It’s Saturday; parkrun day and we are going to Amagerstrandpark. It starts at 9, but we are awake by 5 thanks to a group of Chinese tourists replicating stormtroopers in the corridor. It’s raining heavily and my waterproof is in a car park near Stansted so I am going to get rather wet.
The Strandpark is on a small Island in the Øresund; the strait which separates Denmark and Sweden. We walk the mile to the start, then hide out in a shelter as long as possible.
The route is two laps along the island, across a bridge, along the prom and back across another bridge. To complicate matters, the first lap is anti-clockwise and the second lap is clockwise. Luckily, I don’t get lost despite being too slow to see the next slowest runner. I fight my way through the wind and rain and the pain in my knee to finish in 37 minutes, which I consider a triumph.
We return to the hotel and, once suitably clean and fed, check out. Another thing you don’t get for £93 a night is a manned reception. We find a staff member and explain that we are checking out
but would like to leave our bags until this evening.
We set off for Copenhagen. It’s not our normal sightseeing routine of hours of aimless wandering. We buy a travel card and take buses between locations to spare my knee, which has already had a busy day.
First stop, unpredictability, is the Little Mermaid. Although we do get slightly waylaid by another sculpture in the harbour, next to a fountain containing a worm with a large penis smoking a cigar.
Back on track, I’m surprised by the throng of tourists round the little mermaid. Last time I were here, 30 years ago, we had the place to ourselves and were able to clamour over the rocks to the statue. Now, bus loads of tourists are disgorging onto the quayside.
After a little wander around the Kastellet, we board another bus to the Glyptotek; the private art collection of the founder of Carlsberg, who made a few quid flogging beer.
There bulk of the collection is sculptures, mainly ancient statues with no noses. But there are also paintings; most of the big European names are represented; Van Gough, Manet, Monet, Picasso, Cesanne etc.
the gallery is dedicated to the Changing Collection – currently the work of Pierre Bonnard. It’s not my cup of tea and it feels slightly offensive to read his narrative on searching for the perfect colour, considering that it was WWII and most people had much more pressing matters to contend with.
We return to SleepCPH to collect our bags. We enter the foyer, but the hotel door is locked. After a stressful few minutes wondering what the hell to do next, we discover the bags hidden behind a chair. Luckily, our passports are still there. After a classy picnic in the park by the tube station, we depart for the airport.
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