You're Fucking With My Hygge

Everything in London is well post brief but needed disappearance to Denmark. After more UK units of alcohol than I care to count, Kelsi and I missed our bus (twice, almost three times), missed our train by an hour and 20 minutes, and still got to Gatwick with time for breakfast. Baller, I know. No matter if we spent the entire bus ride fantasizing about bagging the whole operation, or if it took me five minutes to figure out how to get a Gatorade out of the vending machine on the National Express platform, we arrived in Copenhagen with no means of communication and a massive combined hangover. Clearly ready to take over the world.
Luckily, pay phones are a worldwide lifesaver, and we were able to find Andrea and make our way to the center of the city. Being the Ohioan that I am, I frolicked in the snow the entire five days we were there and basically rejoiced at my brief return to the winter I'm missing back in the States. Copenhagen--like the rest of Denmark--is extremely tiny, so Andrea was able to show us most of the city center before taking us back to her apartment in Norrebro. Despite the fact that Norrebro is supposed to be the sketchiest neighborhood in Copenhagen (if you've been to Denmark, you'll understand how funny that sentence is in the first place), it--like Andrea--is absolutely lovely. In short, we played house all weekend and cooked amazing food and sat around under blankets while drinking like Scandinavians to keep warm.
Highlights include: A hippie commune in the middle of Copenhagen where everyone legally buys weed and stands around trash can fires and is happy. Attempting (successfully) homemade gnocchi and trying to grasp the concept of hygge...also with great success :) Olympic curling stance. I'll leave that one at that. Walking across frozen lakes in the snow at 2 a.m., once the right way, and once narrowly escaping a Danish disaster. Noticing that Danish boys act like they're at a middle school dance when they're out at clubs; they stand behind you for like ten minutes before they even dare to touch you. And they go out in their ski jackets. Making it home much more easily than we got there, but mostly realizing that you can be really fucking stupid and still get around the world, and have a jolly good time at that.
Tryk = push, Traek = pull...and they sound exactly the same.
xxx