elegance and greasy sausage

Whether lost in a maze of rough and weathered streets, or beneath the elegant spires and heroic statues of glorious pasts, there is always a person with a cart selling something delicious, cheap, and greasy. Here in Copenhagen, this treat often materialises in the form of bacon wrapped sausages shoved into hollow buns filled with mustard.



Oh yes.

red, green, blue, bird

on the walls

danmark with an 'a'

The last time I was in Copenhagen, my grandad was dying. Since he couldn't make the trip from California to his beloved Danmark with an 'a', I bought a plane ticket and went for him. I wanted to smell Denmark, eat Denmark, drink Denmark. I wanted to visit his hometown of Esbjerg, and meet his cousin Maria. I wanted to visit his father's grave. I wanted to do all the things he would do if he could, and I wanted to report back to him all the feelings I felt, and show him hundreds of photos. He liked to look at photos.



When I called him from Maria's house and he heard our voices together for the first time, he cried. I told him about the herring and the hakkebøf, the rain and the sea. I told him I would see him soon.



He died on the day I arrived in California. I never got to show him the photographs I took.



And so I found myself in his Danmark again, with a terrible aching inside. There are so many things I wish I could tell him. He would have loved Pedro— he would have told him all the stories I loved to hear, even if it was for the hundredth time. I can see him clearly; turning in his armchair to spin his globe for Portugal, with an "I'll be damned" muttering out from a cloud of pipe smoke.

Jeg elsker dig, Morfar.

daredevil

It's amazing what you can find on Google. Every four to six months I google my great-grandfather's name, John Tranum, to see what the world wide web might have on him. For you new readers, my great-grandad was a famous Danish stuntman, daredevil and pioneer of parachuting and BASE jumping during the twenties and early thirties. He was the real deal— a man who fearlessly followed his dream with a devilish grin and a gleam in his eye.

I came upon this Danish site of historical press photos and found what are probably the last photos of my great-grandad alive before his 10,000 metre— yes, 10,000 metre, record-breaking jump. Sadly, he never made it out of plane. On March 7th in 1935, at around 8,500 metres, his oxygen apparatus failed.

danish cafés and the nationalmuseet

colours of copenhagen

gratitude

What was a week felt like two; I had met so many people and seen so many things in such a short time, sitting here on my sofa in Istanbul, it's hard to imagine. I would like to dedicate this post to the Clausen family for making me feel so welcome and happy in their home in Copenhagen. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your warmth, kindness and generosity.

Thank you to Sue and Steen for your conversations and stories, your hospitality and laughter. Thank you Maria for so much more than you know, my kindred spirit.

mummies, vikings and medieval merchants

In what felt like a blink of an eye, I was back in Copenhagen. My time in Esbjerg far too short, I was soon lugging my suitcase down wet, grey pavements, umbrella in hand. I had taken the 7:41 train to Copenhagen so I could spend my last full day exploring the Nationalmuseet— and whatever else I could see. With one look out the window, I decided I'd much rather see if I could get lost in the museum than try to stay warm while wandering around outside.



The Danish Nationalmuseet is absolutely incredible— mummies, Viking utensils, national costumes and rich, glossy oil paintings— I actually did get lost somewhere between Early Christian Europe and Ancient Greece. The Nationalmuseet has easily become one of my favourite museums— the de Young in San Francisco and the Isabella Stuart Gardner in Boston taking number one and two (though it has been a while since I've visited the magnificent Smithsonian Natural History Museum in DC). I strongly suggest exploring this grand museum's impressive collections— it just might be the only thing in Denmark that's free! Located on Ny Vestergade, a stone's throw from Tivoli Gardens, the Nationalmuseet is open every day except Mondays.

danish delicious

Just your typical salty, buttery bakskuld and dark bread with carraway schnapps coffee on Fanø.



Luscious bacon-wrapped pork medallions with sautéed mushrooms and a potato soufflé, smothered in whiskey sauce in Esbjerg.



Some succulent Danish hotdogs that make you wonder whether you should be eating them in public.
Well, when in Copenhagen...



I admit I did feel a little naughty.

trains, pastries and cows

family history

I left the comfort and warmth of Sue's beautiful farmhouse to bump and sway down the rail road tracks to Esbjerg, my grandad's hometown. There I met Steen, a kind and generous archaeologist who offered his sofa to a cold and sleepy artist who still hadn't drawn much. Steen was my second Couchsurfing experience— Sue being my first, though we had previously met in Istanbul. Couchsurfing is a wonderful way to see the world and meet people, based fundamentally on trust and the goodness of strangers. You visit the website, search for someone with a couch or a bed to sleep on in the city you are travelling to, et voilà: somewhere to lay your wandering head and possibly, a new friend.

I asked Steen, knower of many, many things, if he had heard of my grandad's dad, John Tranum. With a tilt of his head he said he knew of a road with such a name, and almost simultaneously we both added, "by the airport." Since my great grandad was a famous parachutist, stuntman and daredevil, it was only fitting that the road to the airport be named John Tranum's Way. We spent the dark afternoon and evening discussing my adventurous relative, the history of Esbjerg, and what it's like to dig in the mud for ancient homes.

In the morning I met my grandad's cousin Maria, whom I had never met but felt an instant connection to. Maria took me to the place where John Tranum now rests, as he has ever since his final record-breaking jump attempt in 1935, which sadly, he never got to perform. His oxygen tank failed, and he never made it out of the plane.



Before Maria and I ran off to catch a ferry to the island of Fanø, just across the Esbjerg harbour, she showed me a veritable treasure-trove of old photos— pictures of my grinning grandad, of beautiful Maria as a Fanø calendar girl in traditional costume, of Chieftan, her legendary Alsatian, of our ancestors The Captain and his wife Anna, who had seven daughters named after the seven seas. Among these books of faded photos, a calendar of Esbjerg history contained one photo that captivated me and my child-like sense of wonder: