How Things Are In Denmark

7/22
We’ve made it to Copenhagen. We stopped for the weekend in the small coastal town of Korsør, where a traditional wooden boat festival was taking place, with a race around the island yesterday morning as the capstone event. We were invited to attend and serve in the race as pace car, so to speak.

One of the ships there was the sleek white German pilot schooner, Elba 5, more famously known as Wander Bird, the vessel Captain Irving Johnson took around Cape Horn and all over the globe as he pioneered modern sail training in North America. He was the Father Abraham for people like us, and this was his ship where it started. She is slick too. Raked masts, a sharp nearly-plumb bow, roomy below decks, and a dry, tight wooden hull; she was built for North Sea piloting, to sail fast and sound in all conditions.

We led the start of the race, the wooden ships went their course, and we continued on for Copenhagen, arriving noon today.
The city is littered with ice cream shops and I made several inquiries, all with successful results. After dinner, Kolin and I crossed paths and continued our tromp of the city with the hopes of finding some live music, preferably jazz. More success: We found a little basement pub nestled in one of the many city squares where a Dixieland trio was playing, led by a stellar clarinet.

He and I hunkered down there for the rest of the evening, talking, listening to music, and being talked at by a couple of drunk locals. One man started out useful enough offering tourism advice, but he quickly avalanched into lots of talk with little point.

“You know the Danes cut down all their trees to build the ships, so the government commissioned people to plant more trees and then let them know when the trees were ready, and in 1971, they called the government and said, ‘Your trees are ready now.’” He talked like this from the time he sat down until we left, about two hours later (he followed us out the door). I by-and-largely ignored him, preferring the band, but he had Kolin’s ear snared the whole time.

The local I had to deal with, though not so long winded, was equally cumbersome. He was wearing camouflage cargo pants and a satin, Hawaiian-print shirt. About every 20 minutes he would come up to me, clamp his hand on my shoulder or around the back of my neck, put his face eight inches away from mine and shout, “It’s queer week this week you know! You don’t have to be homo to go, just kind of for weird or different people, witches and homos and lesbios and stuff. You don’t have to be a homo. It’s not just for homos. It’s queer week!” He seemed really concerned that I get the message about participating in queer week.

I’ve been told I look gay before, but never was it declared with as much fervor. I don’t know if I should feel complimented or look for a new wardrobe, though being a single man hitting the streets Copenhagen and shopping for a new wardrobe is not the best first step in any attempts to solidify a heterosexual image. So I look gay sometimes. Oh well. Bruce just says I look “very Danish.”

7/23
The new Batman movie comes out in Denmark today. I am on duty. I have to wait another day. So it goes. I’ve waited about a year already anyway. I can’t remember the last time I was this excited about a new movie.

I had a nightmare last night, the kind only sailors can have. In my dream I awoke bleary eyed, having overslept. The focsle was empty. Coming on deck I looked up aloft and saw Mike, the Chief mate, on the main yards with the rest of the crew shaking out every sail, which I had furled just the day before, and re-furling them because my job had been so poor. It was horrible. A sailor takes pride in his harbor furls. Thankfully, it was just a dream.

I had a good work day today. Spent most of it in the shrouds replacing busted ratlines. The weather has been fantastic. There aren’t many places better than Denmark in the summer.

Another ice cream cone after dinner.

(I’m going to see Batman tomorrow)