The Uncertainties of Life

September is tomorrow. September is TOMORROW? SEPTEMBER IS TOMORROW! I’m not sure how August has flown by so quickly. Maybe it was all the work I’ve been doing on my research paper or maybe it was all the running around I’ve been doing trying to figure out the next step on this crazy journey of life. September is tomorrow.

I must apologise for leaving a blog entry for so long. The truth is, I have been quite busy finishing up my last assignment for grad school. It has been one of those things that I think I’m done and then I read it the next day and decide to totally change everything. Then I think to myself, yes, yes this is a good paper. Then I read it the next day and decide, actually, it would be better if the third paragraph were the second paragraph and the second paragraph were the fourth paragraph. Many a grad student has gone insane in the fateful waters of the grad school research paper triangle. I managed to break free of it about two weeks ago, but that is only because I refuse to read my paper.

So two weeks, Jen? Two weeks and still no blog entry?

Well, when you get to the end of a chapter in your life, sometimes it takes a lot of thinking, walking, and searching before you know what the next chapter is going to be. I got back from Amsterdam with a renewed sense of purpose. I’m pretty sure it was while I was sitting in the café at the Anne Frank House that I decided to do a PhD.  Yeah, you read that right. It seemed really clear and I felt very strongly about the subject matter. In the next couple of weeks, I began reading everything I could and discovered to my delight that the leading researcher in the field I’m interested in was someone I had already exchanged a few emails with back in January. I got back in touch and after several more emails, eight or nine books, three meetings with one of my lecturers here and more writing, I submitted my application to the University of Leicester for a PhD in Museum Studies. If all goes according to plan, I should begin in January and will be in England for three more years. It’s not a sure thing by any means, but I think it is the next step for me.

Alright, so it sounds like you’ve got this all figured out. Wait….January? What are you going to do for the next four months?

So that’s a bit of a long story. Originally I thought about finding a flat in Durham, getting a part time job and putzing around until Congregation and then moving down to Leicester. Then I randomly bumped into a friend while walking to CrossFit. She’s an American as well, just finishing her MA in Archaeology and during our chat she mentioned that if we leave the UK after turning in our final paper we won’t be let back in as students. They will stamp our passports as tourists.

Well that’s fine isn’t it? A tourist can stay for six months, right?

Sure. The problem is I can’t apply for a student visa while I’m in the UK on a tourist visa.

So, don’t leave the country.

Well, I’m in a wedding the weekend after I turn in my paper and before you– who are you anyway?

I’m just an author’s trope providing an interesting dialogue-like element to what might otherwise be a really boring expository entry.

Oh, okay. I’m not boring.

No need to be defensive.

I’m not being defensive, just saying.

Okay. You done?

Yes…What was your question, again?

I said why don’t you just stay in the UK if leaving will cause you visa issues and then you said you were in a wedding.

Right, right. One of my oldest and dearest friends is getting married the weekend after I turn in my paper. I was devastated after I discovered all of this about the visa. I phoned the University Immigration Office to confirm everything, which they did and send a quick message to my friend back home. I felt terrible. Wedding planning is stressful at the best of times and I can’t imagine what it’s like when one of your bridesmaids send you a text that she may not be able to leave the country she’s in to make it to the wedding which is a month away.

Then I got a message back. She told me that she knew how important it was to me to be in England and that she wanted me to be happy. That I shouldn’t worry about the wedding and make a decision based on what I needed and wanted.

Now, I’ve been in many relationships where I have had to suppress my own needs in order to maintain said relationship. I have been badly taken advantage of and generally misused by more folks than I care to remember. Here was a friend telling me, you need to put yourself first. 

I began to think about that. I thought about how she’s always been there when I needed her; how we’ve known each other since the fourth grade (I don’t remember meeting her in fourth grade but she insists and I believe her); how we are more like sisters now and her parents are like a second mum and dad to me. I remembered this past December when I was home and really going through a tough bout of depression. I remember going to brunch with her and crying in the middle of the pub and she gave me the biggest hug imaginable. Then I thought about some of the other “friends” I’ve bent over backwards to please only to be met with ungrateful and sometimes abusive words and actions. I decided right then and there that I had it all backwards. From that moment, I decided to bend over backwards for the people who genuinely cared about me and the rest, well, to hell with them. I messaged her and said I would be at her wedding because being there meant more to me than staying in England for four extra months. And truthfully, it does.

Wow. Sounds like you’ve had a lot of revelations in the past month?

I have, yes. It’s been really good but it really hasn’t been easy. Transitions are never easy. I remember this time last year I was going through some similar things. I had more certainty though. I knew I’d be in England for a year and I knew where I’d be and what I’d be doing. Right now, I have a general idea. I’ll be in the US for four months that much is certain. In January I’ll come back to the UK, that is certain, too. But as of now, I don’t know if I’m coming back merely to attend Congregation or if I’m coming back to start a three year adventure into PhD land. You know something, though, author-trope-voice-thing?

What’s that?

I’m starting to enjoy the uncertainties of life. 

An American in Amsterdam

Amsterdam felt like a favourite sweater, one that embraces and warms at the same time. Never have I fallen in love with a place so quickly and so completely. I don’t believe in the metaphysical and genetic memory is not something I have ever considered. I have managed to trace both sides of my family to the Netherlands, a connection five hundred years old. Could it be that deep in my genetic code there is stored some predisposition to Dutch architecture? To canals and charming bridges? To the Dutch language? To windmills and wooden shoes? Very likely not. More likely it was a mental connection. Some sort of unconscious recognition of my ancient ancestry. It really doesn’t matter what caused my instant affinity with Amsterdam, I just know it ran through me like one of the city’s many canals.

Canals are the truly the heart of Amsterdam.
They are beautiful and each is unique.

I stepped out of the station and bought a three-day tram ticket. (Traveller’s Note: If you are in Amsterdam I highly recommend using the tram system, it’s easy to figure out and will get you everywhere you want to go.) I took the 5 to Keizersgracht and walked to my room. I had used AirBNB for the first time on my own and was slightly nervous about the arrangements. I walked down the canal, taking in the gorgeous, narrow buildings on either side. Looking at the numbers, I soon realised that I was on the wrong side of the canal. Amsterdam isn’t like other cities where you can just cross the street. I walked back to the bridge and crossed.

The room was perfect. It was the best accommodation I had on my entire trip. It was a basement room, but right on the canal with a large, warm bed and spacious bathroom complete with a tub. I had spent the past ten months using my space pod shower room and seeing that tub…well I almost thought of spending the entire time I was in Amsterdam taking a hot bubble bath.

This was a great find on the way to my room.
It's where John Adams lived when he was in Amsterdam.

This is where I stayed while I was in the city.

That evening, I ventured out on the tram in search of dinner. I wandered past numerous cafes looking for something special, something unique. I had been spoiled while in Hamburg having dinner on the water. I settled for a table on one of the bridges looking down the Singel towards the dome of the Koepelkerk Conference Centre. I sipped on my glass of Sauvignon Blanc while taking in the atmosphere of the city. I had scheduled my time in Amsterdam rather carefully. I had wanted to come to the city for what seemed like ages. I was determined to fit in what I could.

The next morning I had breakfast at Bakers & Roasters, a little café not too far from Museumplein. I had read about it in an article and decided to take a chance. When I arrived, the staff was busy working through a power outage. My waitress very kindly offered me pancakes and fruit which suited me perfectly.

I like blending into the stories of other people. As I sat with my cup of tea and plate of pancakes, an Englishman came in with a little dog on a leash. He was obviously a regular as the staff greeted him warmly and offered the dog a bowl of water. This was his morning routine, breakfast at Bakers & Roasters, perhaps a walk along the canal later, and then…my thoughts trailed off as my fruit bowl arrived.

After breakfast I walked down to the Rijksmuseum. A bicycle path cuts right through the entrance and leads out to Museumplein, a marvellous stretch of green park lined with museums as the name would suggest. It’s a rather iconic place with the I Amsterdam sign a must-photograph spot. I purchased a timed ticket for the Van Gogh Museum at the museum shop (I do recommend purchasing tickets prior to arriving at the museum as there was quite a queue.)

Museumplein

Best slogan ever. I really amsterdam.

I spent two hours with Vincent looking at every single painting watching his stylistic transformation from Dutch painter of peasants to master of colour and texture. Many of his earlier paintings had a certain amount of anxiety inherent in them. One in particular gripped me, Avenue of Poplars in Autumn. I stared at it uncomfortably, feeling a silent horror for some reason. As I look at images of the painting now, I don’t get that anxiety, but in person, it felt strange. I ripped myself away and when I found his later works, vibrant, and bold, I found myself smiling and feeling more at ease. Seeing his work in person was so important to me. Seeing his joy and jest in his paintings but knowing that it was subsumed beneath those terrible layers of loneliness, depression, and anxiety.

When you leave a truly remarkable museum experience, you need some time to return to so-called real life. I had intended to go to Vondelpark but decided to stop along Prinsengracht for lunch. I looked down the canal towards Westerkerk and decided I needed to climb the tower to complete my collection of bird’s eye views.

I got to the church and purchased a tour of the tower before they closed the sanctuary. The organ was absolutely beautiful and I found the plaque indicating Rembrandt’s internment. I sat for a while, just taking in the simple, Dutch surroundings. It was time for my tour. Only six people can be taken up at a time and I found myself on a tour with a German family of five. The climb was one of the steepest, most difficult of the climbs I have made. The passage is terribly narrow and you feel very claustrophobic. I did appreciate the tour though. Westerkerk is right next to the Anne Frank House and she wrote about the bells of the church reminding her of the world outside of the annexe. Standing at the top of the climb, Amsterdam stretched before me and once more I fell in love with the city. I still do not know why Amsterdam had worked its way so deeply into my heart, but standing there, I couldn’t help but smile. My guide came up to me.”

“So what do you think?” she asked.

“It’s quite amazing,” I replied.

I spoke to her for a bit about how she came to be in Amsterdam, she had come from a small town in Holland and had been in the city for two years. She told me I was standing in her favourite spot in the city and I could understand why.

This little statue of Anne Frank is right next to Westerkerk.

The amazing view over Amsterdam.
The Anne Frank House is in the foreground.

Looking toward Westerkerk and the Anne Frank House.

Westerkerk tower.

We climbed back down and I exchanged a few words in German with my tour companions before heading back out into the city.

The queue for the Anne Frank House reached through the small courtyard through to Keizersgracht. I contemplated joining it, but decided instead that I would try tomorrow morning. I took a long walk back to my room, passing over bridges and through the busy, sunny streets.

The next morning, I woke early and took the tram to Jordaan. I was going to get to the Anne Frank House early and beat the–

The queue wasn’t as long as it had been the day before, but it was still not short. I had arrived forty minutes before opening and the wait took nearly two hours. I cannot express how much the experience affected me. I wasn’t prepared for the mix of emotions. I didn’t think I would be as moved as I was. I have gotten used to places failing to meet my expectations and perhaps I was afraid of the same thing happening here. When going through the warehouse and offices, you can imagine yourself back in the Amsterdam of the 1940s. Anne’s words are used in almost all of the labels and the videos in several of the rooms feature the helpers and Mr. Frank speaking about their experiences. Then you step through the actual bookcase and into the secret annexe. You feel what life would have been like for the eight people in hiding and you begin to truly understand how insane the world had become for the persecuted. I began to imagine not being allowed to see the beautiful streets of Amsterdam, only to live by hearing the world outside the windows.

I spent some time at the café looking out over Prinsengrapht as the modern world passed by. I needed that decompression time before I rejoined the world.

I took the tram across the city and went to the Hortus Botanicus. I was glad I had planned to go to the gardens after the Anne Frank House. The city floated passed the large windows and I began to dread leaving the city the next day. This place felt like home.

One of Amsterdam's trams.

I spent three hours at the gardens, walking through every inch of greenery. I meandered over bridges and through each greenhouse. I played with the butterflies in the butterfly house and was so delighted when several landed on me. The gardens aren’t particularly extensive, but they are certainly worth a wander.

I loved these guys and spent about five minutes watching them.

I ate at Restaurant Greetje that evening, a rather posh place to dine but with authentic Dutch fare. It was my last full day of what had turned out to be the best holiday I had ever taken. I retraced my steps from Copenhagen to Hamburg to Amsterdam. I had ridden on trains, metros, ferries, trams, and had walked miles and miles. I had dined at Nyhavn, seen the Little Mermaid, sung on the streets of Copenhagen, climbed to the top of Michaeliskirche, dined across from the Rathaus in Hamburg, and found a city that felt like home in Amsterdam. I had met amazing people and seen some fantastic things and I had found a place that had embraced me.

An American in Hamburg

If you must travel in Europe, travel by train. The rush of fields, trees, and towns past the window is better than any film in a theatre. Each is a mental snapshot. The family who just pulled up in front of their house from a shopping trip, the sheep grazing in a field, the home next to the reservoir where life is slow and the nights quiet. They are all scenes in a story, a story of which I will only ever see one second. One brief moment and then it’s gone. If you must travel in Europe, travel by train.

My trip from Copenhagen to Hamburg was filled with surprises. At the last station in Denmark a rather lengthy announcement was made. We would be boarding the ferry and everyone needed to disembark the train while we crossed. I had never thought about how we would get from Denmark to Germany. It had never occurred to me that the train would be placed in the hold of a ferry and we would spend forty minutes crossing the Baltic Sea from Rodbyhavn to Puttgarden.

The crossing was surreal. I exited the train and looked down the long length of it, placed within the hold like a toy. I climbed several flights of stairs and found myself in a busy, floating market. There were restaurants, shops, and currency exchanges. I found a seat near the bow so I could look out the giant picture windows. The sea was choppy and the boat heaved back and forth sometimes catching the waves just right so that a magnificent jet of white water slammed against the window. I sat there for almost the entire crossing, mesmerised by the amazing surprises I had already experienced on this trip.

It was only a short walk from Hamburg Bahnhof to my hotel in St. Georg, a colourful neighbourhood described by some of the guidebooks as “bohemian.” There were so many different kinds of people; it was a fantastic introduction to one of Germany’s most interesting cities. I checked into the hotel and within an hour I was back out into the mix of Hamburg with barely a plan of where I wanted to go and what I wanted to see.

The train that carried me across the Baltic.

Hamburg Bahnhof

I walked from St. Georg to the Rathaus and it became obvious that Hamburg was a different flavour of city from Copenhagen. It was busier, noisier, with taller, more cramped buildings. There were many homeless people sleeping where they could find a spot and there was rubbish littered about. I wondered if the latter was due to the previous night’s victory celebrations over the World Cup but the former seemed to be a fixed feature of the city. Many of the homeless I saw had made semi-permanent make shift shelters and beds with piles of their possessions. I wondered why so many were living so rough and I felt pangs of guilt for not being able to help or even understanding what had brought them to that state. No one chooses homelessness and again, I wondered what stories were hiding under the soiled sheets and under the sodden mattresses.

The Rathaus is a gorgeous old building with a beautiful fountain in the central courtyard. I was exploring the city without the benefit of a guidebook and so I knew very little of the history of the sites I was seeing. I went where my feet carried me and where the skyline drew me. I headed towards Michaeliskirche where I knew I would be able to get a bird’s eye view of the city.

The Rathaus (Town Hall)

I loved this fountain.

The neighbourhood near the church was much quieter than the rest of Hamburg had been thus far. Lazy cafes and a park where children played with Frisbees stood beneath its tower. The church is well-worth the €6 entry free. I began in the crypt where a presentation of the history of the church was spelled out in German. Mine was rusty but I was able to piece together enough from the photographs and the text panels. I was especially excited to see the burial place of C.P.E. Bach before I began my climb from the crypt to the top of the tower.

View under the overpass

The tower of Michaeliskirche

Some stained glass dudes hanging out in the crypt.
(They look a bit grumpy)

Climbing the tower and not a bit tired.

Looking down at the bells

Standing out at the very top, the wind whipped my hair violently. Once again I found that my favourite place in the city was on top of it. The views were incredible and looked out on the Norderelbe and the Auẞenalster. I took my time looking out at every side and at every viewpoint. 

Hamburg

Der Orgel der Michaeliskirche

Michaeliskirche

Juxtaposed landmarks

Eventually I joined the rest of the city and walked along the waterfront to Landings Brücken. I turned north and quite by accident, stumbled across the enormous statue of Bismark. The base was covered in colourful graffiti and the small park in which it stood was lonely and felt slightly abused or at the very least care worn.

I was walking through the park when I caught sight of Bismark

Graffiti Bismark

Walking past the waterfront

Landings Brücken

My stomach led me back towards the Rathaus. I found a restaurant right on the Kleine Alster where I ordered my first meal in German.

“Ich möchte Hamburg Pannfisch und ein Glas Riesling, bitte.”

The waitress smiled and took my menu and left with the unmatched view of the Rathaus across the canal. Again I had that feeling of wanting to be nowhere else at no time else. The evening light played against the cream face of the town hall and twinkled on the water. It was so close to a perfect moment.

The view from the restaurant

This little guy was very interested in what I was eating

And who can blame him? This Apfel Strudel was amazing.

I ate my amazing meal and ordered an Apfel Strudel for dessert. I had never had apple strudel before that day. Well I thought I had, but I was incredibly wrong. I have a feeling I will have to wait until the next time I am in Germany to have it again.

I strolled back to my hotel where I spent the rest of the evening trying to relax. I would be on a train again within a few hours on my way to Amsterdam. I regretted not planning a longer stay in Germany. I enjoyed practicing the language and I knew I had barely touched the surface of what Hamburg had to offer. The next morning I ate breakfast in the hotel before packing and heading to the station. The week was flying by and I was desperate to hold onto every single moment.

An American in Copenhagen

My friend Sam had gone to Copenhagen for a month to work on research for her dissertation. Being a PhD student suddenly seemed far more glamourous: travelling to beautiful Scandinavian cities to sit in a basement laboratory for most of the week minutely studying skeletal remains. I couldn’t let her have all the fun and so I booked a flight to visit her for a long weekend. I had been aching to do some international travelling since I had arrived in England and this was the perfect opportunity to do so. Amsterdam had been beckoning to me for months and I researched trains from Copenhagen to Amsterdam. Most stopped in Hamburg and so I devised a week long, three city excursion. The next before I packed my small rolling duffle bag and my rucksack and nervously went to sleep knowing that I would have to wake up in four hours in order to catch the train down to London Gatwick. I could have left from Newcastle Airport. As I type this, I’m not really sure why I didn’t. Perhaps it was the nerves of planning my first solo international trip. Whatever the case, as I tossed and turned and imagined all sorts of horrors that might prevent me from making my connections it never crossed my mind that I was about to embark on a journey that would alter my outlook on the world and on myself.

Life altering excursions have become rather cliché, the subject of films, books, and made for TV movies. It is a shame as these sorts of experiences do exist and they should not be relegated to the realms of the overplayed plotline. If anything, they should serve to encourage more people to travel and broaden their range of experiences.

I took a Norwegian Airlines flight to Copenhagen and made sure that I would have a window seat. When flying to a new place I prefer the window seat. It affords one of the most amazing introductions to a new country or city. Your brain finds patterns in the fields, streets, and inlets. For the duration of the flight, I was glued to that window. What struck me the most about that view apart from the shorelines and waterways were the number of wind turbines dotting the land and seascape. They were a beautiful sight.

I grinned like an idiot when I passed through border control and the agent stamped my passport. It was as if a little bubble had appeared over his head that said:

Achievement Unlocked: Copenhagen

Sam met me at arrivals and after withdrawing some Krone from the cash machine and purchasing Metro tickets, we were whisked away to her flat in Frederiksburg. I hadn’t seen her for a few weeks and we spoke of my trip, her research, and her thoughts on Copenhagen. She had a wonderful weekend planned for us and since she hadn’t had a lot of time to explore the city herself we would both be exploring and discovering together.

We emerged from the Metro onto the streets of the Danish capital. Being in a new country can be a shock to the senses. Everything seems alien. The sounds, sights, smells envelope you and it can take a while to sort out all of the input. The first things I noticed were the cyclists and the dedicated bicycle lanes. These weren’t like the one metre wide lanes in England or the US where cyclists must trust that the lorries whipping past them won’t push them off into the brush. These were like bicycle streets with curbs and painted lines. In Copenhagen there are more bicycles than cars and the city is very quiet as a result. There isn’t the unrelenting pulse of engines, car horns, and squealing tyres. Everyone rides. People dressed in suits, couples with groceries, families, old and young. Everyone rides.

This isn't even the most bicycles I saw parked in one place.

I fell in love with the little apartment Sam was subletting for the month. It was just enough. It had everything you needed to be comfortable without added frills which can at times make life far more complicated than it need be. My favourite thing about it was the shower. It was far better than my space pod back home in Durham. A flick of one valve sent the water from the sink faucet to the shower head. No extra room was taken up with a tub or dedicated shower space. It was just enough and it was brilliant.

The really cool space-saver shower.

After I changed, the weather had shocked both of us as it was nearly 30˚C, we jumped on the Metro and headed to Nørreport and walked the short way to Torvehallerne, a marketplace filled with cafes, fresh food stalls, bakeries, and Danish delicacies. It was a great introduction to the city. We grabbed dinner at a paleo restaurant aptly named Paleo and then wandered about the myriad of stalls. I got some vanilla and cherry ice cream and then Sam took me to by flødderboller a delicacy that I highly recommend. In its most basic form flødderboller are chocolate-covered marshmallows dipped in awesome.

The rush of being in a new place had overridden my initial anxiety. I felt so lucky I would be seeing the city over the next few days with Sam. We stopped at one of the outdoor wine bars and had a few glasses of wine, drinking in our gorgeous surroundings as we drank our respective varietals. I had the first of many right-here-right-now moments as we sat on our barstools and chatted until the shadows began to lengthen. I slept well that evening, far better than I had the night before. I was content.

The next day was filled to the brim. We began with a Metro ride to Kongens Nytorv and walked to Nyhavn from there. Nyhavn became my favourite place in Copenhagen. The seventeenth century canal is lined with colourful restaurants and sailing boats moored along its length. It is vibrant and alive; a treat for the senses. Sam and I ate an amazing brunch there at Cap Horn. I loved watching the people wander by enjoying the sights, the incredible weather, and each other. I fell in love with Copenhagen as I sat there.

The Metro station near the flat.

First glimpse of Nyhavn.

Proud Danish flags flying in the breeze.

Fun drawbridge at Nyhavn.

Delicious Danish herring.

After brunch we strolled to the harbour where we watched the boats for a time as they puttered off to various destinations unknown to us. We then headed to Amalienborg Slotsplads, a square lined with four palaces dating to the eighteenth century one of which is the home of the Danish royal family. Right off the square, the dome of Marmorkirken rises above the rest of the surrounding buildings. It is one of the most beautiful and easily recognisable landmarks in the city. The first time I saw it, I did literally gasp with awe.

Marmokirken

View of Marmokirken from Amelienborg Slotsplads

The statue of Den Lille Havfrue (The Little Mermaid) has come to symbolise the city of Copenhagen. It is one of the most visited sights in the city and when we arrived at it I had to agree. The place was crowded with tourists all bent on getting a photograph. Canal tour boats pulled alongside the shore for a minute or two before zipping off to their next stop. We snapped our photographs and then walked to Kastellet a star-shaped fortress that is the perfect place for a run or a picnic. By this time Sam and I were getting a little punchy and we began taking some fun jumping pictures all over.

Den Lille Havfrue

Danish flag over Kastellet

My favourite picture of me from the entire trip.

Sam and I had been walking the city for hours and it was now almost two thirty. Sam had agreed to meet up with a friend she had met in Copenhagen when she had first moved to the city. Of course, she had agreed to meet Eva far from where we currently were. Though footsore and thirsty and hungry, we began our trek across the city towards Peblinge Sø, the lakes which had served as reservoirs for the city in the past. Now they were gorgeous landmarks with beautiful bicycle and footpaths along them. Sam and I met Eva at one of the coffee shops along the lake and we sat on a floating dock with our drinks and spoke about our adventures thus far. Eva agreed to take us to the Assistens Kirkegárd a park-like cemetery where both Søren Kirkegard and Hans Christian Andersen are buried.

Peblinge Sø

The Ugly Duckling all grown up.

I have always been drawn to cemeteries. Every grave marker is a story. A story of a life filled with hopes, dreams, loves, losses, and triumphs. I walk through and study each stone and image what that person’s life was like. I make up stories about their lives and each story is different and beautiful. The Assistens Kirkegárd is unlike many cemeteries I have been to. It is much more like a park with beautiful tall trees, pathways, and charming landscaping. Around the outer walls are plaques memorialising family plots with the names of individuals from multiple generations all laid together. Some are well maintained and others are cracked and overgrown. It is a very quiet place.

Kirkegard's plot.

Hans Christian Andersen

After visiting Søren and Hans, we bid goodbye to Eva and returned to the flat for a short nap (which turned into a long nap). It was nearly nine o’clock when we left to find a place to eat dinner. We didn’t go very far. The weather had turned and it was now chilly and raining quite heavily. After finding a tapas restaurant open, we ate a quick dinner and then decided to try some of the bars in the area. We ended up at Kind of Blue, a very cosy little place lit by candles. We stayed until closing at two in the morning when we tiredly returned to the flat and slept until well into the next morning.

All of Copenhagen was abuzz with the news that the Amorphophallus titanum at the Botanisk Have was blooming for the second time in two years. This was exciting as these particular plants usually only bloom once every seven to ten years. It’s also known as the corpse flower because as it blooms it releases a terrible stench like that of rotting meat. Sam and I decided we absolutely must go and see (and smell) this amazing flower.

The Botanisk Have

We arrived at the gardens late in the morning. The sky was grey with the promise of more rain and we hurried through the grounds before heading to the palm house, the home of the corpse flower. As we entered the room the thick, wet, heat of the air slapped us. The lens of my camera instantly fogged and I spent a great deal of time whipping it with my dress in order to get clear shots. What we didn’t expect was the smell.

It didn’t smell like anything.

There was no promised stench of death. No overwhelmingly fetid odour which would make the bile rise in the most resistant of stomachs. It just smelled like any other greenhouse filled with plants. We were confused, until we got to the flower. It had only just started to bloom. It was not yet at the stage when it would unleash its vile perfume. Despite this disappointment, it was still an amazing specimen and I was glad I had gotten a chance to see it.

Corpse Flower just beginning to bloom.

When we left the palm house it was drizzling. I shivered slightly though I was wearing a sweatshirt I had borrowed from Sam. We decided to find a café to have lunch and get warmed up. We found one in Kultorvet called Café Phønix. We chose a table outside near a heater and here the brilliance of the Danes can best be observed. Almost all outdoor cafes that I saw in Copenhagen have blankets on the backs of the chairs. This brilliant innovation should be adopted in restaurants across the world. (Perhaps countries with an average annual temperature over 35˚C could be given an exemption. As we sat, I pulled the red blanket over my lap and leaned closer to the heater. I began to dry off and feel human again.

After lunch we went to visit the ruins under Christiansborg Castle. I highly recommend this site if you are in Copenhagen. The ruins date to the twelfth century and it is amazing to see the archaeological remains of previous incarnations of the modern castle. It is possible to travel back in time to the beginnings of Copenhagen in that darkened, subterranean space.

Christiansborg

Underneath Christiansborg

This model shows what the castle once looked like.
The foundation of the tower seen in the model is in the background.

It was passed five o’clock when Sam and I crossed the bridge into Christianshavn. Instantly we were drawn to the spire of Vor Frelsers Kirke. I remembered climbing St. Paul’s Cathedral in London and knew what had to be done. We purchased tickets to climb the spire and began our ascent. The wooden steps were worn and the walls had been smoothed from the hundreds of hands of previous climbers who had brushed their surfaces. We climbed passed the Baroque clock dated to the 1660s, past the large bells poised to ring at any moment, and up through to the outside where the wooden stairs gave way to copper. The views were phenomenal. We saw the entire city and over into Sweden. I had been feeling drained from the long night before and the endless walking, but when I finally got to the top and took in the view, I was no longer tired or cranky. I was exhilarated.

We climbed right to the very top of the spire.

We decided to return to Nyhavn for dinner that evening. Our route took us past a temporary stage where we stopped to listen to some jazz. It was the last day of the Copenhagen Jazz Festival and the silky sounds of the saxophone caressed my ears and brought my thoughts back to the time I spent in New Orleans.

After dinner we walked and walked and then we walked. At times I did not know where we were headed. I’m not sure Sam did either. Quite by accident we stumbled across Tivoli and the statue of Hans Christian Andersen. We passed the station where I would be leaving for Hamburg the next morning. We finally made it to the Metro and took it back to the flat. I packed my bag and fell fast asleep.

Tivoli is a giant amusement park.

I couldn't see what he was staring at.

My time in Copenhagen went by so quickly and yet I feel like I spend much longer than two and a half days there. I find that when I go to a new place, I never can quite cross it off of my bucket list. Visiting only makes me want to return and explore those wonders over and over again and find new ones to delight in. I would love to return to Copenhagen. To sit at one of those cafes at Nyhavn and watch the boats go up to the waterfront, to take off my shoes and run through the grass at the Kastellet where I would sit for an impromptu picnic with some obligatory fløderboller, to stroll through the grounds of the Botanisk Have again and perhaps this time smell the pungent bouquet of the corpse flower.

I do not think it is really possible to know a place fully. Certainly not in three days and I doubt that even a lifetime would allow you to reveal all of the secret delights of one city.