Friday night. I was feeling much better but still decided to stay in to prevent myself from exposing my airways to the cold winter breeze. Went to bed around 1am and woke up a couple of hours later, to have a little wee. On my way to the toilet, Mark (my housemate), who was also home with some of his friends, asked me to have a look in the backyard. Half asleep I emptied my bladder, then walked to the kitchen and looked out of the window. What the fuck, is that… an… igloo?
Yes, that’s a 4-person homemade igloo with inner lights and all. Just the kind of thing you make in the late hours on a quiet Friday night, no big deal. Mark shot a making-of video but I can’t find it, it’s hilarious. You can totally tell they were all high on weed, having a great time. I have know many of Mark’s closest mates for a few months now and I can understand now why people say that Danes are quite reluctant to bring new people into their close circle of friends; there’s a strong sense of brotherhood between them, the kind of bond that only develops with time and shared experiences. It’s a really nice relationship the one they have.
Actually, thinking about it, I’ve never had that kind of tie with my friends. Or maybe I’ve had it, but not with the same group of people over a long period of time, which I suppose is a consequence of me moving around so often. I was born in Caracas and moved with my family to another town when I was twelve years old, which meant I had to part ways with some of my childhood friends and start building new relationships somewhere else. Fifteen years later, I moved back to Caracas so I had to say goodbye to some of those people I had managed to become friends with, and try to make new friends back in my hometown. Of course, after so long, my childhood friends were not my friends anymore. Not even acquaintances. We went from kids to men, and in the process, whatever bond there was between us inevitably faded, turning us into strangers. That’s how life works, I guess.
A couple of years later, I moved to London and left behind the few new friends I’d made in Caracas, and three years after that I moved to Denmark, which meant that I had to say goodbye to the lovely people I had met in England which, to be honest, are the ones I miss the most. Fortunately, I’m only a couple of hours away and I try to see them as often as possible but I wish I could have them around all the time. If some of them were here, Copenhagen would be ten times more fun and enjoyable.
Well, enough of all this sentimental bullshit. What did I do on Saturday?
Oh yes, on Saturday I went for a coffee and then stopped at a hardware store to buy some pliers because some arsehole tried to pick my bicycle lock. They didn’t manage to break it so they couldn’t steal my bike but they damaged the cylinder so I couldn’t use the key to open it, which meant I had to try to cut the wire with some fucking pliers. It took me twenty minutes and a lot of hard work, which made me realise that without the right tools, stealing a bike wouldn’t be as easy as I thought. I bought a better lock and then went for a ride around town. When I was passing by Ørstedsparken, I saw a big group of parents and their kids sliding down the snowy hills in the park on tiny sledges. I had to stop and watch them play, it was great. Next time it snows, I’m gonna do that too.
In the evening, I met up with Jagda, a lovely German girl I met a couple of weeks ago. We went to Boutique Lize for a drink and managed to score two beers for the price of one, just as the happy hour was coming to an end. We had one more beer there and walked to Mikkeller, just next to where I used to live. We randomly chose a beer from the menu, number 15, and when we were done with that one we walked to a small, smoky bodega around the corner to have one last drink before heading home. By the time we came out of that place, it was already 3:30am. Not bad for a first night out.
I walked to Vesterbrogade, hoping to catch a bus but the it cruised past just when I was making it to the stop. I missed it, of course. The next one was due in 20 minutes so I just took a cab back home. The cab driver was a guy from Albania, who had come to Denmark when he was 3 years old, he and his family came here escaping from the war. He told me he likes Copenhagen but, like any other foreigner, finds it a bit hard to socialise. We both agreed it was a big strange the way things work in Denmark, where people have to be drunk to flirt with each other “I call it fake balls”, he said, referring to the alcohol-induced courage that Danes need in order to mingle with strangers. It was funny.
Woke up this morning without any traces of hangover so I went for a coffee and then rode with my bike along the lakes, listening to “…Like Clockwork” through my recently purchased second-hand Beats by Dre headphones. The day was very nice, quite sunny and mild.
Winter, if you’re reading this, please go and look out of the window: that’s how every fucking day should look like.
Understand?
Failure is Fuel 