Not a cloud in the sky. Det Kongelit Theatre to my left, the impressive new opera house across the canal, the gateway to Nyhavn behind me, I am looking across the water at the gold-spired churchtop in Christianshavn. The sun is shining on my face and glistening on the water. The city is quiet, not at all as it will be in another hour or two. Days ago, my sleeplessness and the cold and the wind and the rain and the noise and the crowds got me down. Down to where I briefly forgot what a blessing this is. But last night, walking back through Nyhavn with my handsome partner at 10:00 pm in the sunshine with two young lovers in their 70s walking hand-in-hand ahead of us, I remembered. As our Danish mother stopped to point out each and every memory, as she stopped to gaze in wonder at how her city has grown and changed, as I watched her eyes shine with love for her home and pride in showing it off, my cold heart melted. This is the romantic city of which I read. This is the historic home of castles and canals and colorful rowhouses and kings and queens and parks where the natives strip themselves in front of the warm glowing sun as soon as they get the chance. This is the small proud country where, despite the growing need to teach their children English, they continue to speak their historic and beautiful native language, the language of Vikings and of royalty, a language older than the country I call home. This is a place of stunning green countrysides, ancient fortresses where brave countrymen guarded their prized land and charming ancient fishing villages where the locals continue to shop for the best herring, salmon, eel, plaice and all the bounty the Oresund provides.
The crowds in the Stroget can be exasperating, the weather unpredictable and the prices wallet-busting; but, at this special moment, there is no crowd, no inclement weather, no cost to sit and watch the sun's rays dance on the water, the little mallard sleeping next to me with its beak nestled in its wing, listen to the chirpsong of the gulls and jays, feel the sun's warmth on my neck, sip my morning coffee and appreciate this romantic beautiful city I am blessed to visit.
Copenhagen, I love your spirit, your sass and your smorrebrod. I love the Louisiana and your appreciation for all things artistic. I love your fighting spirit when your team plays the World Cup and your determination to keep the party going long after the losing play.
Tak for alt, CPH.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Normino in Amsterdam
Surprise, everyone! I am not sick! I have not visited a hospital yet, suffered food poisoning, had an emergency root canal. No major injuries or illnesses. Nothing other than feeling ugly. If you have spent any time in Amsterdam, you may understand what I mean. Are there any unattractive Dutch people? We feel it is inappropriate for the beautiful Dutch to flaunt their loveliness shamelessly in our faces. The coup de grace was the construction workers conveniently situated across the canal from where we had lunch our last day in town. It was like a Pepsi commercial. I kept expecting one of them to pause, wipe their brow and open up a cool one and start drinking.
Anyway, I am not starting at the very beginning, and that is a very good place to start. Our trip began in Portland when our taxi picked us up, we zoomed off for our adventure and promptly had a flat tire before getting on the freeway. I thought "Well, why not? Why wait to be overseas before the mishaps begin?" Fortunately, our cabbie was very fast at replacing the flat tire with a spare from his trunk. As he was at least 65 and panting like he was having a heart attack, I felt bad for him; but not bad enough to offer assistance. I can't be getting dirty right before an international flight.
Eventually, after a 4 hour flight to Dallas, a 9 hour to London, 4 hours sitting in Heathrow, a 90 minute to Amsterdam and a terrifyingly fast taxi trip, we arrived.
The Hotel Wiechmann is a charming B and B sitting right on the west bank of the Prinsengracht canal. Our window overlooked the canal and made for great people-watching. It really is an addictive pastime in Amsterdam. The cyclists alone are thrillingto observe. Do not mistake this for exaggeration when I say that we would see a man dressed for work with a child in the front basket, a child straddling behind him, a coffee and cigarette in one hand, a cellphone between his ear and shoulder, one hand on the handlebars, and he would be flying down the street. Along with him were numerous others, all racing to get to work, school, synagogue and who knows where else.
One morning, T and I rented bicycles and rode to Westerpark. At one point, riding beside Tommy, I hear a bell jingle and a voice say "Hallo!" and there behind me is a woman of at least 60 years in a dress and heels impatiently on my back tire trying to pass. I quickly slowed and got behind Tommy and she sped past me. We stayed single file thereafter.
And the cyclists are hard-core in Amsterdam. Woe is the pedestrian out for a leisurely stroll who happens to walk anywhere but on the 1-foot-wide pedestrian sidewalk. They will be clipped by a truck or run over by a raging cyclist. Fortunately, the Amsterdammits have no qualms about yelling at pedestrians with their loud commanding frightening voices.
Anywho, aside from being scared into submission by the locals, highlights included the Anne Frank Huis which was amazing. So brilliantly put together with an interactive installation at the end which gives visitors a chance to weigh in on more recent events targeting certain ethnic or cultural groups.
The Rijksmuseum is currently under renovation, but they have assembled a "greatest hits" wing which is quite complete on its own. We should have stopped there, but we tried to conquer Van Gogh on the same day. At a certain point, my brain just refuses to accept more information. I quickly grew annoyed with my audio tour at Van Gogh and started just sprinting through the rooms trying to find the exit. Those museums are not easy to navigate quickly especially when other visitors are trying to stroll or, worse yet, STAND and view the works. I may have seemed callous when I knocked that 9-yr-old girl over, but after reading about a man depressed and crazy enough to chop off his own ear, I am sure she has other scars to deal with. Thanks, Mom and Dad.
Well, I better sign off for now. It is 7:40 am here in Copenhagen (yes, I am a little behind on this update), and Tommy is sure to be awake soon and ready for some wienerbrod. It's Danish, people!
I will post again later when I actually have something to say. Oh, who am I kidding? I rarely have anything real to say. I will rant some more soon.
Anyway, I am not starting at the very beginning, and that is a very good place to start. Our trip began in Portland when our taxi picked us up, we zoomed off for our adventure and promptly had a flat tire before getting on the freeway. I thought "Well, why not? Why wait to be overseas before the mishaps begin?" Fortunately, our cabbie was very fast at replacing the flat tire with a spare from his trunk. As he was at least 65 and panting like he was having a heart attack, I felt bad for him; but not bad enough to offer assistance. I can't be getting dirty right before an international flight.
Eventually, after a 4 hour flight to Dallas, a 9 hour to London, 4 hours sitting in Heathrow, a 90 minute to Amsterdam and a terrifyingly fast taxi trip, we arrived.
The Hotel Wiechmann is a charming B and B sitting right on the west bank of the Prinsengracht canal. Our window overlooked the canal and made for great people-watching. It really is an addictive pastime in Amsterdam. The cyclists alone are thrillingto observe. Do not mistake this for exaggeration when I say that we would see a man dressed for work with a child in the front basket, a child straddling behind him, a coffee and cigarette in one hand, a cellphone between his ear and shoulder, one hand on the handlebars, and he would be flying down the street. Along with him were numerous others, all racing to get to work, school, synagogue and who knows where else.
One morning, T and I rented bicycles and rode to Westerpark. At one point, riding beside Tommy, I hear a bell jingle and a voice say "Hallo!" and there behind me is a woman of at least 60 years in a dress and heels impatiently on my back tire trying to pass. I quickly slowed and got behind Tommy and she sped past me. We stayed single file thereafter.
And the cyclists are hard-core in Amsterdam. Woe is the pedestrian out for a leisurely stroll who happens to walk anywhere but on the 1-foot-wide pedestrian sidewalk. They will be clipped by a truck or run over by a raging cyclist. Fortunately, the Amsterdammits have no qualms about yelling at pedestrians with their loud commanding frightening voices.
Anywho, aside from being scared into submission by the locals, highlights included the Anne Frank Huis which was amazing. So brilliantly put together with an interactive installation at the end which gives visitors a chance to weigh in on more recent events targeting certain ethnic or cultural groups.
The Rijksmuseum is currently under renovation, but they have assembled a "greatest hits" wing which is quite complete on its own. We should have stopped there, but we tried to conquer Van Gogh on the same day. At a certain point, my brain just refuses to accept more information. I quickly grew annoyed with my audio tour at Van Gogh and started just sprinting through the rooms trying to find the exit. Those museums are not easy to navigate quickly especially when other visitors are trying to stroll or, worse yet, STAND and view the works. I may have seemed callous when I knocked that 9-yr-old girl over, but after reading about a man depressed and crazy enough to chop off his own ear, I am sure she has other scars to deal with. Thanks, Mom and Dad.
Well, I better sign off for now. It is 7:40 am here in Copenhagen (yes, I am a little behind on this update), and Tommy is sure to be awake soon and ready for some wienerbrod. It's Danish, people!
I will post again later when I actually have something to say. Oh, who am I kidding? I rarely have anything real to say. I will rant some more soon.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
