We've boarded our flight for home.
It was not in the least a routine effort. First our tube station - the one we used yesterday - was closed, necessitating a walk to the next one. Then there were delays at King's Cross, a string of trains help up due to someone becoming ill on board and then the subsequent train being taken out of service. Meanwhile the throngs continued to build up. The train we evenntually fit on stopped unaccountable for several minutes, one stop short of our goal. I don't have time to detail all that followed, but we made it abord with very little margin. Anyway, we're on our way home.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Funnier than the Black Death
We have obtained last-moment tickets to Monty Python's Spamalot. Fourth row.
London
We've arrived in London. We left out suitcases at Heathrow and came into town with just our carryons stuffed with what we need for one night.
While the hotel got our room ready we made our pilgrimage to Forbidden Planet. We're capable of spending a lot of time there, but after just an hour and a half Kristiana commanded me to remove her before she could add further to her growing stack of book purchases. Fearing for our luggage weight allowance, I agreed.
Now we're checked in at our hotel. For reasons mysterious to us both we have been upgraded to what I call a large, oddly-shaped room and what the hotel calls a suite. To me a suite implies space subdivided somehow by an interior doorway which our room lacks, but no matter, it is large and comfortable and above the city's noise.
Besides our bed, topped by a four foot square light green pillow like some sort of great woolen turndown mint, there is a sitting area with coffee table, a walk-in closet, a long bathroom with dual taps and separate tub and shower, and a desk slash master control station with enough outlets for a small press corps' worth of cell phone chargers (if they didn't want to use the 71-button - I'm not kidding - room telephone). The hanging lamp is decorative, and there are framed kimonos on the walls. The chief reminder that we are not really the sorts of people that a hotel puts in its _best_ suites is the view, which features an interior courtyard of roofs and ventilation ducts.
Plans for tonight are not set.
While the hotel got our room ready we made our pilgrimage to Forbidden Planet. We're capable of spending a lot of time there, but after just an hour and a half Kristiana commanded me to remove her before she could add further to her growing stack of book purchases. Fearing for our luggage weight allowance, I agreed.
Now we're checked in at our hotel. For reasons mysterious to us both we have been upgraded to what I call a large, oddly-shaped room and what the hotel calls a suite. To me a suite implies space subdivided somehow by an interior doorway which our room lacks, but no matter, it is large and comfortable and above the city's noise.
Besides our bed, topped by a four foot square light green pillow like some sort of great woolen turndown mint, there is a sitting area with coffee table, a walk-in closet, a long bathroom with dual taps and separate tub and shower, and a desk slash master control station with enough outlets for a small press corps' worth of cell phone chargers (if they didn't want to use the 71-button - I'm not kidding - room telephone). The hanging lamp is decorative, and there are framed kimonos on the walls. The chief reminder that we are not really the sorts of people that a hotel puts in its _best_ suites is the view, which features an interior courtyard of roofs and ventilation ducts.
Plans for tonight are not set.
We were upgraded at our London hotel
the walk-in closet.
Sea day and departure from Copenhagen
We're waiting to board our flight from Copenhagen to London. Not much to report about yesterday - between the rain and Kristiana's beginning thw Harry Potter book at breakfast, we declared it a virtual sea day - no ports of call - until evening when we went out to the Danish design center (a big disappointment) and Tivoli.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Photos from yesterday - an assortment
How the Danes get around
Cafe Ketchup
Tivoli by night
Whoosh
I'm not making this up, you know.
Suit up!
Madelyn under ice
Kristi, Phil and Madelyn at -5 degrees C
The end of a long day
Ketchup, ketchup
We went to the Absolut Icebar, and we closed the place down.
But before that we enjoyed a day out and about in Copenhagen, a stereophonic disappointment, several flavors of ice cream, dinner with friends at Tivoli, a terrifying thrill ride, and more ice cream.
After checking in to our highly modern hotel and room and dozing briefly - I don't know why we were sleepy, but we were - we each set out to wander the city on foot. I headed, in a roundabout way, for the Bang & Olufsen flagship store just off Kongens Nytorv which is a combination of monument, public space, and traffic circle - somewhat like Place de la Concorde in Paris. Hence: a proud location for any store, especially a company flagship.
I have some old B&O equipment from, believe it or not, the '70's, and I thought the main store might be able to help me with some of its special cabling and with a new turntable cartridge.
I overestimated B&O badly. They had no idea what to do with their superb location except to stock it with some equipment samples, a few explanatory placards, and a couple bored men sitting behind desks (who were unable, or too bored, to help me with my parts needs other than to suggest I might have better luck in America). It was shameful to the point of being irritating: perhaps the oldest design/lifestyle consumer electronics brand in existence, and their merchandising efforts make them look like ignorant hicks, an emarrassment to anyone who owns their gear. If the newest, rawest group of Apple Store trainees marched in and booted them all out, the professionalism of B&O's flagship store would be upgraded a hundredfold in a day.
But I rant. The rest of the day was good. After an afternoon of changing money, buying ice cream (tiramisu on a cone turns out to be less good than it sounds, and strawberry all too detectable on the breath by suspicious wives) walking among pretty and historic sights I won't bore you by listing, it was time to get ready for dinner at Tivoli with Kristi, her husband Phil who'd flown into town, and Madelyn.
Tivoli houses any number of restaurants, but to any Prairie Home cruiser there was only one thematically appropriate choice, Cafe Ketchup. You'd never guess it from the name but it's a well-reviewed Danish version of a French bistro, with dishes like roast cockerel and braised veal shank. And pasta bolognese for Madelyn.
It was as great a pleasure to meet Phil and enjoy dinner and conversation with him as it had been for the past week with Kristi and Madelyn alone, so it was nearly 10:30 by the time we left our table. After our full and lengthy meal, Kristiana and Madelyn had one destination in mind, the terrifying Demon roller coaster whose screaming passengers could be heard for some distance through the park. Phil was game too, while Kristi and I volunteered to stay behind to hold the ground down, as Kristi put it: "we'll make sure it's still here when you get back."
There's a spot where you can not only track the progress of the line but where the coaster itself passes so close that you don't just feel the breeze but are nearly tossed about by it. Fortunately it's near the end of the ride when passengers are out of breath, so the screams aren't too bad. Nonetheless by the time a dozen or so coaster-loads had passed by, Kristi had experienced enough vicarious terror for one night, so we went to the ride's exit just in time to see our heroes emerging. And wanting to go again.
The line was much shorter the second time, so we only had a few minutes to explore - specifically to search for ice cream, since coaster-riding gives excitable 9-year-old girls an appetite (and thirtysomething girls and fortysomething dads, as it turns out). We found a combination ice-cream and candy booth whose signature product seemed to be popsicle-sized slabs of candy on a stick. It had a soft look, like taffy, and came in a remarkable array of fruit flavors, some of which seemed not likely to be big hits back home.
Our crew emerged from the ride once again, Madelyn at a run saying "I want ice cream!" Though I was fairly sure she spoke for Kristiana as well, it was incumbent upon me to check.
"Dear, you've been hurled through the air, spun upside down, and twisted sideways while traveling unprotected at unmentionable speeds."
"Mm-hmm."
"And as you hurled towards the ground, sure to be dashed to death, your screams unheard above the tumult, I'm sure you thought..."
"Wouldn't this be a nice time for a slice of rhubarb pie."
"...slab of rhubarb taffy on a stick, actually."
"Eww, grossness."
So they all had ice cream.
Somehow it was still only 11:30, meaning we still had time to get to the Icebar before closing if we didn't dawdle. It wasn't a long walk, and in a few minutes we were in the Icebar's lobby, snowsuiting up (your cover charge includes use of a comfy and not unfashionable insulated poncho, and this is a very good thing, at least for us wimpy Californians). Copenhagen being an enlightened sort of place, Madelyn was allowed to go in too, though she was served juice instead of vodka.
Icebar is everything it ought to be: slightly subterranean, dimly lit in gloomy blueish tones, and built out of eerily beautiful, bubble-free blocks of clear, glossy ice. What's more, to my astonishment, the drinks were *good*, something unexpected but wholly welcome in a novelty bar.
By the time we were ready to go - both because of the cold and because the sumo imitations of a trio of businessmen possibly not on their first round had become uncomfortably loud in the reverberant space - the bar was closing anyway. Madelyn brought her glass - made of ice, of course - out with her so she could watch it melt. We said and hugged our goodbyes as the Icebar locked its doors and the businessmen disappeared into the night.
But before that we enjoyed a day out and about in Copenhagen, a stereophonic disappointment, several flavors of ice cream, dinner with friends at Tivoli, a terrifying thrill ride, and more ice cream.
After checking in to our highly modern hotel and room and dozing briefly - I don't know why we were sleepy, but we were - we each set out to wander the city on foot. I headed, in a roundabout way, for the Bang & Olufsen flagship store just off Kongens Nytorv which is a combination of monument, public space, and traffic circle - somewhat like Place de la Concorde in Paris. Hence: a proud location for any store, especially a company flagship.
I have some old B&O equipment from, believe it or not, the '70's, and I thought the main store might be able to help me with some of its special cabling and with a new turntable cartridge.
I overestimated B&O badly. They had no idea what to do with their superb location except to stock it with some equipment samples, a few explanatory placards, and a couple bored men sitting behind desks (who were unable, or too bored, to help me with my parts needs other than to suggest I might have better luck in America). It was shameful to the point of being irritating: perhaps the oldest design/lifestyle consumer electronics brand in existence, and their merchandising efforts make them look like ignorant hicks, an emarrassment to anyone who owns their gear. If the newest, rawest group of Apple Store trainees marched in and booted them all out, the professionalism of B&O's flagship store would be upgraded a hundredfold in a day.
But I rant. The rest of the day was good. After an afternoon of changing money, buying ice cream (tiramisu on a cone turns out to be less good than it sounds, and strawberry all too detectable on the breath by suspicious wives) walking among pretty and historic sights I won't bore you by listing, it was time to get ready for dinner at Tivoli with Kristi, her husband Phil who'd flown into town, and Madelyn.
Tivoli houses any number of restaurants, but to any Prairie Home cruiser there was only one thematically appropriate choice, Cafe Ketchup. You'd never guess it from the name but it's a well-reviewed Danish version of a French bistro, with dishes like roast cockerel and braised veal shank. And pasta bolognese for Madelyn.
It was as great a pleasure to meet Phil and enjoy dinner and conversation with him as it had been for the past week with Kristi and Madelyn alone, so it was nearly 10:30 by the time we left our table. After our full and lengthy meal, Kristiana and Madelyn had one destination in mind, the terrifying Demon roller coaster whose screaming passengers could be heard for some distance through the park. Phil was game too, while Kristi and I volunteered to stay behind to hold the ground down, as Kristi put it: "we'll make sure it's still here when you get back."
There's a spot where you can not only track the progress of the line but where the coaster itself passes so close that you don't just feel the breeze but are nearly tossed about by it. Fortunately it's near the end of the ride when passengers are out of breath, so the screams aren't too bad. Nonetheless by the time a dozen or so coaster-loads had passed by, Kristi had experienced enough vicarious terror for one night, so we went to the ride's exit just in time to see our heroes emerging. And wanting to go again.
The line was much shorter the second time, so we only had a few minutes to explore - specifically to search for ice cream, since coaster-riding gives excitable 9-year-old girls an appetite (and thirtysomething girls and fortysomething dads, as it turns out). We found a combination ice-cream and candy booth whose signature product seemed to be popsicle-sized slabs of candy on a stick. It had a soft look, like taffy, and came in a remarkable array of fruit flavors, some of which seemed not likely to be big hits back home.
Our crew emerged from the ride once again, Madelyn at a run saying "I want ice cream!" Though I was fairly sure she spoke for Kristiana as well, it was incumbent upon me to check.
"Dear, you've been hurled through the air, spun upside down, and twisted sideways while traveling unprotected at unmentionable speeds."
"Mm-hmm."
"And as you hurled towards the ground, sure to be dashed to death, your screams unheard above the tumult, I'm sure you thought..."
"Wouldn't this be a nice time for a slice of rhubarb pie."
"...slab of rhubarb taffy on a stick, actually."
"Eww, grossness."
So they all had ice cream.
Somehow it was still only 11:30, meaning we still had time to get to the Icebar before closing if we didn't dawdle. It wasn't a long walk, and in a few minutes we were in the Icebar's lobby, snowsuiting up (your cover charge includes use of a comfy and not unfashionable insulated poncho, and this is a very good thing, at least for us wimpy Californians). Copenhagen being an enlightened sort of place, Madelyn was allowed to go in too, though she was served juice instead of vodka.
Icebar is everything it ought to be: slightly subterranean, dimly lit in gloomy blueish tones, and built out of eerily beautiful, bubble-free blocks of clear, glossy ice. What's more, to my astonishment, the drinks were *good*, something unexpected but wholly welcome in a novelty bar.
By the time we were ready to go - both because of the cold and because the sumo imitations of a trio of businessmen possibly not on their first round had become uncomfortably loud in the reverberant space - the bar was closing anyway. Madelyn brought her glass - made of ice, of course - out with her so she could watch it melt. We said and hugged our goodbyes as the Icebar locked its doors and the businessmen disappeared into the night.
The View From Breakfast - addendum
bicycle in the rain. Taken outside our hotel, the Copenhagen 27.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Hotel Twentyseven Copenhagen
The first thing you notice about Hotel Twentyseven is that your cab has pulled up outside the Absolut Ice Bar (dress warmly, everything inside is made of ice, except when it's made of vodka). Then you see a small hotel entrance beside it. Directly ahead as you enter is a wall-sized photograph of a woman seated outside a forest whose skirt has been blown up by the wind, revealing expensive tastes in lingerie.
Certainly it is no less agreeable to contemplate whilst waiting to check in than the usual wooden-masted ship paintings found in more staid hotels. But should the sight begin to pale there are also the video fireplace, the 40-bottle cruvinet wine bar, and some kind of arty video something projected on the wall of a nearby room. The check-in process is accomplished at a freestanding bright red desk topped by three shiny iMac computers.
Our room is decorated in lipstick red, flat white, and matte and gloss black. It is Danish Modern carried to the point of selfconscious irony, and then carried a couple of steps further.
Kristiana's iPhone is right at home in this room.
Certainly it is no less agreeable to contemplate whilst waiting to check in than the usual wooden-masted ship paintings found in more staid hotels. But should the sight begin to pale there are also the video fireplace, the 40-bottle cruvinet wine bar, and some kind of arty video something projected on the wall of a nearby room. The check-in process is accomplished at a freestanding bright red desk topped by three shiny iMac computers.
Our room is decorated in lipstick red, flat white, and matte and gloss black. It is Danish Modern carried to the point of selfconscious irony, and then carried a couple of steps further.
Kristiana's iPhone is right at home in this room.
...our room was ready at 10am...
lying here, blogging, in Scandinavian comfort...
Michael gets grumpy
Last night's final Prairie Home how aboard ship was GREAT, lots of fun, every act got its turn, and the rhubarb, Guy Noir and ketchup scripts were even better than usual. A terrific send-off.
Unfortunately it was followed by some frenetic packing, because our luggage had to be out in the hallway by midnight. But that's not what I'm grumpy about.
I'm grumpy because they called our disembarcation group 65 minutes ahead of schedule, with no warning or apology. Picture a collective WTF?!?!? going up from the staterooms of all of groups 1, 2, and 3 Blue, the simultaneous dropping of doezens of forks across the dining room, and the waiting lines and phone lines of the front desk becoming instantly jammed with inquiries from borderline irate (or not so borderline) passengers. One of them was me.
It turned out that the buses for Green group were late and they'd tried to do a little creative reshuffling. Judging from the reception it got, I don't think they'll be trying that maneuver again.
Ultimately we left about halfway between our called time and our actual scheduled time. The wait for a taxi was not nearly so bad as we'd been led to believe, and soon we were dropping Kristi and Madelyn at their hotel and then arriving at ours.
Unfortunately it was followed by some frenetic packing, because our luggage had to be out in the hallway by midnight. But that's not what I'm grumpy about.
I'm grumpy because they called our disembarcation group 65 minutes ahead of schedule, with no warning or apology. Picture a collective WTF?!?!? going up from the staterooms of all of groups 1, 2, and 3 Blue, the simultaneous dropping of doezens of forks across the dining room, and the waiting lines and phone lines of the front desk becoming instantly jammed with inquiries from borderline irate (or not so borderline) passengers. One of them was me.
It turned out that the buses for Green group were late and they'd tried to do a little creative reshuffling. Judging from the reception it got, I don't think they'll be trying that maneuver again.
Ultimately we left about halfway between our called time and our actual scheduled time. The wait for a taxi was not nearly so bad as we'd been led to believe, and soon we were dropping Kristi and Madelyn at their hotel and then arriving at ours.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
The View From Breakfast, Part VIII
hour.
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