Copenhagen

so why copenhagen? the blonde immigration officer who looks like the arian poster child asks me at schiphol international. I ramble something about world design capital and being inspired by cities. they want to look through my bags. ah. camera. camera. another camera. even more CF cards. I arrive in copenhagen central expecting that new york crazy buzz but everybody here is so calm and over-educated. as we’re sitting around a very sensible and democratically designed apartment on my first night in the city, I realised how this place feels like one big campus. streets of hot chicks on bikes. locals wealthy and without anxiety and winning another liveable city award or topping another happiness survey. the danes are so calm. there’s no poverty. there’s no poor people. nobody knocking on your window in the central city on a freezing wet day leaving you with that permanent hovering guilt that comes with being colonial driftwood (a phrase I’m borrowing from a pieter hugo synopsis). no hungry eyes watching you as you buy expensive groceries. cyclists rule this city. in controlled chaos at intersections with it’s clashing signals and lanes I realise I’m probably doing everything wrong and I can sense beautiful danes scowling down my neck like models in an angry diesel ad. I quickly learn the cool version vs the tourist manual version of bike hand signs.