Big decisions, burning thighs and 7-Eleven

Biking home in the wee hours after a full shift on your feet can be tough. It’s pretty cold these days and that subtle, yet prolonged uphill gradient on my way home reaches its most gruelling point only at the final stages of the journey. Tour de France it is not, but battling gusty winds along the way can be a b*tch. Burning quads and hunger pangs sometimes demand a necessary pit stop at the nearest 7-Eleven (because it’s open) and indulge in the rite of passage that is the 2-croissants-for-10-kroner deal and even then, after being active and foodless for many hours, the greasy, no-added-value snack can feel more an act of desperation rather than a guilty pleasure. Like hooking up with the last single and very drunk guy in the club (another rite of passage…not that I would know anything about this!!)…one can feel rather unsexy scarfing a crumpled pastry at 5.30am, no matter how ‘freshly baked’ it is. Maybe if you were in Paris, okay, but there is little glory in frequenting the F’brg ‘sev’ at this ungodly hour. At least no one else is awake to see you do it.

Nevertheless, there is something about this routine. It’s strangely comforting and to my mind, still beats an hour of head-bobbing on the night bus in London. If I do decide to indulge on the way home, then it really does feel like a reward for myself and it’s nice to know there are a few opportunities to stop along the way home at any hour (and so at my leisure). I often take the time to peruse the selection on offer, usually opting for the chocolate croissant or, in the case of last Friday, the last wilted spandauer with its slightly dulled yellow custard centre still managing a feeble wink at me. I took it out of its misery, convinced I was actively replenishing my (by then) negative calorie count, if not easing my tired legs somehow with…pastry. Still, it’s kind of a fun thing to do and you do meet some interesting characters in passing. I’m referring in particular to the two drunk German guys who asked me (drunkenly) what typical ‘danish’ thing they should/could try. I calmly reminded them that we were in a 7-Eleven and that there was, therefore, nothing ‘typically’ Danish on offer. 

So, buns bagged (oo-er), I'm ready to roll. I get home, sneak around the flat so as not to rouse my very asleep roomie, and enjoy the wind down and quiet of the early morning. I might look like a zombie eating a pastry, but inside I’m feeling contented for my efforts and my involvement in this right of passage. I had earned the rewards of food and a good sleep. This last bit of the ritual is one hundred per cent my time and liberating. Such simple things make my life here feel increasingly rounded and right and continue to reveal new things to find value in. 

So on that note, I’ve recently been weighing the pros and cons of a longer stay in Copenhagen. I can’t deny that even beyond the idea of trying my hand at writing, I had actually been exploring a new lifestyle, somewhat removed from the ‘big city’ living I had enjoyed over my eleven odd years in London. Many of you may have picked up and moved to another city for reasons of love or work, a cause or otherwise. For my part, this exercise has been more about seeking out a new lifestyle. Moving somewhere simply because the way people lived appealed to me. It sounds like such a luxury now that I write that out, but I’ve never been one to shy away from new experiences and the idea of expanding my horizons. And while, of course, such things do require compromise in other areas, I could not imagine a life without a little risk-taking...

Much of this little project was supposed to be about writing. I will not lie - I haven’t produced as much as I would have hoped by now. But then, there is no question I have made much of my time and gathered a whole new set of stories which amount to something significant in terms of my life. I guess what I’m saying is, the point of this trip was actually addressing a bigger ‘life change’ project, rather than just a ‘writing’ project, and that if I’m honest with myself, it always was. It was just easier to focus on a smaller idea. I still want to continue writing, but while my world has rounded out nicely here for my six-and-a-half months, I feel that a settled life here could still allow me to continue to explore that process more than London life ever did. Personally, I feel I have discovered much about myself and my life in this process and would not limit the value of my efforts solely on what I’ve written (or not yet written, as is the case ;)

In deciding my future course of action, I have simply asked two questions: Do I miss London? And, if I were to go back and pick up there where I left off, how would I feel leaving my life in Copenhagen? As of today, the answers are ‘not much’ and ‘heartbroken’. And there you have it. But perhaps this decision making process is too simple or even clinical for some and you may ask, well, what does your gut tell you? It's telling me that going back to my office job could actually trigger a kind of physical pain in me (even the thought of it makes me twitchy), and that my old routines would no longer suffice to bring me true contentment. So again, there you have it. Now, it’s just about being decisive and taking action...pshaaaaw! 

It would be naïve to say that after six months I know for certain that Copenhagen is THE place for me. I am just saying that at a time when my life called for change, I found a new path that I have truly enjoyed strolling along. It’s been gentle and rolling, as well as rocky in patches, but nevertheless, I’ve enjoyed the view and encounters along the way more than I have for a long time and it has all been very organic, which is my way. I have always said, in the balance of things, change is a good way to go and overall, this one has left me more relaxed, which is a good thing indeed, and this is just the beginning.

So, as we approach the end of a very full 2011, I now find myself with some big decisions to make. For the first time in a long while, the approach to Christmas has been gradual and peaceful (and decidedly less commercial!). And for the first time in a long time, the future seems genuinely promising and exciting. Next time, I’ll see if I can come up with some good resolutions to share…and meanwhile, I will try to limit my trips to the ‘sev’ as much as possible…but oh, that ‘freshly-baked’ goodness... ;)

Random Girl

In which I land my first job in Denmark

The final move into my permanent digs was swiftly followed by a new job and a wave of new faces, energies and priorities. Life really can turn on a dime. A phone call or two, an informal interview and suddenly I’m working a Sunday night after-party and getting home and in bed at 6.30am?

I’ve been thinking about getting part-time work for a while. I was worried that having only basic Danish under my belt that I might really struggle to find something as it is the case that the vast majority of businesses here will demand a good handle of the language. It makes sense, but being a fairly tricky language to master, it can mean options are limited for relative newcomers like me.

So how happy was I to find out that a world-class cocktail bar in town was seeking a part-timer. As noted earlier, your network counts for a lot here in this small city and I found myself with accidental links to this place from a variety of angles. RG has long been a peripheral member of the ‘industry’ having nurtured solid friendships amongst its colourful membership in London. Bartenders slash mixologists extraordinaire make up a good percentage of my circle, and are unquestionably some of the hardest working people I know. They also tend to be passionate, personable, imaginative and incredibly fun. Having the opportunity to work alongside these people (as a server, not a bartender which I would need considerable training for) is part serendipity, part miracle and part epiphany.

It’s serendipitous for having skirted the industry for so many years that to finally join the ranks is somewhat appropriate. Miraculous for being the first job opportunity I stumbled across, at a time when I needed it, in an industry that interests me, in a place that is so highly regarded (and beautiful!), and for a decent pay packet. The epiphany comes when discovering in my first week just how much I enjoy working in this environment and how kind of suited to it I am! (So far so good anyway, knock on wood :)

As a result of the above, I have committed myself wholly to this opportunity. It fulfils my love of interaction, making people smile and promoting something done well. It’s been a while since I felt so happy about my job and my focus has been redirected to learning the massive amount of information required to do this job properly. Make no assumptions, there is a lot for me to learn. Along with my Danish studies, which have also intensified for my impending ‘module two’ exams, I have filled my walls with multicoloured post-its listing drink titles, their ingredients and what makes each one unique. This is not simply about a G+T or a rum and coke; it’s about what type of gin, why and what could enhance the drink for the customer. It’s about a high level of customer service tempered with warmth and sincerity over status and ego, which is a lovely (not to mention effective) approach to this type of business.

I had never considered the option in London as the relative pay vs cost of living didn’t really add up for me. The UK is renowned for its low paid service industry, which sees those I do know in the industry work incredibly long hours to get their just rewards. Here, I have found that people tend to do jobs they like, before worrying about what will simply ‘make ends meet’ - mostly because they can. It’s a general observation, but I think it (generally!) holds. Certainly, that’s a big part of what I like about life here.

In short, I love my new job, the people I get to work with, and the way the place is managed. There is a strong team ethos and smiles galore while everyone works incredibly hard, both for the customers and each other. It’s inspirational and is potentially carving a new direction for me. How lucky am I? INCREDIBLY lucky! The added bonus is that they don’t mind that my default language is English and the customers don’t seem to mind either...phew!

So here in my sixth month in Copenhagen, I’ve fallen into a job that is [gasp] compelling to me!! While still fully intending to write, I am invigorated by this new wave of creativity being injected into my life. Cocktail waitress, you say? Really? Well, I see it as a good time ambassador (baby!). It’s about the place and its ideals, which align with my own. For all that, it’s been a pleasure so far, even for its long hours and late nights. It makes me smile.

There’s no question that this affects my quality of life in Copenhagen from here on in. The topsy-turvy hours keep me on my toes, but in a good way. I’ve got a lot to do and it is really hard work, but if it means that I’m putting my energy into something I care about, then there is no debate on whether I should or should not. I love the feeling of knowing that this accidental job actually inspires me. You know what they say: do what you love and you'll never work a day in your life! I gotta say, it feels good!

Random Girl

Abundance and other sweet things

A jar of Lakrids Chocolate Coated Liquorice goes a long way. Grab the jar marked with an ‘A’. The first time I tried one, I couldn’t speak; I could only chew. Chew and wonder where the heck I’d been all this time that I’d never tasted one before. Chew and consider how many more I would absolutely need to ingest in the immediate future and how many other people I knew would need to try one as well. I bought two jars: one for me, and another for a friend who reportedly ate most of hers in one sitting. I myself opted to savour a few at a time, making them last. Share them around and watch people’s faces as they try them. It’s priceless.

A week or so later, while walking along Jægersborggade with a friend, we passed the window of ‘Karamelleriet’ where the magic of caramel making was in full flow (oh yeah!). We dove into the shop and didn’t leave for about 45 minutes while P enlightened us with all things caramelly. It was fascinating (as well as a good laugh) and provided RG with yet more to – ahem - chew over. Copenhagen being what it is, it was not too surprising to find P and I shared acquaintances, or that it is in fact his cousin who had introduced the aforementioned heavenly chocolate coated liquorice to the world, and my taste buds. I am one degree of separation from the kings of Danish confectionery. It’s cool knowing they are just part of the web of people who criss-cross this city (or country for that matter), doing what they love doing. It’s also cool knowing I’m now a part of that web and have been cordially invited back to Karamelleriet for another chat and/or more ‘sugar’. Thanks P!

Building my little community here has been wholesome and healthy. It's been a considered and patient process, rather like pruning a bonsai tree. Meanwhile, this tiny network has provided a wealth of abundance. If there is truth to any of the information on Denmark you can read elsewhere on the internet, it is that word of mouth and networks really carry weight here. Meeting the people I have met so far may have been down to luck, but then again, RG invests a lot in friendship (as opposed to just ‘contacts’). My network has been fundamental in helping me settle in, find accommodation, get involved and, most recently, source jobs that could have easily slipped passed me. While it’s been on the back of RG’s mind to start looking for part-time work, I had yet to officially hit the pavement with a pile of CVs. A call out to friends has however borne fruit, at least in the form of a few prime prospects for which I am both qualified and enthusiastic for. Watch this space. I have never been one for networking for the sake of networking, but investing in people as a lover of people can still mean a share in the abundance the collective brings. Now all I have to do is not take it for granted and rise to the challenge of making it happen, for the sake of my friends who have helped, if nothing else.

Meanwhile, RG has settled into her news digs and is diggin’ it! Whereas a month or so ago, I felt those pangs of doubt – needing reassurance that this active life-changing exercise was worthwhile – I have now refreshed my perspective, motives and incentives and subsequently, my sense of empowerment. A brief sojourn back to London reminded me of the greater world and spectrum of people my life actually incorporates. It also reminded me of why I came here in the first place. Having taken the time to regroup, I have come to recognise the value of this time on a much larger scale than I originally envisioned. I have had a lot of time to reflect on what it is I am seeking from this experience only to stumble across a cluster of other valuable conclusions about my life here and now that I wasn’t even looking for. Focusing on the present has, in many ways, resolved aspects of my past and my future. This alone has made me embrace this adventure all the more.

As of today, the detritus of the practical issues cluttering my road is now almost clear. My new home feels like home. My language classes are still expanding my horizons and also reinforcing my confidence in my ability to learn. My friendships are evolving and growing richer. My financial situation looks promising with some work prospects on the horizon. As we are heading into the darker months of the year, I am honestly amazed by the amount of energy and optimism I am carrying with me and I'm incredibly excited (yes, excited!) about the wintry road that lies ahead. Of course, my new heavy-duty, everything-proof parka also boosts my confidence...it's so warmmmm.

As an aside, for those out there who are contemplating change or doubting their ability to do so, I would highly recommend watching Tony Robbins’ recent television programme ‘Breakthrough’. I challenge anyone to watch it (sceptics included) and not be moved. Actually, I am positive the perspectives it offers will change your outlook on life completely. The whole programme reinforces how much fear hinders people from realising their potential and demonstrates how readily true change can come about if you are willing to confront the real issues head on. If you’re unsure of your lot in life, just check out the programme and see what some of the people in the programme have endured, survived and evolved from. They have all experienced some form of crisis/trauma, in its numerous permutations, and gone from losing everything, to discovering within themselves that sense of true abundance (removed from the material things), which actually makes them incredibly productive, creating further abundance. 

I'm learning that the sweetest life is waiting for all of us and that we all have it in us to design it for ourselves and live it; to wake up every morning believing in it. As such, I feel it's important to keep exploring what defines that for you individually, for what you find sets the standard for your life. That said, I hope everyone who is exploring discovers more than what they think they are looking for - surprising you like that piece of chocolate covered liquorice surprised me. Even more, I hope to catch the expression on your face when you try it.

Random Girl

In which I learn to write (and stare blankly into space)

“Try? Do, or do not. There is no try.” - Yoda

I’ve scribbled in notebooks for many years. My approach has always been confessional and while strictly non-ficton, my notes certainly hold a great deal of fiction-friendly meat. I am trying to write because I felt it made sense and because feedback over the years kept pulling me in this direction. It has just been a matter of sitting down and getting it all out on paper for others to enjoy. Thousands of others feel this impulse. Thousands struggle with it. Good to have company, I suppose.

I had imagined coming to Copenhagen so that I could move away from my distractions and find a place to be still and finally flush out the lives in my mind. Meanwhile, so much here has added to my basket of experience and ideas. How does one write about life while also blocking it out to work? I meditate on this conundrum every day.

So I’ve put myself in the chair for days on end in an attempt to 'find' my process. It’s a discipline much like any other discipline wherein you start and fumble and restart then eventually, with perseverance, find your rhythm and it gets to become second nature and it flows. I really hope this is the case anyway! While some writers outline every detail before writing a word of the main story, others speak of their inability to do this (as it always changes anyway) and rely upon a more organic process wherein their characters just speak and the sense comes out later down the line. Playwright and screenwriter Christopher Hampton says that he rarely knows what the piece is actually about until two thirds of the way in. I’m defaulting to this way of thinking as I find I cannot yet grasp the full rounded picture of what my finished product is to look like, meanwhile having so many stories I want to incorporate and new ideas hitting me all the time. I am aiming for a book, but with a theatrical background, I think often of writing a play/screenplay and would love to see my story brought to life in that way, if possible. “One thing at a time”, says the preternaturally calm voice in my head (is that you, Morgan Freeman?). “Just start with one thing.”

As long as there is truth to the writing it will hold drama. At least, that’s my thinking. I'm sticking to the old adage 'write about what you know', gravitating towards the simple, yet profound (as is my way). I’m finding the hard part is revisiting places that I’m not necessarily keen to go back to and I’m working to plough through the anguish which comes with regurgitating the past. The other day, I was thinking about highschool which, while pleasant enough at the time, is just a place I do not want to go back to emotionally (does anyone!?!) I want to share what I have seen though, and there is only one way to get there at the moment, for this novice anyway, and that is straight through the middle. Hooooo-ahh!

So I will continue to work at it, learning as I go. Meanwhile, I’m trying to spend as little amount of time staring at my screen and peeking at Facebook when I need distraction, a.k.a. procrastinating. I am finding it difficult shutting out the world, but it is necessary at the moment. When you're working it's hard to fit in food and housekeeping (let alone homework from danish class!!). Sure, Kerouac wrote On the Road in three weeks continuous on a long scroll of paper, but someone else was there to feed him, even if it was only pea soup.

But I digress. “Surely, this can’t be that hard”, she said with a wink and fetched herself another cup of tea.

Random Girl

Connecting, reconnecting and disconnecting

Back in Copenhagen after a four day whirlwind visit to London, or as some might see it, a holiday from my ‘holiday’. Being someone who has taken a year off from her job to live in another country, it’s easy for me to understand how much this might seem to some like a lark. I’m a girl with time to do what I please and nothing but freedom to pursue. Four and a half months in, I can say first hand that, while this is a break from the ‘routine’, this isn’t a holiday. Call it an experiment, or a lifestyle change, but it isn’t a holiday. It is what it was meant to be – a series of challenges in search of what is new, what is old and what will always be the same.

I went back to London for a number of reasons, but predominantly because the upheaval of the last month or so had begun to blur my vision of what made me come here. I had been overwhelmed by a series of domestic circumstances which temporarily derailed my main intention. So instead of having the peace to reflect and meditate and write, I was spending a considerable chunk of my time and energy on logistics, which involved people management, moving and money, as well as copious amounts of anxiety enhanced by a fresh phase of acclimatising only after four months of my initial arrival. Imagine falling off the first rung of the ladder and managing to break your leg in doing so, meanwhile knowing how much effort you put into getting on that first rung. That’s close to how I felt.

Such affairs are practical and immediate. They must be dealt with before the rest can follow and my circumstance had universally been viewed simply as ‘bad luck’. As it was, I had lost my sense of 'home' and was potentially facing the loss of funds I had worked so hard to acquire in preparation for this adventure. In the bigger picture, of course, such things hold little consequence when I have so many things to be grateful for. But being a newbie with limited means with which to buffer myself, I felt the most vulnerable I had since arriving.

Now, it seems the air is slowly clearing. What a relief! In trying to deal with the situation at hand with dignity, I found there were times when I felt quite lost as to my sense of place and connection to the greater world beyond my small Danish bubble. I wanted to close a chapter that I had only just begun, but it was feeling as though that one chapter was my only one for being so unsettling and isolating to boot. Of course, it is not all there has been to Copenhagen life, but an unsettled home life hangs like a cloud over everything else and my anxious state meant even some of my closest people started to look at me differently, further adding to my sense of feeling adrift.

So when the world around me was starting to tip too far in one direction, I went back to a place where things were still in balance in order to reconnect with the rest of my life. I made appointments with friends with whom I stayed up late chatting and visited my old haunts. I saw many familiar faces and people who readily embraced the opportunity to connect after our time apart. I was remembered and recognised beyond just a person who had gone through a bad patch. If anything, I went to see those who know me as a survivor. It served to remind me of the greater world I navigate within and rejuvenated my sense of perspective, both on who I am and why I came here, for while I had a great time seeing my friends, I was also reminded of what made me move in the first place.

I have returned with a fresh mind and a fuller heart having seen again from the outside, the challenge I set for myself in coming here and the comforts I sacrificed in doing so. I also see that I am the only one who can fully gauge the value all of this is bringing to my life. That no matter what others might see or say about what it is that I do or how I do it, that I know that what I am gaining is applicable and sacred to me and me alone. Maya Angelou wrote: “without courage you can’t practise any other virtue consistently.” I hear that. I know what I am doing is something that is actually hard for me to do. That’s all I need to know.

This last period has also informed my perspective as to when to disconnect. There are many places I can call home, and yet I live away from one or another every day. I try to nurture all my connections in equal measure, for better or for worse. My efforts have not been without consequences, albeit, all my own. With my run of ‘bad luck’ almost behind me, I am reminded that there are times to connect and times to disconnect, be it physically, psychologically or emotionally. Such is the plight of the free-spirited. Sometimes this is easy, sometimes it is gut-wrenchingly difficult, and I am constantly learning that you cannot second-guess when each will apply. Sometimes, when you think it should be hard, it isn’t, and vice versa.

What we originally view as strong connections can in fact prove weak, while what we view as weak connections can surprise us by proving to be incredibly robust and resilient. I am beyond guessing which is which and just trust in what holds day-by-day. Some people will say time is the test, but I argue that time can also bring wear and tear. For me, on a windy day I shall walk the bridge which stands best on a windy day, knowing that same bridge may not be the best when it is pouring with rain. To know that, I just wait until it rains. Conversely, by now I know better than to always trust the one I have used on the sunny days, even if it means building a whole new bridge. At least I can say I know how to.

Random Girl

Upheaval (is a b*tch)

Random Girl has been subject to some upheaval of late due to unforeseen circumstances surrounding my housing situation (which is my poor excuse for the long gap in writing – sorry!). The details needn’t be aired here, but let’s just say the turn of events have been unusual and difficult to fathom for this random girl. They chart a sweeping movement from good to bad – in a Skywalker kind of way even. ("Darth Vader is Luke’s father?!") So I’ve moved on at the expense of considerable time, energy and money, as well as a notable degree of disappointment.

Life can blow hot and cold. Following one of the wettest summers in Copenhagen, a sudden burst of summertime weather landed on the first day of October. It was a glorious day. I was on my way to my friend’s place (where I am to house-sit for the next month) talking small talk in broken Danish to the taxi driver about the freak late burst of heat and sunshine. Rather than running about soaking in the October sun, I got busy trying to settle in and acclimatise in that transition to new surroundings, preparing also for the moment down the line when, after the month rolls out, I’ll formally move into my new residence where I'll seek to 'settle in' yet again. I’ve always seen myself as nomadic, but even I have to admit, it’s all been a bit confusing. Starting again and again over a concentrated period of time can be wearing. On the bright side, I'm certainly getting to know the different neighbourhoods in Copenhagen…wahey.

I think I have come to that part of the experience of living somewhere new when isolation and homesickness kicks in. I have been here for four months and in that time, things kicked in pretty fast – new adventures, new friends, a new language and fresh sights and sounds. Meanwhile, I continue to face, head-on, any fears linked to my ‘random’ decision to come here in order to challenge myself. Any experience will have its good and bad sides. I’ve always been aware of that. But this is one of those accursed moments when doubt has crept in (and we all have those moments).

I feel shipwrecked and adrift after a storm that came without warning. Like I said, this recent run of events has cost me energy, time and money. It’s also cost me a little bit of hope…at least in terms of what I’m trying to get out of this year. As such, I am frustrated that I have to spend what precious energy I have, establishing my bearings again so that I can start swimming. Sure, I’ve weathered many a storm before, but having been out in some choppy open water for a while, I do feel weary. I also had my first take-down off my bike yesterday in a moderate collision with 'Simon', who was very apologetic (sorry about your ripped pocket, dude!). My hands are up...I’m in a ‘poor me’ moment and want my mommy!

For now, I’m enjoying the peace of having my friend’s place all to myself for the next little while, and the sun shining on the balcony. I’m also really enjoying the peanut M&Ms sitting brightly in a bowl next to my laptop. Here at long last is an opportunity to recoup the energy I’ve spent on this…well…rather annoying practical issue so that I can forge ahead with the things that really matter. I’m just a bit tired and, craving a group hug myself, I’m sending one to all out there who may also have hit a rough patch. If the summer sun can show up in Denmark in October, then there is hope for us all!!

Keep living, loving and laughing,

Random Girl

Serendipity, or 'You won't believe what just happened'

If I had a pound/10 kroner for every time nature threw me a curveball. RG's face could one day lock itself into a permanent state of wide-eyed, 'catching flies' kind of wonder, if she's not careful.

Taking into account how small Copenhagen really is, let me yet give you some insight into the kind of coincident-ualities Random Girl is all too accustomed to, for my short time here:

I share a passing joke with a guy with a blond mohawk while working at a festival. About a week later, I see the same guy in a supermarket (Netto – the Danish Tesco’s) and stand behind him in the queue to pay, thinking to myself, “isn’t that…?” A short while later, the same guy walks straight past me at a free Moby gig. A couple weeks later, he walks past me twice at the Aphex Twin gig on my birthday. Within the same week, in that same Netto, he just appears beside me in the cheese(!) aisle. I finally turn and say, “I keep seeing you!” He laughs and says I do look familiar. We establish that we’d first ‘met’ at the festival probably a month before. We share another laugh as we wander the aisles browsing the candy selection, as though we are long lost friends. Later, we exchange contact details (which admittedly seems unnecessary given the frequency of our chance encounters) and part ways with a high five. Cue the laughter later in the day when, heading towards town to see a friend, I bike passed my local bar only to see the same guy again, sitting outside the bar with friends. I jokingly shout, “GO AWAY!!” and we both laugh as I ride off.

I’ve been flat-hunting and out of the blue, a girl I’d emailed months ago before I arrived here pops up in my inbox apologising that she’d never seen my original email as it had been misdirected away from her messages to the ‘other’ folder. She happens to be renting a room again…was I interested? Nice digs. Good price. Perfect timing. Job done.

During my first month here, a young man I'm seeing makes a sudden exit from my life, and as things go, a slow exit from my heart. In the interim, RG meets someone else (randomly, of course) who [wince] just happens to live in the same building as the first guy. This chapter also falls through, but nevermind. Roll on the first guy’s birthday (which I remember only because it’s a week before my own), I find myself in his building that day, by chance, and then go on to spot his brother at a party later that night (see ‘First time for everything’). The following weekend, on my own birthday, I see him at the same Aphex Twin gig where I see mohawk guy. Just over the weekend past, I see a photo of his brother displayed onscreen at a freaking cash point! Wha??? Forgetting someone in Copenhagen is not easy, it seems, no matter how much affirmative action you take to move on. Reminders pop up everywhere. Cut to today, after viewing a friend’s flat in the same neighbourhood as this guy, I wonder whether I might see him and then, just as I am about to take a left turn, he whips past me on his bicycle. I give pursuit (dammit!) and roll along next to him. He smiles, we stop, we talk, he apologises, we laugh and suddenly I have his number again. We walk together and shrug our shoulders in amusement as we both determine the other is due to move house, and that we will apparently be living on the same street come October!

If this sounds embellished or exaggerated, I can only assure you that it is all serendipity or chance or luck or happenstance – potato/potahto - adding that this is how things tend to roll for RG. I’m just seeing it hyper-realised in Copenhagen. I step out of a café on Friday afternoon for a smoke, only to catch my good friend K walking by, and then our mutual friend R popping a wheelie on his bike down the street. Friday night, I needed to make a late change in plans with a girlfriend, only to bike past her at the end of the night for a chance to catch up on our separate nights out. Stuff like this happens almost every day. It’s too frequent to read into, but too frequent to ignore either. It’s… magic! (and yet, I swear it’s all true!)

This city really is small and as cosy as cosy gets, but it’s a far cry from being boring. Brief encounters in a small community mean fuelling the soul in small but more consistent increments, as opposed to the binge and purge approach to London social life. No need to make appointments here, if you sit still long enough, someone you know will come around the corner. Spontaneity is not just a benefit to this ‘cosy’ living, it’s practically a rite of passage.

If I could wax horoscopical for a moment, in Copenhagen: You WILL bump into people you know all the time. You WILL meet people who know people you know and so on. You WILL learn something about the value of ‘accidents’. It could be painful, it could be shocking…but it's always…well, kind of funny too!

Truth is stranger than fiction, as they say (that one is for J, a new acquaintance who impressively confessed to his confusion stemming from his semi-regular and inexplicably vivid dreams of a lower-half-naked Arnold Schwarzeneggar – in his ‘Governator’ years, mind – whoa!) Given the events of the past few weeks, I feel assured that life here has not stopped making me open my eyes wide and shake my head in absolute wonder, as much as any dream could.

Oh, happy serendipity. It's meant to put a smile on your face.

Random Girl

There's a first time for everything...

I’ve been burlesqued! I recently attended the ever-so risqué event called Grotesque Burlesque – a gathering of some of Copenhagen’s most eccentric and emboldened. Having pieced together the necessary costume-ry (fishnets et al), glued on my false eyelashes (with surprising success), and layered on some razzmatazz, I tagged along to what would prove to be a most illuminating evening.

Pre-party, my friend and I amused ourselves by singing improvised, obnoxious pseudo-operatic refrains exclaiming that ‘we are whores’ (or ‘whoooo-ers’, for comic effect) being somewhat void of our usual modesty (as is de rigueur in burlesquian circles). As we slapped on the slap, we indulged in our freedom to be crass. We of course are NOT whores, but for the sake of a few shnicks ‘n’ giggles, allowed the bawdiness get the better of our good humour. Burlesque is, at least in part if not mostly, about titillation and if the long history of the art form says anything about human nature, we were not by any stretch of the imagination passing through the dark side, out of reach of human decency. People wear less on the local beach. Deal with it. (Sorry if Random Girl causes offence. You can stop reading now, or say you will and then read on anyway, you naughty thing! :) The modesty factor was certainly in place when my friend debated leaving the flat to visit the nearby cashpoint, even with a full trench coat covering her up completely. “What will people think of me?”, she asked in conspiratorial tones. “That you’re going to a party,” I reassured her and off she went, top hat and boots (and trench coat) out in public [gasp].

My outfit was more Moulin Rouge than Betty Page, and I have to say, it was really fun getting dolled up. By the time we got to the party, it was clear we had chosen a ‘classic’ look over the more defiantly deviant characters that surrounded us. A man who was covered head-to-toe in black (including his head) and wore only a blood-red leather, ‘Predator’-esque mask, attempted ‘normal’ conversation with me whilst I, not being able to see even his eyes or mouth when he spoke, resisted the temptation to withdraw in horror at his, frankly, demonic appearance. (Freaky mask, normal guy’s voice? How is he drinking his beer…ahhhh!) “He’s just a guy underneath that thing” was all that I remember thinking during our conversation. You can’t even ‘bump’ the guy in that situation for fear he might eat your hand.

Another man told me, most cryptically, that he thought my knees were ‘potent’. I asked him what he meant by that. He responded saying that he thought I was ‘a politician’. I then had to ask him what he meant by that…and so the conversation continued, like a scene out of a Woody Allen picture.

Entertainment-wise, there was a broad range of spectacular spectaculars to behold. Hula-hoop woman opened the proceedings with a free lesson in hula-stic gyrations, followed by a yo-yo master singing ‘My Way’ and peeling layers of clothes off while wind-milling two yo-yo’s akimbo. Later, we saw another man writhing his way through ribbons of fabric suspended from the ceiling (think Cirque du Soleil – only naked). He was completely starkers which I found slightly unsettling if only for being front row and centre to (or rather, below) the ...um...action. As though his nude acrobatics (and tautness) could potentially leave me with an eye out were he to slip that little bit too far down the red (of course) drapery, which suspended him - beautiful to watch, of course, but unsettling nonetheless. Naked acrobatics should be flawlessly performed. Aesthetics aside, the consequence of anything less is unthinkable – for both the performer and the audience. Anything could end up anywhere, bearing the fruits (sorry) of untold drama and/or trauma! Thankfully, this particular performance was immaculate – one could say in more ways than one (sorry, again).

I think in a way that moment of fearful amazement summed up the mood for me that evening. It was great to be there, but I was also checking my peripheral view from time to time just to see if anything ‘too extreme’ would try to overwhelm me. Here, for better or worse, was a place where the usual rules did not necessarily apply. Invited to ‘roll the dice’ at one table, I rolled a 'ten' and, by way of a corresponding list of instructions, was then told to ‘show’ what I ‘wanted’. Too ambiguous for me, I cheated and grabbed (stole?) a nearby bottle of champagne, opened it and poured everyone a round. When someone said thank you, I blagged and said, ‘That’s what I wanted – gratitude’!

You don’t plan to attend this kind of event if you are faint-hearted. You must just go with the flow and fearlessly flaunt your booty-ful burlesque come hell or high water, even if only for this one night. Rest assured, in that environment, the person next to you is trying harder than you are to stand out. Trying to be ‘normal’ is abnormal in such a place, and that is a liberating idea. Don't believe me, just ask the guy with the big fish on his head (oh, there’s always one…).

On the whole, I can say that the experience was actually…pretty amazing. The night encompassed intrigue, magic, laughter, melodrama, the sensual and the grotesque, and as it is, a lot of smiles. No fights broke out (though that is not to say the evening excluded random acts of mock/real violence, which seemed welcome by a few at this party.) I even got recruited to ‘work’ at a kissing booth to help raise money for charity, which was an experience in itself. In fact, this harmless exercise yielded what was for me, the most surreal moment of the night when I discovered that one of my kissing cohorts was the stupidly handsome brother of a former beau of mine. I resisted the urge to ‘go bro’, avoided conversation, and just kept trying to raise some money ‘for the kids’, meanwhile embarrassed at the amount of knowledge I had about this stupidly handsome person who had never met me and who, I made sure, would not be meeting me. At least not in a kissing booth at a burlesque party. Nuh uh. Very odd, even in that environment!

Of course, some aspects of the evening must ‘stay on tour’ (some things are sacred). Just so you don’t feel you haven’t got your money’s worth however, I will submit that, upon request, I did slap a man who insisted I do so (and as hard as I could)*. Another first. I have never slapped someone a full tilt but indulged the man in question out of genuine consideration rather than stimulation. For RG, there is absolutely no thrill in giving pain. This was (honestly!) just me being nice :) I am still shaking my head (and smirking, okay?) as I type this – bemused and bewildered by the experience as I still am, over a week later. There is a first time for everything...might as well make it worth remembering. What a hoot.

Perhaps you’ll be disappointed to find that I kept things relatively pedestrian for my birthday celebrations this weekend just past, attending a good ol’ fashioned house party and a late night (and astounding) Aphex Twin gig. Now that I am another year younger, I look forward to the next round of firsts…that is, if my ‘potent knees’ don’t give out on me...

Random Girl

*Neither this blog nor its author advocate violence of any kind. It was just that kind of party, ‘kay?

To plan or not to plan, or 'Happy Flag Day'

August is a big month for me as it is my birthday month. The cliché of birthdays becoming less important as we age holds true for the likes of Random Girl. It’s tempting to let this one slip past, but then I would miss out on the little Danish flags which seem to monopolise the traditional birthday adornments and paraphernalia here. It’s a big part of celebrations here to festoon the appointed venue with an explosion of red and white as though to say, ‘You’re in Denmark!…oh, and it’s your birthday too…yeah, good for you. You’re in Denmark!’

As simple as this sounds, in fact I would like to hold a party just to hang little flags everywhere, stick toothpick flags in cupcakes, and have “Happy Birthday” sung to me in Danish. But not to celebrate being another year older. If anything, I feel I’m getting younger as time passes. Should the party theme be “Act your age” or, “You are only as old as you feel.” Do they sell nappies in adult size? I’m all for a good time, but sometimes I feel that planning a party is sometimes…too planned. Know what I mean?

Now, something you might not know about Random Girl is that, due to the grace of good genes – I look a lot younger than I am. No, I won’t tell you how old. But I will say that I am consistently aged at about ten years younger. Honestly not a case of mutton-dressed-as-lamb (I hope!), it’s partly genetic, partly lifestyle - and certainly unplanned (who wants to get id'd for cigarettes at this age?!?) Mostly, I think it comes down to attitude. The glass remains half-full despite having accrued enough life experience to see me exposed to the dark face of cynicism, which I am vehemently opposed to. That, and not planning things ‘for when I’m old’…cause when the hell does that kick in anyway?

One of the points of contention relates inevitably to ‘where I am in life’. For my age (on paper anyway), should I not be more ‘settled’? Perhaps I should be concentrating my time with people ‘my own age?’ Perhaps I should be homeowner, buy a car and shop for furniture. Perhaps I should have a baby. Perhaps I should be preparing for retirement now. I honestly don’t know where the ‘should’ in all that comes from.

Don’t get me wrong, I do think it’s good to have a plan for a rainy day. But I think there is such a thing as too much planning. Moreover, most of the planning I’ve done in the past never came to fruition in the way that I had planned! Often, it’s turned out for the worst. Many times, it’s turned out for the better.

In the midst of the last busy month of language classes (which continue by the way – selvfølgelig!), RG has seen some (unplanned) poo hit the ubiquitous fan. Minor let downs and complications that have, if not tarnished, ever so slightly dulled the sparkle that is my usual (unplanned) day-to-day life. I was getting fatigued by it, but set my resolve to take on the mess, Marigolds* a-blazing! Now, having fastidiously addressed the ‘bad luck’, I’m pretty sure life has been sanitised and reinstated to a fresh smiley status. Jeg er frisk! But it could have easily ended up in a different state had I not stopped and examined the damages in detail, in order to address them thoroughly. Settle for a quick sweep, and you will still be infected with the residual bits, which have a tendency to fester.

Now back on form, I find myself faced with the (unplanned) challenge of finding a new place to live. My rent is about to go up so I have to move. RG really feels like ‘The Littlest Hobo’ sometimes - endlessly roaming from home to home in my, if I may, quietly heroic fashion (as little hobos do). And before you see me drown in my own pomposity, remember I’ve just compared myself to a German shepherd…

Settling here for a year never guaranteed me a settled life, no matter what preparations were made. I am optimistic about the future and hopeful as ever that there will be another place to call home out there. I am equally optimistic that this will represent yet another chapter during which I will learn more about myself. Oh, but alas, how I will miss Konrad and his cat-itude…

I stopped thinking too far ahead a long time ago. I’m just too accustomed to the surprises. I say, instead of locking yourself to a plan, learn to adapt. Even just now, within the last hour, I met a Spanish couple stranded outside of a flat they had booked for a week for their holiday having been promised by the booking agency someone would be there (after their long journey) to meet them with keys in hand. They were exhausted and angry having waited almost two hours in the street for any sign of life. As it is, they were finally rescued and have subsequently invited me for a beer for my attempts to reassure them and sooth their understandable angst. For doing nothing other than talking to them, I have received a kind message from my ‘new friends’ from Barcelona who I am sure to meet again during their stay. Their plans were temporarily scuppered, but we all gained something from it.

I believe that the ‘best’ that is yet to come, will come from out of the blue (cue the recent spontaneous message from that same devastatingly handsome man RG had met weeks ago!). I cannot help but believe in the power of chance and being positively open to what the stars throw down to me, even if it seems bad at first. Anything is possible. I would never have imagined I would be up to what I was up to last Saturday night. And no, you don’t get to know that either.

Life, to me, is about learning, and learning is a graduated process. Meanwhile, living is not. However tempting it is to jump to the last page to see whether all this effort proves worthwhile (or to plan towards that singular outcome), I’m more concerned that skipping chapters means missing out on a lot of detail and richness. I would not miss out. The ending just wouldn’t mean a thing.

Random Girl

*rubber cleaning gloves in glorious yellow