Travel Diaries: Copenhagen in Colour

When in Copenhagen,

appreciate the 1000 shades of grey

 explore Nyhavn day & night

treat yourself a pint  

invest in Danish design items

cycle to your heart's content 

keep up with popular culture and bemoan the perils of globalization

take a stroll along the port after midnight

be a peeping Tom

resurrect your inner child at Tivoli

walk the empty Sunday morning streets

become a serial eater of shawarmas and falafels because this is probably the only food you can afford here

remember the Lego legacy

discover Christiania

taste hot chocolate & fresh bread loafs (together)

see Nyhavn in daylight and at night

join the neighbours' party

celebrate 2013

trace H.C.Andersen's residencies along Nyhavn

imagine they were mine

stand still in front of the bogwoman

decipher the meaning of life on burial stones

afford a glass of the best herbal tea of the century at the National Museum

be sociable

take your time

sail the Nordic seas...

like another Odysseus (translated in Danish)

Travel Diaries: Copenhagen in B&W

“Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.

                                              -Søren Kierkegaard 

    Irish abroad

    New Year's day at the National Museum

    floating at the Royal Danish Playhouse

    I found thee in the dark: the little mermaid

    sailing by the Copenhagen Opera House

    watching the horses parading in Holmen's Kanal

    resting on Danish chairs with wheels at the Design Museum

    waiting for the boat

Just back from Denmark where I bid farewell to 2012, and here's a first taste of Copenhagen in black & white. In case you are wondering, yes, it was frrrrrrreezin.

Stay tuned for more photos to come (in colour this time).

So long

xoxoxo

Kilcolgan: Postcards from my Hood

Pretend that you owe me nothing

                                                                  And all the world is green

We can bring back the old days again

And all the world is green.

-Tom Waits

from my neighborhood in Athens, I used to see aerials, the Lycavitos hill, the interiors of others people's apartments, balconies in every size, the street stretching from Alexandras' avenue to the park, stray cats, Ymitos and an endless line of parked cars like a multicolored serpent in hibernation. In my Irish neighborhood I see the skies and the clouds ever-changing, a river running timidly towards the Atlantic unknown, green grass everywhere and sheep and cows and ladies power-walking in the rain.

I miss the sound of the lift as it departs from the groundfloor to the fourth floor. The sound of the doorbell, the sound of the keys unlocking the door, the smell of foods being prepared simultaneously, a battle among thirty kitchens from Athens to Nigeria.

The sound of wooden blinds closing at 2:00 pm for the holy siesta.