This morning, Julie and I were met with multiple interrogations about our Danish family (Thompson travel is a very difficult concept to understand – you didn’t think Copenhagen was on the way from Tennessee to Wisconsin??), as well as reassurance that we had chosen our supper wisely in comparison to the hotel fare. Many eyes flashed green as descriptions of limp pasta and a handful of tomatoes sagged in comparison to our Thai adventure. Thanks again, Auntie and Uncle!

We loaded up the bus and picked up Ida, a local guide, at Tivoli Gardens to set off on a journey through Copenhagen. She afforded a wonderful mixture of history, current news, and humor as we wove through the city and a multitude of the 650,000+ bicycles the residents of Copenhagen use for their daily commute. We saw many of the highlights that we had visited on foot the night before, but with the addition of hundreds of tourists which had sprouted up in the daylight. As we pulled up to the Little Mermaid statue, my stomach dropped as quickly as my jaw at the sight of this crawling mass of selfie sticks and fanny packs.

We were on our own for lunch, afforded 30 minutes at the Rådhuspladsen to find food and get back to the bus. The 2-hour tour and Jessica’s intentional efforts to curb traveler’s dehydration had her eyeballs floating, so a pitstop at McDonald’s for a mixed gender WC was first priority, followed by a stop at my favorite store in Scandinavia: 7-Eleven. Seriously – the bakery and to-go food items bring it into the running with Kwik Trip, which in Jess’ world is generally unrivaled.

Couscous salad and smoothie in hand, we were off by bus, cramming ourselves into the Danish Resistance museum, then spilling out in all directions onto the streets-under-construction to look for the bus “parked just around the corner”. At one point, I was running down the sidewalk to turn wanderers back to the group like some sort of Danish Lassie heeling stragglers. 🐕

Once rounded up, we rode to the Rosenborg Palace for a tour with a very eager Danish young man who wanted to ensure we had all the important details of this 17th-century castle housing the crown jewels of Denmark. We squeezed by tourists on the spiral staircase and huddled in corners, straining to hear the guide on what I felt was an interminable tour of opulence. My sentiments would likely have been different had this been early in our journey, and had I not known that my aunt was waiting with snacks for us in the palace gardens. I coped with pursed-lip breathing in the corner (read: I was panting) as our tour ticked on until closing time and we were pressed out to the lockers with the crowds to retrieve our backpacks.

By the time we escaped to the gardens and found our Auntie Connie, we had just 20 minutes before the bus would depart. We snacked on cardamom buns (think cinnamon rolls, but with joy baked inside) and watched yellow jackets get braver.

I hemmed and hawed about evening plans now that our visiting hours were cut short. I finally gave the nod to Julie to chase down the group and tell them to leave without us, and we followed our aunt into the city to find a market, then to a city park to find some green space.

Stepping into Ørstedsparken was a balm for my anxious heart. We placed blankets on the lawn beside curious ducks and pigeons, laying out our market finds of fresh cherries, bread, cheese, pasta salads, and lemonade. In typical Thompson fashion, we had enough food for quadruple our group size.

We feasted and shared, counseled and healed. Eventually the evening air grew chilly enough that we reluctantly packed up our picnic and made our way to the train station. I clutched the leftover multi-grain sourdough boule to my chest, a wedge of cheese nestled alongside, giggling as I realized that I had found a couple “hunks” in Copenhagen — so I held them a little closer.