Wonderful Wonderful Copenhagen

Wonderful wonderful Copenhagen. Apparently I'm not the only one who feels this way, as an artist by the name of Danny Kaye dedicated a whole song with this title to express his love for the city.

A few questioned my choice of travel destination. Yes, it was random. No, I didn't know much about... well, anything to do with the city. How could it be that after years of comprehensive history learning that I didn't even skim the surface of Danish history? Whatever, there's no better time the present I thought as I packed my suitcase and departed for Gatwick airport in the cold, wet, wee hours of Friday morning.

Amazing train system, green society, a wonderful sense of togetherness, canals, boatsss....zzzzz yadda yadda yadda. There are more important things to discuss.

Calling all the single ladies out there.

If it is going to take putting on a black leotard and shaking my booty about Beyonce-style to get your attention, then sign me up because it would be entirely worth it.

It is time to put Copenhagen or perhaps just Scandinavia in general at the top of your travel list.

I must have spent my first day in Copenhagen walking around with my mouth open gaping at the men passing by. Tall, blonde, tanned to golden perfection. One, after the other, after the other. It was so right and yet so wrong. How is it that all of these men could be so beautiful? Was it the diet of fish and rye bread? Perhaps the city is just a magnet to attractive men in general, as even my tour guide from London seemed unreasonably attractive.

Unfortunately the city's effect hasn't rubbed off on me, as I've returned home with a very pink and wind-burnt face after deciding it was a good idea to brave the wildest weather and walk miles to see the Little Mermaid statue today. I'm also probably a couple of kilos heavier after indulging in some Danish pastries (which could quite possibly be BETTER than the French variety - big call, but I'm throwing it out there!) However it was all worth it and I had a fabulous time learning more about the city and picking up randoms at my hostel to make the journey to the Louisiana Gallery of Modern Art to see the Yoko Ono exhibition with.

I also accidentally found myself in Christiania, described by Wikipedia as "a self-proclaimed autonomous neighbourhood." Read: a hippy land that residents have declared as their own, and the government is too interested in how this social experiment turns out that they are just letting it run its course. Just as people travel to Amsterdam to indulge in brownies, so too do people travel to Christiania to indulge in marijuana. The fumes were so overwhelming that by the time I found my way out my head was most certainly in the clouds.

On a more serious and helpful note, for all those considering a trip to Copenhagen some time soon I highly recommend the Woodah hostel as an anti-clubbing escape from your usual hostels. Not only do you get to sleep in cupboard arrangements, but it also hosts free yoga classes every morning that certainly take your mind off London boy dilemmas while you concentrate on your tight hamstrings.

Free walking tours will provide insight into buildings and history of the city - Sandemann's is my company of choice, having previously done their tours in Paris and Barcelona as well. But perhaps most importantly of all, just enjoy the male (and female) scenery and try to keep your mouth closed as you do.

Love, Em xxx

Cheers to Cheap Bananas

I read an article about a couple of weeks ago on an Australian news website that I'd like to share with you all: http://www.news.com.au/travel/world/aussie-life-in-london-expectations-v-reality/story-e6frfqai-1226700713997

Now, to the general world this may have just burst your bubble of the fantasy of living in London and you'll probably be sitting in your seat feeling slightly deflated. For that, I'm truly sorry. But for anyone who has made the move over here, I am sure like me you find this all incredibly funny. Bittersweet, but most definitely funny. For this author has hit the nail on the head so well, I couldn't help but think back to it on Friday night when I sat at home holding my second cup of tea (having re-used the first teabag) and had a grand total of 19 pence sitting in my UK bank account. For 19 pence, you MIGHT be lucky to buy a single banana (depending on where you bought it from) but unfortunately you'd be one penny away from a Freddo. Devastating stuff.

I've always loved listening to my parents' travel stories from when they lived in London in the 1980s. The places they saw, the experiences they had. How they managed to do something different every weekend that was so exciting it made their mundane jobs in horrible weather conditions tolerable. It was easy to filter the other stories they had to tell of not being so poor they weren't able to afford (grey coloured) meat and of the water freezing over in their apartment's pipes. After all, that was the 1980s! Computer hadn't even property taken off then! Besides, anything prior to the year of my birth was practically the dark ages. Times had changed, surely.

Haaa, Emma of the past. Tut tut. How ignorant you were.

Though I feel like I must mention my amazing time in Bath last weekend at this point in time and plans to visit Copenhagen and Berlin in the next couple of months, unfortunately the reality is that I will most likely not buy any new clothes whilst living over here apart from a couple of staple save-me-from-the-deathly-cold-weather items. Certainly, it will not be a particular coat that caught my eye that would use up my entire month's leisure allowance.

I will not be travelling to Paris every weekend, despite it only being a train ride away.

And I will learn to be inventive with eggs. And rice. And carrots.

However, these are the living conditions of most people who choose to live in London. Many people in their twenties move to London from all over the UK for the work opportunities, lifestyle and the general excitement of leaving home. The good news is that there's a wonderful feeling of, "we're all in this together." House parties are back in vogue and people are more than accommodating to lend their couch (and sometimes bed) to crash on if you've missed the last tube home.

On the same night that I was sitting on the couch with 19 pence in my bank account, I came across the Pursuit of Happyness on TV - a movie featuring Will Smith based on a true story about a father who overcame all financial odds to make a success of himself. Unlike Will Smith's character, I knew that my paycheck was due to hit my account the next day and had somewhere that I could safely call home. On any other given day I am able to give a spare banana to the homeless man who sits across the road with his dog, who never budges from the man's lap.

And despite being reminded of the insane wealth of others on Deadline Day in the world of football, which has now consumed the lives of all of the men in my London life, that's enough for me!

Love, Em xxx