Copenhagen and Louisiana

Today we visit Louisiana.

No, silly reader. Not the state. The museum. In Humlebaek Denmark.

Louisiana is dedicated to modern art. It was founded in 1958 by Knut Jensen, who was passionate about art. He was determined to provide a place for viewing work by contemporary artists  in Denmark, believing that you have to create a context and an environment for its display, so that the experience of seeing it would be unpretentious and engaging.

Why "Louisiana?" Jensen retained a name that had been given to this country house even before he turned it into a museum. It appears that the previous owner of the estate (who was known for growing abundant fruit trees) had married three women and all three bore the name of Louise. Weird but true.

Okay, first come my Copenhagen routines: a good breakfast (which here, as at home, usually serves also as lunch)...

(beloved seeded rye bread...)

(a crossover meal: rye bread and soft boiled egg are so Danish and Polish, the croissant -- so French, delicious local berries -- a short lived season back home, abundant here.)

A quick organization of thoughts and things needed for this excursion, and I am off to meet the young family at the train station for about a half hour ride to Humlebaek -- a town (of less than 10 000) along the coast to the north of Copenhagen.

Denmark a little bit reminds me of Brittany in that the sea defines the land, even as each (the farmers and the fisher people) create their own food culture and life style. (I say this knowing very little about Danish farmers and fishermen and women, but you can tell from the pride in foods: the sea may not be far from any point in Denmark, yet it's not all about seafood here. Dairy farmers (all those beautiful pastures and meadows!), hey, strawberry growers too, have their own pride of product that is palpable. 

But on this excursion, I do want to recognize the sea. Because really, Denmark is to the sea as Switzerland is to the mountains. What you see from Louisiana is the Kattegat Sea, which separates Denmark from Sweden. I'm sure it is properly part of the Baltic, though because Denmark has the North Sea on its western shores, I think of it as being just one big body of North Sea waters.

(a sneak peak at the sea, as viewed from Louisiana, with a view to Sweden on the other side)

Okay, let's reel back to the train station and our meetup. 

(while waiting for the young family, I count the number of girls with blond braids of this kind... so many! just like in Poland!)

Here they come!

We top our travel cards, check the departure track and hop on the 11:11 a.m.

(Toddlers can be wiggly on a train. But kids Primrose's age usually lose themselves in a train trance...)

(a selfie with mom...)

If you are wondering whether the temps shot up so high that my daughter found it necessary to shed her sweater and jacket, I must correct that impression.

She did work up a sweat -- by wiping down the train floor from coffee I knocked down with my elbow. It wasn't my coffee but it was my fault. The young couple likes to leave places as they find them, so they sprung to action, gathering enough paper towels to wipe down the spill.

(arrived; back to normal body temperatures)

Humebaek, as judged entirely from the train station and the walk to the museum, feels small, quiet and bucolic. I could imagine how content people must feel living here. Close to the city, but also close to the sound of birdsong, birch trees, flowers... and great art.

(I did not expect to see a thatched roof cottage here...)

We walk to the museum...  

... and go inside. Well, first -- to the green space in the back, where you'll find most of the larger sculpture on display here.

From here, we check out the art building for kids. They can create interesting designs with pastel crayons (just two colors!) or build something out of wooden pegs.

(a quiet space for the very young...)

Primrose settles into a coloring project. I retreat to look at some of the art. I don't pause for a long time because I have only a cursory interest in painting as it developed after World War II. I'm more curious about the evolution of it than in the canvases themselves. Still, I find some rather sympathetic pieces. 

And then Primrose and her mom join me and we dig a little deeper...

(outside again)

... until hunger strikes. We head for the snack cart and pick up some ham and cheese grilled sandwiches for them and cookies (for me!) and make a picnic of it.

(I'm not at the point yet where I can get down and up easily, so I sit in the stroller... and watch Primrose climb a tree.)

We go back to one more wing of the museum (mostly for the sculptures)...

(what does your eye pick up? The sculpture? Mine is drawn to what I swear is a blue heron on the waters outside!)

And by then it really is awfully close to nap time for Juniper, even at her new European late sleep schedule. As we walk back to the station, the rain hits hard. Shoes? Wet. Hair, pants, bags? Wet. But it is a summer rain and somehow it doesn't matter. Things will dry off quickly enough. And indeed, by the time we reach the station, the rain has stopped and I even detect clearing skies.

(selfie! this time with me...)

(back in Copenhagen)

In the evening I am back at the young family's home for dinner with the kids and a babysitting stint while the parents "do the town." (Or whatever it is that young people do when they have a few moments of freedom from offspring.)

And there you have it. A day in and out of Copenhagen. And the skies are suddenly rain free which only goes to show that every place, every day come with their own surprises.

Godnat, with love!

Copenhagen!

God morgen! A deceptively sunny start to the day!

(out my window...)

If you're in one city for a week-long visit (as I am, in Copenhagen), there will be a time when you want to not do much of anything complicated or taxing. Usually, this day will come in the middle and if you're lucky, it will be the day with the most overcast skies so that you have an excuse not to push yourself too much.

Sure enough, today is such a day. The young parents are superb planners, in that they do not book up each day of a trip. My daughter firms up a couple of important points or meals. The rest is filled in from a list she has researched but not committed to, as the day permits. And so this morning, I go down for a leisurely breakfast...

Then we confer via texts and I am on board with meeting them at their second choice bakery in town: Lille.

You have to know this about Lille: like so many other places that have cropped up in Copenhagen, this one prides itself on not only being tied closely to local growers and small batch producers, but also to the community of people who come together to eat foods baked and sold here. Read this from their website:

"It’s the island’s regulars, the art students who come for lunch, the sailors and fixer-uppers over at the harbour, the small businesses, the offices, the milk lady, the rye bread man, the blacksmith crew, the travellers from the other side of the world, and from the other side of town."

Sometimes I think back home that we talk a lot about the absence of community in our daily lives, but we are a little clueless on how to fix this problem. We read that loneliness in the US is a huge issue, especially among those who no longer have ties to the workplace. So where do you look for a reliable gathering of people? Strangers even? I've always thought that this is a role neighborhood coffee shops can play, except that these days too many of us come in with a lap tops, order our brew of choice and hide behind the screen. At Lille, this is not the point.

The food shop however has become somewhat revered, especially for its bakery. So there are the food lovers who want to be sure to sample foods from this off-the-beaten path bakery. And this is what we come for as well. To taste, compare, savor all that comes out of their prize oven.

I take the bus over. Thirteen stops to Refshaleoen -- which people refer to as being on "the island," which is kind of funny because everything about Copenhagen is island-ish. It's just that this is on an island off the island. Or something.

(it's the last stop, at the end of which the electric buses recharge)

It's actually here, at the edge of this almost desolate space that you'll also find Noma -- chef Redzepi's gastronomic Mecca (lots written about it lately, so I needn't go into detail about this most famous place that many would argue absolutely transformed Danish cooking). You'll walk among warehouses, breweries and urban gardens. It's rugged at the edges but with a real urban beauty to it.

(at the entrance to an urban farm and restaurant...)

But let's focus for a minute on Lille. 

It's a fantastic place. They're making those infamous Danish open face sandwiches. And baking rhubarb cookies and stuffed mushroom rolls and apple cakes. We are lucky that we arrive just after the breakfast rush and just before the lunch crowd.

We sample. Many things, Both savory and sweet.

And then we leave.

At this point, the rain is just an occasional shower. Out comes the umbrella, but it's nothing serious.

We're walking to Reffen, which is just up the back road some.

What's Reffen? Well, it's an agglomeration of food trucks. Some sixty of them. And there are tables. Everywhere, running all the way to the water's edge. In better weather there is music. Kids bring skateboards. Older folks buy beers and spritzes. 

The girls are hungry so we pick up some tacos and take them into a vast space that has a roof over it. The rain is intensifying. The grownups stick with coffee for now. 

I can see why for my daughter and her husband it's a repeat trip. Both love music and street food and honestly, I've never seen an urban space (except maybe in Singapore) that has both and so much of it!

Eventually we come very close to the girls' nap time. We brave the weather -- a funny expression because people here seem almost oblivious to it. Onto the bus again...

I get off at my hotel, they continue on to their Copenhagen home. I'm ready for a cup of warm tea. Lucky thing -- I brought along a Lille rhubarb cookie for just such an emergency!

In the evening the skies clear again. I pick up the bus once more, this time heading in the opposite direction -- to Baest Restaurant. You'd call it Italian maybe, and you would not be wrong, but I think they view themselves as merely Italian influenced, with organic produce, artisanal butchery and raw milk cheeses ("from cows that graze 40 kilometers away").

I've come to expect good food in Copenhagen. I know this is perhaps a simplified view, but honestly, the seeded rye bread alone that I eat every day for breakfast is so good that I'd eat only that were it available back home. And the focus on fresh and honest is so widespread that I have to think you're going to eat well in many eateries here. Still, tonight's pizzas are exceptional. Ask Juniper!

Afterwards, we take the bus to the young family's neighborhood, where we search out a delicious ice cream shop. 

(If I were to say which flower I see most often in Copenhagen, I would say this one! The hollyhock.)

And now it's ridiculously late. Still, I go over to the young family's home. The dad is going out to meet his friend for a drink, so I keep my daughter company. It's so rare to have all this vacation time with her, with the kids. I'm not going to retire to my room until I can't keep my eyes open any more!

As I walk back to the hotel for the night, I think to myself --  happy Danes, happy me.

(passing the train station: that feeling of safety at night for solo treks across town...)

Godnat!