“Then what’s your favorite food?”
“Sushi.”
“Duly noted.” I nod and glance back at him. “You’re a tea person. Green tea.”
“Yep.”
“I don’t know what sports and TV shows you like,” I say, maintaining eye contact.
“I love playing hockey and watching American football. God of War is my favorite game, and I’m a sitcom binge-watcher. Name any sitcom, and I’ve probably watched it. Friends is my all-time favorite, by the way.”
“You like laughing?” I tease him. “I thought it was all doom and gloom with you.”
Erik laughs louder than I’ve ever heard. He sounds really...nice when he laughs. Now I want to watch sitcoms with him.
“I’m always up for the ‘doom and gloom’ too,” he replies. “The blood, the gore... I love all Tarantino movies.”
I shake my head, pretending to shiver. “That doesn’t interest me.”
“I’ll get you to watch them one day,” he says with amusement and a confidence that seduces me a bit, but I’m sure that was not his intention.
“You forgot to mention your favorite flowers. And color.”
“My favorite flowers are in the lavender fields in Provence,” he says with the dreamy tone of someone who remembers a lovely vacation. “And I like them there, where they belong.”
I smile. I like that answer.
“Your color is black,” I say. There’s no way I’m wrong about that.
He grins at me, causing a mild disturbance to my insides.
There are many people out today basking in the sun, going for lazy walks, feeding the ducks, and resting on the benches while eating ice cream. The cafés facing the lakes are full of customers sitting outside, enjoying the view. It’s nice walking around here with Erik.
“Hygge,” I say out of nowhere, and Erik looks at me, confused, as if I woke him up from a daydream. “I want you to tell me more about hygge. It’s what Scandinavians are famous for, right? If it’s the base of this culture, I want to learn it. Feel it.”
“You are experiencing it right now, hopefully.” The corners of his mouth tug up. “Or, well, at least a lot of people around us are.”
“It means feeling cozy, right?”
He shakes his head in a sort of motion.
“Cozy and coziness are translations people attempt, but they don’t fully convey the meaning of hygge. It describes a state of being.” He keeps his eyes on mine as we walk. “It’s a feeling of satisfaction and well-being you experience when you’re at peace with yourself and the world at that moment.” He smiles at the reflection of the sun on the water. “And it usually happens when you’re with people you like or love.”
He looks down now, as if embarrassed. What for? Implying that we can have hygge together?
“But you can also feel hygge alone,” Erik continues. “And you can feel it all over the world. We just invented an expression for this special feeling, and achieving it often is part of our culture. Mostly, we love to tell people that it’s nice to be with them by saying, ‘This is hyggeligt.’”
“So you don’t necessarily need candles and hot chocolate?” I ask, smiling.
“No, no... Although certain elements, like coffee, cake, blankets, pleasant smells, laughter...help you be present in a time and place where your usual concerns don’t bother you.”
I’ve experienced hygge—or I think I have—a few times since I arrived in Copenhagen. But this moment, right here and now, is the one I’m sure is hygge.
We continue our walk for a little longer, until I say, “I want you to help me become more Danish.”
“So that you can impress Lars?” There goes his judgmental tone again. It doesn’t bother me this time. Nothing does on this beautiful day.
“I’m trying to belong here.” I shrug. I want Cristina’s life. A life of independence, success, love, safety, and plenty of time for the little pleasures. I want to learn how to properly enjoy the beauty of this country and be part of its culture of trust, respect, and social coziness.
“All right, give me your notepad and a pen.”
I look in my purse and pass them to Erik. He sits on the nearest bench and starts scribbling on the first blank page he finds.
I sit by his side. “What are you doing?”
“Making a list for you. You can’t consider yourself a true Copenhagener until you’ve completed these items.”
He puts a loose strand of hair behind his ear, taking a break to think about what to write. I look over his shoulder to see what he wrote, the wind carrying his citrusy scent in my direction, confusing my thoughts for a second.
1. Eat pastries from the best bakeries in the city
2. Bike all around, everywhere
3. Visit the parks, castles, and museums
4. Have a picnic on the grass
5. Eat smørrebrød for lunch (open rye bread sandwiches with a generous layer of traditional toppings)
