Roskilde, night biking and sunburn

It’s Roskilde week. Everyone goes to Roskilde (the Scandinavian answer to Glastonbury), and everyone goes not just for the four days of music starting today, but for the days preceding known as ‘the warm up’.

Everyone, that is, but me. Friends managed to score jobs at the festival, which meant they acquired entrance for free, with provisions and a stay in the ‘nicer’ employees’ camp included. They tried to find me a job too, though alas, to no avail. My only option was to pay and go as a punter. Weighing in the balance, with my friends all in separate camps and the very real threat of a hefty bill at the end of five or so days of ‘anything goes’, I decided to abstain and ride out a quiet week on my own. Boring? Sure. But I believe the compromise will prove worthwhile in the end and meanwhile, I’ve been determined to make the most of this time on my own.

Being one of maybe two people left in Copenhagen, I’ve passed the time peacefully in the company of my thoughts (and also Konrad, our house cat/new bff). I have reminded myself of how privileged I am to have some peace and quiet. Time to breathe and just be.

Wimbledon fortnight has kept me entertained. RG is a fan. But with some very nice sunny days of late, I’ve been keen to get away from the tv when the day’s tennis is done and get outside to enjoy the last remaining light with a cruise-y bike ride about town.

Let me just say…I love my bicycle. A friend of S’s kindly sold me a second-hand Dresco ‘damecykler’ (in black!) for a bargain price. It has new tyres and an old basket. The fenders are slightly askew and there is a bit of wear and tear, but altogether, this little baby rolls perfectly. It gives me just enough bounce to over curbs and cobbled streets, and that upright stance that allows one to take in the view and parade the dorkiest grin for all to see. I added a bell adorned with a skull and cross bones because RG’s bike bell ought to be a little bit punk (and it helps to identify one’s bicycle when parked amongst dozens of similar-looking bicycles). It also jingles a little when I hit a bump. I like that.

There are few things I can think of that invite the same blissfully intense feeling of freedom and contentment I get from whipping along the side of the lakes on a warm summer evening amongst the people chilling out with friends and beers (and they're always there), on benches or bridges, as dusk begins to fall. To RG, THIS IS HEAVEN! There’s nothing but left or right, here or there or anywhere! Stop almost anywhere spontaneously and just sit and wait – for nothing - and what the hell else would I rather be doing?? I would have this bike surgically attached if I could. An hour or so of just cruising around with nothing but an impulse to guide you is truly a pleasure – as simple as it comes.

Yesterday, I made the most of the clear-blue-sky day by cycling down to Islands Brygge where the harbour swimming area more than suffices as a sun-bathing mecca for locals. Ah, this is where the other non-festies are!! I put on my headphones (to invoke my own inner festival) and bikini’d the day away, watching people jumping off the high platform into the water, the skaters trying new tricks and the basketball boys running to and fro. This was a good Wednesday! I chilled there for hours without a care in the world. Later, I would discover a red point upward and another downward between my breasts revealing where RG neglected to sufficiently factor 25 up. Nev’mind. Who hasn’t had a funny sunburn to laugh at in mirror? (Meanwhile, my friend K at Roskilde posted a photo of his newly acquired, and it must be said, rather severe-looking Roskilde ‘redneck’, despite his own claim to have used factor 30. Who knew the Danish sun could burn so badly!?)

Solidarity then. It may only be a touch on all the festival die-hards who are out there, doing anything and everything they please and having a great time of it, but in my own small way, I feel I am doing the same. Sure, it’s just a rebellious bike bell, and a rebellious late night bike ride, and a rebellious mid-week beach out, but I am still free and doing as I please, when I want to. A week in Roskilde to do what I want? I’ve got a whole year!

I’ll admit that there is definitely a part of me that knows I would be having a blast at Roskilde too, if I could have gone. But I made a decision and stuck to it and have taken ownership of my time to use. It comes down to what you make of it, and even if I’m missing ‘the big event’, the events of my own life have still been most enjoyable: for the peace, the freedom and sure, even the pointy sunburn. I feel I’ve earned it all.

Random Girl

Tea and sympathy from the Log Lady

A friend updated her Facebook status yesterday saying, ‘Wednesday you can kiss my a**.’ I clicked ‘like’ having felt the same after what was my first not-so-great day in Copenhagen. I could put my mood down to the pouring rain last night, or god forbid, something pre-menstrual, if I wanted to keep it simple. But sitting in the Twin Peaks-inspired, The Log Lady Café (http://sister-ray-says.blogspot.com/2011/03/log-lady.html) this afternoon, drinking in comfort via some ‘relax’ tea served by the lovely Henriette (who shall here-on-after be referred to as, ‘Log Lady’), I scribbled in my notebook and explored what was contributing to my unshakeably sombre mood. I had tried to simply distract myself last night by watching the brilliant Inception, but even that didn’t help. It says something that a film that cerebral failed to take a dent out of RG’s ruminations. And let’s not get started on my dreams!

Firstly, mulling over my usual thoughts at breakfast on what I could do with my day vs what I SHOULD do with my day, I felt the pangs of panic slowly creeping in as my thoughts turned to the reality of living costs here, and what it will take to really get the most out of this place. Less than rational questions such as, “How can I make a huge amount of money, NOW”, did get my brain going. I’ll be honest, the panic really came from watching too many documentaries, which always feed my wanderlust. Less than a month in Copenhagen, I’m fantasising about traveling to Vietnam or diving with manta rays or base-jumping into giant caves (I said fantasising…). In other words, the amazing things I could have spent my money on. So I’m left reminding myself why this option was, and is, right (see blog on fish).

I will eventually need to find a job, but first need to learn some Danish (free lessons starting in July!). Of the few people I’ve met (and it is few, to be fair),even fewer maintain anything like a full-time work schedule of the kind so common, indeed necessary, in London. Shops and cafes are relatively quiet and many people here are struggling to find work. Will I be able to find anyone who'll hire me? Can I get that job as a sandwich girl if I can’t say ‘sandwich’ in Danish!?! Someone slap me.

Unwarranted though it may be at this early stage, my ‘always been working’ disposition suddenly felt panicky, mid-toast. It happens. Thus, I spent the time reminding myself that my preparations will see me through and to have faith that I am not, in fact, screwing myself!

Later in the day, my planned distractions-to-be, proved not to be, as hopes to see one friend fell through somewhat elusively, while plans with another were also mysteriously scuppered. In neither case was there any urgency nor obligation to hold fast, but the dissolving of both plans (when inspiration felt most needed) was, as these things go, mildly disappointing. RG was all dressed up with nowhere to go. Thus, I spent more time reminding myself just how lucky I’ve been to have the people around me that I do.

Meanwhile, a friend from Sweden who was to stay in town for the summer suddenly announced yesterday his immediate departure from Copenhagen, for reasons relating to work. He had been offered a better option in Stockholm so was heading back asap. While I have the utmost respect for people of action who wait not for fortune to shine upon them, but seize opportunity as and when it comes, I am also sad to lose a ‘brother-in-arms’ (we were planning to be running mates). So his summer in Copenhagen is sidelined/stalled/delayed, but he accepted the compromise readily for the sake of another kind of opportunity.

It made me think - could I drop all of this for ‘something better’, for all my planning? At any given time, ‘better’ could be defined in so many different ways – professionally better, geographically, monetarily, meteorologically even… some days one reason sounds more important than another. RG keeps having to put her blinders on and effectively ditch her London-esque impulsiveness, in order to persevere with her singular focus: to write.

To live in a new city, but not get too distracted is a bit of a paradox. But I have to do it if I am break this habit of distractability. As Agatha Christie (who clearly didn’t have a problem completing a book) put it: “I like living. I have sometimes been wildly, despairingly, acutely miserable, racked with sorrow, but through it all I still know quite certainly that just to be alive is a grand thing.”

I get caught up in the details – watching the colours of the rainbow instead of reaching for the pot of gold - and while that is definitely ‘a grand thing’, it still means I’ve yet to reach my pot of gold. I have failed time and time again to get things done! And that’s at the heart of why I came here. To remove myself from my life’s distractions and do something that matters to me alone. While I crave all the little things that inspire my life – the colours - I can see now how vital it is for me to remember to - for the sake of my own colours - claim my pot of gold, or rather, experience the satisfaction of having claimed it. I suspect I’ll always be inclined to choose the colours over the gold, but now is the time to scratch that ubiquitous itch, if only this once.

I think this is what was underlying my black Wednesday mood. With life starting so immediately here for me, I’m anxious I’ll get swept away again and never finish what I came here to do. There's also that dangerous, underlying hope that one of the small distractions will simply blossom into a pot of gold of its own, but I think it’s a mistake to hope for such things. If it happens, it happens, but the ‘relax’ tea and black Wednesday have steeled my resolve and I’m determined to get what I came here for.

Log Lady noted the many things Copenhagen would ‘add to my rucksack’, that other places would not. She also immediately identified the importance of one’s own personal circumstances when weighing the value of one’s choices/actions. “I can see why you would want to come here”,* she said after I explained where I was from. Thanks Log Lady for the tea and sympathy.

Now, it’s time to do some work.

Random Girl

*Surely, she meant “My log knows why…” (Google Twin Peaks if you don’t get it, geez).

Bucking the circadian cycle

Daylight hours count in Denmark, which spends a vast majority of the year draped in darkness. Many have warned me about the dreaded winter period, which apparently commences in October when Copenhagen gets ‘ugly’. Everyone seems determined to convince me that I will find winter depressing. This remains to be seen. But then it’s not as though winter in London was all that and a bag of chips. And anyway, it’s been raining today. Yay, summer!

I do believe we are instinctive creatures of light. Depression rates amongst the Scandos relating to the dramatic fluctuations in daylight hours certainly seem to reflect this. Yet since I arrived, I’ve spent an extravagant number of days sleeping whilst recovering from a full night’s (and most of the following day’s) shenanigans. I blame my bad influences(!) and the extended hours of light in the Scandinavian summer.*

I also don’t care; I am paying for the luxury of time. It’s not a constant party I’m talking about. It’s just living freely to enjoy scenes such as those two guerrilla spectators sitting way up on a neighbouring rooftop, enjoying the gorgeous pink sunlit sky this morning. Don’t get me wrong, I love sunny times as much as the rest, but darkness can also bring a sense of solace, adventure or kinship of its own kind. I simply hope to make the best of time, be it by daylight or moonlight.

The absence of my hitherto work regime, in addition to the easiness of people unburdened by the pressure of the ‘last tube home’, allows for a good time to stretch well into the wee hours without blinking. Check your watch and it’s suddenly 6am and the sun has been up for some time and today has rolled into yesterday seamlessly. Time? Date? Meh. Right now, the moment matters most, and it’s been pretty good to me so far.

Thus, my body clock has fallen somewhat out of synch with the circadian die hards who 'need light'. If my life today does not rely on a conventional framework (or at least, to ‘make the most’ of time from morning until night), does that mean I’m ‘missing out’? Absolutely not. Bucking the circadian cycle once in a while can be – as I’m sure many of you could vouch for – liberating, even magical. If I’ve missed any of the ‘prime’ daylight, I’ve not felt wasteful. For me, this spontaneous way of life allows for a kind of intimacy amongst the initiated which, I could imagine, might prove to be the ideal vaccine to see me through the 'doom and gloom' winter found here, substituting the absence of light with light of another kind.

Sure, I’ve got the time to do this, but then I worked to create this window specifically so that I could make good on any chance to break the routine and test my mettle for the sake of new experiences. I've already seen a great payoff and I am relishing the freedom to actually do, instead of just thinking of doing. I definitely look forward to making after party pancakes for K and friend - the so-called 'the coolest m*****f***** in the world' - one morning soon!

Perhaps this is my shout out to the night owls? Or just those who don't fret about where they have to be every day of every month of every year? Say what you will about responsibilities and obligations, I simply feel this time has reinforced my instinct to spend less time worrying about wasting time, and more on wasting life. When's the last time you stayed up all night just for the hell of it? Buck the system and break the cycle. Go on, I dare you.

Random Girl

*I might add that the vast majority of this time is spent (due to RG's relatively weak constitution for the stuff) sober and not under any undue influence other than some Faxe Kondi and crazy amazing friends. Tak!! :)

The right temperature for fish

In the news, a man with a grudge obliterated his brother’s full stock of pet fish for sale when he added too-cold water to the tanks of tropical fish. In another story, a spiteful woman destroyed her and her husband’s livelihood by cooking the collection of Siamese fighting fish he had been using to make an income. Meanwhile, a new acquaintance confessed to having ‘fish-ues’ maintaining the 300 litre tank of ‘fisk’ he keeps at home…haha, fishues. It was late and we were laughing our faces off.

Such quirky stories, while amusing, also highlight to me the deftness of Mother Nature who regulates the precarious balance of life on such a finite level, with such ease. Also, the potential devastation that can come when you tamper too much with things. Who knew pet fish could inject so much drama into life?

I confess that while this simple notion does tickle my fancy, I am also all too aware of the fine balance of my own endeavour. I have the chance to reap all that this new city has to offer me in distractions and entertainments, under what is (after reviewing my finances this morning) a very limited and limiting budget. I came here to, if I may, cast the net and see what I would catch. And though my net is small, I am quickly discovering just how small this pond is. I’ve still managed to pull in a great deal with every throw – certainly much more than I would have expected in two weeks.

From my arrival I have found almost immediately that there was a full life here just waiting for me. I have walked many miles, partied for hours, encountered many familiar faces on multiple occasions, exchanged ideas, witnessed acts of great generosity and been subject to great affection. I have been granted entrée to the community as though I’d always been here, be it from new friends or the guy who runs my local shop…it’s early days perhaps, but it's been ruthlessly consistent.

I don’t feel like a tourist, I feel like I’m home. I came here because previous visits demonstrated that Copenhagen maintained a relatively good temperature for this fish. I did not come here needing to ask for slightly warmer or colder water to keep me safe and happy. I didn’t come here seeking a bigger tank or smaller one. I haven’t needed as much time to acclimatise because I somehow knew that this big tank was right for me. I just knew what I needed to be content and found it in this little corner of the world where I am writing with a big smile on my face.

I can see now how life in London (for all its greatness) was harder work because everyone around me was swimming in a slightly different clime to one another, and that in order to connect and find balance with each, I was subject to a constant exercise in making adjustments via a rushed (it is London afterall) and therefore, fallible method. With that much variety to manage, equilibrium for me was impossible to maintain for any length of time without, what I see now, significant compromise (so what’s the point?, I ask). One fish or another was either really content, or going belly up.

Suddenly, that life of fluctuations has just…stopped! And with immediate effect, I have felt such an overwhelming and effortless sense of peace. I am finally just in my own tank that I can just enjoy (sorry, but the analogy has swum away with itself!) where others seem to co-exist in a comparatively consistent way. There are still different shapes and colours to discover, new stimuli. But there is also harmony. Each moment – the fun, the quiet, the riotous, the domestic – has still been ‘balanced’ and relaxed, and blissfully so.

So, is it me or Mother Nature just doing her thang? A bit of both I think. I got myself to the place where Mother Nature can do her best work for me. Now that I’m here, I figure the rest should go swimmingly :)

Random Girl

In which I make my first apology to my neighbours

Yesterday was a top day. For the first time in a long time I made a full blown dinner from some good friends here and while that in itself seems like a ‘normal’ thing to do, I loved that I had the opportunity to do it. In London, my flat was too small to play the host properly so it really has been quite a while since I could ‘get in there’ and make a mess and enjoy the labour of love that is handling good food in a beautiful big kitchen in order to feed people who have come to mean so much to me. Call me a sap, but such simplicity is really what I want my life to be about.

Slow-cooking is a luxury and I luxuriated in the process of watching this meal come to fruition. And the resulting feast when down a treat! The crackling on my first pork belly roast came out perfectly, and second and third servings (and plenty of ‘hygge’) were savoured.

Fast forward a few hours and I was sharing some down time with my housemate S, digesting both the meal and the day with a cigarette out an open window. I felt so relaxed and easy that I neglected to consider the time (it was very late) and, crucially, the power of my voice (it carries). I was therefore incredibly embarrassed when, from a window somewhere above me, a stranger’s frustrated voice announced that I was ‘talking too loud’.

Instantly appalled at my lack of consideration, I apologised profusely and closed the window. What? Just over a week into my stay and I’m already annoying my neighbours? Not a good thing. While such things do happen, and, for the record, I do not feel this is tantamount to a serious infringement of building rules, I do think it’s fair to say that they had a right to be annoyed if our conversation was of no interest to them. I felt bad about it.

I woke up this morning determined to make amends so went in search of some kind of ‘peace pipe’ so as not to seem indifferent to the disturbance I had (albeit, inadvertently) caused. I thought about a bottle of wine or a box of chocolates, but then settled on a lovely succulent I saw in a flower shop. The kind lady in the shop was sympathetic to my plight and readily recognised both the need to pitch the apology at the right level, and the sincerity of my intention. The plant would symbolise growth and hope. And much like the way my apple crumble was meant to complement the pork roast dinner, the purple ceramic pot with white polka dots perfectly complemented the pale green of this cute, roundy plant tied with matching ribbon and tagged with a card reading “Undskyld!” The goal was to make them smile - though a nod goes to the plant shop lady who said, laughing, “Now, you put the guilt on them!”* Aha!

I am optimistic the plant will fulfil its role (and that I will always remember to keep the windows closed late at night!). Meanwhile, this micro-altercation has not dampened my spirits one iota. It has reinforced in me that sense of community and responsibility towards others I so crave and therefore, strive to nurture. The chance to make amends should never be overlooked nor underestimated. It needn’t cost much - be it a few kroner or a little pride - for the payoff to be huge. It’s about encouraging peace of mind and to me, right now, that is its own reward.

Random Girl

*Funnily enough, my housemate subsequently identified the main occupant of the flat above as “Angryman”, a moniker he’d reportedly earned from previous tenants below. “He’s just angry all the time”, says S. So, I was apparently dealing with “Mrs Angryman”. Wow. Choose your enemies wisely.

In which my mind gets 'distorted'

They say timing is everything. I couldn’t agree more. I chose to move to Copenhagen just before the start of the ever-growing festival known as Distortion, which sees a massive street party kick off in a different district each day, over five days. Each year’s attendance is said to be growing exponentially. I also hear that the news reported relatively low levels of police intervention throughout the festival. To me, this was just about the best party, best crowd and best time - ever. It was easy to get to (and get into), packed with people, consistently booming(!), and it was free (and sunny!).

Many locals had described this as the highlight of the year. During this first week, I've also heard consistent talk about how I shouldn’t make the mistake of thinking that Copenhagen was like this all year round. Everybody I spoke to noted the contrast in mood in Copenhagen between summer when everyone comes alive, compared to winter 'when everyone hides'.

But then I’d been told this before. I’ve been inclined to note to people that I am not here solely for the party. If I’d wanted that, I could have spent my year in Berlin or Ibiza, or any number of party towns for that matter.

I’m here to get a 360-degree view of the city. For me, it was not the party per se, but the way the party was rolled out that I was most attentive to. Each district provided its own distinctive atmosphere but there was to me also, a tangible sense of solidarity amongst the people and an infectious, unfettered joyfulness which remained consistent throughout the whole festival. If the long-standing street-filling Notting Hill Carnival (which I love) seethes as a massive snake of people remain constantly (seemingly) on the move, Distortion is like a giant group of friends chilling out and dancing in the streets all day everyday for five days.

Everywhere I looked, arms were outstretched as one party-goer spotted someone in the throng that they knew and embraced them enthusiastically. For someone new like me who knows only a handful of people in the city, I still managed to bump into almost everyone I know at some point or another. One friend was on their way to rescue their parked bicycle from the heart of the crowd, while another was just sitting in a window, beer in hand, enjoying the view of the crowd below. And this is not counting the new faces I encountered repeatedly as well!

Even if this proves to be ‘the only time of year’ I am to experience such a display of joy and solidarity from Copenhagen, it was still a refreshing change for me. And I still feel there is something to be said about an event - which is at its heart community (as opposed to raver) orientated - that actually brings out the very best in people, rather than the worst. If that is true, doesn’t that make Distortion absolutely essential to this small population?

Of course, every party will have its party poopers, but anything I witnessed to that end was negligible (see note above re: police). For me, coming from a life hitherto filled with a large group of disparate acquaintances and disjointed networks, if my first week has been 'distorted' by Distortion, it nevertheless provided me with an incredibly warm welcome, and most importantly, the simple satisfaction of being able to say, 'I'm damn happy to be here.'

Random Girl

A new home

"I'm in Denmark". I keep having to remind myself. It's only been two days but it already feels like home. Six months of planning this sabbatical has pre-tuned my brain to receive and process all things pertaining to life in Denmark; Copenhagen, to be more precise. By now, most of what I've witnessed is consistent with the picture I'd since painted in my head. During the last year, I made three short visits to this city, each visit yielding a stronger impulse to return than the previous. So, I've returned. This time for a full year.

I spent the last six months working two jobs over six days a week so that I could come here and live without any plan or schedule to adhere to. That I have had the good fortune to take a full year off from my job in London (which is there to return to) and some money saved up in order to support myself while I remain, is not something I have taken lightly. I plan to use this time to write. What I will write has yet to be uncovered. But as much as time in a different city has its distractions, this time off is not going to be a lark. It is for me an exercise in self-discipline and more importantly, an attempt to find my voice. I'm a dreamer, but I'm also a doer. If I am compelled to do, I will, and so on...but more on that later.

This isn't meant to be a guide to living in Denmark. This isn't meant to be a political or social commentary. This isn't about Copenhagen as a tourist destination or a forum for highlighting cultural differences. If anything, I seek to find the common threads. So while I do make reference to my 'year of living Danishly', I would not have my words seen as an attempt to define the country and its people. For that, you'd need to come here and find out for yourself.

This is simply a portal to my reflections on what it is to stop everything and start from scratch, and how the conventional idea of 'home' is almost too static for this random girl. The way I see it, home begins with knowing yourself, then finding the place that fits at that given time. So here I am, in Denmark, at the beginning of one year. I am home.

Random Girl