Is Copenhagen The Coolest City In the World?

Last weekend, John and I flew to Denmark for a friend's wedding. En route to Nyborg, where the wedding was taking place, we stopped off in Copenhagen ('natch), where John had been before but I hadn't. I think it might be the coolest city in the world - without even trying.

After an early morning flight via Sleazyjet Easyjet, we checked into our hotel, fell asleep in the spa's jacuzzi, and dozed off again on the plush bed of our room. Upon waking, we yawned and staggered a few blocks down the road to this market (above); its highly attractive glass design and clean, paved floors made us rub our sleepy eyes with wonder.

We marveled at the fresh fish counter and settled for an antipasti tray, garlic bread (with cloves baked directly into the loaf), and glass of cold house white for each of us to munch on outside, while we people watched the rest of the afternoon away. Trust me, there are some gorgeous and very stylish Danes on the street, who could easily pass for The Sartorialist's and Facehunter's muses. Two words: silk jumpsuits. Drool.

I'm pretty sure the presence of bikes - lovely ones with baskets and children piled on top of one another in attached, canopied carts - significantly boosts Copenhagen's cool factor. I mean, look at the storefront above. So chic, no? And everywhere you look are Scandinavian furniture shops that feature impossibly cool lights, cool chairs - cool everything. Those blankets in the shop window above? Do want. All of them.

Despite our laziness and dragging feet, we even fit in a (highly enjoyable) trip to the historic Round Tower, or Rundetarn - Christian IV's 17th-century architectural dream. Walking into the gallery space above (halfway up the tower, which, btw, is nearly almost completely paved i.e. no stairs so that Christian IV could apparently ride his horse-drawn carriage to the very top - diva, no?) was like walking into a really lovely, pleasant dream. Featuring ceramics, pillow cushions, and even knitted couture inspired by the sea, the gallery also served as a nice little break from the Tower tour.

I loved the laid-back, chilled-out vibe of Copenhagen. Everyone was friendly, but not overly friendly. Everyone was stylish but not try-hard. Did I mention that everything is also VERY EXPENSIVE? Yikes. That's my main gripe. Otherwise, I'd be popping over every other weekend.

What's Your Most Prized Possession?

What do you own that you're most proud of?

For me, it's my passport - specifically, the one I currently hold.

Let me start with the cover: John gives me a hard time about it because it's not the most flattering color, but I bought it as a present to myself when I finished my finals at the end of my junior year at Mount Holyoke. There was a store in Northampton that sold amazing museum-quality jewellery, scarves and other accessories; I had my eye on the leather passport holders in their glass case for quite some time. I still love the smell of it and the grosgrain ribbon interior. I don't think I'll ever give it up.

My passport photo itself was taken at a camera shop at the South Hill Mall in Puyallup, Washington that's no longer there. In the photo, I'm 17 but look like a 40-something mom. I've got short, curled mom hair and quite a lot of makeup on, for some reason. A TSA official told me a few years ago that she couldn't believe it was the same person as the one standing in front of her: "It's like you've aged backwards," she said, astonished. "Like ... Benjamin Button." I know, I know. I look like a 15-year-old now that I'm in my late 20s.

Then there are the visas: 6 of them in total. The first was my student visa to Oxford, where I'm smiling the smile of a smug, thinks-she-knows-it-all college student. In between that and my second student visa to the UK is the one I was issued for Russia, where I visited with my mother shortly after graduating from Mount Holyoke. It's so cool and mysterious because it's entirely in Russian and I have no idea what it says. My third visa is for the University of York, and the photo was taken at the Walgreens in Edgewood, Washington. My hair is very long and I'm smiling the happy, exhilarated smile of a recent college grad excited for her grad school adventure. A pashmina is stylishly tucked under my chin, a nod to the chic European look I picked up from studying abroad. Next is my first working permit in the UK, after I accepted my first job at Penguin Books. I'm positively glowing here and have the trendy, blunt bangs that were so-in-season at the time. This photo was taken at a Boots photo booth on the Strand. Finally is my second UK work visa. I look like an axe murderer. This photo was the result of 8 unsuccessful tries at a photo booth at Marylebone train station and a wasted £25. I had also come straight from the gym. I was not allowed to smile, due to application regulations and therefore, evidently felt that this meant I had to put on the most pissed-off expression I could muster (I was also pissed off that I had just thrown away £25 to a stupid machine that couldn't take pictures correctly). Unfortunately, the look of fury in my eyes in this photo would foretell the annoyance to come during the whole in-person application process (which had a happy ending, clearly).

As for my stamps, I'm not particularly well-traveled, since my friends have been to far more far-flung places. But still, my passport tells the story of visits to 13 different countries. Each stamp bears a lovely, warm memory of travels to locations such as sun-drenched Santorini, sangria-sipping Seville, and all the pad thai I could possibly eat in Koh Samui. It shows the three places of importance in my life as the most visited: the United States (where I'm from), Hong Kong (where my family is from), and the United Kingdom (where I'd like to be from). It shows that I have, on occasion, literally traveled "around the world" - flying from London to Hong Kong to Seattle and back to London.

My passport makes me feel like a globetrotter; it makes me feel jet set. I love the fact that it was running out of room for stamps and required an insert. I'll be sad when it comes up for renewal soon, as this particular passport has accompanied me on some eye-opening, life-changing, home-returning trips around the world. It's my most prized possession.

Links of London's "Team GB" Bracelets

My favorite British jewellery designer (or what I deem to be London's answer to New York's Tiffany & Co.), Links of London, has released new colors for its London 2012 bracelets in its Team GB range. As the creators of the "Official Jewellery Collection of London 2012", Links has come up with some rather ... erm, unimpressive (and quite frankly, tacky) charms so far. But I'm warming towards these bracelets, especially as they now come in pink/grey, blue/grey, and black/grey - not just the previous red, white and blue variety. I kind of like them, as the friendship bracelet trend comes and goes (it's on its way out, btw), and am considering getting one as a souvenir since £20 isn't really a big push. I didn't get any Royal Wedding or Diamond Jubilee souvenirs and am now over-compensating in terms of the Olympics. Before John and I got tickets to the Athletics event we're going to later this summer, I was all "bah humbug" over the Olympics - citing overcrowding, transport issues, price hikes and the like as reasons I wanted to get out of London. But since John received that fateful email that told us his ticket purchase was successful and we had the opportunity to run a 5-mile race in the Olympic Park and stadium (which I really need to blog about, I know), I've kind of been half embracing the whole "spirit of London" thing. I'm hoping to get up to Tower Bridge next weekend to take a picture of the Olympic rings. But when it comes to which team I'll be cheering for, I'm half Team GB and half Team USA.

Tell me, are you going to any Olympic events?

Just What Every Home Needs: An American Candy Drawer

The first thing I did when arriving back to the "new" flat from Heathrow two weeks ago was dump the perishable contents of my suitcase into a semi-empty kitchen drawer. Then I stood back to admire it: my own American candy drawer.

I have to confess that I stole this idea from Jodi - well, more like, happened upon her candy drawer while snooping for an extra spoon the last time I was over at her house for dinner. "Wow, Jodi!" I exclaimed, when I found her secret stash of Reese's and other American candy bars. I was fascinated. The drawer was filled to the brim. It was kind of like having a Halloween supply, but 24/7. I wanted one of my own.

Let me itemize mine for you:

Red Vines licorice (not to be confused with Twizzlers) - Purchased from the dollar store (plus tax, of course). When I was a budding prima ballerina at the Dance Annex or whatever it was called in downtown Sumner, the teacher would reward us with one Red Vine at the end of each class, distributed from those giant tubs you can get at Safeway. We could choose from black or red licorice but even biting into them now takes me back to those days, when I was about 4 or 5.

Pretzel Flipz - These are my ultimate American treat. A bit of salty and a lot of sweet, this is my favorite junk food, which I relish in consuming - much to John's disgust. "It's your teeth," he says. "I don't know how they can stand it." Well, they can't. I have like, one root canal and counting, plus like, 8 fillings. There's a reason why.

Pretzel M&M's - I saw these advertised on repeat while I was going through my Real Housewives (that's of Orange County, New Jersey, and New York) binge at home a few weeks ago. By the end, my eyes had turned into pretzel M&M's. The downer is that they're not as good as they sound.

Goldfish S'mores - My mom got these for me. Try this on a Brit: "Do you want a Goldfish? They're s'mores flavored!" Say it in the most enthusiastic voice possible. When they decline, proceed to shove marshmallow, graham cracker and chocolate flavored goldfish crackers down your mouth, while dropping crumbs down the front of your dress. That totally didn't happen.

Reese's Miniatures - Judging from the pastel packaging, my mom bought these when Walgreen's had their post-Easter sale and saved it for my visit in ... June. They're still good.

Hershey's Kisses - Not really a fan, but again, my mom got the Easter edition for me. Keep 'em around for chocolate emergencies. And I mean, emergencies.

Pepperidge Farm Milano Double Chocolate cookies - These are timeless favorites of mine. I've loved them since I was a kid. They're just so perfect and the only crunchy cookie/biscuit I will eat.

Unidentifiable Pepperidge Farm Cookies In Green Tupperware Container - My mom got these for me the morning of my departure because she said my suitcase "still had room for more stuff" (exact quote). They have a raspberry jelly center and John got the package wet like, 2 seconds after I put them on the counter, so I had to put them in a tupperware container. Haven't really touched them since. Sorry, mom.

If you want to create your own American candy drawer (at ten times the price of mine), you can visit Cyber Candy in Covent Garden or Islington for some all-American goodness. Just remember to floss, brush, and rinse afterwards, kids.

Hollister in the UK: It Offends Me

Just when I thought I had escaped the bane of all evil that is Abercrombie & Fitch in the States, I smelled a familiar whiff of strong cologne while walking down Regent Street earlier. 'The man in front of me must have spritzed one too many times this morning', I thought. But as he crossed the street, the stench only got stronger. So I did one of those slow turn-in-place things you see in movies and realized that the cologne was emanating from none other than the dark, music-thumping retail hell of Hollister ACROSS THE STREET. Yes, ladies and gentlemen - you know how wide Regent Street is. The trail of I'm-a-MANLY-man-smell slithered across two lanes of traffic AND a divider to strike my delicate nose. And to top it off, a quick Google images search brought me to the gag-inducing scenes of the store opening above (along with Gilly Hicks, its equally obnoxious sister company). Please. Put the washboard stomachs and pecs away and keep this shiz to yourself, USA. Just let Britain do its own preppy thang (ahem, Jack Wills).

Photo source

"Can we get extra pickles with that?"

My fellow American-in-London friends agree (I refuse to be known as that dreaded word, "ex-pat") that Byron does the best burgers in town - that is, the closest to American burgers in town. The buns aren't on artisan bread nor do they crumble and disintegrate in your hands within the first few bites: they're just good. Plus, they serve skinny fries and gigantic onion rings - just the way we like them.

But the real zinger? The pickles. Nearly like Claussen's (but not). Any new American to London will bemoan the lack of crunchy, salty, tart, pickles here in the UK - instead, little sweet "gherkins" the size of my pinky finger are pitifully served aside a Ploughman's lunch. Not satisfactory. But Byron knows the secret to a pickle-lover's heart: in fact, I emailed the MD of Byron, Tom Byng, about his pickles. 'Where DO you get them pickles?', I inquired. He wrote me a jolly email back responding that, unfortunately, the pickles are only available on a wholesale basis. Well, not a problem, really. I'd be happy to eat them by the truckload.

Anyway, on Friday, accompanied by two of my favorite ladies, we waltzed into Byron and demanded (or rather, one of us did the work) extra pickles. I was expecting an extra one per plate. The result? That beauty up there. We split the last one into three parts. We're just fair like that.

What? It's Like You've Never Seen A Peep Before ...

These landed on my desk the Tuesday after Easter, courtesy of Anna:

Aren't they absolutely adorable? They were also accompanied by a sheet of 30 marshmallow scratch & sniff stickers and a very lovely card. I am considering attaching them to all work correspondence.

And because one cannot be expected to get through FIVE boxes of Peeps without another root canal, I decided to treat my co-workers to some.

Their reaction?

Quite frankly, they would have been more unfazed if I had brought in a box of escargots.

"What ... ARE they?" most asked with mild fascination, then disgust. "Marshmallow chicks!" I responded brightly, before adding hastily, "Well, some of them are bunnies."

"You want one?" I asked a colleague. He shook his head slowly before walking away. "It's ... so ... bright," he said.

Others gingerly accepted my offer. "Well, don't waste it," I joked (but half serious). "I'm not twisting your arm to try it."

I offered a few to Alice earlier in the week and she seemed to be the only person in the building who appreciated them as much as I do. An email from her popped up on the corner of my screen after she took them back to her desk downstairs: "The chicks have caused disbelief, hilarity and possibly mild PTSD down here :)", she wrote.

So, next time you really want to shock an English person? Shove a box of Peeps in their face. They'll be terrified and intrigued, all at once.

(Thank you, Anna!!!)