Copenhagen and the Lost Art of Caring

Deliberate acts, slow travel and sisterliness

Steam rises into the bright white space as the alarm chimes. The barista turns and pours my perfectly brewed tea into a chalky white mug. There is something uncommon and unfamiliar about this act of deliberateness. It doesn’t take long before I see it everywhere; it is in the baking of pastries, in the suggestions of wine and in the floral abstractions placed in cafe windows. This is the lost art of caring.

My sister has a Scandinavian soul; it has bubbled and grown as her children have. And so, for six months, 'Copenhagen' was written and doodled around in my diary; it felt exactly right for our annual sister weekend.

We arrived with only the ambition to walk and the hope of getting lost. We had not come for the design, the cardamon pastries or the Little Mermaid; we had come to carve out time for one another, to re-ignite our sisterliness. Despite working together, or perhaps because of it, it had been a year since we had spent any meaningful time with one another, a year since we had chewed over the details of our lives. So, we arrived with a little over three days to be totally present in each other's company.

Sister relationships can be tricky, and at times, ours has been tough to negotiate. Throw in the daily grind of working together and the desperate desire to create something, weave in other life, other family members and the rising and waning of ambition, and you have a history of pulling together and pulling apart. Still, it is our history, and we have stayed the course.

We are talking about my nieces as we walk through the backstreets of Nørrebro, passing shops of foraged goods and natural wine bars; we talk of their secret language, their unspoken protection of one another. We talk of the way they laugh with loud uncontrollable snorts and giggles that only the other can cause; they don't yet understand how special that is.

We stroll for hours, stop for coffee, and watch cyclists. We chat about things we have learned; we debate our views and fill in the gaps between our lives. With tired feet and heavy legs, we climb the stairs to our room, we drink tea, and read books and we fall asleep with tears of laughter soaked into our pillows. Some things are never lost.

The streets of Copenhagen are monochrome, nothing garish is decorated or worn, and shops are a smörgåsbord of soft tones and textured fabrics. Candlelit windows reveal cosy cafes and shops draw in natural light. There is a simplicity here, patience that plays out in moments of slowness, in the waiting for the perfect coffee and in queues for the best bread in the city.

On the final day, we pass graffitied walls, one-world slogans, and a sign telling us that photographs are banned. "Can I help you ladies?" a man asks. In his hand, he is holding a bag of weed. This is not Copenhagen for the Instagrammer; this is Freetown Christiania, an intentional community that claims, 'only freedom is holy.' Here, over 1000 people live under their own rules, a micro-nation of sorts. We head back to the main street under the sign that tells us we are re-entering the EU; I wonder where else in Europe such a place could exist. A commune is where I would expect to find life, space and buildings created in that order, but this is echoed beyond this community, in every neighbourhood and in every street in the city.

We walk back to the hotel along the path of cobbles that border the river; a group of swimmers take turns dipping in the freezing water; they each bob around for perhaps a minute before they climb out and stand naked on the wooden slats of the harbour. Beyond the bathers, the soft tones of the urban scene are calming. Being here and immersing yourself in the city does not feel like an itinerary, not even an action. Copenhagen is an attitude; it is a conscious connection.

While waiting for a taxi to go to the train station, we watch a group of friends in duvet jackets drink supermarket beers on a bridge. We ask the taxi driver, "What is the best thing about Copenhagen?" " People are open", he says. "People take the time to talk,"

Sometimes, I wonder if a place can pick you or if maybe a kernel of an idea unfurls and bloom just at the right time, then somehow, without too much thought we find ourselves in the right place sharing that experience with the right person. Some places have just the right amount of magic to reconnecting us to one another and the things that matter. That, for me, is Copenhagen.