It’s December, so it’s the logical time to go to Copenhagen, because…um…well, I don’t know. But anyway I’m here, staying at an Airbnb in the center of town.

The flight was straightforward enough: Seatac to Heathrow to Copenhagen, then a train to the central station (they all go to the central station), then a short walk to the apartment. Sarah, the owner, wasn’t going to be there, but her friend Shami was going to meet me at the gate and let me in. She gave me his number and I sent him a text when I was on the train.

But he never got the text. Google Maps sent on a bizarre (but undoubtedly efficient) path through the back alleys of downtown Copenhagen and got me to the apartment building, at which point the battery died. I remembered Sarah’s name, but not Shami’s, and I couldn’t see his phone number, let alone call him. And he wasn’t at the gate.

Someone was just coming out of the gate and she helped me track down which apartment it was, but with no one there that didn’t get me very far. So I walked back to the train station and charged the phone in a Starbucks, then walked back to the apartment and called Shami. I had assumed that he lived there, but he lives about 15 minutes away, so I waited in the courtyard until he arrived.

Apartment courtyard

The walk was easier the second time. All I really needed to do was walk straight down from the train station and turn left at the cow. You’d think Google Maps would know that.

This is the cow.

The apartment looks like an American apartment from the 1940s. It’s charming and has everything I need, but it’s small and the walls are thin. The neighbors were having a party when I arrived, and it sounded like it was in the kitchen. It almost was, because there’s a (blocked-off) door to their apartment in the kitchen.