Grand European Adventure in pictures

Personally, I had no idea I'd taken so many photos. Granted, it's been more than a week and a half for me of traveling through Europe and seeing as my experience took me all around Europe, there were bound to be a great quantity of photo moments. But nearly 2,000? I certainly couldn't have called that. And even once widdled down to a manageable number, I have been able to compile a scrapbook of just under 200 photos, looking back at every single image in the process of choosing the most universally attractive photos has allowed me to relive an experience that (despite happening as recently as today) feels miles and ages away from when and where I am now.

After traveling through an extensive maze to navigate to the underground and the overground trains in Roma, all just to make it in time for a flight back to the UK, I am exhausted. And after searching through all my photos from the trip, I'm even more tired.

So here are just a few of my favorite photos that I took while in Europe this past week and a half:

According to Denise, there was a festival for the release of the new annual Christmas beer in København the day I arrived. Couldn't find it, but did see this lovely collection of unopened cans.

The most well-known monument of København is the state of Den Lille Havfrue. She's surrounded by tourists taking photos, including this guy (and me, as it just so happens).

 Still in København, we hang out on the body of water separating the royal residence from the København Opera House. This little dog in the photo was so hyperactive that it followed bikes everywhere and did hand stands.

Onto München. While I was disappointed in the biergartens being closed during the winter season, I found the setup of the unused garten very gorgeous.

Later, I climbed to the top of Peterskirche, which boasts some spectacular views of München. Though I was wiped by the end of the climb, it was worth the slightly aching limbs.

I will refrain from sharing many photos from Dachau, but I think this one is pretty interesting - it contains preserved barbed wire from decades ago that was used to keep inmates within the confines of the camp.

Back into the city center is the Viktualienmarkt with fresh produce and other random artisinal foods (some made by an angry farmer's market man).

Not long after, I was on my way to Wien, where my friend Dom showed me around quite a few places and through back alleys that were just gorgeous.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart...in no way underrepresented in Wien.

Following the Mozart craze, however, was my exit from Wien and my entrance into Roma. As you may or may not know, the drivers in Italy move way too quickly and don't look for pedestrians. But their fast moving vehicles make for good photographs.

In trying to get situated with Italian culture, I found myself exploring a market just off the beaten path near the Protestant Cemetery. There were kitschy items, food items, a small bookstore, etc.

And just to cap off this little insight into my time in Europe, this is a photo that I believe wraps up some difficult to convey emotions that were inspired by every stop along my European adventure. There's the warmth of street lamps, the classic looking buildings, etc. The feeling of history.

At this point, I've had to wish Europe a fond farewell. Starting a few hours ago when I left the city of Roma, I've lamented at not being allowed back in (unless I were to buy another plane or train ticket).





Yet returning to the UK was one of the most extraordinary and comforting feelings of my life. And when I really think about it, for the time being these photos are enough. Europe is a great continent to visit, but that doesn't mean we have to cry over it. We should rejoice in its photogenic beauty.

And that we shall.

The little girl goes to München

This is the point at which I enter my first leg of lone traveling. After several wonderful days of exploring Copenhagen with my friend Denise - seeing the sights and the major thoroughfares with plenty of back alleys and smaller joints thrown in - I now enter the part of my trip where I will be experiencing things without the comfort of a constant tour guide and host.

It's a little scary entering this portion of my journey. Until this point, I've been calmed by the fact that everything was relatively stable and simple on my end. I didn't have to do much research about Copenhagen before I got here, didn't have to figure out how to live in a foreign environment without the help of a new local, didn't have to burden myself with the extra responsibility of a hotel stay.

Now I will have to disembark from airplanes and find trains. I will have to get off trains and find hotels. I will have to leave hotels and find the sights I've written down for myself. I will have to locate food on my own, interact with people who don't speak English on my own (or people who do speak English, apparently it's a common thing in Europe nowadays) and simply enjoy my own company without feeling sad over loneliness.

I don't know that I'm ready.

It hasn't been very many days, but I've already started to feel like I know Copenhagen. Walking the streets today from Kongens Have to the Hans Christian Andersen museum near Rådhuspladsen, I almost got lost wandering through the streets. I knew the general direction I had to be headed in, though, and as I window shopped and strolled past bakeries and cafés and bars in heavy quantities, I relaxed and enjoyed the ambiance of the city.

It was raining today, which you might expect would make things only more difficult. But despite the weather and the circumstance of exploring the city on my own whilst avoiding my own map and trying not to look over the buildings too much to find a landmark by which to find my way back to where I'd come from, I truly enjoyed having the chance to feel like a local. No longer was I wandering the streets with my head poised toward the skyline, a camera hanging around my neck. I could finally be semi-anonymous, without a distinction of class, ethnic or cultural background.

But as soon as this feeling started, I was already planning my escape. And tonight I spent a few hours looking through plans for my arrival in Munich.

Looking forward, I'll only have a couple of days to experience this city. Less than a couple of days, actually. But I am determined to make adequate use of them.

I've set forth an itinerary that will require me to casually hop from place to place throughout my day and a half. I've dotted my map with little circles to signify various locations I'd like to visit and coordinated in my mind on which days each activity will take place.

I'm trying desperately to cover all the ground I can, to see all that is possible of a city that I've never been to before. And I have faith I will succeed.

It took me a while to realize my travel style. Since I've always had my dad or my grandma planning trips on my behalf, it's been hard to take on the role of responsible adult. Even as I was walking through the Hans Christian Andersen museum today I kept thinking how much of a child I felt. As I walked past animatronics and murals depicting his fairytales, the wax figures disturbed me and I had to run away. Trouble was, I had no one to run to. No leg to hold onto and no shoulder to hide my head on.

Essentially, this stands as an allegory for much of this holiday of mine. I'll be doing new and fascinating things, but if whatever I employ myself with becomes too scary or too much of a burden, I will not have anyone to fall back on. It's just me. At least for the next stop and a bit in the future.

But if anything, this will remind me how to be self-sufficient. Because as mature as I purport to be - an old lady of sorts who has the temperament and energy of someone much much older - I will always be a mama's and a daddy's girl. I will always thrive from companionship.

Yet I embrace the chance at shedding that skin. And as I close this off and enter the sleep before my travels to Deutschland on my own, I bid my friends and family a short-term adieu and share a little hopefulness that tomorrow will bring an even more clear and thoughtful essay on the experience of being a lone traveler in a beautiful and exciting new place.

Diverse Denmark

When I was first introduced to Denmark, it was by my friend Denise who has lived here for over a month already. She told me about how many of the people living here are blonde and blue-eyed (as would be expected - we're in Scandinavia). And they're also a very nationalistic and tradition-rich people who rely on broader culture for their own familial celebrations and experiences.

This is a dumbing down of an extensive description of the Danes that was given to me by Denise (and of course it's lacking in insight to many other traits of the Danish people, both that she mentioned and that I've discovered in being here). But in a moment, I'll explain to you why it's relevant (and why I'm not simply insulting the Danish culture by calling all of its people homogenous).

 I completely omitted one of the really fascinating places I visited in Copenhagen yesterday. As we wandered to and fro through the city, seeing lots of sights and eating food and being general sightseers, we planned a walk through the independent state of Christiania. If you're not from Denmark or you haven't traveled here, perhaps you haven't heard of it.

In the 1970s, a group of squatters took over some military barracks and despite attempted police intervention to kick them out, their influence grew until they'd created a small community in Copenhagen called Christiania. The place is home to craft item selling, organic (and some vegetarian) cafés and restaurants. It is entirely self-sustained through the profits from these industries. And with a growth in public popularity - particularly that of tourists, it seems Christiania is alive and well and thriving.

But walking through this part of Copenhagen (or I guess it's not technically Copenhagen, but anyway) serves to remind you of the many cultural difference between people that color the place they live. Copenhagen as a city (and I'm assuming Denmark as a country, though I haven't traveled much through it) is very quaint and pretty quintessentially European. There are flat buildings that are painted in rosy fall colors like yellow and red. There are cobblestoned streets. There are flags for the country flying everywhere. There are cute families everywhere, pushing prams and being reliably beautiful together.

But in Christiania, near the city center however slightly too far off, there is a sense of counterculture (however misplaced) that makes the place worth a comparison to the more traditional aspects of London.

First and foremost, this is a place known for its drug trade. Signs upon entering Christiania require you to not take any more photos. While I'm sure people disobey here and there, I stashed my DSLR away before I could be tackled to the ground by a hippie. I managed to obtain a mental image very quickly and efficiently, just by walking around and taking in the atmosphere.

The place is covered in art and murals and (probably) decorative graffiti that turns the commune into an art gallery at the drop of a hat. There's no order or uniformity to this style. Even the stalls in the market portion of Christiania were in disarray to some extent. The control that exists in Denmark - a place where there is socialized medicine and a workable welfare system that makes living standards incredibly high and circumstances very promising - is lacking in the alternative-thinking Christiania.

It can be a hard concept to grasp, especially when, within a few moments, you can walk from Christiania back into the Copenhagen you know. It's almost mind-bending.

The mind-bending would not reach its end until this morning when I went with Denise to an alleged Christmas "market" in Bispebjerg that she'd found advertised online. It turned out, the market was just a single stall set up in a woman's backyard. She stood there with her items looking cheerful and ready to help any customers, while we - being surprised by this blatant false advertising - tried to hold back expressions of confusion.

In the end, I walked away with an adorable 5 kroner (just under $1) purchase of a Winnie the Pooh booklet written in Danish. And despite the disappointment in arriving for a Christmas market and finding a little yard sale, it was nice to interact with a real Dane and see yet another aspect of the culture.

You could say that all these people are alike. That the people selling jewelry and marijuana in stalls are somewhat akin to any other Danish person (even though they'll counteract that statement by saying they're not actually Danish), but a little jaunt into the various environs of the city proves otherwise. This city may have a very defined nationalistic culture and they may have quite the obsession with their own state flag, but it's also home to so many different types of people.

Just today we went to a little restaurant in town that had wonderful falafel sandwiches. The family running it were clearly of Middle Eastern descent, but they casually spoke Danish to each other. Two worlds colliding seamlessly.

So with those three examples - and possibly others that I'm omitting out of tiredness and because I've fallen asleep at least two times while writing this - I hope that I have made the world privy to a little slice of society here in a city (and country) that I barely know. At the very least, I hope to have done the place some justice. Because in my experience here, I've tried to embrace the incredible pride of the Danes, but also recognize that there are so many different people living within this small space. It's a dichotomous existence. And it's something I really appreciate.

The morning after

I don't know what I did to my body yesterday. I know this title would suggest I was up to some serious mischief - being a typical teenager in a country where I've already reached the legal drinking age, and taking part in a jovial and irresponsible manner. Well that's not what I mean, even if I've tried to mislead you early on.

The morning after for me consisted of aches and pains and anxiety about whether I'd actually be able to take another day filled with activity. But the morning after led into the day after, and it worked out pretty swimmingly.

That was a pun. "Swimmingly," I mean. Because one of the first stops of the day was the statue of Den lille havfrue (The Little Mermaid in Danish). She sits out at Langelinji Pier, looking over the water, pensively and quietly...while tons of tourists gather around snapping photos and making awkwardly stoic faces to remember the moment forever.

We spent a few minutes there doing what is called for by the "foto moment" sign posted near the statue. As if we could ignore the proposition with dozens of other people not so much admiring the mermaid, but vaguely looking at her through a camera lens and moving on.

But that's beside the point. After stopping by this, the most touristy of tourist sites, we moved through the rest of the day as efficiently as the train system in Denmark (is this reference lost on anyone? Everyone? Sorry).

Every stop along the way was done with the necessary concentration, but not an excessive amount of time spent. We walked through and past monuments, saw beautiful sites from a palace to a cathedral to an opera house to an art exhibit. We walked past a bunch of hippies selling and smoking marijuana, and ate at a vegetarian café.

And all in a day's work.

It's weird that I'm so lethargic and sore right now. This is how I felt last night, even this morning as I woke up with a crick in my neck and a mysterious ache in my left wrist (still there, but hopefully going away sooner rather than later). But throughout the day, even when I knew in the back of my mind the pains were still there, I was somehow able to simply ignore it.

This must just be the case when I go on vacation. Whereas at other times in my life, I may walk a mile or two here or there every one or two days, when I'm visiting a new place I spend practically every moment of my time exploring. And when that means making few stops, and maybe just short ones for a quick bite of a pastry or a cup of hot chocolate, it's unfathomable to think I can keep myself standing on both legs for all the remaining time.

But I have. For two days now. And I will. For many more days to come. And in three more countries.

I don't know if I should be more excited or frightened. Maybe there is a limit to how much my body can stand. Perhaps one of those days I have planned consisting of tons of great walking tours of various cities will have to be sacrificed in exchange for a warm bed and a heating pad for my calves.

On the other hand, I don't think I could ever let that happen.

When I started making the plans for this trip, I didn't factor in the sheer amount of activity I will be partaking in with such a short amount of time spared to each location. I just made the plans with a sort of wistful hopefulness that everything would turn out wonderfully.

There have obviously been hiccups. But at the moment I can't think of anything more rewarding than all of the experiences - the good, the bad and the super super weird.

Even if the morning after a long day of tourist-ing I feel like my body is broken and worn out, I am so glad that I even allowed myself to put this much strain on my delicate nerves. Maybe it'll teach me to handle these days without holding my emotions in the balance. And it'll allow me to look at Den lille havfrue without any hint of concern for my pained feet, my arthritic wrist, my aching shoulders and back, etc.

I'm glad that at least today, I totally forgot about it.

The Copenhagen fairy tale

It's 1 am and in the last day I've only had about four hours of sleep. So forgive me if the words that come out of my head and travel into my fingers fail to impress or move you. They will, hopefully, amuse you. And hopefully that amusement won't arise simply because of faulty grammar and an inability to express myself coherently (therefore creating a sort of ridiculous jumble of words that sound like something Lewis Carroll might've come up with).

Lewis Carroll, not a very fitting reference to be making considering I am in Copenhagen, land of the Danes. He lived in England, where I'm from originally (if you count studying abroad as "originally"). Anyway, as an American turned Brit turned Danish traveler, I will try to amend my error. Rather, my jumble of words might resemble something Hans Christian Andersen would've come up with.

Which brings me to the actual point of this blog today.

I came to Copenhagen with the express purpose of enjoying the cultural offerings of the city. For years it's topped my list of places to go in the world. It always seemed like such a clean, friendly, beautiful and magical destination. I say that without the slightest hint of irony. Because I've always associated this place with a sense of fleetingness and whimsy.

Why, you ask?

Well, Hans Christian Andersen of course.

I don't think I ever quite grasped the amount of pride this little (not literally little, he was pretty tall) fairy tale writer from Odense had inspired within the Scandinavian country of Denmark. But after coming to the city and literally only being here for a day, if it wasn't clear to me now then the only reasonable explanation would be that I haven't been looking.

As my friend Denise showed me around the city today, we went past Tivoli, a theme park that is situated within Copenhagen and allegedly inspired Walt Disney in his creation of Disneyland. Right near Tivoli stood a statue of the man himself - H.C. Anderson as he is called here - sitting with a book in his hand and looking over the magical land that is this brightly lit park for childhood romanticism.

Not my photo, but it gives you an idea of the statue.

It seems appropriate, that the guy responsible for creating some of the most beloved fairy tales of all time, these pinnacles of youthful romance, would sit facing a literal encapsulation of the dreams he possibly had every night of his life. Andersen represents more than just an author behind some of the greatest stories in history. He's an icon, an allegory, representing something far greater than himself. A feeling.

I think that's why I love him so much. And why after all these years, I've continued to hold Copenhagen at the top of my list of most important cities to eventually visit.

This place is more than just an idyllic and quaint city within a greater cultural expanse. To me it's greater than any other part of Scandinavia. It has a particular significance. And that significance is Hans Christian Andersen.

When I waded in my grandparent's pool as a child, my Poppy swimming laps and looking/admitting to being a walrus on one end of the pool and my dad playing shark (or was it dolphin? I can't remember) to my Little Mermaid, I had a feeling of the carefree beauty in life that gets lost somewhere between the massive piles of homework, the budgeting off of finances and eventually the most daunting of choices in life when you become an adult.

The problem with me is that I refuse to ever lose that child that resides deep in my heart. In fact, I do nothing to hold her down. She often forces herself to the surface and takes over, dictating my passions and my needs even when my mind tries to take the reigns and steer her in a more responsible direction.

She's the one who gives me these hopeful ideas of beauty in a new place. The little girl in my heart wants to believe that Disneyland isn't just an imaginary world contained within a theme park in southern California, but that maybe a real magical fairy tale land exists.

It makes sense that in a place where Hans Christian Andersen lived, a place that helped him to become the renowned creator of so many beautiful fictional worlds, this kind of idealistic vision of fairy tale life might actually exist.

Or that's what I've convinced myself of. And after a full day in Copenhagen, while it's not Disneyland by any stretch of the imagination, I can see where the two collide, where my visions of the wonder of fairy tales and magic and childhood and romanticism collide. Because they're all present in Hans Christian Andersen. In the way he looks out over Tivoli Park. In his grave site which tonight was surrounded by little glittering plastic butterflies and flavored with a taste of incense in the air, burning at his figurative feet. It may not be a literal fairy tale, but it feels just as beautiful as one.

And I'm satisfied. And I'm eager for more.

I didn't know what I was in for coming to Copenhagen. And certainly there have been bumps along the way. But it's these little bits of beauty that make it exactly what I expected: just perfect.