Copenhagen, February 2019

The door to my hotel room shut and I walked instinctively towards the window. Across the street, the gates of Tivoli looked smaller than I remembered them as a child. The rides and roller coasters poking up through the barren tree branches in the park didn’t appear as intimidating as I seemed to remember them as a 5 year old.

I unpacked a little bit, then decided I should head out and get some food before it got too chilly. Outside, the sun was already starting to set, even though it was only 4:30pm, and little flakes of snow had begun to fall. I made my way towards the walking streets, gloves hands shoved into my pockets, face half buried inside my scarf. I’d been to Denmark many times with my family, but it had always been during the summer. Freezing as it was, I couldn’t help but smile recognizing streets I’d walked down as a child, and restaurants I’d taken advantage of the 16 year drinking age in, feeling like such a grown up sipping my white wine.

I wandered all the way through the walking streets, down to the harbor. There were plenty of cute restaurants with their lights on, but they seemed a little too nice to be dining in alone. I’m not opposed to solitude. If I was, this entire weekend trip would be be a nightmare. I had just needed to leave the UK briefly to reset my visa, and knowing I’d be going somewhere alone, I picked Copenhagen as it was familiar. I thought it might be nice to revisit the places I remember vaguely from all the previous trips. But I didn’t anticipate how much more alone one feels when it’s cold. Cold is an understatement, it was fucking freezing. The snow flakes had dampened to a sleet, and the wind was whipping them hard onto my nose and cheeks (the only exposed skin I had). And though my body was begging me to just pick a damn restaurant and go inside, literally anywhere with walls and some warm food, I walked away from the harbor and back up the walking streets. It wasn’t until I was almost back at my hotel that I found the perfect dinner spot I didn’t realize I was waiting for: An almost deserted Chinese restaurant with harsh fluorescent lighting that could serve me a massive bowl of noodle soup. With a side of spring rolls. One Night In Bangkok played on the speakers, as I slurped from the oversized spoon. I’d posted a picture to my Instagram story earlier, of several of the iconic Copenhagen towers, silhouetted by the dark sky. It had a reply from my friend Ellen, who is from Denmark but lived in London. “Are you in Copenhagen?!” She asked. I replied that I was here through the weekend. “I literally fly in tomorrow, can we hang out tomorrow night?” She went back. My heart leapt. It was such a random coincidence, and it warmed me more than even the giant bowl of soup could. I think, though I do love traveling, I’ve grown to enjoy the people I can share a place with even more.

The next day I slept in, but still wanted to get out and see the city. Again, it took me ages to settle on a place to grab a bite to eat. I’d already walked to Rosenborg Castle and up to the top of the Round Tower before I found myself a veggie bagel at the cafe at the top of Illum’s shopping center.

The view from the top of the Round Tower

I made my way down to Nyhavn, past the beautiful colorful buildings to the water, where the opera house sits across the bay. All the way down to the Little Mermaid statue, then back past Amalienborg, the home of the Danish royal family. I’m not sure how many miles I’d gone, but my feet were very ready to take a break. I made my way back towards my hotel, intending on getting a bite to eat and warming up a little. But walking by the gates of Tivoli, I realized this might be my only afternoon to visit. I considered the moderately expensive entrance fee a gift to my younger self. I adored this place growing up; the rides, the beautifully decorated buildings and alleyways, the sweet little restaurants and the decadent soft serve vanilla ice cream (dipped in chocolate powder, of course). This time, draped in a thin layer of fake snow, it looked much smaller than I remembered it. It was almost deserted, with only a few people wandering through the gift shops and admiring the ornately painted structures. Here and there, elevated fire pits stood for people to warm their hands by. The park has a small population of peacocks, and they too were cuddling up by the fires. I found a mulled wine stand, so a steaming mug soon was also combatting the cold. There wasn’t much to do, other than wander around and take in the sights. There were lots of tiny lights everywhere, leftover from Christmas, and flock of sculpted swans, each with a tiny golden crown, floated on the lake. In the summer, the lanes and little parks would be filled with children screaming and playing, and the restaurants would be bustling with customers. There were only a few rides that were open now, including the fun house, which I took a wander through. It’s not quite the same experience without people to laugh with, riding down slides and running over moving tracks designed to trip you up. Nevertheless, I clambered over enough rope ladders to make it worth my while.

Several hours later, I was walking through the meat packing district, an area I’d never been in before, following the address Ellen had said to meet her at. The streets fluctuated between “sketchy” and “trendy”, sometimes a little of both. After about a 20 minute walk, I found the place. A sign outside the door said “Come in for the worst g&t some guy on Yelp has ever had!” Wandering the crowd of what seemed to be entirely locals, I found Ellen and her friend Benedicte, who I’d met one once London. It was 2 for 1 g&t’s, so we took full advantage of that (they weren’t as bad as the guy on Yelp seemed to think, just quite strong, which I’ve never seen as a negative). We tucked ourselves away in a corner and caught up, soon filling our small, wobbly table with empty glasses. Benedicte worked at a little Italian restaurant close by Tivoli, so we walked back in that direction, stopping by my hotel room to drink a bottle of wine, eat some chips, and have a little dance party.

The restaurant was still open, so we sat at tables outside, drinking Aperol Spritzes in the freezing cold. Benedicte told us about when she’d served Mads Mikkelsen and the crown prince of Denmark in the restaurant one night. We shared stories and sipped our freezing cold but delicious drinks, laughing so hard I worried we might be disrupting the actual customers. Eventually, as the tables inside cleared, we moved in and warmed up, before setting off on another adventure. They took me to Floss, a bar with a heavily graffitied front, thick with customers and cigarette smoke. We found some decaying couches downstairs and chatted with strangers and watched people play pool. Then we braved the cold once more and endured a painfully long line to get into a nightclub, where we danced in projected lights making patterns in the floor, sang along to the music in brash, out of tune voices, and snuck out into the roped off smoking area outside when it got too hot indoors. It’s all a blur. We left around 4am, when I discovered to my delight it was only a 10 minute walk back to my hotel. Once home, I chugged 3 glasses of water, then fell asleep until noon.

I love revisiting places I went when I was younger. I’m an awfully nostalgic person, and I find an odd pleasure in the combined delight in familiarity, and a yearning for past or distant happiness. Yet the people I’ve met as I’ve gotten older, the ones who’ve shown me new sides to the places I thought I knew well, they give me things to love about the places of my childhood which I never would have thought I’d be lucky enough to find. Traveling alone can be a very rewarding and interesting experience, but in this instance, I was so grateful for the companionship, the company, and the new nostalgia to discover the next time I visit.

Russell Square

I’ve fallen behind on these. Life just got ahold of me the last two weeks, and I haven’t written. If you’re upset, I’m very sorry.

I can’t say that I have anything particularly great to say right now. But I felt I should check in, scribble something down. I do have several stories which I’ve been working on a bit, they’re just not finished.

So here we are. It’s a lush Thursday afternoon, and I’m sat on a bench in Russell Square eating some rice and biryani from a market nearby. It’s a tad spicy, but the guy who sold it to me said I should try a bit of the spicy sauce because it’s very good. He’s not wrong, but my mouth is on fire. The sun is so bright and heavy, there isn’t a cloud in the sky. This is the summer day that Londoners we’re waiting for. It’s been a lot of humidity, a lot of heat, spurts of rain, but this is the first day of beautiful unrestricted sunshine we’ve had in a while. People are lying in every spot of available grass. Several people blow clouds of vape smoke into the soft breeze. Ah, heavenly.

This is a beautiful park, with massive trees stretching their branches wide over the plots of perfect grass below. In the center is a bubbling fountain, encircled by benches and small hedges. A tree tunnel curves over one of the sidewalks, and an Italian cafe pours delicious smells into the air.

That cafe was where I had breakfast with my parents for the last time before the start of my MA. They flew home to Colorado that afternoon, but we wanted one more little hangout beforehand. I got a cappuccino and a little almond pastry. We chatted about mundane things. Then they walked me down the road, I gave them both a hug and said goodbye. It wasn’t particularly heavy, I saw them a few months later for Christmas. But it still was a big moment. Moving to the other side of the world is a massive step to take as a 22 year old, especially when you don’t know anyone there. I don’t think the weight of that step ever resonated with me as much as it should have. It was hard sometimes, but then I’d walk through another park, have another pint with new friends, see the lights glittering on the river, and those worries were suddenly so small.

That was almost two years ago. Since then I’ve spent a large amount of time in this area of London, going to classes, going to the pub, wandering around the British museum, falling asleep in the library, and rehearsing shows which weren’t all great, but were occasionally legendary.

My time spent in London has been some of the busiest of my life. Not all of it has been school. I’ve traveled to other cities and countries, ate at amazing restaurants, walked the south bank a hundred times over, blasted 80’s pop tunes into my ears for many a tube ride, and dragged my friends out dancing more times than I can count. It was so full of life, memories, and days which at the time I said I would never forget. Now they’re a blur of photos on my Instagram, but sometimes those moments slip back into my mind and make me smile.

On top of all these things that I did, there’s an equally long list of things I didn’t do. Places I didn’t visit, bars I never made it to, people I failed to message back, shows I didn’t have time to see and projects that didn’t hold my attention long enough to get the creative momentum they deserved. And I could beat myself up about that. But I won’t, because I am proud of the things I did accomplish, and am so happy with the memories I did make.

This may just be a drawn out excuse for why I haven’t written in two weeks. I shall try to do better. But when life happens, I make time for the things that I deem deserve my time, in that moment. In this case, my writing had to be put on hold so I could direct, act, hike with my mom, and spent time with people who I care about. Maybe one day I’ll get better at balancing it all.

Anyway. After writing this, I fell asleep for an hour on the grass, and got a rather bad sunburn. So that can be my punishment for being negligent of my blog. Hope we’re even now.

Ravello

I’m lying on a lounge chair, in a plot of bright green grass. In front of me, a stone ledge drops down to another layer of this tiered garden, so nothing except for a minimal wooden fence is obstructing my view of the breathtaking cliffs and crystal blue sea of the Amalfi Coast. Tall rocky mountains rise up sharply from the shore, extending to my left until they are lost in the low hanging clouds. They are converted in green vegetation, with large sections of terraced land where rows of lemon trees grow abundantly. It’s harvest season, so large strips which were covered in black netting several days ago are now exposed so the farmers can pick the ripe yellow fruit. The towns of Minori and Majori lie below me, their little houses nestled into the cliff sides and right up to the beach. Further in the distance, the edge of Italy stretches south, until it can’t be made out anymore.

From the balcony of our hotel room, the view is just as incredible. In the morning, it’s hazy with condensation in the air. Thick clouds wind their way in from the ocean and through the sharp valleys of the land. Little boats bob near the harbors in clumps. The clouds are so thick that you can’t see the horizon. Some mornings, clouds float so close that you can reach out and touch them. Then within a few hours, they’ve dispersed and you can see clearly again.

We arrived to Ravello on Thursday afternoon, following a long and windy car ride up from Naples. The roads are steep and skinny, barely wide enough for two small cars. I’ve driven steep dirt roads on the sides of cliffs getting to trailheads in Colorado, but those are four lane highways compared to this. After a mild amount of motion sickness, we arrived at our hotel.

Ravello is a small town, with the central area mostly comprised of walking streets. There is a square and an ancient church, the villa of a nobleman who once hosted Wagner, and countless limoncello vendors and pottery stores. A bit after arriving, we were about to leave the hotel to find an ATM, and the concierge called after us to take an umbrella. I was confused, as it was bright and sunny outside the last time I checked. As if on cue, rain began pouring from the sky outside. My mom and I huddled under the umbrella as we made our way down the steep cobblestone steps. People stood under awnings, waiting out the storm. We wandered down a few streets, but after 10 minutes, we decided the cash point could wait until later.

That evening as the rain persisted, we were thankfully having dinner at the hotel, and didn’t have to walk far. We ordered a few courses, but nothing too crazy or filling. After leaving us with some breadsticks, the waiter then brought a selection of appetizers from the kitchen. This included a piece of veggie sushi, a miniature haddock bun, a stuffed tomato, an airy, savory cake topped with foam made of cheese, and a small chip with dots of sauce on it which tasted like a crispy pizza. And then there was more bread. Then our two courses were served, mine a salad of local vegetables and a lemon ravioli, my mom’s a noodle soup and a fillet of scorpion fish. We were absolutely stuffed afterwards, and replied the typical “oh no I couldn’t possibly” in regards to the dessert menu. Several moments later, a cart was brought next to our table, and the waiter unloaded a lemon cake, several chocolate biscuits, a selection of chocolates, and two frosted lemon creme puffs. Welcome to Italy, you say you’re full, and they’ll ignore you.

On the second day, we hiked from Ravello all the way down to the town of Amalfi. It took about 5 hours. A woman named Maria was our guide, and told us all about the history of the towns, the buildings, and the culture. The towns are laced together by stone walkways and steep stairways. Children practice dance routines in small passages, people walk up and down on their way to the store or the cafe, and cats slip between iron fences, searching for a snack. As we reached an overlook above Amalfi, she waved over across the valley to a man who was on a ladder in the middle of a patch of lemon trees. It was her dad, she explained. “He’s out taking down the netting over the trees, so they can harvest them. It’s mostly just him, because my mom doesn’t like to help with the trees.” She said she left home to go to school, and was away for a while, but has now come back and lived here for the last few years. She explained it quite poetically: “You have to go to the place where your heart is at home. No matter how far away you go or what you want to see, your home will always know you best.”

We hiked down into the valley, which had a unique climate, close to a tropical rainforest. The mountains and trees shield the area from wind and weather, and water is constantly seeping in from the springs high above. The area is home to a rare bulb plant from the age of dinosaurs, and some extremely unique wildlife flourish in the ecosystem it fosters. My personal favorite were these ladybugs with dark iridescent wings, like gemstones.

Amalfi is the tourist hub of the coast. Tour busses bring in throngs of travelers every day, to walk the streets, buy souvenirs, and visit the cathedral. The streets are too small to accommodate the crowds, and it’s sometimes difficult to get where you want to go. Thankfully, Maria knew several side streets which she snuck us down, passages easily looked over by foreign eyes. We came back to Amalfi for dinner that night, and our table overlooked the harbor. The sky slowly turned pink, then darkened, and all the lights on the hill turned on one by one, until it looked like a pile of stars. The view goes very well with a sweet wine, I’d recommend Privilegio dei Feudi di San Gregorio, 2016.

Four days isn’t long enough to visit all the towns, soak up all the sunshine you wanted (particularly with the daily afternoon rainstorms we were getting), or drink as many Aperol spritzes as you intended. It’s the kind of place you could visit over and over again, and create a tradition of. The focus isn’t seeing the big attractions, visiting museums, or taking pictures in front of important monuments. The best way to see the Amalfi Coast is just to be in it, to spend a few days at that pace of life, to explore it with an open heart. There are no to-go coffee cups or fast food restaurants. If you need a bite to eat or a bit of caffeine, you sit and enjoy it. You eat late, and you eat everything they serve to you (even if there are 10 extra things you did not ask for). You soak in the richness of the culture, the quaintness of these sweet towns, and the light scent of lemon that lingers in the trees.

And when the view unfolds below you, you take a moment to sit in silence and take it in. You’ve seen the pictures on Instagram I’m sure, but it’s no understatement to say that it takes your breath away. Even when you’ve looked out on it countless times over the course of a few days, it still is just as thrilling. It makes you feel just as small. And always, endlessly grateful.

For Emma

It was a hot summer day, and I’d been hiding in the humid basement of the London Palladium all morning. I had been wrapping gifts for press night of the Frank Sinatra tribute show, and had decided this was the coolest thing I’d gotten to do for my internship so far. Not that wrapping presents is particularly thrilling (though they were some very nice custom engraved whiskey glasses), but getting to wander around this old and beautiful theatre was absolute magic. I think it was also influenced by the fact that my friend Emma was coming to visit me that day, so I was in a very happy place. She had been doing an archeological dig in France, and decided to visit London for a week before heading back home. I had been in London for about a month, and was longing for a familiar face from home.

She was coming to the theatre around 2pm, and I said I’d meet her by the front entrance at that time. I was standing outside on time, realizing that this may have not been the best meeting place. The palladium faces a walking street, and on this particular day it was swarming with people. I waited, but no sign of Emma. I kept telling myself it would be fine, but panicking is a fun hobby of mine, so I pondered if she had gone to the other entrance, if she was lost in a sea of double decker busses, or if she’d just been kidnapped by the Queen. Anyone’s guess was as good as mine. I was out of range from the palladium’s Wi-Fi, so I had to hope that somehow, she would find me (in the exact place I told her to meet me, yes I know, this story isn’t really meant to be written as a suspenseful one, but just work with me, ok?).

Then I heard someone singing. A bit odd, singing on the middle of a busy city street. Normally I’d assume someone had been to a particularly good Happy Hour and just ignore it. But Emma is a singer. Not just a person who is good at singing, but a person who will burst into song at any given time. Mention the name of your latest favorite tune, she will sing you through to the first chorus. Unabashedly, soulfully, usually in the middle of a public place. So as the lyrics to the “At Last I See The Light” rose above the crowd, I whipped around to see a mass of brown hair running towards me. We threw our arms around each other and held on tight and laughed and cried, as people wove around our very unashamed display of affection.

It’s easy to get caught up with life and lose track of people. You may not reach out to your closest friends while you’re off traveling the world because they’re not in the forefront of your mind. And that’s ok, it’s hardly a critique on your friendship, but more a compliment to your mind’s ability to focus on what’s right in front of your eyes. Also, there is a level of faith we have in our close friends, whether we acknowledge it or not, to be there for us when we return, the same as we left them. I enjoy spending time with friends in places where we didn’t get to know each other. We get to learn about a new place, and hopefully learn a bit more about each other. It’s enlightening and strange.

I saw Emma again last night. Since we graduated from our undergrad, it’s become harder to see each other often, with her living in New York, and me living between London and Colorado. I walked into her house last night and she was standing there in her wedding dress, her hair and makeup done up like a dream. She’s not getting married for a few months yet, but she wanted to try it all out. It’s moments like these that force me to realize how quickly the time has flown. Those two girls hugging in the middle of London aren’t lost, but they’ve grown and changed, and want different things now.

Time doesn’t change who we are to each other though. A support system, a shoulder to cry on, a girls night out, and a laugh for your worst joke. Even as we flesh out our careers, make new friends, and go on new adventures with new people, we know we can always depend on one another. And I can’t wait to see her walk down the aisle, and witness all of the beautiful adventures that await her after that.

We were walking along the Southbank in London that summer way back when, holding hands and talking about how much we loved this city. Some guy passed us and asked, “Are you in love?”

We both replied, without hesitation, “Yes!”

And I always will be in love with her. And I know she will too, with me. The love of a dear friend has the power to last thorough anything. It can bolster you in times of need and shine on you through your success. Lovers come and go, family is constant, but friends, true friends, are the family we choose. They are the ones who define your life, and the greatest ones will always return to your orbit. The more people I meet and the wider my contact list spreads across the globe, the more I begin to recognize the humans who would cross oceans for me. The ones who would make me burst into song at the sight of them, regardless of the odd looks it might cause.

(I love you Emma. Happy Birthday. I’m so endlessly proud of you and grateful to have you in my life.)

February 14, 2019. London.

It’s Valentine’s Day. I just spent a lovely evening with a few friends, having wine and cheese and chocolate. We had plans to go out, but they fell through in the end. The party’s over. Which is fine. But I have on this gorgeous green dress with slits up the legs and my tallest stilettos, and I sure as hell didn’t put on this outfit to call it an early evening. Instead of heading down to the tube and retreating home, I’m sitting at The Booking Office bar in the St Pancras hotel, having a nightcap.

It’s a little odd, being alone in a bar, very dressed up, particularly on Valentine’s Day. But being alone doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable. Being idle does, which is why I’m writing about this in the notes section of my phone. There is live music; a singer and a guitarist, playing some jazzy versions of pop hits. I’ve ordered a martini. It’s gin, with hints of lemon and lavender. The waiter presented me an empty glass with a twirl of lemon, then poured the liquid from a corked bottle. As a final flourish, he sprayed a lavender mist onto the surface.

I didn’t need to come to a bar at 11pm and spend £14 on a stiff drink. But if I’m my own valentine, I guess that entitles me to treat myself to something a bit fancy. Also, it’s setting in that I leave London in one week. And I won’t be able to wander through St Pancras station when I’m looking to kill an hour and see some beautiful architecture. It’s just two months until I come back to the UK. But I’m starting to realize the next time I leave, it’ll likely be for much longer.

“The world is your oyster”. That’s a good phrase to describe where I’m currently at. It’s normally a positive phrase, implying there is anywhere you can go and anything you can do with your life. But it also can mean, and currently means for me, I have nowhere that is pulling me, nothing to focus on. I’m in the unfortunate situation in which, the place where I’ve established a career and a life for myself, is not available to me as a home. I mean, it is, but I can’t legally work, there’s no visa I can get, lots of formalities and what not, basically meaning no London for Paige. Not long term, anyway.

If I think about it too hard, it makes me more melancholy than I can bear. This city gives me energy, it breathes life into my mind. I find myself smiling while walking down the street, like a character in a sappy film strolling into the end credits. I don’t know if I’ll find another place that will make me feel so elated, and I’ll be doomed to exist in a mere state of contentment wherever I next settle down. I’m probably just being melodramatic. I am alone in a bar on Valentine’s Day after all, it comes with the territory.

When I was younger, I would set goals for myself. Nothing too complicated, just a silly promise that by next Valentine’s Day, there would be someone special in my life. And February 14 came and went, year after year. I seem to greatly enjoy the anticipation for something, even after being faced with disappointment again and again. This is a trait that has plagued me often. At the slightest glimmer of attention or affection, I let the anticipation consume me. I’m not sure what I hope for. It’s not always a relationship, or love, but simply human connection, kindness, intimacy. So in the frequent occurrence that said person loses interest, ghosts me, finds someone more interesting, or just turns out to be a dick bag, it hits a lot heavier than it might for someone who keeps their guard up. But it never deters me, I go back with the same amount of hope every time. I think by now I just know that I can handle the heartache.

I am fortunate to have so many people in my life who love and support me. As the years of singlehood grow in number, so does the number of amazing humans I am lucky to call friends. London has blessed me with so many, and honestly that’s the real reason I can’t walk through this city without smiling. These streets and buildings mean more to me than just their architecture. They remind me of people I’ve walked bridges with, toasted outside of bars with, sat in parks with and stumbled into the tube with. The memories burst from every corner, like a scrapbook I can stand in the middle of.

It’s harder to face rejection from a place than from a person. Because the only one leaving is you. The place will move on, and the people in it will continue their lives, unfazed by your absence. You pack your bags and buy the plane ticket willingly, but you still press your face to the window as you rise into the sky, trying to catch one more glimpse before it disappears into the clouds.

I’ve finished my drink. People still linger at tables around me, but it’s quieted down. I should probably head out soon, so I don’t miss the last train.

I’m setting a goal for myself. For next Valentine’s Day, a year from today. I want to be somewhere that I love. Even if I don’t love it as much as London, I want to find something to love about wherever I find myself, and whoever I’m there with.

And if I find myself alone in another bar, spending too much money on a drink, at least I’ll know that wherever I am is too magical to call it an early night, even when the party’s over.