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Copenhagening around

The parents (Andy’s) spent a week away from us, in Sweden, with plans to then cross the unbelievably narrow sea to Denmark by Friday evening. With that in mind, Andy and I headed to Copenhagen of Thursday evening, to scout the place out before meeting up with his folks.

We arrived fairly early in the evening, after a flight which lasted literally 45 minutes and was therefore all take off and landing with no meaty flighty bit. Not that I’m complaining- but coming from Perth, where you can fly for about five hours and still be in Australia, I’m not sure I’m ever going to get used to this continent’s tininess.

We walked about ten paces from the main train station (in turn only 12 minutes by train from the airport), through a European summer night filled with trumpet sounds. They had some sort of Jazz festival on in the city, which meant we were also accompanied by trumpets the next morning, and on occasion throughout the following days….so Copenhagen looks like elephants and dragons and castles and sunshine, tastes like burgers and buttermilk icecream (more on that later!), and sounds like trumpets.

Our hotel was pleasingly red, and the beds pleasingly sleep-inducing, and we slept and lazed until well into the next morning.

And then set off to explore…

(Do you see the adorable little birds on the corner of this pillar?)

And to fill ourselves with food at the delightfully decked out Cafe Obelix.

I come from a family of horders with at least a sprinkling of gardening genes thrown in, so this sort of ordered chaotic clutter with plants and bottles and pictures is right up my alley.

Andy’s alley involved more food: bacon, sausages, fried AND scrambled eggs, a pancake, bread, fruit salad, juice, coffee….

 I went for a burger, which, I’ll have you know, is a perfectly respectable brunchtime meal option.

I promise you that the radioactive coloured goo translates to tastiness in one’s mouth!

More exploring, complete with multiple fountains, street art, statues and posing.

As far as sights go, Copenhagen has many very beautiful building, modern and old- and lovely parks and gardens and a fairly pretty coastline. But for the ‘big bucks’, they tend to rely on good old H. C. Anderson, and his story of the little mermaid. We saw several statues, plaques signalling places he lived, his grave- and of course the famous sculpture of his little mermaid, and even an more modern interpretation of her ‘genetically modified’ sister.

 After about 4 hours of walking, we headed to the hotel of Andy’s parents- conveniently located right across the road from ours. Onwards! to several more hours of walking/exploring, punctuated by icecream, which, for possibly the first time in my life, I felt too full to commit to.

Not that it stopped the others.

Finally, the group became aware of the repeated cries of Mari-Anne: it was time to sit down and have some solid food.

We stopped in a restaurant called Toldboden, situated not-too-far from the famous mermaid. It was incredibly packed, and I think mostly with locals, who were crammed around bowls of shrimp at wooden picnic style tables, or lounging in the sun on deckchairs. There was a fight to get a table, which Andy and I failed miserably at, but luckily the more aggressive older generation came to the rescue.

While waiting for our food, I ordered this really delicious hipster-y Rhubarb drink, while Andy’s mum, being the filthy little copy-cat that she is, went for a raspberry. We later branched out to the other two members of the collection- and tasted Holunder blossom (too flowery) and a blackcurrent one (very Ribena-y), but ultimately decided that we’d ‘won’ with the first choices.

And we all chowed down on some very delicious rosemary-salt chips, with crunchy fish pieces, fish rissoles and accompanying sides.

 We walked off our leafy greens, gradually making our way to the Mermaid.

I was allowed icecream, having missed out in the first round, but for some reason had to share. Stupid common-law partnership!
We visited the ‘ugly sister’ of the little mermaid- affectionately called the ‘genetically modified mermaid’. Insert here any usual comments about genetic modification and bad press. 
I’m going to jump the gun on all my relatives and acknowledge that if the little mermaid is Ariel, then this poor sister with its bent little feet must be a Tegan. Probably after licking too much ethidium bromide (mutagen used in lab- not usually recommended for the licking- but just so red and pretty and irresistible).

Stumbling across some errant gym equipment, we jumped at the opportunity to work off our fish.

And then ambled home.


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