Jen and I sat alongside the water and sipped beer with Danes who didn’t notice the whipping wind. Good beer and blankets make Danish weather bearable. I could see myself spending Christmas in Copenhagen. I could see myself living there year round.
I’m in love with the 17th and 18th century townhouses, with the bars and cafes, with the stacked close quarters of it, with the sunny colors. Waterside picnic tables. Water and wooden ships.
Copenhagen is where I got a marriage proposal from a stranger and where a woman tried to talk me into marrying her son, a successful banker. A marriage proposal and a not-quite-marriage proposal, all in the same trip.
It was April 2013, and some 50,000 teachers took to the streets. They gathered in front of the Christiansborg Palace to speak out against the deterioration of the country’s education system.
Jen and I stayed at the Hotel Maritime, drank at McJoy’s Pub, and walked miles on a gray day to an industrial middle of nowhere to find Gamle Carlsberg. Jen met her usual share of beermates, which is to say we never had trouble finding a delightful group with whom to tap glasses.
And I finally got around to writing about it. Merry Christmas, not from Copenhagen.