Gdansk, as I hope to someday expound at length, is a beautiful town. It is attractive in a way that it’s name, like the sound of a car crashing into a bicycle and then the bicyclist sliding across the hood, could never warn you. Getting home from Gdansk seemed simple enough — a quick flight on genteel SAS through Copenhagen.
I’ve always wanted to see Copenhagen. When I heard that our plane had a flat tire and we would be delayed by several hours, I saw the hand of good fortune. It was extending to us — through our missed connection in Berlin — a free night to wander Copenhagen before another flight the next morning. This was foolish optimism.
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