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My hands are frozen, my lips are cracked, my ears glow a flourescent red, and I’ve lost feeling in my feet for some time now. Vaguely skeletal objects occasionally impede our steps. They might be bicycles, but I can’t see anything, so who knows.
Though it kind of feels like it, we are not climbing Everest. We’re trudging through the snowy streets of Copenhagen looking for a restaurant.
Unfortunately our maps provide an insufficient level of detail. We haven’t seen a taxi in about an hour. And even if we found one, we’d be unable to direct the driver anywhere. I want to curse but am frustrated by my inability to do so. Why is Danish so impossible?
And why, my girlfriend asks, don’t we just stop someplace else? We’ve passed hundreds of places to eat, and we’re scouring a neighborhood called Meat Town for a restaurant whose name sounds a lot like Fish Bar. Continue reading