Happy birthday to me!
So here I am for the first time in Denmark. It’s weird to realise I know so little about a country so close to home, up to the point of being surprised by the fact they are not part of the Eurozone. This make it quite awkward when I try to pay for my first coffee.
The Uber driver taking me from the airport to my abode for the next couple of days is sporting an orange jumper over a red-haired head. I can’t help but asking whether I can snap my first picture in the country as his portrait against the equally warm tones of the red brick building.
Stéphanie had told me a bit of her the in Copenhaguen, but her year over here, as a student, had been so transformative on her sheltered personality that not a lot of insights could be gathered from her description.
So why here, why now? Aside from my closeted passion for interior design, there’s Vibeke. Met randomly a couple of months ago, our discussions have proven to be very interesting and entertaining. And I’m past the point of massive birthday parties – a more intimate setting seems more appealing and she was a good excuse for that.
I’m sitting in a café, Wulf and Konstali, next to a couple with a new born, in the back of the room where I can see everyone and everything happening. Vibeke tells me upon seeing the picture that I’ve chosen one of her favorite spots. Not to bad for a start!
The mother tries to breastfeed her baby and the looks in the room turn to the scene in disbelief. I’m more shocked by their stares than the actual natural act of feeding a newborn who’s hungry. When did this become something shamed any society?
As I’m walking back home, the streets of Amager start to become more familiar. It’s always such a great yet fragile moment when your brain starts owning memories.
After a quick nap, Vibeke informs me that she’ll be a bit late for dinner, so I head to the beach of a sea I had never seen before. It’s cold and grey, but it’s fine – the celebratory messages of all sorts and on various medals keep arriving. Geoffroy calls me right as I hit a nudist beach. Coincidence, I think not.
Vibeke arrives to picl me up in a cab. The restaurant, despite its name (Uformel, which translate as “informal“, is particularly formal populated. The staff, less so. It’s the bistronomic satellite of a starred restaurant. Vibeke orders a set course menu with its wine pairing ahead of time. AS we are a bit early for our table, we wait by the bar with gin & tonics. She has a birthday gift for me: Murakami’s What I Talk About when I Talk About Running. There’s always something quite personal when gifting someone a book – even more so when the gift is herself well read.
The food is a-ok, but shoots higher than it delivers. Knowing she has vegetarian tendencies, I’m surprised she went for the prix fixe which includes a beef tartare and lamb.
The wine pairing is great and much to my surprise, the highlights are the whites. The g&t starter and the fatigue of the week are taking their roll though – I can’t help but wonder how she can hold her liquor so well given how pint-sized she is…
While I excuse myself and discreetly get the bill, i return to our table to a new order of g&t. That little Viking is going to outdrink me!
A walk is needed before they kick us out, and Vibeke leads the way to some kind of upscale speakeasy. The steps she almost misses high up on her stilettos evidence the overindulgence of the evening. Another drinkk may not be the wisest way to go, but neither of us will call it a night.
It’s only 11pm after all, and still my birthday!
The vibe at Ruby’s is magnificent and the gin selection, up to my liking. The crowd sounds mainly composed of expats. We initiate a conversation albeit briefly with our Italian neighbours, before returning to our ethylic slumbers. This is the perfect moment to use the last shot remaining in my Instax camera.
