Jeg Savner Danmark

In Denmark, everything is clean, organized and small. The people are quiet, composed, informed and actively engaged in society. The only time they get a little too loud is after two, or perhaps eight Carlsbergs. They are a modest, quite people. A tribe, more than a nation. Homogeneous, with their blond hair and long limbs. They are aware of themselves globally, which is why instead of trying to expand outward, they look in at their own people and take care of every citizen.

Before I studied abroad in Denmark, I only thought of Lars Ulrich, Helena Christensen, Hans Christian Andersen and sleek, modern design. Now, I think of cobblestone streets and spired buildings, of the chaos of a Friday night on Stroget, their infamous walking street, where drunkards wander with beers in hand. I think of bicycles and Glugg, the compact but expansiveness of the city. A tiny city, but one filled with culture and life, of bars and clubs, restaurants and cafes. My favorite cafe is a hidden nook in the basement a few blocks from Radhuspladsen, the city square, where hipsters come to drink lattes and listen to Jens Lekman. I even miss the smoke in the bars, the angry and sketchy drunk men shouting at me. I miss the jukebox at Moose Bar, putting on Led Zeppelin or David Bowie and rocking out with my friends.

I miss the freedom of life abroad. My city life. Alone. Independent. Without guidelines or responsibilities. I think it was probably the best time of my life and fear it may be, forever. It is obviously an irreplaceable time. If i revisit Denmark, it will not be the same. I'll never have the same feeling as my first day in the city, my first grocery store experience--the anxiety and excitement of overwhelming newness. Paige won't be there, Steven probably won't either. I won't have my American friends to fall back on. "We'll always have Copenhagen," I said. And it's true. But only partially. Our pictures remain intact, but our memories slowly fade. I'll forget all the stores on Vestergade and the computerized voice on the metro. I hate that memories fade. If our brains were capable of remembering every detail we wouldn't need videos. We could instantaneously transport ourselves to that place and time, our own internally stored home-videos.

I hope that I am lucky enough to go back--I am fairly certain that I will make it happen. I also hope that my travels have only just begun. I would love to live in another foreign city, using my time in Copenhagen as my guide. I just want to go back. Replay it over and over. Have more adventures. Walk down those streets. See those sights. Hear the gargle and hacking that is Danish. Live--in the happiest place on earth. Or at least, my happiest time.