Copenhagen

May 9, 2009. Okay, Copenhagen, here is the impression: wild contrasts. From one street to another it can go from Cartier-Gucci-affluence-charm to nachos-urbanblight-seedy-pick-pockety-burgerking-shawarma-dangerous.

Our hotel, The Palace, has a very cool facade in a wavy, curvy, carved-stone and red-brick, Gaudi, art-noveau style. The interior has had a recent gut-renovation. It is no longer art-noveau. It is very W-Hotel-like. Groovy music plays in the lobby. Rooms have unusual fixtures that look ok, but fall off or come unmounted when touched or used, things like bathroom-sink-cup-holders, shower nozzles, etc. Our tub does not drain. It all, the decor, kind of looks ok on the surface, but it's not that great. And it fronts a kind of seedy plaza where crowds gather to watch little Peruvian guys play pretty two-chord tunes while American-Indian guys in full-feather garb dance, not indian dances, but like how Obama danced on the Ellen show.

We ate lunch at Cap Horn on a cafe-lined, cobble-stone street on a canal filled with all manner of parked boats (historic boats, sail, motor, row boats). The sun shined, gentle breezes wafted and many people were out strolling and sitting on the canal walls.

The buildings lining the canal are 3, 4 or 5 story 18th and 19th century town houses painted attractive shades of ochre, daffodil, terra cotta, jade and sky blue. That particular street and canal connect to broad circular plazas with grand opera, elegant hotel and government buildings, large decorative fountains, etc.

I spent the morning at the National Museum viewing Danish objects dated from 3000 b.c. to 1900 a.d. Wes and Roland bicycled for two hours along canals and characteristic neighborhoods. And Sam walked and photographed a morning bar room brawl: men clawing at each other, over turning tables, etc. A bouncer approached him and got rude. The police showed up, Sam thought, to rescue him, but instead they harassed him (Sam.) He did not get arrested, but maybe came close.

Our hotel is across the street from City Hall. There is a tower. It has a clock. The clock rings every 15 minutes. Loudly. From 7 a.m. through midnight it pratically shakes our room when it rings.

Today, Wes and Roland visited the shop where Roland's viola used to live. The shop is family run for the past five or so generations. It is closed this week because the owner/luthier is in Scottsdale, Arizona curating an exhibit of great Danish string instruments (that Roland's viola ought to have been included in) at an international violin maker's conference.  

In two hours we will have dinner at a canal-side restaurant.