Walk in the morning sun

Yesterday Graham and Sam arrived; we lunched on extravagant sandwiches and then undertook an expedition to find the remote exhibition of the school of architecture. A note I had scrawled in a bar provided our directions: "school of arch. continue right past lake. turn right. lots of trees and hidden house". This lead us through Cristiania, and out again into the seeming wilderness by the south lakes of Copenhagen. We did find trees and a monument-like stone building and a hidden house, but it was all locked and all quiet. So we made are way back by meandering through the lake-side artisan houses of Cristiania, beautiful hand craft dreams realised, a floating wooden cabin, a space craft, a miniature castle in black and white with towers and circular windows. Like my fantasies of being an architect from 20 year ago.

In the evening we met at a dark indie punk venue to chase another bar-acquired ill-direction. The billing was Jazz meets Punk. The venue had a dark alternative, real, and somehow Glasgow-like feel, but the music was empty of talent - young men self indulgently ignored their spectators. But to talk with Graham and Sam was warming and dear, we rambled around snippets of suddenly remembered news, falling into cryptography and out through politics and relations.

This morning I woke early, the beer I dared to drink last night grinding at my sleep. Another year passed last wednesday and I grow increasingly intolerant to beer! I took a stroll in the shining cold and daring sun of this fresh morning. Empty streets and art gallery windows. Then to cafes stretching chair-limbs, rubbing their window-eyes, watching the city wake up; brings a smile to my face. Now for breakfast and plans!

in celebration of cake

It's raining and I'm in a good mood - my teaching is over and we've just eaten cake had a taste of whisky and enjoyed some good coffee. So here are some pictures from the last week or so....

Holiday in Hamburg

A sunny day and I take the train to Hamburg, a surprise ferry ride over shining waves then packed back into our train. I step out of central station in the twilight night falling, blown into a modern pedestrian highway of brightly lit sopping centres. These giants stare down patiently and abstractly on the small dark clothed, light skinned crowd who bustle bellow. A handful of breakdancers hold out, hang out, jump and dace, glory in their little fort of couter-culture, a drop of real culture.

Wondering takes me to the river, a wide peaceful body of water on which swans patrol and ducks parade if a little nervously. "Selected Coffee and Selected Music" catches my eye, appealing my ear. They offer good, heart thundering coffee, sweets and pastries, and music to listen to, and bated by, to buy. I bite and part 3 hours later, tuned up and befriended the owners who love Scotland and Whisky, who fed me music and biscuits.

The Portuguese scientoligist

When I stay at home for too long I get gloomy, restless, push sanity for kicks. Annoyingly, the cd player skips. Luckily there are lots of records. But not as many as it felt like there was a few weeks ago. So the mint tea here is really good and in the evenings they have tunes I have not been listening to all week. Downstairs is dark and cosy, upstairs I get internet from an unwittingly generous neighbour.

I have noticed a something in over the last few weeks, people sometimes treat friendships as investments. Being passing air in the city makes people pull up their coats and walk on. Does the wind ever get lonely? Perhaps its the temperature of the wind that makes a difference, too hot or too cold people will shield themselves from it's flames and claws.

Yesterday, like most evening these days, I went to dance tango. Recently my life can be painted in few colours, tango for the night, programming and theorising for the now diminishing light of day, and sometimes a dash of eating here or there in the twilight. But last night I met an unusual character, a young dark haired Portuguese scientoligist. She moved to Copenhagen to study scientology - I was so dumbstruck that all I could do was say, ok, and smile to keep the nerves at bay. She asked, with a big smile, if I knew what that was, "Sure, Tom Cruise is a scientologist, right?", I reply. She nods enthusiastically and tells me the centre for scientology in Europe is in Copenhagen. I am saved by some music. I still hold out hope that it was a joke - can someone really be serious like that?

shadows that a bright moon cast

There are thoughts, places in the mind, that I'm scared to go. But I can feel them as they walk through the shadows that a bright moon cast.

I'm sitting in my regular net-robbing cafe, with liquorish mint tea, on an antique faded green armchair. It's saturday, I have lime cake and I relax. Tonight I'll go to a tango-meal followed by what I've been told will be a big Milonga - dancing will end in the morning, the metro runs all night at the weekend. I don't know what to expect, probably good, life thrives in the spaces between expectations.

And tomorrow, I'll take a class in what I'll describe as a physical theatre for awareness with games of balance, trust and natural reaction. I was introduced to this last week and the echo's of "where are you?!" still revolve in my mind and the aches in my muscles have only recently resided. Some dark habits were rerevealed - one is to be lost in isolation, in hazy distance - known from Aikido but still lurking in the mood shadows.

I wonder where I am... does that imply knowledge of where one can be? or only that one can be?

Well, time to go back to my flat, shower and find the dinner.