Copenhagen 2021: Part 2

3rd September

Honestly, right now I feel like I could write forever. I love this new pen so much. I’ve been sleeping better too. Maybe I’ll write some poetry later. Not like there’s much nightlife after a certain point at the moment. Maybe I should find a nice place for dinner that’s on a quiet street with outdoor seating, where I can sip my drink and write what I will.

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Or, in this case, finish my lunch and then cycle in the completely opposite direction for half an hour until I end up lost on a council estate with a surprising amount of wall art, and having to cycle all the way back into town in a tour de force of navigational skill. In the end, I think it’s taken me an hour to ultimately end up what should have been ten minutes down the road, if that. I had been trying to reach the Torvehallerne, a trendy food market by Norreport station. When I’m out I town I like to write in cafes, because you can eat cake and drink tea and justify it as a business expense (“research purposes”). In this case, I found a stall that served “London Fog” - Earl Gray (why so much Earl Gray in this city) with lots of foam, milk, and cinnamon. Not as sweet as you’d expect. But then, I’m already sweet enough, right?... The silence says it all.

I have a few things to finish up from yesterday quickly. First, the nightlife in Copenhagen is not easy to join in with if you’re by yourself. I now know this from experience, as last night I tried to do exactly that in the meat market. It’s not actually a meat market anymore; it’s an old industrial district that’s been revitalised as a trendy dining and nightlife scene. But no dice. It was too late in the day by that point, and I wasn’t keen on having a sit-down meal at 11pm. Instead, I thought I’d try one of the bars; there’s more than enough of them that I thought at least one would have people I could chat to.

Maybe it was just bad luck, but even something as simple as that wasn’t successful. How many bars do you have to drink at and try to make friends, until you realise you’re just drinking alone in different chairs all night? Ironically, if I hadn’t given up and gone to find a takeaway, I wouldn’t have met anyone at all. There was an almighty queue for falafel wraps, which gave everyone an excuse to make small talk as we waited. In the end I spent perhaps just over an hour talking to two friends called Ida and Elida, who were happy enough to chat over a beer, but clearly weren’t interested in any more interactions whilst I’m here; or ever again, presumably. They both really enjoyed knitwear.

Secondly, the old man above me in the bedroom was clearly quite sick to his stomach, as he got out of bed every half hour or so for the toilet. His coughs sounded just as bad, and his short, sharp snoring sneaked down the side of the bed to make the whole night uniquely disturbed. I swear to God, after this trip is finished, I am going to bed every night with a newfound appreciation for simple silence. I found myself wanting to tell him either to hurry up and die or get it all out of his system at once. I may have accidentally jinxed it, and when I came back this afternoon, he wasn’t here anymore. Be careful what you wish for.

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Well, lucky for me, I did meet people! He’s from Bristol and the others are from Switzerland, so Ida’s assessment of Danes (“unless you’re already their friend, they aren’t interested in talking to you”) hasn’t been disproven yet. I met them whilst I was visiting the Rudentaarn (“Round Tower”), which offered impressive views of the city. I could imagine how the city must have looked before all the skyscrapers and industry took up the skyline, when that tower was the tallest point in the whole city. I bet you could see farmland easily. We’re going to meet up later for dinner and drinks (at least I hope there’ll be dinner, otherwise I’m in the same hungry position as yesterday).

Copenhagen is so damn pretty; I can’t get over it. It’s like when I was walking around Paris. If you get lost in the centre, then you find some beautiful side-streets that feel at once empty and alive. I always love finding quiet corners of cities, like an area has been forgotten about, but stunningly maintained. It’s like any room in a palace, that you can look at without accessing. I wish I was more of an alcoholic so I could legitimately visit all these tiny bars peeping out from basement windows. The colour design of this city is blessed as well. God damn. Ugh. Copenhagen. Can’t say a bad thing about it.

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4th September:

OK, I now have one bad thing to say about it. People here are very shy. You want to go out in the evening to meet people? Better make sure that you’re already with a group, or you’re being introduced to a group by mutual friends. Want to try joining a table or speaking to someone at the bar? Forget that. I only managed to talk to anyone yesterday because an incredibly drunk man, who just so happened to be called Alexander too, thrust a shot of sambuca in my face whilst I was trying to order. I then spent an hour or so try to make conversation with anyone who would humour me. The night ended with a girl staring at me unblinking across from me, unwilling to engage in any form of conversation, but not leaving either. Her expression was flat and unreactive. Eventually, she got up and left in silence, on a route so straight and uninterrupted that I genuinely start to think she would never drop out of sight. Bizarre. Oh, and there’s lots of weed at night. And my jumper now smells of cigarettes. Sadness overwhelms me. Time to go see the Little Mermaid.

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I’m sat next to the Little Mermaid right now. The statue is lovely, obviously, though understated. It’s hard to fully appreciate it however as there are an ungodly number of tourists crowding it. Mostly old people. If I were to give an artistic interpretation of the scene in front of me, I would describe it as a damn mess. The subject of the statue is quite clearly from a different era – 1908 to be exact. The Mermaid has been sitting on her rock for over 100 years waiting to catch a glance of her prince. Ironically, she is now swamped by anyone but. The other side of the water from her is a noisy combination of industry and warehouses, with what must be a stadium somewhere nearby too judging from the music blowing across the water from massive speakers. Even tour boats pause to ogle at her. It’s such a contrast of subject and context, of the Little Mermaid and everything else. A fairy story in a world that’s long grown up. And yet she still waits for princes after 100 years. How much must have changed in that time for her. Not even a friend for company. I think it’s a very sad statue. They should let her see her prince again. The Little Mermaid needs her happily ever after.

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It feels like Autumn today. Outside of the sun, it feels just too cold to be comfortable. In the sun, it feels slightly too hot to wear a shirt whilst cycling. I feel I need to re-assess whether Danish people (Copenhagen really) actually are ‘mature’ with their drinking. I know I’ve been caught out by everything shutting early (thanks covid) so maybe that’s what’s given me a false impression. Since yesterday, I’ve seen a gin bus full of people raving at about 2pm, and a bunch of disembodied screams of joy from open loft windows. Why can’t I be there too?! Clearly, I’ve been spoilt by Sofia.

I arrived back at Amalienborg just in time to see the changing of the guard. Their uniforms were quite muted. I guess I was expecting more red, but it was mostly blue and black. Do you think that all palace guards from across the world have competitions to see who is the most impeccably dressed, the most disciplined? DO you think the Horse-Guards have beach volleyball matches with their bearskins on? Is there a summer version of their uniforms? What am I even talking about anymore, this is dumb.

Copenhagen 2021: Part 1

2nd September:

You remember that in the first year of university, where the fire alarm in halls went off three times in one night? Yeah, I didn’t miss that. I’d forgotten what it’s like to live in a large dorm with a ton of drunk students coming in and out at night. Standing outside at 3am after a whole tiring day was not my preference, for sure. I can’t believe I walked two hours into town to see some jazz, only to arrive too late and have to walk all the way back. Four-hour late-night stroll was not what I had in mind. And all those smug bastards on their bikes passing me by at 1am... smug bastards. There were a surprising amount of weed stands by the club, though. I guess I forgot it’s legal in Denmark.

First things first, I need to find myself a bike.

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I’ve bought two pens that I much prefer. Black ink instead of blue biro. Writing is only as enjoyable as the pen you’re writing with, in my opinion. Moreso than this, it changes my handwriting style. A good pen forces you to slow down so as not to blur the letters. Just compare the writing yesterday to this one; the style is as distinct as black and blue. Part of the reason for the swift change is that I’ve just been to an antique book fair inside the annex of the attached church. I wasn’t expecting much when I went inside, but I did find some lovely botanical diagrams that, aesthetically, only compliment journals with neat black handwriting. Rushed blue wouldn’t do. I was also interested in the original prints and watercolours from the 19t century, nut I think I made the right choice in the end.

Copenhagen is far more enjoyable by bike, unsurprisingly. I can get anywhere in under ten minutes! Now I get to be the bastard on a bike at 1am! We’ll see. In the meantime, I’ve been able to see more of the city than I ever would have otherwise on foot. People seem generally nice here – keep to themselves to themselves, at least from what I’ve seen in the last five hours. The place I’ve settled at to write this is a particularly appealing restaurant called ‘Maven’. Coincidentally, it also happens to be part of a church. Black and red bricks, up thick buttressing to a tall tower capped with green copper. The asymmetry makes for some dynamic shadows over where I’m sitting in the shade. Smart, old-fashioned lampposts stand by cobbled streets, half-obsessed by the foliage of straight, evenly placed city trees. There’s soft lounge music playing from the speaker.

Aside from a few passers-by and the occasional car, it is the only soundtrack I have. In this private part of Copenhagen, I feel like I could write a masterpiece.

The waiter here, Jonas, asked about my journal. When I said I was a travel writer, he implored me not to say that tipping is unnecessary in Denmark.

“All the Lonely Planet guides saying you don’t need to tip... it means no one ever tips!” He’ll definitely be getting one, as he was nice enough to talk with me for a good while about things like the specific tea they gave me; it’s Earl Grey, but it tasted so much better than usual that I had to ask about it. Loose-leaf From A.C. Perchs. Along with the cheese from France and that pastry in Macedonia, I think I’m almost ready to open my own bespoke bistro. Anyway, time to move on. It feels nice to be able to write things on the same day again.

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At least the hostel has food available all day, that’s a nice feature. A shame I only decided to grab five apples. That’s fine, I’ll just finish up today and head back out.

When I finally decided to leave that little moment of tranquillity, I took the advice of another of the staff and cycled towards Nyhaven and Gammelholm. That was the street that always appears on those quintessential ‘Copenhagen’ pictures. There must be thousands of images of those multi-coloured buildings, so I’m sure no one'll mind if I take a few more. Also, for what it’s worth, those Danes can do a decent fish and chips. I’m happy to have been proven wrong on that point. Of course, what follows fish better than one monstrosity of an ice-cream? Three massive scoops (raspberry sorbet, Daim, and coconut/passionfruit) topped with marshmallow cream, all barely balancing on top of a waffle cone. I love being an adult! It was a colourful accompaniment to a colourful canal. Not just the buildings either. Accordions and clarinets competed for the attention of the crowds.

Hundreds of conversations took place over wine, or fish. Old friends sat at the edge of the water, their legs dangling over the edge of the quay as they talked about the past (I like to think). The sun certainly helped tailor the mood. A beautiful blue sky persisted from earlier in the day, and the weather was warm and inviting for those inclined to step outside. Clearly most people were, as the streets on both sides of the water were packed with tourists and locals alike. A few sailing boats stood indefinitely moored, never moving and never breaking the ambience. Altogether, it was a beautiful moment to share. Copenhagen is growing on me in case you hadn’t noticed. Can’t imagine how I’ll feel by Monday.

Afterwards, I made an effort to visit Nørrebro, since Jonas had earlier recommended it, but instead, I dozed in the King’s Garden in the last of the afternoon warmth. I could almost convince myself I was back in London, in a quiet part of St. James or Hyde Park. I knew that if I stayed too long I’d never get back before dark, and after several wrong turns and using half-remembered directions, I was on a motorway cycling towards the hostel. I stopped on the way to take some photos of graffiti that appeared hemmed in by new and prospective developments. There wasn’t a large amount of wasteland left, so hopefully it isn’t bulldozed.

And there we are! Day one in Denmark done. Almost. Still need to find some actual dinner tonight. This hostel isn’t very inclined towards a social scene, so I still need to make some friends. Then again, today was so nice, maybe Copenhagen is worth experiencing by myself on purpose. Only time will tell which idea is better.

Sofia 2021: Part 3

31st August:

Alright, quickfire round. I was taken out for lunch by Ellie to a tiny place out and away from the centre called Ashurbanipal. Its sign was posted in the window next to the door, but otherwise it was fairly nondescript. They served small [plates of Iraqi food. The kebab looked like someone had already chewed it up, but the hummus was amazing. “Women’s Bazaar” was an interesting visit due to the variety of things on sale, including an obscene amount of honey, for some reason. It earned its nomenclature thanks to a history dominated by, as is self-evident, women patrons, who shopped. In the Ottoman period, women were only allowed to shop at this single bazaar in the city – and only on Fridays. Now it’s the largest open-air market in Sofia. Wait, hold on, sorry I’m off to climb a mountain now. I’ll try to finish this up in a few hours afterwards. Ta-ta!

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Well, I don’t know if I’m going to get much done today, but I have a four-hour layover in Istanbul tomorrow, so if not today I can certainly catch up tomorrow. For now, let’s continue.

On the way back from lunch I was shown around the wall art ‘district’, which, in fairness, had more than its fair share of graffiti over several streets. My favourite one had to be the imposing image of St. George standing against the dragon. I would have a print of that in my room in an instant. I’d probably go to church if the saints were depicted like that more.

In the evening, despite my best intentions, I did end up going out again. I met up with Ellie and Mina, along with a few others from the hostel at the same bar as where we first met, KEBA. Unfortunately, I got rained on along the way, and am now worried that I’m developing a cold instead of just a runny nose. Might get tackled at the airport by security at this rate. The evening was nice; we were huddled together under the only cover to spare, and as more and more people came to join us some were unfortunately pushed out into the rain as the table became more and more crowded.

I don’t remember when it happened, but somebody brought grapes with them to our table. I don’t know what compelled me to start, but I began flicking them into the air and catching them in my mouth. In short order several of the others at the table began to do the same, which evolved into us throwing grapes into each other’s mouths, which eventually resulted in management asking us to politely stop because so many grapes were littering the floor. In hindsight, it was not a well-considered form of entertainment, but at the time it was as entertaining as you could ever get. Before we were finally reminded to leave, I managed to coax a dance out of a few of the group. Despite their repeated apologies about how poor their skills were. It’s funny to think that only two years ago I was in the same boat, and now I have half an idea of how to swing dance, suddenly I’m considered a Master of Dance. I didn’t want to correct them.

We set off home after our escapades and stopped by a late-night wrap stand that did fantastic falafels. Lying just outside was a stray German Shepherd, conspicuously placed so you would have to pass around or over so you could continue on. Naturally, my natural instincts compelled me to pet them. This small act was enough for them to follow us (then me specifically) all the way back to the hostel. They followed me when I walked someone home up the road, and he ran and played with me on the pavement. They were a big, beautiful boy, and along with the cat I met in Athens, I wished I could have adopted them as my own. Alas, t’was not meant to be, and I left them standing outside the entrance to my building, never to see each other again. Dogs are great.

Now, I’m back to my regular writing schedule of “the day after” for a precious few hours. Except, I need to go to bed as I have an early start tomorrow. I was so close to competence!

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1st September:

I left my pen behind in Sofia and now I have to use this fat monstrosity from Istanbul airport I picked up for €5. I won’t lie, I’m getting a little overfamiliar with this airport recently. Hopefully this will be the last time (unless I plan otherwise). This pen is so fat and top-heavy, this will be a pain to continue with. First-world problems indeed.

So, where was I? Oh yes, I’m two days behind again. Need to wrap this up before Denmark. The day after the thrilling encounter with a stray dog, and a morning that I don’t remember the specifics of as it was a couple of days ago at this point, I went out to explore the city for a little while. “Nowhere in particular” ended up meaning being the mall, of all places, but after a brief check I re-emerged to look for prettier places. I found a street with private art galleries, leafy backstreets, a fruit and nut shop (with ludicrously cheap cranberry, coconut, and cinnamon-dusted ginger) and a smoothie shop whose staff briefly panicked when they realised I only spoke English.

I’d made plans to meet up with Elena, so around 5pm she escorted me on a slightly more guided tour of the city for a change. After a good bowl of ramen and a surprisingly long conversation about Third-Wave Feminism, we were off. We meandered up and down in a loose, yet focused route between key areas of interest, starting with the “absolute centre” of the city that’s between the university, the national library, and some more places I’d love to specify right now except Vodafone is awful and won’t allow me to top up so I can check using data.

We settled down in the grass square to chat about nothing in particular as the afternoon sun slipped further and further away. At this point, Elena chose to tell me about her first impressions of me, when we’d met at the start of the week. In short, she’d thought I was, to paraphrase, not sincere in my words or actions. Fortunately, she clarified that it was my confidence at the bar, having just danced with the girl behind her and then talked to her too as I bought a drink. Luckily for me, after she’d got to know me more this week, she’d changed her opinion drastically, and now liked me quite a lot better. She said she hoped we would stay in touch and meet again some other time, which sounded perfectly good to me.

But it was getting dark by this point, so we left the square and turned towards new streets, where I saw an amazing abandoned townhouse. It was slowly being reclaimed by nature, and also had a cat which was a brilliant feature.

We paused again some time after at a different park, where we witnessed the greatest football match of all time. A dad and his son were having a kick-around, and the dad had to go fetch the ball after an over-zealous punt from his young son. The first time he tried to kick it back, it hit the bin, and rolled back to his feet. He looked around to see if anyone had witnessed it, and gave a small chuckle and headshake, as if to reassure himself that everyone has had the same experience, it’s not just him. His second attempt hit the tree next to the bin, and the uncaring ball returned once again. He small smile dropped, and he hastily tried a third time, which was successful, so he moved on. He’ll never forget that moment of public embarrassment. I know I won’t.

“Do you think he said to himself: ‘I used to be so good at this?’ “

“It’ll happen to you one day, too.”

“Oh god.”

Hold on, I need to find my gate.

We walked as far as the bridge that connects to the communist-style residential district, before rightly deciding there was nothing more to see and turn back.

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The Turkish Airlines safety announcement man is definitely angling for that young widow with the child in front of him, no question.

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Well, so much for finishing up on the plane. I had a whole row to myself, I couldn’t resist napping for an hour. TO return to that evening, Ellie and I would work our way back into the town proper. Whilst standing outside one of the myriad Roman churches, a pigeon decided to fall out of the sky and die right in front of us! It thrashed about pathetically on one wing, before finally succumbing. What are the chances of that? Poor thing.

We walked all the way back through the main streets to find a place for long overdue dessert, and what we ended up ordering probably shortened my lifespan by a good few years. We shared one big waffle with fruit, ice-cream and chocolate; one chunky slice of pear cake with cream and hazelnut; and one massive banana chocolate sundae that we couldn’t even manage to finish half of, as we were about to pass out from a sugar rush. Absolutely fantastic decision, no sarcasm at all. Have to make the most of my youthful metabolism before it’s gone forever, no? Another damn god day. Ellie is excellent company.

I’m going to leave this airport now.

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I forgot to mention the worst version of Toto’s Africa I have ever heard! I was emerging from a snooze in the common room, when I hear what starts to sound like Africa playing on the speakers. My mind was still waking up, but I registered that yes, it was in fact Africa being played – exclusively – by the brass section. It sounded competent enough, but that only made it worse since I couldn’t ignore how jarring it was compared to the original. I couldn’t muster the willpower to move from my spot, and the song kept going and going, encore after encore. I was in purgatory until it finally, mercifully, concluded. I felt physically sick. Screw that trumpet cover!

Anyway, on to yesterday and then I’m finished with Sofia. Yesterday, Fabienne took me out to climb Vitosha, the mountain that dominates Sofia’s skyline. Pine forests, intermittent fields, and the sound of underground water were all a welcome reprieve from the buildings of the last week, with nary an alcohol in sight. The ride to the start of the trail took us about an hour. You could see our progress as the streets shifted from cobbles to tarmac, or dirt roads halfway through being tarmacked. When we did arrive at Base Camp 1 (which is about halfway up the mountain already) there was a chateau-looking restaurant serving simple foodstuffs. It leaned heavily on a traditional Bulgarian aesthetic; the interior was decorated with dresses and garlands and plants. Small portraits of local saints were hung on opposite sides of a particularly pleasing piece of root. On the old TV, a station (I assume) played low budget, yet more sincere, music videos of folk musicians dancing and singing in the same field and garden for every single one. It was very cute, and this was probably the most appropriate place to find it playing.

As we continued our climb and the hours rolled on, the lush deciduous forest became an evergreen haze. Bears, boars, and wolves all stalked this mountain according to Fabienne, and I could readily believe it. Between the boulders, the dense forest, half-missing path, and absence of anyone else, (for the most part), I could easily picture the kind of monsters they might have in Bulgarian folklore. It took us maybe two or three hours to walk to the top. In that time, we replenished our water supplies, and Fabienne took several fag breaks. How do you know people in Sofia smoke a lot? There were cigarettes in the First-Aid box on the pathway.

The view from the top was incredible. For the last hundred metres we were bouldering up to the summit, but it was worth going the extra distance. Sofia ends relatively quickly, and the rest of the view is of long, large hills and mountains of Bulgaria, with every green on the spectrum present. From up there, Sofia was an isolated pocket of civilisation; a white blot in the wilderness. Now I understand why so many people come here to hike. It was obvious from the top of Vitosha. All in all, it took us about five and a half hours to get there and back again. I was home by 8pm.

The final thing worth mentioning is a little exchange between Mina and I. Mina said I’d inspired her to write again after reading some of this diary. She gave me an excerpt from her own writing for me to read, torn out of a journal she had to leave behind to meet the weight requirements for her flight. In it, I read a rather flattering description that I won’t go into the specifics of. She considered me an all-round nice guy, and that’s enough for me. It was a lovely read, and hopefully we’ll run into each other again someday. Or maybe she’ll read this first, in which case: hey! Look! You can read the rest of it now, woo!

And now, here I am in another hostel, sitting at another table, writing another entry. Denmark will be a different change of pace again. I’m already envious of their metro, but I think it’s about time I found some food. Don’t disappoint me Copenhagen!