elegance and greasy sausage

Whether lost in a maze of rough and weathered streets, or beneath the elegant spires and heroic statues of glorious pasts, there is always a person with a cart selling something delicious, cheap, and greasy. Here in Copenhagen, this treat often materialises in the form of bacon wrapped sausages shoved into hollow buns filled with mustard.



Oh yes.

red, green, blue, bird

on the walls

danmark with an 'a'

The last time I was in Copenhagen, my grandad was dying. Since he couldn't make the trip from California to his beloved Danmark with an 'a', I bought a plane ticket and went for him. I wanted to smell Denmark, eat Denmark, drink Denmark. I wanted to visit his hometown of Esbjerg, and meet his cousin Maria. I wanted to visit his father's grave. I wanted to do all the things he would do if he could, and I wanted to report back to him all the feelings I felt, and show him hundreds of photos. He liked to look at photos.



When I called him from Maria's house and he heard our voices together for the first time, he cried. I told him about the herring and the hakkebøf, the rain and the sea. I told him I would see him soon.



He died on the day I arrived in California. I never got to show him the photographs I took.



And so I found myself in his Danmark again, with a terrible aching inside. There are so many things I wish I could tell him. He would have loved Pedro— he would have told him all the stories I loved to hear, even if it was for the hundredth time. I can see him clearly; turning in his armchair to spin his globe for Portugal, with an "I'll be damned" muttering out from a cloud of pipe smoke.

Jeg elsker dig, Morfar.

danish cafés and the nationalmuseet

colours of copenhagen

gratitude

What was a week felt like two; I had met so many people and seen so many things in such a short time, sitting here on my sofa in Istanbul, it's hard to imagine. I would like to dedicate this post to the Clausen family for making me feel so welcome and happy in their home in Copenhagen. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your warmth, kindness and generosity.

Thank you to Sue and Steen for your conversations and stories, your hospitality and laughter. Thank you Maria for so much more than you know, my kindred spirit.

mummies, vikings and medieval merchants

In what felt like a blink of an eye, I was back in Copenhagen. My time in Esbjerg far too short, I was soon lugging my suitcase down wet, grey pavements, umbrella in hand. I had taken the 7:41 train to Copenhagen so I could spend my last full day exploring the Nationalmuseet— and whatever else I could see. With one look out the window, I decided I'd much rather see if I could get lost in the museum than try to stay warm while wandering around outside.



The Danish Nationalmuseet is absolutely incredible— mummies, Viking utensils, national costumes and rich, glossy oil paintings— I actually did get lost somewhere between Early Christian Europe and Ancient Greece. The Nationalmuseet has easily become one of my favourite museums— the de Young in San Francisco and the Isabella Stuart Gardner in Boston taking number one and two (though it has been a while since I've visited the magnificent Smithsonian Natural History Museum in DC). I strongly suggest exploring this grand museum's impressive collections— it just might be the only thing in Denmark that's free! Located on Ny Vestergade, a stone's throw from Tivoli Gardens, the Nationalmuseet is open every day except Mondays.

danish delicious

Just your typical salty, buttery bakskuld and dark bread with carraway schnapps coffee on Fanø.



Luscious bacon-wrapped pork medallions with sautéed mushrooms and a potato soufflé, smothered in whiskey sauce in Esbjerg.



Some succulent Danish hotdogs that make you wonder whether you should be eating them in public.
Well, when in Copenhagen...



I admit I did feel a little naughty.

the art of hygge

Hygge is one of those wonderfully untranslatable words to be found in every language. Roughly pronounced "hoo-guh," hygge is Danish for something closest to "cosy"— but it's beyond cosy. From what I've come to understand, it's both a state of mind and being. Soft sweaters, candles, hearty food, the warmth of friendship and those long, meaningful conversations held over fragrant cups of tea— anything that makes your soul hum. My friend Sue, in a generous and thoughtful effort to introduce me to hygge, and the experience of something my grandad would have loved, cooked us a delicious meal of something I cannot pronounce for the life of me. Rounds of ground beef wrapped in bacon and pan-fried with caramelised onions, a massive tart pickle and buttery baby potatoes lavished with the oh so traditional Danish brown gravy. Sue explained how gravy must absolutely be a dark brown; apparently this matters so much to the Danes that there is an actual food dye to make your gravy the perfect shade of brown. All this home-cooked hygge deliciousness was washed down with a velvety walnut beer.

For some reason, I felt I wanted to cry—everything was so much my grandad. With the exception of a few random plates of spaghetti, dinners with my grandad consisted of a meat, buttery potatoes, a brown sauce or gravy and some kind of vegetable. Sue's meal took me back to my grandparent's kitchen, which always smelled of bread and butter and sweet pipe smoke. I was a little girl at the table, my feet unable to touch the floor, I was a teenager, I was an adult— my grandad grinning at me after some joke, my grandad swearing in Danish at the news on the TV.



Morning brought mist, deer, and the smell of bacon and toast. Before my train to Esbjerg, Sue wanted to show me the Middelfart Sindssygehospital, a unique museum that had once been a psychiatric institution. As the mist fell back to the earth, the sky was a rare blue. We wrapped ourselves up in our wooly scarves and set out on our way.

the doors

epic sandwiches

Do you see how big this sandwich is? I don't know if I managed to accurately capture the enormity of this masterpiece with a photo, so let me attempt to convey it with words. Between two unassuming slices of toasted, fluffy bread, a jungle of green grew upward, and within this jungle of green, three mastodonic slabs of pork with crispy fried and salted rinds were skewered into place, smothered in a curry mayonnaise. Pickles and slivers of apple cascaded down onto the plate, some leaping off onto the table, while a pile of artfully roasted baby potatoes glistened in the corner. A pool of curry mayo was provided for emergency purposes, as the whole tower leaned threateningly to the right. I was awestruck. This was perhaps, the Everest of sandwiches.

Still full the following day on the way to my grandad's hometown of Esbjerg, I stopped in the charmingly named town of Middelfart, to see my friend Sue— and it was lunchtime.



This must be how the Danes stay warm!

morfar

The week before I left for Denmark, I received the news that my grandad is ill. In some way I suppose I sensed it, and wanted to visit his homeland to connect with him in some way— to see what he has seen, eat what he has eaten and feel what he might have felt. I used to see my grandparents all the time when I lived in San Francisco, but now that I have moved to Istanbul, I haven't seen them in over a year. My grandad is one of my most favourite people; his strange sense of humour, his wry grin, his honesty and vast knowledge of swear words in both Danish and English are just a few of the things I love about him.



Grandpap, I'll be seeing you in a little while.
Jeg elsker dig.