Sometimes it is strange coming back to old haunts; I moved from Copenhagen earlier this summer. And I’ve been visiting again this weekend.
From the moment on the metro when I didn’t get off on my usual stop, close by where I used to live, things have been kind of odd. I know this place, but I’m a tourist, nevertheless.
It’s been great hooking up with friends, and seeing some of the places again, don’t get me wrong. But at the same time, I keep feeling like I should have been super active this weekend and done a ton of stuff, simply because I’m visiting another country.
And I haven’t been. Super busy that is. I’ve had plenty of time to meander about, looking at tourists, of which I’m apparently one now.
I’ve noticed things that I did not really take the time to see when I was living here, and yet I haven’t done as much of that as I feel like I should be doing.
Every once in a while it is nice, though, to have weekends that are out of the ordinary, but still ordinary enough to be able to just sit in a coffee shop and write, or go to a smoke-filled hole-in-the wall with a friend and talk about everything and nothing at the same time. Or brunch that lasts forever and ever (in the good way).
All in all, it’s been good to be back.