The rain had a persistancy akin to drug peddlers at the corner of a dodgy street in Amsterdam (are any of them not dodgy?) after the sun had set and the drunks had started roaming the pavements: it was annoying and constantly there. Small and petty, it kept coming down to make my life miserable. Yet, you know me, I can’t help myself but try and make everything cheery and full of much more excitement than it actually is.
New Haven – the small lagoon like, boat filled waterway – had little to do with the name. It didn’t seem so much new. In fact it somehow made me think of Amsterdam, which was a bit of a travesty as Copenhagen is much more boring. The weather was certainly not helping me get good impression of the city. We roamed a bit around the pier until we had decided to go and walk a bit more through town before luncheon.
In a rather daring moment of adventure I decided to try out Smørrebrød for lunch – a local dish, basically an open sandwich that sounds, as the title suggests, like an alien warlord. Together with some winter beer and a snaps (that has crossed the equator twice – a very nice story for this specific brand of the beverage) to warm me up before facing the cold weather outside.
Later in the day I decided to slip away from the hotel like a thief in the night. I have always found solitude to have a charm of it’s own. It helps me think (which I do tend to do sometimes despite popular belief). Away from all social norms or need to keep up masks, the cold night of a strange, new city lets you wander both on a physical level and on a mental one. Our day to day lives like piling mental notes and situations, giving us no time to deal with them. Certainly enough, some people enjoy the lack of time by themselves. Thinking about some things is frightening. Dealing with your feelings is frightening.