In Copenhagen, everything is beautiful. Everything is clean. Everyone is perfectly dressed, even if they’re wearing flip-flops. Everything is expensive, but I don’t really notice because I’m too lazy to convert kroner to euros. I’m here for a short time. To see some art and explore the city. Elsa, who made this trip happen, is taking me everywhere, and I love everything. By the way, I highly recommend traveling with a gallerist in tow. They have great taste. 

Since we aren’t particularly fond of our hotel’s design—which looks more like a cruise ship left docked at the pier—we go for a stroll. First to Kalven and Bølge, along the waterfront where people are swimming in the Sydhavnen, until we reach the Black Diamond (den Sorte Diamant), the city’s royal library, which glitters in the reflections of the ripples. Then, passing through old reading rooms and secret gardens, we head to the tourist district of Nyhavn, where the Apollo Bar is tucked away in a quiet cobblestone courtyard surrounded by brick buildings gracefully covered in ivy. The playlist there is as good as the coffee and the grapefruit juice. But already we want to leave the crowds behind these walls, so we hop on a train at the central station, heading for Rungstedlund, the home of writer Karen Blixen. The rooms where she wrote Out of Africa remain unchanged; I devour the titles in her library and pay my respects at her grave, a simple stone engraved with her name beneath a century-old tree. 

From the back of the property, Elsa and I cut across the fields in our street clothes to reach the stop for bus 388. The road runs along the sea, bluer than the sky, and drops us off at the Louisiana, Museum of Modern Art. Residence of sculptures by Calder, Giacometti, and Henry Moore, which watch over Sweden from the park, visible in the distance. There are tourists, visitors, and others who have just come for lunch to enjoy the exceptional setting. It is here that I consider to stay a few more days, before finally watching the red dot fade into the distance, the sound of the engine purring softly, while I catch the bus and train, back to Copenhagen.

I wolfed down a Kardemommesnesgle under the awning of the little commuter station, but I’m still a Frenchie. To wrap up the day, a glass of wine is a must at Lilo Vinoria, just as the rain starts falling again (we managed to dodge the weather the entire time we were there, like we were blessed), followed by generous smørrebrød at Hallernes smørrebrød in the Tivoli food hall with a pint of pilsner. Skol !