29 April 2011
393
R. Linda:
So let me tell you about my short and sweet trip to Denmark. I flew on SAS and, as you can see, had an uneventful flight there and back. No ripping of skin off the airplane, no asleep at the controls air traffic tower controls, nah, none of that. As the plane came in, we flew over the city, and it seemed to be copper rooftops, squares, fountains, tall towers, fantastic churches and many statues. I wished I had longer to stay so I could wander around; it all looked interesting, but business be business.
R. Linda:
So let me tell you about my short and sweet trip to Denmark. I flew on SAS and, as you can see, had an uneventful flight there and back. No ripping of skin off the airplane, no asleep at the controls air traffic tower controls, nah, none of that. As the plane came in, we flew over the city, and it seemed to be copper rooftops, squares, fountains, tall towers, fantastic churches and many statues. I wished I had longer to stay so I could wander around; it all looked interesting, but business be business.
Denmark reminds me of England (the more picturesque parts of England, that is). Quaint European setting, oozing history, and besides having the lowest unemployment rate, can boast the politest people on earth, not to forget a good-looking lot they are too! I think I want to move there. You know what struck me the most? I didn't see one overweight person. I also saw more women than men and thought for a single guy, Copenhagen would be THE place.
Anyway, I went immediately to me hotel. That was a bit of a shock. I was put in a smoking room, and I don't smoke, so the smell had me. I didn't stay in there five minutes before I went down to the desk and asked for one with no smoking environment. They said because I did not specify they naturally assumed I was a smoker. Seems they took me as a born and bred American, and most Americans smoke. Who knew? I told them I was an Irish transplant, something like a weed you wanted to get rid of but had moved in with the Americans and well . . . I drink I don't smoke. Kidding. Well, my new room was quite a bit nicer. I don't know if it is because no one likes smokers they get the shabby rooms? I dunno, but I will say the first room was dark, dank and smelly. It actually felt dirty, though I am sure it wasn't. Maybe it was just the nicotine-stained walls and such, and trying to see through the nicotine haze that still lingered in the air, I dunno, but the non-smoking room was bright, cheerful, looked spotless and seemed like an upgrade, though I was told it was not. Hum.
Having some time, I decided to see what was within walking distance and took myself down the way from the hotel to a street called Stroget. It is for people, no motors allowed, and it is filled with cafes and shops and it is a good thing I didn't go all the way down it because I found out later it covers the entire city from one end to the other. I was feeling peckish, so I stopped at one of the many cafes and ordered a coffee and a pastry that I don't know what it was (I can't pronounce anything Danish), but I sat there taking in the people and enjoying that nameless but delicious pastry. That is when I noticed no overweight people. I will say if I were to live there, I'd be the first fatty in Denmark because I would feast on those pastries no holds barred, they were that delicious.
Later, I got a cab to go to my first interview. As we were at the curb, the cabby honked the horn and then took off. Every time I got into a motor before we'd set off, the driver would honk the horn as if to say, WATCH OUT, IMPORTANT PERSONAGE ON THE MOVE. There was a lot of horn honking, and at times, I thought I was back in Boston. I was disappointed that it wasn't because I was in the cab. It seems it is the law you check your motor out, and when ready to start it up, you honk your horn like, HEY, WE BE FIT TO RIDE WATCH OUT. I jumped each time that happened, as I totally didn't expect the sound of a loud horn when parked at the curb. But OK.
My appointment was at a place that reminded me of Ireland. It be the Port of Nyhavn (picture below) with coloured buildings on both sides of a canal. Anyway, not unlike Ireland where we paint bright colours to our buildings that contain small shops, pubs and housing, for a short second I thought meself back home. I assume the flats must be quite upscale and expensive. It is a beautiful area. Honestly, when I first saw this part of Copenhagen, I thought of pirates, and my imagination went all Captain Jack on me. I could sit there for days and write pirate stories. The place naturally inspired me. I was told there was even a Viking ship (well the skeleton of one) to tour, but I had no time, but that would have been right up my alley. Oh, and least I forget, the statue of the Little Mermaid is smaller than I thought, and not as far out. You could actually get a picture without worrying about a zoom lens.
There were a couple of things that confused me. I had a terrible time getting bye and hi straight. Hi means bye, at least I think it does, or they were all having a joke on yours truly. Still not sure what that was about, but. . . Then there is the coinage. It all has holes in the centre, and I had developed a terrible habit of jamming me pinkie finger in the hole and getting the coins stuck on me finger, they really didn't fit but well, I found a way to make them fit so much so I couldn't get them off. It was terribly embarrassing, me tugging to pay a bill and people staring at me while I looked quite the idiot. I know, moronic, but that's me. Nothing worse than trying to pay for something as you try to un-wedge a coin off your smallest digit, with the waiter standing there looking at one like one is brain deficient. Say nothing R. Linda, I can hear your thoughts from here.
One of the reasons I could live in Denmark is the Danish breakfast. Like home in Ireland, it is large and full of food. But the Danes added cheese and fish to the meat, so it was quite like dinner. I loved it.
I had a dish called (and I hope I have the spelling right) ollebrod a pudding made of bread, beer and sugar. I LIKED IT! For lunch, though, we were so busy looking at computer graphics that they sent out for lunch. I told my host to get me what would be typical of lunch in Copenhagen, and that was rather a simple treat of Danish rye smothered in remoulade (which I happen to like) with salami and fried onions. It was a yum. I know you will be disappointed I didn't see fudge anywhere.
My host was a footy fanatic. We got on extremely well and talked about the Red and Whites (Denmark's national team) and the World Cup and how exciting it was. And I mentioned England's team and all the hoopla that went on over their chances at the time and how good they had been touted to be when he looked at me and said, "England was once under Danish rule. We taught them everything about footy." He laughed, "and in return, the English gave us Hamlet." He looked ruefully at me, and I laughed. These kinds of innuendos were thrown my way quite a bit. Sarcasm is a Danish art it be. I think everyone forgot I was from America because of my Irish accent, and so they had a good deal of fun dissing the English (all with good humour, mind you). After a while, I found meself joining in; after all, I was born in Northern Ireland, and, well, I was as good as dissing the English. But what got us on common ground was we graduated to dissing the Germans!
"We have to draw cartoons so they get our jokes," he said. "Otherwise, they just don't get it." Guffaw!
Em . . . I be sorry and apologise to me German readers (I think I have one), but well there be the memory of certain real estate being trifled with well . . . better a wicked sense of humour than an embittered bunch of countries holding grudges.
So I enjoyed me short visit to the land that can boast actor Viggo Mortensen and musician Lars Ulrich (Metallica). Rock on, Lars! Oh, and Haagen Daz isn't Danish, either! They enjoyed a good time at me expense when I told my Danish mates how much I enjoyed their ice cream. Seems Haagen Daz is from NEW YORK! Oi, how embarrassing!
I am back, as you can plainly read and would love to go back for a holiday visit or to move there. The Danes speak English better than we speak Danish by the by. I was impressed they speak it better than me! So I am considering packing my family up and moving across the pond to Denmark, but something tells me the wife would want to visit first. I can see Tonya in a pastry shop, "Hey yo-yo, give me some of those whatchamacallits, and where can I buy some of that Danish ice cream, Haagen Dazs?" Yuppers.
Gabe
Copyright © 2011 All rights reserved
Anyway, I went immediately to me hotel. That was a bit of a shock. I was put in a smoking room, and I don't smoke, so the smell had me. I didn't stay in there five minutes before I went down to the desk and asked for one with no smoking environment. They said because I did not specify they naturally assumed I was a smoker. Seems they took me as a born and bred American, and most Americans smoke. Who knew? I told them I was an Irish transplant, something like a weed you wanted to get rid of but had moved in with the Americans and well . . . I drink I don't smoke. Kidding. Well, my new room was quite a bit nicer. I don't know if it is because no one likes smokers they get the shabby rooms? I dunno, but I will say the first room was dark, dank and smelly. It actually felt dirty, though I am sure it wasn't. Maybe it was just the nicotine-stained walls and such, and trying to see through the nicotine haze that still lingered in the air, I dunno, but the non-smoking room was bright, cheerful, looked spotless and seemed like an upgrade, though I was told it was not. Hum.
Having some time, I decided to see what was within walking distance and took myself down the way from the hotel to a street called Stroget. It is for people, no motors allowed, and it is filled with cafes and shops and it is a good thing I didn't go all the way down it because I found out later it covers the entire city from one end to the other. I was feeling peckish, so I stopped at one of the many cafes and ordered a coffee and a pastry that I don't know what it was (I can't pronounce anything Danish), but I sat there taking in the people and enjoying that nameless but delicious pastry. That is when I noticed no overweight people. I will say if I were to live there, I'd be the first fatty in Denmark because I would feast on those pastries no holds barred, they were that delicious.
Later, I got a cab to go to my first interview. As we were at the curb, the cabby honked the horn and then took off. Every time I got into a motor before we'd set off, the driver would honk the horn as if to say, WATCH OUT, IMPORTANT PERSONAGE ON THE MOVE. There was a lot of horn honking, and at times, I thought I was back in Boston. I was disappointed that it wasn't because I was in the cab. It seems it is the law you check your motor out, and when ready to start it up, you honk your horn like, HEY, WE BE FIT TO RIDE WATCH OUT. I jumped each time that happened, as I totally didn't expect the sound of a loud horn when parked at the curb. But OK.
My appointment was at a place that reminded me of Ireland. It be the Port of Nyhavn (picture below) with coloured buildings on both sides of a canal. Anyway, not unlike Ireland where we paint bright colours to our buildings that contain small shops, pubs and housing, for a short second I thought meself back home. I assume the flats must be quite upscale and expensive. It is a beautiful area. Honestly, when I first saw this part of Copenhagen, I thought of pirates, and my imagination went all Captain Jack on me. I could sit there for days and write pirate stories. The place naturally inspired me. I was told there was even a Viking ship (well the skeleton of one) to tour, but I had no time, but that would have been right up my alley. Oh, and least I forget, the statue of the Little Mermaid is smaller than I thought, and not as far out. You could actually get a picture without worrying about a zoom lens.
There were a couple of things that confused me. I had a terrible time getting bye and hi straight. Hi means bye, at least I think it does, or they were all having a joke on yours truly. Still not sure what that was about, but. . . Then there is the coinage. It all has holes in the centre, and I had developed a terrible habit of jamming me pinkie finger in the hole and getting the coins stuck on me finger, they really didn't fit but well, I found a way to make them fit so much so I couldn't get them off. It was terribly embarrassing, me tugging to pay a bill and people staring at me while I looked quite the idiot. I know, moronic, but that's me. Nothing worse than trying to pay for something as you try to un-wedge a coin off your smallest digit, with the waiter standing there looking at one like one is brain deficient. Say nothing R. Linda, I can hear your thoughts from here.
One of the reasons I could live in Denmark is the Danish breakfast. Like home in Ireland, it is large and full of food. But the Danes added cheese and fish to the meat, so it was quite like dinner. I loved it.
I had a dish called (and I hope I have the spelling right) ollebrod a pudding made of bread, beer and sugar. I LIKED IT! For lunch, though, we were so busy looking at computer graphics that they sent out for lunch. I told my host to get me what would be typical of lunch in Copenhagen, and that was rather a simple treat of Danish rye smothered in remoulade (which I happen to like) with salami and fried onions. It was a yum. I know you will be disappointed I didn't see fudge anywhere.
My host was a footy fanatic. We got on extremely well and talked about the Red and Whites (Denmark's national team) and the World Cup and how exciting it was. And I mentioned England's team and all the hoopla that went on over their chances at the time and how good they had been touted to be when he looked at me and said, "England was once under Danish rule. We taught them everything about footy." He laughed, "and in return, the English gave us Hamlet." He looked ruefully at me, and I laughed. These kinds of innuendos were thrown my way quite a bit. Sarcasm is a Danish art it be. I think everyone forgot I was from America because of my Irish accent, and so they had a good deal of fun dissing the English (all with good humour, mind you). After a while, I found meself joining in; after all, I was born in Northern Ireland, and, well, I was as good as dissing the English. But what got us on common ground was we graduated to dissing the Germans!
"We have to draw cartoons so they get our jokes," he said. "Otherwise, they just don't get it." Guffaw!
Em . . . I be sorry and apologise to me German readers (I think I have one), but well there be the memory of certain real estate being trifled with well . . . better a wicked sense of humour than an embittered bunch of countries holding grudges.
So I enjoyed me short visit to the land that can boast actor Viggo Mortensen and musician Lars Ulrich (Metallica). Rock on, Lars! Oh, and Haagen Daz isn't Danish, either! They enjoyed a good time at me expense when I told my Danish mates how much I enjoyed their ice cream. Seems Haagen Daz is from NEW YORK! Oi, how embarrassing!
I am back, as you can plainly read and would love to go back for a holiday visit or to move there. The Danes speak English better than we speak Danish by the by. I was impressed they speak it better than me! So I am considering packing my family up and moving across the pond to Denmark, but something tells me the wife would want to visit first. I can see Tonya in a pastry shop, "Hey yo-yo, give me some of those whatchamacallits, and where can I buy some of that Danish ice cream, Haagen Dazs?" Yuppers.
Gabe
Copyright © 2011 All rights reserved
11 comments:
They say Denmark has the happiest population in the World. Has to count for something and YOU look quite happy in your last picture I have to say.
Really? I think I look quite bald.
Okay, bald AND happy! Is that your alternative means of transportation parked over on the right? ;-)
Haagen Dazs isn't Danish? OMG REALLY? And you look marvelous well, I think you look better in puffy shirts but that's me, I like puffy shirts. Sort of. Well sometimes. I take that back they look ridiculous on men. But on you...nevermind.
Fiona, I don't know how to take that. ;=( As for that first photo people, that be a photo by Weasil so give me a break, me hair hasn't been that long since college. The bald one, well . . . OK that's the reason I don't post me photos much because like Prince Wils, the back of me head be going hairless like me Muse. So live with it and stop asking me to post new photos ::::: sniff.
HEY!LOL
No picking the muses' hair status! or the lack thereof!
LMAO
It'll grow any day now!
Right, I said that about mine and still nothing.
So ... when are you moving?
I will say, the Danish are cagey. They think the British drink too much, but what about the ollebrod? Yum that's what I want my pudding filled with - beer! Would anyone know how drunk you'd get on dessert? Probably not. Clever bunch.
wowee miz maggie nice piccie yer da besty lookin one on diz blog ceptin fer me hehee
Is that you? You know what this means don't you? It means you like me, you really, really like me! LMAO
Post a Comment