After having fully adjusted to the Melbourne-London transition, last weekend I brushed off what little dust had accrued on my passport since and made the trek to Copenhagen. Never having been to the Scandinavian states previously, I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. While not normally a “window seat” kind of guy, seeing the endless array of wind turbines, appearing as white needles threaded into the coastal landscape, was a very nice start to the weekend.
A concerned posed to me by others was the high cost the vacation would impose. However, I felt this would be offset by the relatively cheap price of the airfare. It wasn’t. This was made painfully obvious when the smallest withdrawal amount offered by the ATM at Copenhagen airport was the equivalent of £150. I then speedily made my way to the hostel on the driverless metro train. Yes, the train had no driver. How it managed to negotiate the pathway of self-guiding, fixed, and predictable train tracks, I do not know.
The hostel spouted its locale of Nørrebro as the hipster, edgy, grimy and trendy end of Copenhagen. Kreuzberg it was not. Though the measured Danish equivalent would have to do. The city itself was picturesque, with every street spattered with a palette of pastel tones. There was an even-handedness of traditional historic sites and modern architecture. A sense of serenity was evident on every corner and I truly enjoyed just meandering, soaking in the sights and sounds. But is this where I would want to spend the rest of my days..? No. I have became sentient of an inherent tradeoff between beauty and tranquility, and longevity of interest. I do not think I could survive long-term without the lively, exciting, ordered chaos provided when a city hits a critical mass. So back to London I go, now limbered up for an increasing cascade of future getaways.