copenhagen was an exercise in hedonism and very little sleep. was out two nights in a row, which for a homebody like me, is double my annual quota. stayed in the meatpacking district and laden with the rest of the bbq-ed brontosaurus in doggy bags, we went clubbing. raised a couple of eyebrows and the bouncers were mean. i didn't like being forced to pay to check my coat but when in rome. club was a bit grungy and not really my scene but figure that's what it's like in copenhagen. shards of broken glass everywhere (biggest fear) and music hit and miss. but company, as always, was golden and that more than makes up for all manner of sin. eventually escaped in uber driven by palestinian when aforementioned texan started to get intel on the village he came from. sneaky.
T knows us all too well and booked brunch atop of the post museum for a civilised hour in the afternoon. in any other city, the place would've been rammed and requiring advance booking, given the gorgeous terrace and natural light. but in copenhagen it was chill and we were the only tourists. i liked how unassuming it was despite its potential. lots of three generation families all there for sunday brunch, no one overly hip and no annoyingly snap happy crowd (just us). taking the lift up was an experience and it felt like we'd gone through the roof at some point!
and because bubbles make everything better, we'd to order asti (augh, too sweet) to make mimosas.
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