It's our last full day in Denmark. We're on the move again, from Helsingor to Copenhagen. Breakfast at the Hotel Marienlyst affords us the opportunity to taste Danish cheeses; at least, we think they're Danish. One is a blue cheese, which could very well be Danish, and the other is called "ost" which sounds Danish. They're both OK, not anything to write home about, but good. I think I am spoiled by having eaten so many French cheeses. We will try Danish pastries again later today, just to settle the "which is better: Danish cheese or a cheese Danish" question. At breakfast I also get to try "Danish bacon" which is just like those little cocktail wienies you dip into chili sauce at cocktail parties, except without the chili sauce.
Charlotte has managed to cram four months' worth of clothing, books and souvenirs into two suitcases, a backpack and a laptop case. We struggle, but we make it onto the train in Helsingor and off again in Copenhagen. An even bigger struggle is getting the luggage onto the bus to our hotel. Isn't there some travel rule that says your suitcase shouldn't weigh more than you can lift??
Once more safely ensconced at the Avenue Hotel, we set out to see where Charlotte has been attending school here in Copenhagen, and to get some pastries at the shop she likes best. Her classes are held in a really nice part of town, and it's great to see where she's been the past four months. Unfortunately, the bakery isn't open on Sunday, so we miss out on the "best pastries [Charlotte] has ever tasted". We settle instead on Andersen Bakery back at Tivoli. It is here that the cheese/pastry debate is settled once and for all: Danish pastries win. It's no contest.
Beth and I were at Tivoli, the famous amusement park, 39 years ago. After my junior year abroad study program in Madrid, my family joined me and we visited Copenhagen and a few other cities. Beth would have been 9 years old, but both she and I recalled being at Tivoli and a few other places around Denmark. I don't think Tivoli has changed that much. We remembered the lake, the rides and games of skill. I can clearly recall watching Beth and my Dad paddle a little boat around the lake. Or maybe I don't remember it, but I've seen pictures of it so many times, it seems like a memory. That's probably it. Memory is such an odd thing; experts now say that our memories change constantly.
It's not important to me that the memory I have of that day in 1971 is accurate; rather, I am glad to have that memory because it helps to define my feelings about family, and it reinforces the bonds that tie me to my sister, my brother, my Mom and my Dad. My Dad has been dead for almost 19 years now, but he is still a part of my memory bank. We are connected through our shared stories even more than our shared DNA.
For dinner tonight we went to the Restaurant Akropolis near our hotel, and had a fantastic dinner. We talked a lot about our itinerary in Paris, what each of us wanted to see or do. We're going to have a great time there, weaving our lives together for a short time before we have to return to our own realities. We're going to make more memories; each of us will remember the trip in her own way, but together we will have new stories to share and to cherish. I can't wait to get started on our new memories!
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