but it wasn’t mimicking, she insisted. She couldn’t describe it exactly, thought it was something in the lines. I understand now though.
The Danes don’t mimic nature; they use it. Everything in Copenhagen was stone and glass and wood. Walking through the city didn’t remind you of walking through a forest for the sounds or the sights, and yet it felt that way somehow regardless. Peaceful. It gave the city a timeless feel, even if the building clearly wasn’t. The city is full of modern architecture, sharp angles, clean lines, and yet because that natural tone is respected it all seems, what I thought was impossibly, to coexist.
A prime example of this became apparent on my last morning in Copenhagen. If you’ll remember, I was going to go to the state rooms and ruins at Christiansborg Palace, but alas, “daily” on the sign or not, it was also closed on Mondays. I was disappointed, but not as disappointed as I would have been if I’d missed the museum. Plus, it’s just another reason I’ll have to come back. For the moment, however, I consoled myself with the beauty of the water instead.
It occurred to me that of things that might be open on a Sunday, the library was probably one of them, and it’s located on the water, which was certainly a major plus. The library, at least the new part, is a giant glass structure called the black diamond because, when the sun reflects up from the water that’s exactly what it looks like. Inside, the walls are stone, the floors are wooden, and it connects by bridge, strangely enough, to the old library in one of the courtyards of the Christiansborg complex.
I wish I had a picture of the two together, because they shouldn’t complement each other, but they do. Google it if you’re interested. It’s an amazing thing that as far as I can tell is completely unique to the region.
I had to fight myself not to just spend all day reading on the canals. It helped that I still don’t like what I’m reading - though I have traded in my hard copy of Under the Tuscan Sun for a bilingual copy of Heart of Darkness in English and French. I had to leave Copenhagen eventually though, and if I could get into Hamburg a couple hours early that was probably for the best. So I’m on a train now. I can actually see the Danish countryside this time, because I think I have mastered this whole ride without a reservation. It’s not Copenhagen, but it’s still lovely, and the bridges, when we cross them, are breathtaking.
The best part about the ride from Germany, and I expect one of the better parts about the ride back, was/will be the ferry. I didn’t realize we’d be taking a ferry on the way in until we were on it, but take it we did. We have to disembark the train for the crossing. It doesn’t take too long, and everything on the boat is over priced, but it’s lovely regardless. I suppose that makes up for having to tunnel across from England, eh?
And now, to temper the nostalgia I already feel at leaving, I shall end with the photo I promised my mother of the view from my hostel window at sunset. Keep in mind, this is somewhere around 11 o’clock at night.
Oh Scandinavia, how I will miss thee.
Well, I don’t think I ever voiced these notions, but if I had, I would be eating my words.
Copenhagen is spectacular. I arrived on a Saturday evening, sweaty and sore from alternately standing and sitting on the floor of the most crowded train I had been on thus far, disappointed that I had missed free dinner at the hostel because the overcrowding had made us late, and quite ready to just retreat from the world for a bit. No sooner had I stepped out of the train station though then all that disappeared.
Copenhagen has a feeling about it. I wouldn’t have compared it to the Alps until my mother mentioned them last night, there’s none of that same helplessness but to stare, and yet its like the city itself is made of contentedness and calm. Unlike Vienna, when my tour guide told us that Copenhagen was named not only the most livable city last year, but also the happiest and most environmentally friendly, I had no trouble believing.
I had a perfectly located hostel, only five or ten minutes from the train station by foot and barely a block away from Town Hall Square. It helps that downtown Copenhagen isn’t that big to begin with, but the location, and the fact that the sun doesn’t set until 11pm, meant that I had some time to explore, even with my late arrival.
I went to Town Hall Square first, because it was closest. The are used to be taken up by the westernmost city walls until they were knocked down and the space left empty for events and exhibitions. The event taking place while I was in town was a protest supporting Gaza. It was just a booth that first night, but the following day they had added rows and rows of black body bags to represent the casualties thus far. It was moving and, as I imagine it was meant to, made me uncomfortable, but was also a prime example of the culturally prevalent social consciousness in Denmark.
After the the square, I walked another two blocks to the Christiansborg Palace complex. This palace used to be the main residence of the Danish royal family, but when it burned down several hundred years ago it took so long to rebuild that the family ended up permanently moving into their temporary residence at the Amalienborg Palace a fifteen minute walk away. Now the old palace houses the Parliament, the Supreme Court, and a number of museums. I very much wanted to visit the State Rooms and the ruins, but alas, it was not to be. I didn’t know that at the time however, and so took note of entry prices and opening times and went on my merry way.
I might have made it all the way to Amalienborg that night, except a happy coincidence caught me up. The receptionist at the hostel had mentioned while checking me in that the canal tours were a good way to see the city - especially the infamous statute of the Little Mermaid that’s not much to look at for its distance from the city center. When I happened to pass one of the two docks, with two departures left despite the late hour, I figured it was worth a quick hop on to get acquainted with the city on the sea. It was a good decision.
It began to get chilly as the sun set, but there is nothing like Copenhagen from the water at dusk. Many of the grandest buildings overlook the water: the National Theatre, the Opera House, the old stock exchange, the new library extension, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and that Amalienborg Palace I mentioned.
As promised, I also saw the Little Mermaid, at least from behind, and learned that far from being popular in Copenhagen as the storybook figure she is for the rest of the world, she is best known to the locals for the vandalism she has suffered. She’s lost her head twice, it turns out, as well as been painted completely pink.
That night there was a fireworks show at Tivoli Gardens, the amusement park just off Town Hall Square. It’s the second oldest amusement park in the world, actually, beaten only by a smaller one about an hour from Copenhagen. The Danes likes their amusements it seems. I didn’t go to the park, because that was far too much money to spend for an attraction that would be little to no fun to visit alone, but I had a perfect view of the show from the hostel windows.
Funny note about my hostel: the top floor I was staying on is new. Now, that might have been part of why the facilities were so nice, but according to the staff that’s also why the door to my room tended to stick. I spent a good ten minutes trying to open it the first time before heading down to reception where they sent someone up to teach me to kick it in just the right spot. We collectively decided as a room shortly thereafter that as long as someone was in we didn’t really need to close it. It was far too much work to open just to run to the restroom or go take a shower.
Door drama aside though, it was a lovely hostel. Breakfast, while expensive, was spectacular, and considering how expensive all the other food in Copenhagen is, it wasn’t that bad. As a welfare state, taxes in Denmark are astronomical. Groceries aren’t that much more expensive, but eating out costs at least three times as much as anywhere else in Europe. That includes street food, ice creams, and all manner of consumables you buy out but don’t necessarily eat at the establishment. I survived on sandwiches stolen from breakfast and a bunch of apples I bought from the supermarket. For the exorbitant prices, I actually ate very well in Denmark. Go figure.
The next morning, as I do on the first morning in most cities, I queued up for a free walking tour around the city. My guide, I was excited to note, was a Torontonian. It is unfortunate that that was where my excitement stopped. While a sweetheart in most respects of the word, it was clear from the way she spoke that tour guiding was her job and not her passion. Not even her hobby for that matter. She had the script down, told all the necessary stories, but she was long winded, imprecise, and unsure of her facts. She also kept passing judgement on things that were none of her business, like implying that Danish history wasn’t worth learning because all but one of the kings is named either Christian or Fredrich. In the end, the tour lasted twice as long as it should have, took twice as much effort to absorb, and only imparted about half as much information and enjoyment as I feel like most walking tours do. I wouldn’t have minded so much, seeing as it was Copenhagen and thus the nicest of walks…
Except on the course of the tour I found myself running into an unforeseen and very critical scheduling conflict.
Mondays are the bane of my existence. Not because it’s the end of the weekend. I’m living a perpetual weekend. But because chances are if cool things are closed one day a week, that day is Monday.
You see, in the course of rearranging my travel plans, I had forgotten to account for that tiny Monday fact. Which meant the National Museum that I had planned to wander all morning the next day before my train was going to be closed, and that was something I just couldn’t miss. So as we were walking, I began to rearrange. Having already noted the Christiansborg times, daily 09:00-17:00, I decided that could be moved to Monday and I could see the museum in the afternoon. Except the tour didn’t end until the late afternoon, so I only had two hours at the museum instead of four. Even four wouldn’t have been enough.
The Copenhagen National Museum is by far one of my favorite museums ever. The first floor is full of exhibits dedicated to pre-historic man, leading into exhibits on the Vikings. I knew the Vikings were from Scandinavia, but I hadn’t known they were from Denmark in particular. In fact, according to the museum, it was the Danish decline in the mid-nineteenth century that led to the cultural romanticization of the Vikings. I thought that was noble of them to admit, but pride driven or not, the entire exhibit gave me a craving for some Viking history and lore. They’re definitely now on my list of civilizations I’d like to learn a lot more about. I even took some pictures of Viking garments I hope to replicate into costumes when I finally make it home.
My sub-par tour guide had insisted the entire first floor of the museum would only take an hour, and while I hadn’t believed her, I also hadn’t expected to be less than halfway through an hour and a half in. I picked up the pace a bit, but not being able to stop and read more than the main ideas made me want to cry. My look around the second floor of Renaissance artifacts and 18th century rooms was so cursory I even missed the sword they used to execute Dr. Struensee, which I had been very much looking forward to seeing. I didn’t even make it to the third floor of international ethnographic artifacts, though I think I’ve seen plenty of Egyptian and Middle Eastern artifacts to last me for a while.
When the museum closed I wandered back to the hostel, only a block away, to inquire after dinner. The hostel serves the meal free every day at 18:30, but they only make a limited quantity, so it’s first come first serve. Problem is, it’s not always vegetarian, so I wanted to make sure I could eat it before I got in line. Sure enough, I couldn’t. It was beef goulash, which drove me to the apple buying I mentioned before. It was still too early though, and too bright, to call it a day. As such, I wandered back into the city proper, headed first for the Round Tower which, surprise surprise, is just a big tower that is round. Right next to the Round Tower, however, is the city park, bordering an art museum contained in Rosenborg Palace. The museum was closed, but it was a lovely place to lounge in the grass, read, and munch on my tasty, tasty apples.
As the sun got lower and I more tired of Hitler’s sniveling tripe (I’m still reading Mein Kampf, though it’s become a struggle not to abandon it), I decided dessert was in order, and not just any dessert, but Danish dessert.
Now, let me digress for a moment about the complete incomprehensibility of Danish pastries. Clearly, in English, we just call them Danishes, which one would assume means Danish pastry. I had been told, however, that the traditional pastry in Denmark is called Wienerbrod, a name that literally translates as Viennese bread. When I went to order this Wienerbrod, however, I was quickly informed that there are a wealth of types of Viennese bread, all with completely dissimilar names, which was why I hadn’t been able to find signs for it in any of the shop windows. The kind girl at the bakery pointed them each out to me, explaining that this one had cinnamon and that one apple and the one over there cream. That made sense at least, but when I asked her to pick for me, the Danish Viennese bread pastry thing I ended up with? It was a cinnamon roll. But it was a tasty cinnamon roll, so I wasn’t about to complain.
Anyway, I got my Danish, if we can call it that, and began to walk, as much to enjoy the feeling of being in the streets as to walk off some of the decadent pastry. Stroget, the main shopping street, is always full of buskers in the evenings, so wandering from show to show was a nice way to pass the time. I also stopped back by Nyhavn, the old port (even though the name means ‘new port’) and de facto red light district that has since been gentrified for tourists and lined with historical boats for show.
There are still plenty of Danes who sit along the canal to relax and chat with their friends though. They even jump in for a swim on occasion, a fact which was most apparent on the boat tour the day before where it seemed almost everyone we passed gave a wave and a smile before cannonballing into the canal.
I feel like I should stop for a moment to discuss the Danes as a whole. First, as the Viking thing might suggest, they are a very proud people. That pride, however, has in no way affected their friendliness. I don’t think I ran into a single person who wasn’t kind, helpful, and incredibly well spoken in English. The English thing, coupled with the pride, is a bit strange to me. I have been told several times over, by Mark and others, that all the Danes speak English, and indeed it is true, but they do it with such skill and frequency that I still find it hard to understand. Their nationalism is in no way tied to their language, they feel no compulsion to avoid English, even when speaking to each other, and yet I have heard that when it comes to those living in Denmark, working there or studying, that they will never be truly accepted without perfect, flawless Danish. It’s an enigma, but an interesting one at least.
One of those ‘others’ that had pointed out this language paradigm was Clara, one of Anna’s friends in Venice who studied abroad in Copenhagen for a bit. She’d pointed out something else, however, that I’d found more difficult to understand at the time. Danish architecture, she said, knew how to incorporate nature. I brought up Gaudi at the time, the Catalan architect who loved to mimic nature at every chance, but it wasn’t mimicking, she insisted. She couldn’t describe it exactly, thought it was something in the lines. I understand now though.
The Danes don’t mimic nature; they use it. Everything in Copenhagen was stone and glass and wood. Walking through the city didn’t remind you of walking through a forest for the sounds or the sights, and yet it felt that way somehow regardless. Peaceful. It gave the city a timeless feel, even if the building clearly wasn’t. The city is full of modern architecture, sharp angles, clean lines, and yet because that natural tone is respected it all seems, what I thought was impossibly, to coexist.
A prime example of this became apparent on my last morning in Copenhagen. If you’ll remember, I was going to go to the state rooms and ruins at Christiansborg Palace, but alas, “daily” on the sign or not, it was also closed on Mondays. I was disappointed, but not as disappointed as I would have been if I’d missed the museum. Plus, it’s just another reason I’ll have to come back. For the moment, however, I consoled myself with the beauty of the water instead.
It occurred to me that of things that might be open on a Sunday, the library was probably one of them, and it’s located on the water, which was certainly a major plus. The library, at least the new part, is a giant glass structure called the black diamond because, when the sun reflects up from the water that’s exactly what it looks like. Inside, the walls are stone, the floors are wooden, and it connects by bridge, strangely enough, to the old library in one of the courtyards of the Christiansborg complex.
I wish I had a picture of the two together, because they shouldn’t complement each other, but they do. Google it if you’re interested. It’s an amazing thing that as far as I can tell is completely unique to the region.
I had to fight myself not to just spend all day reading on the canals. It helped that I still don’t like what I’m reading - though I have traded in my hard copy of Under the Tuscan Sun for a bilingual copy of Heart of Darkness in English and French. I had to leave Copenhagen eventually though, and if I could get into Hamburg a couple hours early that was probably for the best. So I’m on a train now. I can actually see the Danish countryside this time, because I think I have mastered this whole ride without a reservation. It’s not Copenhagen, but it’s still lovely, and the bridges, when we cross them, are breathtaking.
The best part about the ride from Germany, and I expect one of the better parts about the ride back, was/will be the ferry. I didn’t realize we’d be taking a ferry on the way in until we were on it, but take it we did. We have to disembark the train for the crossing. It doesn’t take too long, and everything on the boat is over priced, but it’s lovely regardless. I suppose that makes up for having to tunnel across from England, eh?
And now, to temper the nostalgia I already feel at leaving, I shall end with the photo I promised my mother of the view from my hostel window at sunset. Keep in mind, this is somewhere around 11 o’clock at night.
Oh Scandinavia, how I will miss thee.
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