Today I am craving crepes filled with rich dark chocolate mousse, freshly whipped cream, strawberries reduced over heat with sugar and a touch of grapefruit . . . but we are out of cream, and milk, and almost everything closes around here at six or seven in the evening. It's not even dark in Copenhagen yet and it's 10:30. I tried to find recipes online to make the crepes with yogurt, but that leaves the mousse, too. No luck, anyway. I did find out that a traditional breakfast on Bastille Day (today) is crepes. Must be my French blood bubbling over.
I just now heard a bird making the happiest little song through the window outside, so I whistled back to it, and it copied me and then did its own thing. Wow! And there it is, across the street sitting on top of a chimney. So I do it again, and then it does it again, and I have a big smile on my face now . . .
Today I went to H's and sat around for a bit, had some herring and coffee, cleaned his kitchen while he snored in the next room, wrote some e-mails, and then left so he could go to the nude beach. I often go with him after our deer park trips and lay on the roof of the picnic areas in the sun, while the tan and sagging bodies of local Danish men amble down the dock and dive into the water. I soak up the sun, and H swims laps, and then we walk by the boys on the volleyball court, and catch the train home.
The other day on the way to the deer park, about 45 minutes of an hour ride out of town, I blew my back tire so our plans changed. We wound walking down a wide path through a forest behind houses perched on hills. The trail was littered with giant slugs and snails, which for the first twenty feet I tried to move out of the trail so they wouldn't be squished under bike tires and running shoes, but gave up when the numbers increased to over ten a square meter. They were absolutely beautiful, though, the snails over a couple of inches in size with intricate colors through their spirals, and the slugs smooth and ridged and two to four inches long and different than the ones in the states, though no doubt just as capable of inspiring a gag reflex in the same percentage of normal people. I no doubt drove H insane pointing them all out as he walked along so he wouldn't smash them underfoot. He nevertheless crunched a lovely snail, making me grimace and reprimand him theatrically for his careless brutality. Poor bastard. I threw him in the bushes. The snail, too.
Two days in a row we did this, though the second day my tire was fixed for an obscene amount of my worthless U.S. money, and both days we made it to Bakken, which is a permanent carnival of sorts situated on the edge of the deer park, with free entry and wooden roller coasters and all kinds of interesting people-watching. We sat and had coffees and exquisite chocolate muffins.
Then we rolled our bikes onto the train and plunged homeward again.
Tomorrow we might go back to the deer park, so we can watch the lovely little deer families watch us. The place covers several miles, with a 400 year old hunting lodge overseeing it all, as well as the nude section of the beach a mile down the hill behind it. No coincidence, I'm sure.
Since Carsten runs a music review website, tomorrow evening he and I are invited to an "intimate" show that only twenty people can attend, where two Danish musicians perform for our privileged ears. It should be interesting.
Next week the queer games start here. I guess it's a kind of gay Olympics, so H and I will be running around taking pictures and video of that for several days. I'll have some posted eventually.
Hope every one of y'all out there is doing as well as conceivably possible.
2 hours ago