I hope he reads this...

Yesterday, while leaving the office a little late, Ross snuck out slightly before me, and as I got to the bottom of the stairs, nearing the front door of the office building, there he was, cowering in the corner putting on his "plastic trousers".

He was hoping no one would see.

I saw.

How humiliating!

(I'm sure I'll have to eat my words when I do finally buy a pair of my own.)

This has been a thoroughly self-indulgent, moderately-sassy follow up posting.

Thank you.

Right on Ebersgade or Eltsgade? Or was it Oesgade?

I spend the majority of my weekends wandering.

I think the thing I enjoy most about this city is, alone or with others, you can spend an entire day just biking around, and never experience a dearth of scenic parks, lakes, or cute sidewalk cafes.

Like this scene, taken at Nyhavn, probably the most tourist-y spot in all of Copenhagen, but I can't help it. I'm a sucker for postcard-perfect shots. And I know everyone who has been here has a photo just like this (all this one is missing is me posing, smiling in front of this ship), but really, it looks like it comes right out of a storybook. I can't help it. I'm sorry! When I turned down a street and found myself here (ok, maybe it was intentional), I about lost it. I think, however touristy, it is not the most breathtaking place in all of Copenhagen, but there is a reason it shows up in so many photo albums.

It also helps pass an entire Saturday on your bike when you are born with no internal compass, and find yourself severely lost more often than not. I've noticed a pattern. If you want to get anywhere, and you're directionally challenged (that's key!), you'll have to ask no fewer than 3 different people, who will all send you to find some street, spelled nothing like it sounds, in the exact opposite direction, and you will miss the street. Every time. No matter how slowly you bike, no matter how obsessively you search for street names, the street you're looking for is always missing signage. Or you're too busy oooh-ing and ahhh-ing at the adorable flower shops, or delicious looking bakeries, or the lust-worthy coat the girl on the bike in front of you is wearing to notice that you've passed your turn. I got seriously lost my first three days biking to work, once ending up about 15 minutes further away from work than I had started. Embarrassing.

And still, I never get upset getting so lost. I remember getting lost in my car in LA (pre-GPS days) and getting a little Hulk-y, because a wrong-turn means an extra hour of sitting in traffic. GRRRR! (See... Hulk-y)

Here, if you get lost, it just means you discover a new tea shop, or a nice place to read a book -when it's not raining, anyway. But good luck finding it again!

It also helps riding around, getting lost, when your bike is like buttah (that's right, Linda Richman. Barbara Streisand ain't got shit! Like buttah!). Sure, I get plenty of flack for my "fancy hipster bike", but it's pure jealousy! I just get to glide around the city, it's super agile, and when it starts to really pour, you better bet I can get home in nothing flat! It's not the top of the line frame, but considering bikes get stolen here so easily (especially flashy ones like that of yours truly), it's about as nice of a bike as I would ever get. Here, anyway. Everyone is waiting for it to get stolen, but when everyone else just locks their bikes to themselves (like locking the tire to the frame) with an easily-hacked lock, and I spend 10 minutes each time I go anywhere finding a pole or fence to lock my bike to, with my trusty kryptonite lock, I think I'll at least be able to keep my bike for another month, at least (oh please don't get stolen oh please don't get stolen! ** spits on finger twice**).

It's been nice getting so many compliments on it, though. My so-called friends may be giving me nonstop shit, but others seem to be a fans. I think my favorite compliment was paid by a really adorable old British woman. "Oh my!" She said. "Look how nice! Isn't that just lovely!" Say it in aloud in a British accent. I dare you to not be flattered by that.

Just today on the way to work, a cute Danish couple biking next to me rode up and called it "magnificent". I mean. It's not that good, but when everyone here rides near-identical looking city bikes, a track frame -especially a white one -really stands out.

Here's a fairly unflattering photo of me with my newest prized possession:

Let's hope I get to keep it for a while. It wouldn't be half as much fun getting lost without it.

Tip: Buy Stock in Plastic Trousers

Copenhagen is notorious for its bike culture.

That's an indisputable fact. I traded in my honda CRV for a single-speed bike and bike a minimum of a half-hour per day (often, far more) along bike-highways. Rush hour feels like the Tour de France, and I tailor my wardrobe choices to my daily commute. Biking home from a bar at 4 in the morning, I'm still accompanied by hundreds of fellow cyclists -but that may also be largely due to the fact that I haven't seen a single person in this city over the age of 35 (ok, that may be a minor exaggeration, but this is undoubtedly a youngster's town), and the city never sleeps.

Yet I still can't wrap my head around how Copenhagen, of all places, decided to adopt the uncovered bicycle as its transportation of choice.

It rains here everyday. Without fail. Usually when my buttcheeks touch bike saddle, that's when it starts to downpour. Back home, no one leaves their house when it drizzles. Here, even when it's a flat-out monsoon, no one even grabs an umbrella (no joke, it's so windy here, umbrellas are rendered useless).

And yet, while I show up to the office looking like a wet dog with my bangs plastered to my forehead and my mascara dripping down my face, everyone else is perfectly dry, impeccably dressed, make-up in place, with their hair perfectly coiffed. You would never know that everyone trucked to work on two wheels through the rain. It's unbelievable. I'm determined to learn the secret, or be shunned for being the biggest disaster in all of Copenhagen.

I was let in on one biking secret just the other day...

As it turns out, the secret to keeping your tailored, stylish wardrobe dry is waterproof pants, or, as my Irish friend Ross calls them, "plastic trousers". Cute!

Put plastic trousers on my birthday wishlist. And add bike fenders while you're at it, please?

I don't know how plastic pants are going to keep me looking as deadly fashionable as the rest of the population here (once I take them off, of course), but maybe it'll be a good start.

Things I'm getting used to:

1. Biking in the Rain

As aforementioned

2. Getting lost while biking in the rain

I absolutely can't get my bearings in this city. I thought I had a bad sense of direction before...

3. Line-drying my clothes

I told a friend of mine I'd never line-dried clothing before. His jaw dropped "you mean, everyone in the US tumble dries? But it's so expensive! And is so bad for the environment." I mean... yeah. Isn't that America? We pay for convenience. So I line dried my clothes for the first time here, on the first really sunny day I'd seen since I got here. It was surprisingly relaxing. I even took photos.

Yet, unsurprisingly, though it was sunny when I hung my clothes out to dry, I left for the day, and rode back home in the pouring rain later that evening to soaked clothes.

Gammel Dansk

RE-Posted from my inaugural update, via email:

Hey USA!

Friends, family, people who may or may not care how I'm doing...

I figure it's time for a brief update of my travels thus far.

So I left LA with waaaaaay too much luggage last Wednesday -making my way through airport security was undoubtedly an adventure of its own, not because I got stopped for looking suspect, but because it just took me way too much time to unload and sprawl out all of my possessions.

The plane ride was posh!

I'm used to American flights with no pillow, no blanket, no meal. But AirBerlin did it right. Freshly laundered and packaged pillow and blanket, a little travel toothbrush, toothpaste, eyemask (which came in handy when the light over my seat wouldn't turn off), and with my meal? "Would you like red or white wine with that?"

Hahaha yessssss. And then coffee and dessert liqueur to follow. Not that I'm a big drinker (achemmm), but it definitely made the flight a bit more tolerable.

It was also, to be certain, the whitest flight I had ever been on. Seriously, I have never seen so many blond people in my life as I have the past 5 days.

I had a layover in Dusseldorf Germany where I read a book, took a nap, had a beer, and took photos of a kinky sex toy dispenser in the airport bathroom. I mean, seriously, who needs a painful looking "Lustfinger" before their outbound flight? Apparently the rumors about Germany are true...

My first two nights in Copenhagen, I stayed with Mimi and Bent, a New York-born artist and her Danish husband, who live in a house just outside of the city, on the beach, in a house they designed and built together years ago. Their house is filled with awesome flea-market acquisitions, old funky art, and floor to ceiling book shelves, not a computer or internet signal in sight. Mimi and Bent describe themselves as "chachki people". I'd agree, but it was really a warm place. And waking up in the morning to fresh beach air (not to sound all poetic and touchy-feely), delicious Danish cheese slathered over fresh bread, a cute little kitty cuddled up in little-spoon position next to me, Bent sitting on the back porch, poured over a book -it just felt really nice. I wouldn't mind living the way they do someday...

The day after getting there, I went into the city and met my new roommates. They instantly invited me to go to a bbq at their friends' place. And while I spent a good amount of time staring off into space completely out of the conversation (dear god, Danish is going to be impossible to pick up!), they did a really good job of making me feel instantly welcome. It's amazing how much Danish nuances in language feel like English. And everyone sasses each other. So much sarcasm, so much shit-giving. And everyone speaks a good amount of English, so if everyone started speaking Danish, usually someone would turn to me and translate.

The next night, everyone made it their mission to make me feel welcome in Denmark by introducing me to a wide range of Danish liquors. Apparently Danes are big drinkers. Who knew! I think we ended up going out to a club of sorts and I'm sure I made I big fool of myself on and off the dance floor. oops! That's what happens when you're force-fed "Gammel Dansk" - a traditional and thoroughly nauseating Danish liquor.

I spent all day Sunday in bed. Yikes. I may never drink again...

Today I had my first day of work. Henning Larsen has a really nice office in the city center of Copenhagen. I sit right across from one of the principles (seriously, the equivalent of the CEO sits right next to an intern), and I sit right next to a giant window, so even in the winter, I'll catch every minute of daylight Denmark has to offer! Score!

I think that's enough for now. If you don't want updates, just let me know and I'll take you off of this makeshift listserv I created. Ma, Pa -if you want to forward this to any interested friends and family, I think I'm missing a lot of necessary emails.

I'll try and send out another update soon.

Love and miss everyone!

How's home?

Ciao ciao!

love,

Nat