Again, the map.
Sunday, August 3 -- Recovery
øl, pronounced uhl -- beer
At around 2pm, we join the masses at the Stella Polaris festival for a picnic on the grounds of the Statens Museum for Kunst. Helen has made bread from the dough which she prepared at 8am, still drunk, having danced all night and all morning at the wedding. Impressive.
HELEN: Sorry, it's a little too salty this time.
HENRIETTE: That must have been what your body was craving when you made it!
Some of the braver souls are taking a little hair of the dog in the form of beer. I don't know if you can see, but in the middle of this photo, there's a bald guy in a gray shirt carrying a genius cardboard transporter for five beers. Danish drink efficiency -- love it.
And see all these people in this picture? They all came on their bikes. The clusterfuck of bikes locked up outside the festival entrance would probably make this guy pop a woodie.
sult -- hunger
That evening, we climb on our bikes for dinner at Sult, a restaurant in Det Danske Filminstitut in the city center. We're practically the only diners there; when it comes time to order our prix fixe meals, we discover that there are only three fish plates available, which means that I, and the rest of our party, have to eat unremarkable hamburgers. I can't say my meal makes me want to jump back on the beef wagon. On Sunday nights, the prix fixe dinner is half off, which leaves the bill at 300 Kroners ($60) per person, which still doesn't feel like much of a deal.
Helen, La Doug, Heej, Francis and I get back on our bikes to head back home. We're like a grown-up E.T. gang. Doug remarks, "I can't believe we can all fit in Helen's small apartment."
Monday, August 4
Helen takes a big group of us cycling through Christiania. Francis, who's already gone through on bike, gives us a preview.
FRANCIS: It's hilarious. It's like the dark, seedy underbelly of Copenhagen, where the overweight and ugly people go.
There are signs posted everywhere asking that people not take pictures. This is the alleged free-state of Copenhagen, where the hash trade is alive and kicking, and nobody pays taxes. Tibetan prayer flags are strung up on solid little mushroom houses that seem to be built from junkyard detritus.
We cross a river over to the adorable, hobbit-scaled summer shacks with perfect little gardens. The skinny wood bridges and dirt paths are barely accessible by bike -- it seems impossible to bring heavy things like washing machines or lumber over to the island.
Lunch is a super-civilized affair at Bastionen+Løven, an old-school restaurant that feels like a converted farmhouse, all eggshell white wood, with white butcher paper on the banquet style table. We eat a late brunch of fiske frikadeller (fish cakes), coffee and beer. It's a spare lunch, but it feels great to keep it light. Outside, the storm clouds make heavy threats, the wind tickling the tall, latched windows.
Ama -- an island in east Copenhagen, colloquially called "The Shitty Island"
We ride east towards Amager Strandpark, where cement lookout points the color of kneaded eraser rise like monoliths out of the fine beige sand. The wind whips my hair into my mouth as we glide along the perfectly smooth cement bike paths, curving our way around sand dunes sewn with long grass hair plugs. There's something essentially Danish about the moment -- that stark, smooth melancholy, steadfast against the bluster. It's my other favorite Copenhagen snapshot.
To be continued...
Sunday, August 3 -- Recovery
øl, pronounced uhl -- beerAt around 2pm, we join the masses at the Stella Polaris festival for a picnic on the grounds of the Statens Museum for Kunst. Helen has made bread from the dough which she prepared at 8am, still drunk, having danced all night and all morning at the wedding. Impressive.
HELEN: Sorry, it's a little too salty this time.
HENRIETTE: That must have been what your body was craving when you made it!
Some of the braver souls are taking a little hair of the dog in the form of beer. I don't know if you can see, but in the middle of this photo, there's a bald guy in a gray shirt carrying a genius cardboard transporter for five beers. Danish drink efficiency -- love it.
And see all these people in this picture? They all came on their bikes. The clusterfuck of bikes locked up outside the festival entrance would probably make this guy pop a woodie.
sult -- hunger That evening, we climb on our bikes for dinner at Sult, a restaurant in Det Danske Filminstitut in the city center. We're practically the only diners there; when it comes time to order our prix fixe meals, we discover that there are only three fish plates available, which means that I, and the rest of our party, have to eat unremarkable hamburgers. I can't say my meal makes me want to jump back on the beef wagon. On Sunday nights, the prix fixe dinner is half off, which leaves the bill at 300 Kroners ($60) per person, which still doesn't feel like much of a deal.
Helen, La Doug, Heej, Francis and I get back on our bikes to head back home. We're like a grown-up E.T. gang. Doug remarks, "I can't believe we can all fit in Helen's small apartment."
Monday, August 4
Helen takes a big group of us cycling through Christiania. Francis, who's already gone through on bike, gives us a preview.
FRANCIS: It's hilarious. It's like the dark, seedy underbelly of Copenhagen, where the overweight and ugly people go.
There are signs posted everywhere asking that people not take pictures. This is the alleged free-state of Copenhagen, where the hash trade is alive and kicking, and nobody pays taxes. Tibetan prayer flags are strung up on solid little mushroom houses that seem to be built from junkyard detritus.
We cross a river over to the adorable, hobbit-scaled summer shacks with perfect little gardens. The skinny wood bridges and dirt paths are barely accessible by bike -- it seems impossible to bring heavy things like washing machines or lumber over to the island.
Lunch is a super-civilized affair at Bastionen+Løven, an old-school restaurant that feels like a converted farmhouse, all eggshell white wood, with white butcher paper on the banquet style table. We eat a late brunch of fiske frikadeller (fish cakes), coffee and beer. It's a spare lunch, but it feels great to keep it light. Outside, the storm clouds make heavy threats, the wind tickling the tall, latched windows.
Ama -- an island in east Copenhagen, colloquially called "The Shitty Island"We ride east towards Amager Strandpark, where cement lookout points the color of kneaded eraser rise like monoliths out of the fine beige sand. The wind whips my hair into my mouth as we glide along the perfectly smooth cement bike paths, curving our way around sand dunes sewn with long grass hair plugs. There's something essentially Danish about the moment -- that stark, smooth melancholy, steadfast against the bluster. It's my other favorite Copenhagen snapshot.
To be continued...
Doug looks really cute in this picture!