Aarhusianer

The bells were singing at a non-descript, non-specific hour; it was 10:12. Why were the bells singing? Because they can, it is fairytale land- Or so you would think by the way the sun hits the orange façades, the small canal crossing town and the Rapunzel-tower-looking churches scattered around. The 18^th century houses with wooden columns would not stand an earthquake (none happen here) but they give a rounded architectural feeling to the city– an artist at the art festival in Ridehuset painted them as though in a bubble and called the piece ‘Nostalgia of Aarhus’ – oh so accurately.

Some people say I may be in a honeymoon period with the city but I wouldn’t say that is the case. I have heard too many complaints, the same you hear of any small city that is not the main one in any country – not as many things to do as in X (insert capital city). But the distribution of Aarhus makes it seem as though around the corner there is a different space where you can be someone completely different. I have seen the elegant by the Latinquarter, the nostalgic by Mollestein, the artistic within Aros and Godsbanen, the free-spirited by the park, the mainstream by Strøget and the hungry for development by the harbor. I am sure there is much more to see and many more different people to meet. Perhaps it is my new york-self speaking when I say you can also be whomever you want here. The same can be said about my hometown, Ambato, of which this place reminds me so much of, the people too.

There are a couple of things that are completely different though. The most outstanding one has to be how craftsmanship is taken to the next level. Never before had I thought so much about lighting or furniture curves, but the people I spend most of my time with think and comment on it on a daily basis –people care and many more act on it. The other day, Simon and I went to Godsbanen to make a new sign for ‘La Cabra’. I had always thought that mentioning the oak smell of wine was a cliché, something wine-sellers make up or that I wouldn’t ever get, but as we were cutting the wood that still looked as though it had been cut from a tree, right where we sliced it, right there, my nostrils were able to take it in- It reminded me of the best Pinot Noir I have imagined. It’s funny it went backwards; first I knew the wine, later on, the wood. My experience here has certainly been an awakening of my senses, the smoothness of a table, the cleanliness of a good wine, how hyggelig (cozy, but even beyond that, a physical sense of wellness) light and colors can make a room.

All of these variables are thought thoroughly in the places I frequent and, as Esben would say, it is more prominent where there is no compromise. My visit to Frederikshoj may be the best example of that. While there, I felt as though I was inside the chef’s mind, everything from the light to the decorations, the serving of the food and the descriptions aimed for transparency in the thought process of making it.

Here I am, silly self, having foie gras, right before having ‘rød grød med fløde’ (below). The latter is a traditional Danish dessert that I had been asked to pronounce as though it is the most difficult thing to enunciate. I had also been told it was useless to learn because no one ever has to say it (unless you were questioned by the Interpol after WWII and weeded out as a spy).  I got my chance ;)

 It is actually delicious!

The other major difference, and perhaps one that affects it all is the weather. The changing seasons give an opportunity for re-adaptation. Although I had experienced the fall before, 2014 must be the most picturesque autumn I have observed. The reddening leaves by windowsills, the clear sky, sometimes there is grayness that makes me feel like I should be looking for a harpoon to go whaling -not that I would but it is this Moby Dickesque weather. On other days, however, the charming light, something I have baptized as ‘Aarhusianer light’ is simply captivating. If this is not already described in photography books I would be disappointed, perhaps it is, may be it will. It happens around 9am after meditation with the ideebutikken crowd and a bit before dusk. It is heart-warming.

There is much more to write about the last couple of months but I’ll stop here and leave with a song, Time Forgot, by Connor Oberst, that’s what I would sing when I first started walking about town in the summer.

Vi ses,

Mel

PS: Soon, more on more important matters, just had to break the silence.