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Copenhagen - Part 2
Written by: Dominick A. Miserandino
Photography by: Margherita Miserandino
Copenhagen during the day isn't as much fun when you're suffering from Jetlag.
We arrived in Copenhagen after a six-hour flight from Newark Airport. Between flying via a connecting flight from the closer JFK, or taking the one hour ride to Newark, I preferred the non-stop. On board, they had the "choose your own movie feature", but we watched some Soprano’s DVDs on my laptop, which slowed down my productivity, but decreased my boredom.
When we landed in Copenhagen, I also realized that I knew very little about Copenhagen. I knew a lot about the Mediterranean, France, Germany and England, but not so much about Copenhagen. Except maybe Hans Christian Anderson wrote a few stories and... well, did I mention that it’s called Copenhagen. It’s not as if Northern Europe was covered much in our history books. I even looked at a map of Europe and it was cut off just above Copenhagen. I watched CNN, the BBC and Euro News and all of their weather channels cut everything off at either Oslo or Copenhagen. Everything else was left for guessing. If Wolf Blitzer never mentioned this far north, how was I to be held responsible?
Anyway, back to the story, we landed at 6am, which is a bit too early to land in Europe. The ship didn’t even come into port until around 10 am, so we had to figure out some way to occupy ourselves for four hours. We took a taxi to the Admiral hotel, checked our bags at the front desk "just to hold", and went for a circular walk through Copenhagen.
Copenhagen reminds me of what I expected Holland to look like. There was a canal or two and lots of tight buildings, at least in the part I was in. Actually it also reminded me a bit of America, except I couldn’t read the signs as easily.
We walked a bit north, south, east, and west and somehow ended up at the Kastellet. A cute little fort overlooking the city. It has a few great views and makes for some great photo ops. I’m sure the fort had a rather interesting story to tell, but it was 7:30 in the morning and you couldn’t expect me to care much about it, after being up for so long. It was pretty, my eyes were groggy and I was simply buying time until I could sleep on the ship.
We were getting a bit tired and therefore walked to a park bench to watch the people go by. I observed, nobody in Copenhagen is fat. I would say it must be a law or something, but the truth is we saw more bicycles than cars. Everybody either walked or biked their way to work. Quite admirable, to say the least. We sat on a park bench as hundreds of Copenhagenians walked to and fro work, all dressed in suits with sneakers. As opposed to the Mediterranean, where we would see hundreds of scooters (or motorinos), there was none of the sort. Just people on bicycles.
We walked a bit further on to try and find the famous mermaid statue. Every tour book says, "See the mermaid statue or you’ll regret it." "See the mermaid statue if your life means anything," "You’ll remove your own spleen simply out of anguish, unless you see the mermaid statue." Clearly the mermaid statue was something to be reckoned with.
We walked further along the docks until we saw the statue everybody was talking about. The sun was glaring and glistening along the water, and there on a rock was a statute of a mermaid. It wasn’t something worthy of ripping my spleen out, and it also wasn’t something that should wake me out of my 24-hour grogginess. Then again, I was so tired this whole Copenhagen bit could have simply been a dream.
We went back to the Admiral Hotel for a bite to eat, to pick up the bags and head to the boat. At the hotel they had a buffet breakfast, which was typically European, with lots of cheeses, bread and fruit. No all you can eat waffles and eggs here.
We grabbed a taxi and I should note that in Copenhagen you can pay for your taxi with a credit card. Fortunately, we didn’t need to exchange any money in Copenhagen and used our credit cards for the past few hours.
Arriving at the ship
When we pulled up to the ship I was feeling desperate for a bed. My jet lag had beaten the hell out of me and I desperately wanted to sleep.
We were met by one of the entertainers on board, Zoli, who walked me straight to the front desk and within a few minutes I was checked in and at my room. Sorry, I lied, I didn’t come to my room. The word room in its literal sense implies four walls and a roof. This is thereby inaccurate, but they still called it our room. It was a suite, a large suite, a suite larger than anything I had in my bachelor pad in Brooklyn. So large, it caused Margherita to squeal as if the room itself was an aphrodisiac. She ran through the front hall, to the living room, turned left into the bedroom and then I lost track of her. She was somewhere near the walk-in closet and I was between the first bathroom and the adjacent toilet room. That’s not the official room’s name, but I loved the idea that I could go to the bathroom in peace, while Margherita had her own sinks and shower to do her business.
But yes, the place was so big that I lost her. I could describe the size of the suite for hours, but it is very safe to say I would have been quite content paying a thousand dollars a month for this apartment in Brooklyn. I would have been the envy of all my single friends back in my youth. Ouch! Margherita just hit me for reminiscing about my single days, as I’m married now and should be thinking as a married man. I guess I could stick a kid or two on the pullout sofa in the living room and still feel comfortable. Is that better dearest?
We closed the curtains in the living room, (which opened out onto our terrace), then we closed the bedroom curtains and slept. We slept long, and we slept furiously. I dreamt of the Sopranos and about having an affair with a therapist, but realized that the dream was probably induced by the DVDs on the plane.
We woke up to canapés, which is a fancy word for appetizers. I did learn the word yesterday, and since we were pretty darn hungry and feeling hung over from jet lag, we wolfed down the caviar like it was nachos. Talk about a juxtaposition of financial cultures- I scarf down nachos, the rich scarf down caviar. My belly however knows no such cultural boundaries and will non-discriminatingly partake of anything.
We went down for dinner and I need to create another tangent again. How would you rate a gymnast? Well, Mary Lou Retton was a ten and you saw the flipping and such she did. The reason she was a ten is that she was the top of her field. She did all that you expected. (Don’t worry, this relates to the cruise and dinner). If you think about it, the rating of 10 was saying, "You are the best. You did everything that we expected perfectly." But what if Mary Lou Retton came out the next year and flipped herself 80 feet in the air, while singing a Wagner Aria and playing the mandolin. Upon landing on the ground she would bounce back up another 80 feet in the air flipping no less than 12 times (as thirteen would be unlucky). What if Mary Lou Retton did this with a smile and flawlessly? Would she still get a ten? What would happen to her score from the year before? Would they lower last year’s score to an 8, because in comparison she only went a few feet in the air and somersaulted only a few times? It boggles the mind.
This is Silversea Cruise’s service. The wait staff and room attendants are fanatical, obsessive/compulsive towards service. The service was at such a level, it caused me to reevaluate all of the service I’ve gotten before in my life, and knock all of the 10 out of 10s, down to a 5. I can’t describe the nuances in detail enough, but they did little things. Yes, they offered me bread no less than five times. Yes, my glass never reached below halfway. We did have almost a one to one waiter to table ratio. They were so perfect in service I felt almost insecure to stain my shirt while eating.
Take the "wine incident for example".
The waiter said, "Would you like to try the white wine?"
A simple request, which I’ve heard a few times before. He poured me a "tasting", and waited for my approval. Then he poured a full glass for Margherita and myself.
But wait, then he memorized my face and offered me the exact bottle and brand the next day.
He even offered to fly to France and pick me up a bottle personally. Okay, that part isn’t true but it felt that way. It was as if his only mission in life was to ensure that I had good wine. Anything else was a failure, which would cause him to want to flog himself.
Everyone at dinner was like that. If you looked impatient for the next course, they were on top of you in a second. If you wanted something prepared a certain way, it was to be done.
I can’t say anymore about the service without sounding like a public service announcement. But it simply went beyond my expectations and caused me to revaluate what service means.
After dinner we went back to the room, relaxed on the balcony and watched a movie.
When we came back to the room I should also note that not only was everything straightened, but they went so far as to put my paperwork in a neat pile.
SilverSea Cruises - Part 1
Copenhagen - Part 2
SilverSea at Sea - Part 3
Alesund - Part 4
Geiranger - Part 5
Trondheim - Part 6
Traveling the Fjords - Part 7
The North Cape - Part 8
Hammerfest - Part 9
Cruising the Fjords - Part 10
Cruising the Fjords - Part 11
Bergen - Part 12
Gudvagen and Flaam - Part 13
Cruising - Part 14
Copenhagen and Departure - Part 15
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