Fiction: Copenhagen
“See, I told you it’ll be a nice hotel. And they gave us a nice room too!” says Rachel as she surveys the room.
Jeremey steps through the door and is immediately met by blinding light emanating from the floor to ceiling windows. There was an unobstructed view of the canal. Jessica wanted to stay somewhere with a little more personality and nostalgia, but Jeremey had persisted because he had a great corporate rate. He feels the nostalgia now, uninvited. It’s early afternoon in Copenhagen, and early morning back home.
“What do you want to do first? Do you need to freshen up?”
“Just a little, but I feel great. Let’s just get out and explore the city.”
He heads towards the lobby. The Hilton had extraordinarily convenient bike rentals and it was his first time biking in a while. He got too confident too quickly, taking videos with one hand while gripping the handlebars with the other. Her delight had turned to anger when he was nearly struck by a car, and they had the first of their arguments in Copenhagen. They always got into arguments when travelling.
When Rachel appears in the lobby half an hour later, the bikes are tuned and ready to go. Biking in Copenhagen is surprisingly hectic. There are too many bikers and everyone follows traffic directions, much unlike Toronto. Still, it feels nice to drink in the late afternoon sun. The Hilton is a little outside of the city, so they bike haphazardly away from it, acknowledging the need for a coffee. They stop at the fourth coffee shop they see. While Rachel waits for her oat milk latte, Jeremey sips on his espresso and takes a gander at the pastries. Their names sounded like that of IKEA furniture, but Jessica had to stop and try one every time they passed a bakery. He particularly enjoyed the cinnamon roll, which one bakery hilariously labelled as cinnamon snail.
Caffeinated and fed, they biked to the Glyptotek. It was a beautiful museum, inside and out. They spent a lot of time looking at classical sculptures in the interior courtyard. She had particularly liked a female torso with a thin dress carved onto its body: the cloth adhered to its curves, but somehow the statue was also clearly robed. He finds Rachel admiring a life-sized painting of a man in a top hat, a glass of absinthe beside him, and a bottle in front. Bigger is often better when it comes to paintings. A docent comes by and informs them that the museum would be closing in fifteen minutes. Jeremey looks over to Rachel and she nods her assent. They have a big day tomorrow anyways.
The next day, they went to the Louisiana, which was a half-hour train from Copenhagen. Between the shopping and cafes, this was the one thing that Jeremey insisted they do. He remembers it as though it was yesterday, the imperceptible drizzle that they braved to walk around the sculpture garden and the interior after, warm in colour and temperature. There were robotic arms writing nonsensical poetry, warped Expressionist paintings, and looming Giacometti sculptures. There was also a fantastical argument on the way back. Jessica was tired and wanted to eat right away, but they had already had a dinner reservation for eight.
Jeremey looks across the table to Rachel as she tucks into his dessert of a mousse of some sort, her ice cream already consumed. They are finishing up dinner in the old meat-packing district, and the chatter around them is in languages they cannot understand. Yet the server speaks fluent English when he comes with their bill. As they step outside, the last of the precious spring daylight starts fading away, though it’s only seven. She yawns, and Jeremey immediately feels one of his own bubbling up, before he has to yawn as well, unable to help himself.
The next morning, they help themselves to the hotel breakfast spread. Food is expensive anyways, so they make the most of it. He had pastries every morning with Jessica, flaky, buttery, and warm, all accompanied by coffee. In fairness, the hotel breakfast is also quite good: thick Danish Ymer, assorted fresh berries, and soft rye bread. It is also probably more healthy than yet another viennoiserie. Today was a shopping day, and at the top of Rachel’s list is the Ganni Postmodern. Jeremey didn’t understand the appeal of Ganni, but went with Jessica anyways. There he sat for a couple hours while she tried on seemingly everything, and then bought enough to justify two shopping bags for Jeremey to carry.
They walk around the Kongens Nytorv, bags in tow. It’s as much sightseeing as it is shopping: Arket, Lego, and HAY are all on the list. A few turns and a few alleys later, Jeremey follows Rachel to a little shop packed with ceramics and glass. He considers not entering with the leopard-printed shopping bags, but Rachel waves him in. Behind the retail area of the store he sees a workshop with kilns and people blowing glass. The retail area itself is filled with wares that would fetch high values on any Ossington market. This probably would have been heaven for her. Ten minutes later, they are the proud owners of multicoloured mug set.
They take the back door out, and they are now on a new street, straying far from the suffocating crowds. Rachel points through the fence at an empty concrete lot. Empty, except for a row of four men in four beach chairs and sunglasses, facing the sun. It looks as though they are tanning, but it is still far too cold for that, and they have sweaters and pants on. The shadow of a roof creeps along the leg of one of the men. Noticing this, he stands up and moves his chair to the other end of the row. Jeremey supposes they are sunbathing after all.
Suddenly, Rachel skips ahead happily, high off her new purchases and drunk on the spring sun. She only stops when she arrives at a playground, and then starts bouncing on a plastic trampoline set into the ground. Jeremey slowly walks up to the playground, puts the bags down, and hops onto the trampoline as well. She smiles at Jeremey and smiling back, he embraces her mid-air. They come tumbling down in a heap of laughing limbs. He will always love her.
