My mobile phone rang. “I’m here” said an unfamiliar voice at the other end. Good, my mini cab was a few moments early, better than late. The luggage, at the bottom of the stairs, by the front door ready for the cab driver to load as I planned to rush back up to lock Hema’s door. I dragged the bags out, passed a pile of vomit just inside the gate (evidence of the neighbour’s party the night before) and scanned the street for any signs of a running engine. At 6.30 am in late December it was still dark — well as dark as the London sky can be with the city’s vast illumination. Hmmm, can’t see him. Thank god I had a local SIM card, had booked a fairy early pick up and had not locked the door. I called the driver’s number.
“Where are you?” I asked, “Here in Clapham?”
“No, I’m in North London”
“What! The pick up was for Clapham. How long will it take you to get here?”
“An hour”
“Oh shit, forget it, I’ll have to call an Uber”.
I dragged my bags back into the hallway, opened the Uber app, and in my anxiety misread the screen thinking it would be a 45 min wait. Instead it was a 7 minute wait for a 45 minute drive. Relief. I’d deal with the cab company and refund later!
The Uber arrived and with my bags secured in the boot, keys confidently left behind Hema’s closed door, I was on my way.
Frenzied Friday I think it’s called. The Friday before Christmas when most of Britain hits the roads to journey the length and breadth of the country visitng family, or airports to fly further afield. As we approached Heathrow the traffic came to a standstill. But with a few tactical ploys weaving us to the head of the line, the driver had me at the departure area in no time. Finding the SAS desk, free of my large case, availing of Heathrow’s supply of plastic bags for my liquid hand luggage, skulling my water I swiftly passed through customs and immigration. Breakfast and duty free shopping filled the time but alas I could not purchase gin at a duty free price — I was only flying to Denmark (some weird rule, was it an EU thing? will that change with Brexit?). This was a week before news sites announced Apple’s questionable software upgrades impacting upon battery life. I had merely assumed my 2 1/2 year old iphone 6s was about to die (my iphone 4s had lasted YEARS) but modern travel rendered a phone indispensable, and I was too far in to switch from Apple. So I had to purchase, for the first time ever, a brand new phone. Usually bought on plan, it was heartbreaking to have to part with such a large amount of money while ‘unemployed’.
Setting up the new phone while using a variety of SIM cards has been an interesting experience. I don’t know how many hours I spent loading whatsapp messages to the cloud from one phone then waiting 12, 24 and then finally 48 hours before I could switch to the new phone (I repeated this action 3 times before I came to the conclusion that despite Apple and whatsapp’s claims, all those messages are ‘up’ in the cloud never to be untied with the new phone). Carrying my old iphone 4s as an ipod, my 6s now has my Aussie SIM as the number is registered to travel agents, banks and a multitude of other accounts, and now the 8s. My Macbook has been an essential but I’m glad I resisted the temptation to bring my ipad as well. The number of cords, plugs, chargers and adapters I have in may case is crazy (I have needed 5 different adaptors along the way).
Two hours after take off the SAS flight descended to Copenhagen. After an undrinkable coffee at Heathrow I had been given a cup of palatable brew on the flight, but that was it. An experience replicated 10 days later on BA — minus the cup of coffee. These renowned airlines are clearly bargain basement now. I had to purchase a (very tasty) M&S salad on the BA flight back to London to get a meal. No free water, tea or coffee. I did manage to purchase some duty free gin on arrival in Copenhagen at least.
Denmark was my first stop on this tour where English was not the offical language. All the signs at the airport were translated of course, so joining the ‘All Passports’ queue I waited. I listened to the American couple behind me commenting on the irregularity of happy cheery faces of immigration officers at the head of the other queues. Alas our guy, a trainee, need frequent references to his supervisor. So we waited. Danish hospitality (Hygge) extended to anyone whose delayed arrival required an express to get their local connection. And due to the design of the barriers it seemed our line was to be the express queue. Standing patiently, after a time, the irritability of the American couple behind (and me) grew. I’m sure if my flight was pending I’d have been grateful for the system, but the couple and I made some gentle suggestions to the crowd controller regarding improvements in and she continued smiling.
Finally emerging more than an hour after landing I scanned the throngs to find Azzi or Benni. Despite most of the crowd being tall and blond, I sighted Benni first, then recognised Azzi and Camilla. It had been 19 years since Azzi and I had seen each other, on my return visit to Zimbabwe. Benni had come on the scene in the 2 years since I’d left Zimbabwe so at that time we travelled out to one of the Danish development projects he managed. Semi regular phone calls and photos on facebook have strengthened what was a fairly new friendship when I originally left Zim in 1996. Azzi and I meet in my last 18 months I think. I had never met Camilla. Annual birthday and Christmas presents (in more recent years Danish gift cards that, with google translate, I have somehow successfully sent from a Danish website) and her ‘thank yous’ in return had been the extent of our relationship. Now at eighteen she is approaching her final year in school and University awaits. Upon meeting Camilla seemed guarded and quiet. Azzi casually shared that she was shy and took some time to warm up. And over the following days she did. Her English excellent, her manner a typical teenager, it was wonderful to finally meet this girl I’d seen pictures of over the years. Fashion and her computer are her passions so other than meal times she spent time in her room watching Netflix, reading, or researching her next online purchases. And boy does she have ‘a look’. I knew I had finally made it when one day I too got that look, that teenager’s cutting gaze of disdain, raised or steely eyes that said ‘you’ve got to be kidding’. She and I shared a bit more interest in fashion than her parents when we went to the sales on the 27th, and she eagerly told me about the bins that say ‘thank you’ or make jokes when you place rubbish in (to encourage the younger generation to me more environmentally conscious than their smoking parents I suppose).
Azzi and Benni took me to Tivoli Gardens, first opened in 1843 as elegant and exotic gardens. In 1955 when the original Disneyland opened in California Walt Disney reportedly paid several visits to Tivoli, fascinated by the mood and atmosphere. Christmas at Tivoli is relatively new in its history. By the time we arrived it was 3 pm it was a crisp cold day with pale blue sky. We entered with the throng of visitors, the lights and fake snow creating an enticing winter wonderland. Families wove in an out of each other’s paths, lines formed for breathtaking rides that plunged from heights, screams filled the air as young people rode the roller coasters and other death defying rides. Restaurants beaconed with the aroma of mulled wine and local delicacies. Walking past a mock Pirates of the Caribbean launch, Azzi and I could not have contemplated what that ship would signify in the coming week. Beautiful displays of hyacinth bulbs in bloom, Christmas displays of elves and fir trees defined the season, and as night enveloped Tivoli, trails of lights traced every building and tree, combining to create a truly magical fantasy land.
Benni drove at a pace (memories of the trip to Vic Falls came flooding back as the speedo hit 140 kph) and we just made it to an early ferry. As the last car on there were no seats together so we stood and began our catch up — me typically talkative and spewing out the last few months experiences in a single purge, a manner that would become calmer and more laconic as the days progressed. From the ferry at Aarhus we drove 45 mins to Allingaabro. Azzi’s home is in the typical style with a deep pitched roof under which bedrooms and a toilet huddle. Embarrassingly Azzi and Benni gave me their room for my entire visit, with other house guests arriving the next day they claimed the couch for themselves. Benni carried my cases up the steep stairs to a room with a skylight that would show variants of grey and some occasional blue in the coming days. Navigating the narrow stairs down required caution and I pondered the disincentive to intoxication. “That’s why there is a toilet up stairs” Azzi commented. In a European home, winter weather becomes an irrelevance with short days and inside occupations and my thermals became overkill in the toasty warmth. Christmas festivities and rain interrupted the plan of a regular walk but I managed a couple in crisp cold conditions, and it was then that I was thankful for my macpac purchases — 2 pairs of woollen socks, my ECCO hiking boots, thermal trousers and top, down vest AND coat. And of course the beanie, gloves and scarf from Ramsgate! I looked a treat. Allingaabro means bridge on the Allinga river (I think) and the short walk from Azzi’s house to the main street crossed the small river, complete with canoes upturned and stored away from the river bank awaiting the distant summer. Wandering across the ice covered wooden arched bridge required some skill as, even at midday, it was a slippery hazard. The village seemed to stretch along the long main street, passing the disused railway station, with a small hotel, a few shops, cafe and hairdresser scattered along its length. The homes, red brick and two or three stories, spilled back a block or two, where the nursing home (Azzi’s workplace) and her gym lay. Green fields and wind farms cocooned the village, much of Denmark given to agriculture, their small population of just over 5.7 million nestled between the perponderance of coast line and farming.
On the 23rd of December the house, already bedecked with Christmas lights and festive nicknacks (felt just like home), was readied for the 24th — the European Christmas tradition. Food was prepared, with pre Christmas visits and arrivals planned. When Vesti, a Columbia anaesthetist whom attended language school with Azzi 11 years ago, popped in with some Christmas delights the drinking, which would last days began. When I made the mistake of drinking Aquivit alongside wine, my digestive system went into shock. It was days before I felt right again (of course it had nothing to do with the amount of Aquivit I drank). The story of Aquvit is interesting. In 1805 a Norwegian boat was loaded with food items for trade in Indonesia. On board was a cargo of five casks of Norwegian aqua vita. When the captain failed to sell his cargo of spirit, the barrels returned and the spirits sampled. The changing conditions inside the oak barrels had had a marked impact. In this way the principle behind Linie aquavit was established. Every month fresh batches of matured oak barrels depart on a 19-week passage visiting more than thirty-five countries. The equator is crossed twice and always on a ship from Wilhelmsen. During the passage, fluctuations in temperature and humidity influence the maturing process, while the constant motion of the sea swirls the aquavit round in the barrels. A lot of effort for a wee drop!
Vesti had, like Azzi, married a Dane. She was a passionate latin american who was finding it, even after 11 years, just a little challenging living amongst northern Europeans. With the change in temperature of tolerance in Europe (terrorist attacks and the politics of the right) these women have found it increasingly difficult in recent years. Azzi is ‘coloured’ (mixed race from Zim) and Vesti is a latino, and they have noticed a subtle change in the welcome in their adopted home, not quite ‘hygge’. Azzi, Vesti and I chatted about the difference of people from ‘the south’ (even though Columbia is theoretically in the northern hemisphere) and those from ‘the north’. Something to do with the sun and open spaces perhaps? We are different.
Later in the evening Azzi’s aunt Lil travelled from Germany with her partner, Theo. Lil had departed Zim decades earlier for another German, her daughters now all grown. Theo was a new beau, met online. Theo fussed around Lil, she deferred to his views, their enmeshment serving each in its own way. They were lively company and other than everyone needing to plan their ablutions around Lil’s lengthy grooming sojourn in the bathroom each morning, all went well. Theo and Lil shared a great love of smoking that had them braving the cold for a frequent fix. By the end of my time in Europe I was so over smokers. Boy have we (thankfully) become sanitised in Oz. The stench of stale smoke was a permanent in Denmark. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised, all that Nordic Noir TV I’ve watched where the Dane’s throw their half spent cigarettes into the street. As a sea faring country I was a little surprised that they were so unconcerned about the life that swims around them. London was little better, and there the vaping culture was a whole other thing…cafes dedicated to vaping, no longer a way to give up smoking, rather a trend all of its own.
On the 24th the traditions began. The final episode of a fantasy drama, the daily episodes beginning on the 1st of December, was a must for Azzi and Camilla. It was a family tradition each evening in December for the whole family to sit together and watch the daily episode. Benni was busy with his annual cook fest on the 24th — he knows all the Danish Christmas traditions, roast pork and turkey, red cabbage, potatoes, wine, and later dessert of a scrumptious rice pudding. So he elected to watch the rerun on Christmas Day.
The next tradition was a fun game that beats any Secret Santa we have in Australia. An array of wrapped inexpensive small gifts are loaded onto the table. A dii (or to make things go quicker, a couple of dice) are thrown and a lucky number is chosen. We selected 6. Whoever gets the 6 takes a present from the pile, a double meant 2 gifts, continuing until all presents are allocated. Then the fun really begins. A timer is put on, known to only one person. The game continues, this time to throw a 6 meant you could take a gift from whomever you want. It was hilarious as pretend rivalries came to the fore, and Camilla, aware of the gifts she’d provided, persisted in selecting one particular present. So then it was on. Everyone took that gift at the first opportunity…until the logic hit us that we’d lose a gift by doing so. It was hilarious fun and Camilla won out in the end.
Later in the evening we joined hands and sang hymns or Christmas Carols around the tree. I had to google a few English ones, sadly aware that I had lost that tradition. I could play a few items on the piano as a child, school pre Christmas activities were full of Christmas carols, and mass until the age of 25 kept the hymns going for awhile. While we might play a CD of Christmas music at home, I felt melancholy to have lost that knowledge and, more so, the act of singing together. Might have to introduce some new traditions back home next year Maddy and Ally! After a handful of songs dancing clockwise and anticlockwise round the tree, complete with lit candles and in the olden days edible decorations, we then opened presents. It was curious to see that around the world parents are the same, spoiling their kids and relishing the joy and happiness when they get it right! Cami is a gifted gift giver — I scored a beautiful silver necklace. I had given her a fright upon arrival when she noticed my gold watch. But my preference is for silver. I was chuffed. Thankfully I’d done some shopping along the way with gifts for them. Everyone was so generous, such a heartwarming experience when I was so far from home.
By midnight we were all pretty spent. I have a fabulous photo of everyone, bar Benni, who was doing dishes I think, glued to their phones, pure escape after a big afternoon and evening. At 1am I put my alarm on to wake a few hours later to make a call home for Christmas morning. Time differences and celebrating on different days was doing my head in! I timed the call with the usual present opening time at Helen’s. Modern technology is fantastic, a clear signal on speaker phone after which I descended into sleep.
Christmas day is a quiet day in Denmark, the 26th is called second Christmas day when families also get together. The tradition for this Christmas was Azzi and I watching ALL the Pirates of the Caribbean movies — one was televised each night. Azzi hadn’t seen any was just a little skeptical, but despite herself we enjoyed a few laughs (and of course looking at Jonny Depp). Denmark has a great tradition on not dubbing movies, instead subtitles are used and TV programs are from around the world in the original language are the norm on TV. They do have less frequent but LONG commercial breaks and interesting sports betting is as heavily promoted on their TV as at home. Azzi and I would chat casually in the breaks until one evening as she chatted in Danish, assuming she was tallking to Benni, I remained silent. I soon realized she was looking at me. My Zimbabwean friend has become so fluent in Danish, English is now her second language, she sometimes struggles to find the English word, and now dreams in Danish. What an achievement, that and studying at tertiary level — 11 years ago she had not a word of Danish!
Christmas Day was a meal of herring and salads, wonderful liverworts, and a local equivalent of mum’s salmon voulevant! Meals of scrumptious black bread, better than any pumpernickel I’d ever had, soft and hard cheeses, cold meats, and on occasion Azzi and I threw in some salad. Denmark and South America have that in common — not a great love of coloured vegetables or salad! The traditions continued on the 27th with a trip to Randers for the post Christmas sales. Only 20 minutes away this beautiful old town with cobbled streets, festive lights, centuries of beautiful architecture was mildly busy with shoppers, nothing like the mad rush on the 26th at home.
The sky eventually cleared for the 28th and Benni treated me to a walk at the nearby fjord. A breath of air interrupted the glassy surface of the water, the ripples playing with the colours of a weak blue of the sky, whispy white clouds, white sand and colourful rocks. Wind farms worked in the distance, completely at home in nature. My last morning in Allingabro was crisp and cold, a promise of days to come and on my last stroll I discovered a love for ice photography as intense as for my beach walks.
Copenhagen, my destination for NYE fireworks. Around the country pop up tents sold fireworks to all and sundry. The blasts began well before midnight on the 31st, in fact the city echoed throughout the 30th and 31st, all day and night. Visiting museums, galleries and palaces filled the 2 days of drab grey and sometimes wet weather, in spite of which, the city was beautiful. The temperatures were low (I think NYE it was 3 degrees for the entire day) and the prices were high (an average coffee A$8). The Glyptotek — a sculpture museum, the national museum that took me from the beginning of time to modern day Denmark, Amalienborg Palace (the winter palace with Princess Mary in residence dressing for the NYE ball), where changing of the guards was far more accessible than Buckingham Palace, and Christianborg Palace, now the seat of government, kilometres and kilometres of walking. On NYE I lunched on the most amazingly rich hot dark chocolate from the House of Chocolate and salad from 7/11 (I needed my vegies desperately), a nap as the intensity of blasts grew at 3 pm, I made the mistake (profoundly naive) that I could pop out for a meal on NYE in a capital city. Well yes I could have eaten in a restaurant, but for mutli course set menu on my own for A$200…. not thanks. I joined the rest of the nation at 6pm to watch the Queen’s televised speech — of course there were no subtitles, but I gather it’s a religion of sorts to watch this and the British German filmed performance of ‘Dinner for One’. I found a Chinese restaurant about 8pm and after another vegie fix and glass of wine returned to my ‘cabin’ . I was staying at Cabinn City — good value, brilliant position, and literally the equivalent of a small cabin in a ship. At 11 pm wandered to the town square and under the watchful eye of Hans Christian Anderson stood with the families and groups of friends, watching the ongoing colourful display. The crowd was notable for the sense of calm, absence of alcohol, and joy at the spectacle exploding above. As midnight approached, standing alone, it was impossible to not be caught up in the excitement, screaming out the countdown as the town square clock chimed in the new year. It was my first NYE alone. It was wonderful standing in the cold under the colourful rain of falling pyrotechnic stars thinking of loved ones at home, the friends I’d visited in the previous months, and the friends awaiting me in my next destinations. I had considered what the midnight show would be given the hours and hours (it was dark from 4 pm) of fireworks and was mildly surprised that it was more of the same. But the joy of just standing for hours looking at the display was a good trade off.
I couldn’t help wondering at the environmental cost of this excess, or of people around the world to whom blasts do not evoke feelings of joy, rather fear or post traumatic terror. Fire engine sirens were the backdrop to the explosions, would ambulance sirens follow I wondered as some white supremist looking young men in the square ignited their own fireworks amongst the crowd with little regard for others nearby. As I walked back to the hotel at 1.30 passing a group of 65 yr old men setting off their own firecrackers, I was bemused. And it went on for hours more.
The next day a late check out was gratis as it was new years day and somehow working out the numerous platform changes for the airport train, I was on my way, my first exposure to Scandinavia coming to an end. I had been spoilt yet again by the unbelievable hospitality of great friends.
I do hope one day some of them make the long trek to Australia so I can return to gift.
