It was cold in Copenhagen, not exactly the place to go in
February if you’re itching for a tan or longing for an escape to the
seaside. However, if you’re just
desperate to get away and it’s too late to secure a plane ticket anywhere warm,
it’s better than staying in a place you hate.
No one goes to Denmark
in the dead of winter. The hostels are
deserted, the trains are filled only with locals, mostly businessmen, and the
historical sites (those that are actually opened), in the absence of crushing
crowds, crying children and rude adults, are pleasant to walk through.
Yes,
Americans don’t flee to Scandinavia in the
winter. The trees are bald, the ponds
are frozen over and the cold wind penetrates your skin despite the layers of
clothing you may have taken care to envelop yourself in. Your fingers tingle, your feet fall numb and
the tips of your ears glow red with the fresh breath of frost. In the morning, or at night, if luck is with
you, a hint of snow might permeate the air and mingle with smoke from the
wooden fires which seeps out from a multitude of chimneys – homes where
families are huddled for supper, a story or a single murmur of love. No one it seems desires Copenhagen in February, no one that is save
Dora and Theo.
It
was Dora who wanted to go. It was always
Dora who initiated out of desperation and Theo who complied out of
obligation. Teaching in the city was
exhausting, especially when it was exasperating, which for Dora it was almost
every day. She had been looking forward
to the upcoming holiday ever since winter break had ended. Though she told no one, least of all those
she worked with, she was in dire need to break free from the leeches - the
students who had sucked her dry of all emotion, the teachers who had drained
her patience and the administrators who in only a few months time had
completely depleted her enthusiasm. The
destination itself was of little consequence, what was imperative was that she
go – somewhere, anywhere, that wasn’t home, that wasn’t familiar, and that most
of all bore no attachment to the world in which she was familiar, the world in
which she had begun to drown.
She
had asked her sister, a couple of friends and in desperation some random people
she happened to stumble across on the subway if they would care to accompany
her, but they all said no. With a checklist of those who said no and no one
left to ask, she turned again to Theo who she knew was bound to say yes. He was always the last one she sought to
invite, and though he would often shrug his shoulders and say he’d think about
it, in the end he always relented when she called from the travel agent and
pressed him for an answer. Had it not
been for her, he would happily have slipped into the timeless realm of
uncertainty and the morbid state of inactivity, but she kept him alive,
breathing excitement into his thoughts realism into his concepts and life into
his words.
Boarding the plane
together was never really a choice that either of them made. It was more of a
consequence of experience and personality.
Dora always hoped that someone else would take an interest in her or the
things she enjoyed. Frequently, she
prostrated herself in the halls at school, practically begging the other
teachers to take notice of her but they never did. It was as if she had faded into the floor,
her skin the gnarled gray of the titles, her hair the knotty brown of the
carpets. Invisibility, for her, was
easily achieved and only Theo ever understood her need to be seen.
It was twenty-nine
degrees at the airport when the plane landed.
To save money they, or rather Dora, decided it would be best to wait for
the bus instead of hailing a taxi. As
usual, when she expressed her opinion, Theo merely grunted – neither agreeing
nor disagreeing with her, simply acknowledging that he had heard her
speak. Wearing a sweater, a winter
jacket and a woolen hat, Dora was plenty warm.
Theo, however, having forgotten his hat on the plane was shivering. Recognizing his misery, Dora wondered how
long they might have to wait for the bus, and glancing at him periodically, she
worried that it might be longer than he was willing to stand there with his
gloved hands holding his ears as if they might fall off. There was a schedule posted, but how often had
she experienced timetables that were completely inaccurate. Among Theo’s many
travel faults was his impatience over everything that didn’t fit into the
perfect squares he had sculpted for every aspect of his life. He had his own opinions about everything, and
if anyone differed from him in the least, he scowled until Dora was left with
no choice other than to tug at his arm and removed him from where ever it was
that they stood.
Relief, like sweet
candy followed closely by a thick chocolate milkshake, filled her with
contentment when the bus finally pulled into its space between two narrow
cement islands exactly two minutes ahead of schedule.
“Just like home,”
Dora smiled at her own sarcasm, already feeling happier and more at ease in the
country she was eager to explore (and perhaps too eager to embrace) than she
ever felt back home in New York.
“Being on time is
not necessarily an indication that it will leave on time.” Theo was quick to suggest.
When the door
opened Theo lifted his rucksack to his back and followed Dora up the
steps. He watched her pay for the both
of them, then sat down beside her.
Tilting his watch to his eyes, he waited impatiently for the minute hand
to strike the four, ready to complain about the tardy departure. “It’s late,” he grumbled as soon as the big
hand pulled away from the twelve, but before Dora could respond, before she
could reprimand him for being so critical, the bus slowly backed out of its
spot.
The bus took
approximately an hour to carve its way through the city. Dora had asked the bus driver (who spoke
English as perfectly as if he was born in London)
to notify them when they had reached their destination. Breaking softly at a light, the driver bent
his head towards his microphone, the microphone that was awkwardly positioned
near the steering wheel, “The next stop is the hostel.” Feeling completely mortified at having
captured the attention of everyone on the bus, Theo hid his eyes in his hand as
he shook his head. Dora laughed. Sometimes it seemed to her that she did
little else in his presence. He was
easily, too easily, manipulated by his environment, quickly influenced by
circumstance and troubled over the incessant possibility of having to interact
with others who did not speak his language.
“Thank you,” Dora
shouted over her shoulder to the bus driver as she chased Theo out onto the
pavement.
“He didn’t have to
turn us into such a spectacle.” Theo
marched off without consulting a map, racing off as he was prone to do, and as
in the past, Dora didn’t know if he was running away or pursuing something
unseen.
Realizing he
didn’t exactly know where the hostel was, he doubled back to where Dora was
rotating the map in an effort to gather her bearings. Like everything else, navigation was her
responsibility when traveling.
“How
far is it?” Theo sighed in disgust. He didn’t like to walk, and keeping up with
Dora, going where she wanted and doing what she wanted to do was generally a
challenge he didn’t warmly embrace.
Shrugging
her shoulders, she turned to what she supposed was the right direction and
already (less than two hours after their plane had landed) she could feel the
muscles at the base of her neck beginning to tense up. If only
I had other friends. If only someone
else I knew had an interest in traveling.
But only Theo dared to tag along and in some respects she supposed some
company (poor as it could be at times) was better than none.
The
hostel was in a pleasant setting with a pond no more than forty meters or so
from the entrance, the sound of quacking ducks, trees scattered about and swans
sailing overhead. Dora didn’t want to
waste any time hanging around in the hostel. Quickly she checked them in, dropped their
things off in the dorm then returned to the outside air, where no matter how
cold the temperature was, she was always most content. Outside, and only outside, did she ever feel
like something other than a corpse.
Theo
would have preferred to have sat for awhile, drank a beer and then perhaps,
after a cigarette or two, he might have felt ready to explore, but Dora very
infrequently permitted him to have a moment of time to himself. She was charged with an energy he never quite
understood, and somehow feeding off of the excess, the remnants she didn’t
need, he managed to trudge along beside her.
Dora despised his idleness, his lack of ambition and when he lagged
behind her, she grew frustrated thinking of how much more she could accomplish
if only he didn’t try so hard to hold her back.
The
pond was full of fowl. The swans and
ducks were happily at play, poking each other in the rear with their beaks,
chasing their friends or foes in circles that progressively got smaller, and
dipping their heads beneath the icy waters in search of food or possibly for
sport. Tipping their bodies forward,
their tails raised high in salute to the heavens, their bums bobbed freely in
time to the water’s inconsistent rhythm.
When their lungs, filled to capacity with oxygen, began to grow taunt
and tired, they thrust their heads back.
Water droplets were beading off their beaks, and with the subtly of a
child peeing in the bush, they shook out their feathers - their little butts
swiftly twitching - before kicking off and smoothly gliding to another (usually
less crowded) spot.
The ducks, their simplicity,
made Dora smile. If only her life was so
uncomplicated. Watching them she was
completely mesmerized. She could have
stood by the pond’s edge all afternoon, but the sun was sinking low, inching
towards the horizon, and she did want to see the city before it got too
late.
“Should we walk
downtown?” She turned away from the
ducks and saw Theo sitting on a bench smoking a cigarette, completely
unaffected by his surroundings.
“Are you
crazy?” He had looked at the map while
she was watching the ducks. “It must be
at least four kilometers to City Hall.”
To Dora four kilometers was a warm up, to Theo it was a marathon.
“Which we can
easily walk in less than an hour.”
After five
overseas trips with Dora, one might have assumed that he should have been well
prepared for what to expect, but each time he went away with her, he rebelled more
strongly against her and all she wanted to do.
Putting out his cigarette he folded his arms. “I’d rather stay here.”
“If it’s what you
prefer, then fine. I’ll meet up with you
later.” She knew that despite his
irritability and the appearance of having a will of his own, he wouldn’t
stay. If it was necessary, she would
have no problem going off alone, but he was incapable of being by himself. He constantly needed someone to hold his hand
and instruct him as to what he should do and when he should do it.
Mumbling
his discontent, he begrudgingly vacated his seat. For over an hour they walked, Theo remaining a
constant step or two behind Dora for the duration of it. He refused to be social, her punishment for
rushing him out of the hostel and into the cold city.
It
was Saturday, a day without rush–hour, a time to spend a few free hours alone
in the solitude of one’s own thoughts, time to catch up with friends one hasn’t
seen in awhile or an afternoon to spend solely with one’s family after a long
quite possibly unfulfilling week. Mothers
and Fathers were out walking with their children, husbands and wives could be
seen through the windows of small cafés eating an early dinner or sipping
coffee, young couples still fresh in the wake of new love were engrossed with
each other and seemed to notice nothing else.
The busy streets were lined with bike paths which Dora, unaccustomed to
them, kept unconsciously creeping into until a high pitched bell, rung from a
distance of a meter and a half, startled her.
Frazzled, she would jump, sometimes out of the way and sometimes
directly in front of the biker who then had to swerve to miss her.
The
smells reaching out from the bakeries were tantalizing, ticking Dora’s nose and
whetting her appetite until she had to forgo all her inhibitions about food and
fat so she could indulge in a pastry.
Theo declined her offer to buy him one.
“Do you have any idea how many calories are in one of those?” He asked then proceeded to stare at her with
the eyes of a starving dog.
Off
H.C. Anderson Boulevard
they turned left onto Stroget, the touristiest strip in Copenhagen. Dora had wanted to find her way
to the Little Mermaid but dusk had already begun to settle over the city. With darkness rapidly approaching, she didn’t
want to find herself too far removed from the better lit areas of the
city. Theo didn’t mind not going, he had
little desire to see the mermaid anyway and was far more content mingling among
the people he encountered in the street.
“Do you mind if we
stop for a beer?” Theo halted in front
of a bar making it apparent that he was tired of wandering and that he didn’t
care to walk any further. Dora would
have preferred to have stayed out all night, walking until fatigue finally
conquered her and she passed out on her bed back at the hostel. However, she realized that if he was going to
be tolerable for the rest of the week, she had to occasionally give in to his desires
as well as her own.
“Sure,” she opened
the door and followed him inside. The
room was dim, and stepping over the threshold she felt herself being choked by
an overwhelmingly thick cloud of smoke. There
wasn’t one person present in the bar who didn’t have a drink in one hand and a
cigarette in the other. Sitting down at
the bar, Dora ordered a gin and tonic for herself (Theo always criticized her
for drinking such a ‘girly drink’, as he called it) and a Carlsberg beer for
Theo. The music, as in most overseas
bars they had been in, was in English, though the constant chatter of
conversations engaged in all around them was enough to muffle it. In the back room, two guys were involved in
what appeared to be a rather intense game of billiards.
Spinning slowly
around on her seat, the drink in her hand, the glass pressed to her lips, she
pretended to sip more actively than she really was as she watched the others in
the bar interact with each other. Theo
had left her to seek entertainment elsewhere, and before she could discover
where he was or with whom he was talking, a man in a dark blue rugby shirt sat
down beside her.
“My name is
Christian,” he held out his hand, ignoring the bewitched look of the woman he
was with previously.
“And mine is Theodora,”
smiling, she shook his hand.
“Can I buy you a
drink?” He offered, already leaning in
towards the bartender.
“I
think I would like that very much.”
Copenhagen
