interrail – For Wanderers and Wonderers

Stockholm

The clicking of my camera accompanies my walk down a copper-coloured alleyway with a glass-blowing merchant on my right and a green shuttered townhouse on my left.

The street is cobbled, but no rumblings can be heard, as no cars would dare venture down these narrow side streets. They remain confined away from the central pedestrian areas of Gamla Stan, an island that makes up much of the city’s old town that could be mistaken for somewhere in France, Italy or Austria. Renaissance meets medieval meets old sandstone architecture in varying shares of red, orange, yellow, and the sun shines in burnt tones onto the walls. I am surrounded by four—and five-story blocks making up a labyrinth of alleys and wider people-filled streets with postcard stands and cafe chairs spilling onto the cobbles.

Copenhagen

So here I was. Copenhagen. A city I had dreamed of visiting ever since my mum had told me stories of the architecture and the danish way of life and Hygge. I was finally here as my third stop on my month long Interrail trip.

With my monstrously heavy rucksack in tow, and stepping off the train I had last boarded five hours ago in Hamburg, the towering wooden ceiling of the antique Central station with its chandeliers reminded me more of a cathedral than a station. The air outside was warm and filled with the smells of cars and hot dogs from the steaming stands near the bike racks filled to the brim. This was the city of cyclists after all. Cycle lanes were bigger than most road lanes.