I enjoy the city by myself and make a few friends along the way
By James C. Hawkins | November 11, 2023 | 30-minute read
I am unbelievably lucky and privileged to get to travel across Europe for my job. It’s my favorite part about living in Spain. It takes almost no time to arrive in Paris for a long weekend, or London for a brief city break, not even windy Copenhagen is unreachable from my home base. However, the only negative aspect that I can feel is that I am always doing it alone.
Have you ever imagined your life as a sitcom?
I admit that I do. I suffer from a disease called ‘Main Character Syndrome,’ which means my personal brand of narcissism is a bit more neurotic than most. Think about your favorite sitcoms and what comes to mind? Mine are The Golden Girls, Parks and Rec, 30 Rock, and I Love Lucy. They show how comedic and tragic the journey of life can be and show us how friends and come in and out of our lives – for better or for worse.
My life is a sitcom as much as anyone else’s is, and we are all extra characters in each other’s stories to help teach lessons or provide humorous relief.
Now that I live in Europe, every time I travel feels like embarking on a crossover episode that then leads to its own spinoff.
But, if I had to classify what kind of sitcom I was the star of, what would it be?
An Office-like situation? I don’t have enough characters in my life to make a full cast.
Or am I Doroth Zbornak in the Golden Girls, finding new meaning in the later stages of her life? No, I haven’t learned enough hardship to make the storyline impactful.
No, I suppose the sitcom my life is setting up for is somewhat like the premise of Mork and Mindy. A show that began in 1978, Mork arrives on Earth in an egg-shaped spacecraft. He has been assigned to observe human behavior by Orson, his mostly unseen and long-suffering superior (voiced by Ralph James). Orson has sent Mork on assignment to Earth as an excuse to get him off Ork, where humor is not permitted. Attempting to fit in, Mork dresses in an Earth suit, but wears it backwards.
Traveling alone, I have gotten the chance to observe human behavior through a completely different lens. So, with the opportunity to travel to Denmark for work, I was excited to get to witness these behaviors in a country in which I had never stepped foot.
In the evening of Saturday October 21st, I arrived in Copenhagen and was greeted by sheer darkness. The time was 7:00pm.
The airport was unsettlingly tranquil. And, I easily found the path to the metro from my gate that would connect me to the city center quite easily. Who needs to spend 70 euros on a cab when there is a perfectly good train connection right at the airport?
The platform was exposed to the weather outside and I felt the sharp edge of cold air rasp across my skin. I winced and pulled out my jacket and scarf. The train arrived with a woosh and I stood to the side to let the passengers exit efficiently.
I entered to find that I was the only one on the coach.
For a moment I stood blankly. Had I misread the direction of the train? I bet this is how Mork felt when he tried to drive a car for the first time and it wouldn’t start. I could hear a faint live-audience begin to laugh at the dramatic irony of my potential blunder. After a brief pause, the train slowly began to move in the intended direction and I felt at ease. For Americans, understanding how public transportation functions takes a bit of time, especially for me, a boy from the backwoods of Kentucky.
Now having become a tested expert, I’ve learned the tiny unspoken rules that come along with it.
- Stand to the side of the door so exiting passengers can disembark quickly.
- It’s rude to speak on your phone while riding the train. – Even more so to bring food or drinks.
- Give up your seat if you see someone that needs it more than you do.
The train made its way towards the center of Copenhagen and at each stop, we picked up more and more passengers. Everyone seemed to be quiet or if they spoke it was in hushed tones. It was a stark contrast from the trains of Madrid which were often filled to the brim with people and had a constant drum of noise echoing through the coaches.
Here, I felt still.
I had arrived just before Halloween, which is not a widely celebrated Holiday in Europe, and you could see glimpses of decorations around the city. The winter tourists would arrive soon to take in the Christmas markets that the Danish capital was known for, but they weren’t here just yet. It seemed that I had the city to myself.
While I was rocked by the gentle lulling of the train, I felt my shoulders relax. Perhaps, we were in a commercial break.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I removed it to check the notification. It was a message from my mom. My grandfather had been placed in the hospital days earlier and she was updating me on how he was feeling. My shoulders immediately tensed up again in preparation for the message.
Your grandfather is out of the hospital and moved to a nursing/rehab facility. My mom wrote.
Is that a good thing or a bad thing? Does that mean he’s getting better or…? As soon as I was about to send my response, the train arrived at Copenhagen Central station. I needed to exit quickly or else I’d have to circle back around on a different train or worse, walk.
I smoothly climbed the stairs of the station and took my first breath. I smelled the cool sea air and felt the prickle of tiny raindrops on my face. There was a dense mist that that filled the sky as if smoke had collected under a kitchen ceiling. Through the soles of my thick shoes, I could feel the cobblestones of the streets and I admired their charm but then soon groaned at the thought of pulling my suitcase across the uneven pavement to my hotel.
I couldn’t hear any cars or honking but the noises of the passersby bounced off the mist and created the illusion of commotion.
The city already felt so different than Madrid and it delighted me. So much so that I even cracked a small grin. I could feel the audience of my sitcom sitting on their couches bored on their phones watching me have this moment of pause. I snapped out of my haze and proceeded to trip over the first cobblestone. Cue the audience laughter.
I hadn’t responded to my mother, so before I trudged to my hotel, I finished my message to her.
The uplifted expression I had on my face then settled itself into something less relieved. In truth, I felt guilty. It’s one thing to have taken a last-minute trip for work while my grandfather had fallen ill, but to enjoy it…? That’s another thing entirely.
Without much more impedance from the slick cobblestones, I arrived at a five-story building with a placard that read Go Hotel Saga located in the part of town known as Vesterbro. It was not glamorous by any means, but compared to where I had stayed in Antwerp, it seemed like a castle. I looked around the modest lobby covered in hospital white paint and found a sign that said, ‘No external guests in rooms.’
‘That’s odd’, I thought. ‘What’s an external guest?’
When I stepped inside my room, I understood why it had been the lowest price in the area. I looked around the bedroom which had been normal size for European standards, but something felt off.
There was no bathroom.
I learned that the bathroom on my floor was shared and that it would have to suffice as they had no other options available for the weekend that I was staying.
In Antwerp, I had been restricted with a tight budget. It’s no surprise that I didn’t enjoy the city in the way I had intended because of this reason. To prevent this in Copenhagen, I had saved and budgeted more appropriately. I had spent the week before the trip planning each stop, each bar, each restaurant and what I would order. This would prevent overspending and keep me on budget…or so I thought.
After using the communal bathroom, I checked my meticulously manicured spreadsheet for what I had planned during the evening.
| Dinner in Copenhagen Jailhouse CPH | € 25,00 | ||
| Drinks in CPH Cosy Bar Masken Bar Kiss Kiss Bar SIX CPH Centralhjornet | € 100,00 | ||
I checked my phone and saw that Jailhouse wasn’t really the place to get dinner and I wasn’t that hungry anyway. Maybe I could save a bit of money tonight and use it for some other things while I’m here.
It was going to be a 15-minute walk or 10 minutes by metro. As I threw on my jacket, I made the decision to walk.
The air was humid but frigid and as I walked, a cold gust prickled the hairs on my neck. Copenhagen was quiet and the tips of the brutalist Scandinavian glass buildings penetrated the fog line. Their lights illuminated the sky like lighting in a thunderstorm and I was able to see the pavement around me. On my walk, I passed by the Tivoli Gardens which had been decorated for Halloween. The darkness mixed with the oragne glow of the lights made me nostalgic for autumn activities in Kentucky. I made a mental note to go back to Tivoli tomorrow to explore.
After passing through wide streets and modern buildings I happened upon the Copenhagen Radhaus (Copenhagen City Hall). The building that you see today was completed in 1905 but Copenhagen’s City Hall has stood on the same spot since 1479. It is an impressive piece of architecture and as I stood in the plaza surrounding it, the top of its stoned tower was concealed by the low level clouds.
I took it in for a moment and went on my way. The city had no pronounced smell that I could determine, or maybe it was a smell of sterility and cleanliness. In any respect, the odor of the city wasn’t offensive.
I jaywalked across the main road to find myself on a small corridor. The sign read Studiestraede. Dotted along the alley I found dimly lit bars, whose names I had written down in my spreadsheet, and for the most part it was quiet. It was around 10:30pm, which would be considered early in Spain, so I wondered if the same was true for Copenhagen. Somehow it seemd that everyone was in the middle of their Saturday night frivolities and I was ready to see what the city’s nightlife had to offer.
As you know by now, most of the traveling I do, I do it alone. By myself.
Sometimes doing things on your own can be very liberating and other times it can be quite lonely. In Antwerp, I felt alone in a way that was not comfortable or liberating. Having learned this lesson, when I go to a bar in a different city, I try not to have any expectations and allow moments to happen as they’re meant to.
If Jailhouse proved not to be much fun, I would go back to my hotel and get some rest – or try another place. There is no harm in trying new things even if there is no positive emotional payback. Nothing would have been lost by me doing some exploring.
The entrance to Jailhouse is down a half flight of stairs and is located in a basement of sorts. Smoking is still allowed, and much like the city itself, there was a fog layer of cigarette fumes forming on the roof of the cellar. The patrons of the bar were mostly older, and the bartenders were wearing outfits that reminded me of faux-police officers. Now, that I am writing this, I suppose they were meant to be the correctional officers of the Jailhouse?
Where the city itself smelled sterile, Jailhouse had an odor that transcended the borders of countries. My nose picked up notes of seasoned wood, cracked dried leather, smoke (in an inoffensive way), and a hint of natural male scent
‘Ah, it’s a leather bar. Neat!’ I thought to myself.
Leather bars have special places in the gay community as they typically have been places where hetero patrons find our lifestyle less palatable – hence, they don’t crowd the space.
I quickly glanced around the cellar to discover a charming energy. Some were wearing leather harnesses, others were in drag, and some, like me, were just looking for a connection. Seated directly at the bar, alone, there was a young man of about my age who had his head pointed downward into his lap. I assumed he was looking at his phone, but when I looked closer I saw that he was knitting.
I have seen almost every type of person in a gay bar but someone knitting a scarf was admittedly something I had not seen.
I saddled up to the seat next to him and instantly a bartender whose name badge that read Jergens laid down a coaster and put both hands on the bar in front of me. He locked his elbows and leaned all his weight onto his outstretched hands. He exhaled and said, ‘Hvad vil du gerne have at drikke?’ It took me a second to understand that he was speaking to me in Danish. Did he think I was a local? I felt extremely flattered even though my face showed surprise.
‘No, I don’t need to use the bathroom, but thank you.‘ I pretended to understand what he said and formulated my own witty response. Again, I heard the laughter of the live-audience watching the days recording.
He then understood the situation, squeeked out the smallest of pity-chuckles, and he asked his original question in english – what I wanted to drink. I asked him if I could try to order in Danish, myself and he agreed. As any good traveler should, I learned some Danish survival phrases to show the locals that I respected their country and language.
‘Jeg ….vil …have en …gin og tonic…?’ I creaked.
He smiled and said, ‘Not bad… but it would be nice if you said Tak at the end (please).’ I apologized for the rudeness, and I thanked him for letting me practice. Danes speak the best English in Europe and I think they like when outsiders make the effort to learn how to say certain words and phrases in their language. The strongest bridges can be built through broken sentences full of mistakes.
Just then, the person who had been knitting beside me turned his head up and peered at me through curious eyes.
‘So, what part of the states are you from?’ he said without introducing himself. ‘I know another American when I hear one.’ This was startling to me because contrary to what you might think, many people in Europe cannot differentiate between a British, American, and Australian accents.
‘I was born and raised in Kentucky, what about you?’ I replied and smiled.
‘Arkansas. But I got out of there a lonnnggggg time ago.’
‘Yea? You moved here. So, I guess that’s almost as far away as you can get from Arkansas.’
He had brown hair and wore comfy clothes and although we were both seated, his head and mine were at the same level. I assumed that he was an academic but an academic that preferred to spend his Friday nights knitting at a leather bar…? The story was puzzling to me. ‘Was this common human behavior?’ My omniscient sitcom narrator voice said.
‘So, what brings you to our little town?’ He said as he went back to his knitting.
‘Well, I’m here for work. The better question is, why are you here?’
‘Same old story – I was studying at Vanderbilt University in Nashville and after I graduated I decided to take on an extra degree here in Denmark.’
I nearly spat out my drink when he said Vanderbilt. ‘Really? I just moved to Madrid from Nashville. I was living there from 2019 to 2023. I actually lived right off Vandy’s campus.’
His head perked up, his eyes widened, and his shoulders became tense. Both of us sat there silently pleased at how funny Stella can be when she wants to be. Two gay guys of similar age, who had lived within a quarter of a mile of each other in Nashville now find themselves sitting next to each other in the dark, smokey basement of a bar in Copenhagen, Denmark.
‘I’m Keagan.’
‘I’m James.’
We spent about 30 minutes reminiscing about the community of Nashville. What we both loved, hated, and loved to hate about the city. Why he chose to leave and why he never looked back. How I found myself in Madrid and where I would go next. It was nice talking to someone that understood my perspective, but without having the same lens through which to view it.
The noise of the bar faded into background and his knitting project had been placed back in his satchel. His friend, Merlin, a French student who was attending university in Copenhagen, approached us from behind the bar. Keagan introduced me and began to explain the serendipity of our chance meeting – Merlin didn’t seem to care. He was working as one of the bartenders in the jaunty uniforms and had thirsty customers that beckoned his attention.
Keagan was a radical leftist, but perhaps if you asked him, he would classify himself as a Marxist – although I am not informed enough to know the difference. He was passionate about things like public transportation and access to healthcare. As he spoke, I took a sip of my gin and tonic and tilted my head downwards. I, too, was a proponent of equal access to healthcare in the US, but in truth I had found the Spanish health system to be left wanting.
‘What’s wrong? Did I lose you?’ he chuckled.
‘No, it’s just that… Spain has free access to healthcare, and for the most part it’s great – but I have been on a waitlist for PREP for almost four months.’
If we were in a sitcom, this would be the moment where I would turn and look directly at the camera for a PSA.
PREP is a medication that you take every day to prevent the contraction of HIV. In the USA, most preventative drugs like would be insanely expensive to procure and require lengthy meetings with doctors to consult you on its proper use, but it is starkly different for PREP.
In Nashville, like most medium-large American cities, there are specialized PREP clinics where you can find FREE access to STD testing and FREE access to PREP medication. There is no primary physician recommendation needed and most often, you can leave the clinic with a prescription immediately. Based on your insurance, you can qualify for Descovey or Truvada. Both have the same functionality, however Descovey is smaller in size and has less side effects, therefore making it more expensive.
Now, in Spain, healthcare is free. This is part of our yearly taxes that we pay. You must register with the hospital in your area, and you are not allowed to go to another one. You have an assigned doctor and typically an assigned appointment time when you can see them. You do have the option of getting private insurance which gives you access to private hospitals. Depending on the area you live in, you might experience long wait times at the public hospitals and therefore makes private hospitals more appealing.
I had brought about 5 months of PREP supply from the USA, and I had thought that it would have been enough time to secure the medication here in Spain. I was wrong.
To enroll in PREP in Spain, you must register at your public hospital in the area you live – this requires that you have your physical NIE card (our version of a Social Security Card). It took me 4 months to receive the physical card after moving to Spain, even though I already had the NIE number before making the move. I could not register at the hospital only using the number, the physical card was the critical aspect.
In September of 2023, I received the card and immediately registered at the hospital in my area. I then got an appointment with my doctor (which was 5 days after my registration.) She did not speak English or make an attempt to speak slowly for me to understand. This is general feedback that everyone says – the customer service level in the public hospitals in Spain is extremely low. In contrast, I also have private insurance and my doctor at the private hospital is able to speak English – but she could not refer me for PREP.
My Doctor at the public hospital had to refer to me one of three government hospitals in Madrid that could authorize the release of PREP. She told me that they would call me to make an appointment. On September 12th, they called me to tell me that the earliest appointment available at Hospital Princessa would be on December 11th. I was going to run out of the medication and nothing could be done about it.
Having not had my appointment yet, the feedback from what you hear around our community is that you need to lie about your sexual habits for them to even consider you as a potential patient. Meaning, you have to say you engage in high-risk habits even if you don’t. This was not the case in the USA.
Keagan and I spoke about this at length and we talked about the pro’s and con’s of access to public healthcare. In Denmark, they seemed to be doing it correctly. There was a small wait of two to three weeks and the process had been relatively tranquil.
At this point, Merlin’s customers were satisfied, and he had joined in on our conversation. He had not been on PREP in France, but in Denmark, it was easy. Then out of nowhere, Merlin, who was a perfect stranger, surprised me.
‘Man, if you need some PREP, I can give you mine and tell the clinic that I lost my prescription.’ He said in a matter-of-fact manner. He had no glimmer of a French accent, and he offered his medication with a sense of giving that seemed taken out of a Christmas-time Hallmark movie.
‘I….I couldn’t take your PREP. You need that!’ I yelped.
Keagan sat there smiling as if he had seen Merlin’s display of pure kindness many times before, and mired in the beauty of someone else experiencing it for the first time. Perhaps that’s why they were friends. Both had an unwavering kindness about them in a way that the world doesn’t really deserve…. At least, not in a way that I see it.
We don’t bat an eye when someone catches a cold or the flu. Nobody says, ‘Well, if you didn’t want to get sick, you should have stayed inside.’ This should be the same with STD’s and HIV. Sex is a natural human experience and unfortunately the sex between two men has been stigmatized so much that access to these types of necessary drugs to safeguard their health has been kept behind wrought-iron gates.
I humbly accepted his offer out of desperation, and I told him that I would take him (and Keagan) out for coffee or drinks the next day. He smiled and nodded his head to the agreement.
Keagan and I went back to reminiscing and Merlin tended to other customers. I finished my second drink that I had pre-budgeted for, and I decided to take my leave. I waved goodbye and went on my way.
The streets were still damp, and the air had become thicker, but something felt different. I felt good…? Is this what the humans call …Good…? Cue Audience Laughter. Traveling alone can be liberating at times but mostly, it can be lonely as I’ve said. It felt nice to make a connection and meet some new friends.
There was a night club Keagan had recommended to me and I walked to it. What was its name? I don’t remember.
There was already a line forming and now that I am in my 30s, I can’t imagine the ‘fun’ that the nightclub could provide would outweigh the hell of waiting in the line. At the expense of having a lack luster episode for my audience, I decided to walk back to my hotel.
The way back was much like the walk to Jailhouse. It was completely dark, there was a dense fog line, and the lights of the buildings cut through the clouds like coastal lighthouses signaling to far off ships. I felt safe. Unlike any other city I’ve been in, walking around Copenhagen at night felt extremely secure. While I was walking, I became aware of this, and I smiled.
I arrived back in Vestebro to find several women scattered on the streets. Each seemed to try to make eye contact with me and I was sure that they were practitioners in the world’s oldest trade. The sign in the lobby of my hotel finally made sense.
The next morning, I got started with my day of sightseeing. I had created a list of free things to do in Copenhagen that I had plans to explore.
| Coffee | € 5,00 |
| Tyvoli Gardens | € – |
| Rosenborg Slot | € – |
| RundeTaarn | € – |
| Lunch | € 15,00 |
| Kastellet | € – |
| Oster Farimagsgade-Kvarteret | € – |
| Dinner | € 20,00 |
As I reviewed my list, I made some notes. No one could fault me for my effort in planning, but what I had not done was map out how I would get to each one.
‘Well, Tyvoli Gardens, I passed last night and it was splendidly decorated for Halloween, so I will go back there when it’s dark.’
If I had had a sitcom narrator, they would’ve said, ‘But James didn’t go back there at dark…’
‘Ok, I will walk to Rosenberg Slot, through Oster Farimagsgade-Kvarteret (a scenic park), then to Kastelet – next I will stop by Nyhavn (picturesque Harbor that didn’t make my list), and then Rundetaarn.’
This Sunday morning the city retained its stillness from the evening before. I walked towards Rosenberg Slot and it took me about 30 minutes to get there by foot from my hotel. The Slot (Danish word for Castle, which comes from the German word Schloss) is a late Renaissance period construction in the Dutch style – from Dutch Architects, not Danish. I never thought about the Renaissance style reaching places like Denmark or the Netherlands, but here I was looking at a standing reminder from the 1600s.
It was €17 to enter the castle but it was free to walk the grounds, so I chose the latter.
The gardens, the statues, and the castle itself are beautiful insights into Danish history, but if I had had the money I would have hired a tour guide. That is the one regret I had about Copenhagen. There is so much about Denmark that I never learned about in School and a guide would have been well worth the price. Maybe if I was part of a real sitcom, a distant character would have arisen to give me (and the audience) a crash course – but no such luck.
At this point, sun had completely cleared the overcast skies, so I decided to go take some pictures at Nyhavn after leaving Rosenberg Slot. What’s special about Nyhavn? It’s a small harbor and it’s very picturesque. It is featured on most of the postcards you find in Copenhagen and it’s home to many brightly colored buildings. If you are wanting to avoid travel-influencers – this is not the place to go.
I waited around the harbor for a while to find someone to take my picture, which proved difficult – not to mention embarrassing. Taking a selfie, alone, in your 30s, has to be one of the nightmare traps in the Saw movie franchise. As I tried to find someone to take the photo, I was reminded of a mantra that a tour guide had told my friend Jamie and I in Amsterdam.
‘Every picture in the world has been taken. You should spend less time taking pictures of things, and more time enjoying them in person. You can always google the picture after you leave.’
But, for me, it’s important to have photos of my physical body in places when I travel. I am sure 70-year-old James would want to have that memory documented so he can enjoy it later.
After an awkward German family agreed to take my photo, I left to go to my next stop. Kastellet. This fortress, which was made during the time of King Christian IV in the 1600s (the same time as Rosenberg Slot) is laid out in a 5-point star pattern. Now, it’s used as a walking park and a place for sunbathers to lounge – when you can find the sun, that is.
On the way there, a café caught my eye. It was decorated floor to ceiling in Danish Christmas ornaments. It is called Mormors Café and I have no clue what it’s like during the rest of the year, but in October it was already decorated for Santa Claus. A part of me hopes that it stays decorated for longer than the Christmas season, but I can’t say for sure.
I entered the café to find black and white and even sepia portraits of blond children from another decade. It was clear that it was a family-owned shop and it was painfully delightful. There were three sisters working behind the counter and I gathered that their childhood photos were on display all over the shop. I ordered a café au lait and a Danish tart (with some fruit that I couldn’t identify.) It seemed to be the kind of café where you shared tables with strangers and absolutely no laptops are allowed.
I took a seat at a tabletop that looked out the window of the shop and an elderly woman sat next to me. She wore a light woolen jacket and her metallic silver-white hair was pulled back into a stark ponytail. She clasped her cup with both hands and breathed deeply – a ritual well-practiced. As she sipped, she tapped her wedding ring on the glass and the sound almost reminded me of the tune of jingle bells.
I took the brief downtime to look through my phone and catch up on social media. I imagined that she thought I was silly for doing it, for she had mastered the art of being in the present moment. The woman remained intesnely focused on her cup and when she finished she gave the girls behind the counter hugs and kisses. She was their grandmother. I would want to watch a TV show about her – what lessons could she teach us?
What lessons has my Grandfather taught me? I glanced back at my phone to see if I had received another text from my mom but as it was 11:30am, nobody in the US had woken up yet. Above all, my grandparents have taught me to always have faith. Have faith in yourself to choose right over wrong. Have faith in others so that they will do the same. And above all else, have faith in God.
Now, our versions of what God is are completely different, but the lesson of allowing yourself to relinquish control to something bigger than yourself still rings true.
For my grandfather to be well again, I needed some help from something bigger than myself.
After enjoying a brief snack at Mormors café and walking through Kastelet, I decided to pierce through the main commercial area and visit Rundetaarn.
It’s a round tower and it is old. What was it used for? I have no clue, but it looks oddly phallic if you ask me. Cue audience laughter. Not only was there a line at Rundetaarn, but it also cost money to go up… I decided it wasn’t worth it.
That afternoon, I met up with Merlin and Keagan so that Merlin could give me his extra PREP prescription. We decided to have drinks at a place called ‘Den Franske Café’ which means the French Café in Danish. I chuckled because Merlin, the French exchange student, had chosen the place. It is quite far outside the main touristic area and it overlooks a man-made water feature called Sorterdams So.
The two new friends had an incredible energy and I’m happy to have made their acquaintance. They reminded me that being kind can have immense ripple effects. If anyone deserved their own spin-off series, it was them.
Keagan needed to leave and I had dinner plans closer to the city center. Merlin decided to escort me back. The former-Parisian stood a few inches shorter than me, enough for me to be able to rest my arm on his head. With dark brown hair and a light scruff on his cheeks that gave way to a pronounced mustache, his appearance didn’t seem to remind me of a typical Frenchmen.
We had a nice time chatting and we decided to go for another drink at a place near my restaurant called Barkowski Bar. The intimate pub seemed to be a typical hang out for local young people. There were couches everywhere and the beer flowed nicely from the taps. Sports were being shown on all screens and the lights were turned low. For added atmosphere, candles had been lit on the table.
After a beer, I bid Merlin adieu and went to dinner at a restaurant called Host.
An American from the bay area had invited me to join him for dinner and after meeting him for two minutes, I regretted accepting the invitation. I used to live in California and I forgot how annoying the locals can be. He sent back our chosen bottle of wine twice just to show how pretentious he could be. Cue Audience BOOOOOOO!
Despite his rudeness, the service was attentive and the food was absolutely delicious. Copenhagen has a great new-age food scene and if you travel there, it’s worth planning out your dinners beforehand.
Thankfully, the guy paid for the dinner. He had expected that we hang out a bit after, but I couldn’t stomach another minute with him. I have forgotten his name but let’s call him ‘Paul.’
My mother would scorn me for lying, but I made up the worst excuse to get out of hanging out with him after.
I told him I had diarrhea. No joke, I said I had diarrhea – that’s how horrible being around this man was.
Thinking he wouldn’t press the matter further he said… ‘Well, can’t you just go to the bathroom?’
‘Good night, PAUL!’ I loudly said so he would get the hint, and I practically bolted out of the restaurant. Cue audience WOOOOOOOOO
I went back to my hotel to rest. Afterall, I had traveled to Copenhagen for some work meetings, and I needed to refocus my attention on the task at hand.
At the end of this episode of my sitcom, I reflected on my experiences and all of the characters that played their small roles. And, who would soon be meeting with the Network Exec’s to discuss their own spin off series.
- Keagan and Merlin for being the comedic relief and harbingers of grace.
- The older woman at the café for teaching me a lesson about being in the moment.
- And, even Paul who played the villain of the week.
Copenhagen was the perfect place to explore on my own. The history is rich. The food and drinks were filling. The people were kind to me. I’m not sure if everyone would have the same experience as I did, but Copenhagen taught me something about myself – Often times, cities can be a reflection of ourselves. If we are in positive moods, cities can hold positive experiences for us.
For people who are more emotional and sensitive, one could be quick to take things personally. And for me, resorting to cynicism is easy. Thankfully, for people like us, romanticizing a situation becomes easier as well. We experience the full range of feelings and emotion – for better or for worse.
While in Antwerp I had been in a cloudy headspace, therefore I was able to hyperfocus on its shortcomings. And, even in Madrid, walking out of the house had become laborious. My job, my commute, my tight budget, and my social life were all contributing to a version of myself that felt heavier.
In Copenhagen, the clouds cleared and I had felt lighter… which made the traveling experience a more enjoyable one.
Thank you to Keagan for helping me to feel less alone. Thank you to Merlin for showing me kindness with no expectation of reward. And Thank you to Copenhagen for showing me a version of myself that is still able have fun.
