new hopes from my nordic excursions
how these cities of the north redirected how I want my life to look like.
I’m fascinated by the Nordic countries. During my study abroad, I made it a goal to reach as many of the capital cities, and I managed to breeze through four out of five of them, all solo, with Reykjavík in Iceland left to venture.
Maybe it’s because I’ve been in love with the idea of utopian cities married with icy winter seasons and sun-kissed summers, but the way these cities are built and designed—Oslo, Copenhagen, Stockholm, and Helsinki—is ethereal. My inner child healed with architecture and nature that bowed to each other in a way that felt straight out of a Disney film. These cities and the spaces that were created within them just felt right. Like home almost.
Copenhagen truly took my breath away. The majority of European cities are walkable, but Copenhagen's cobblestone roads blend seamlessly together, allowing pedestrians to stroll side-by-side with cyclists speeding through these paths. Denmark was also the first country where I stayed in a hostel called Steel House Copenhagen and met solo travelers from Italy, Hungary, and Germany. I was never too far from a bakery where I could grab a cardamom bun that I could munch on as I progressed through green parks and castles abound. It was the internal peace I’d been hoping to create one day, in a physical entity.
I discovered just how important it is for me to be near bodies of water. Seeing how the sun rises above and below the waters, whether visually on an ocean horizon or over the lakes, reminds me of the passing of time. I love how you can close your eyes and hear the waves brush on the edges, moving in and out with grace. It’s free therapy from nature.
Exploring Nordic cities also made me understand how important fresh food truly is. Food that supports the local agriculture, economy, and farmers; food that is regenerative, sustainable, and nutritious. In Copenhagen, I personally loved Sidecar as a canvas of Danish cuisine (they have a brunch buffet on the weekends!), where I got to sample fresh berry parfaits, cheeses, grains, and smoked salmon. Apotek 57 taught me that even simple baked goods can be consumed ceremoniously. I had my mid-day snack of ricotta and fig toast near a windowsill and sunflower plant, where I stared at the backyard of the bakery. That’s all I needed, really, to be content.
Each time I landed in a new city, I collected a list of art and design museums to wander through while listening to new songs and albums. Nordic design is particularly popular; its influence is global and enveloped in our day-to-day aesthetics (just look at Sweden’s IKEA), and I sought to see what the buzz was about. In Oslo, I came face-to-face with Edvard Munch’s The Scream in their national museum. In Copenhagen, I walked by traditional colorful houses in Nyhavn and minutes later into contemporary arrays of modern illustrations and sculptures at its Designmuseum. In Stockholm, I made my way through trams and subway lines that consistently arrived on the dot—the perfectly designed transit that took me to see Hilma af Klin’s The Ten Largest. And in Helsinki, I grew overwhelmed by the abundance of art and design spaces that were open for public use. Specifically, Oodi, a library architected to curve like a smooth wave across the city.
Recently, I was on a daily outdoor walk with my parents back in my hometown, discussing with them some of my hopes and aspirations for my future. What I deeply appreciated about these experiences I write about here was the emphasis on how the environment can shape my own personal happiness in terms of visual joy and third spaces. I’m curious about how we can build better places for people to convene and take our minds off of stress and work, to actually focus on what is around us rather than what is on our laptop screens.
Someday, I hope to move here. And I hope to make my place a home where my friends can visit and see a different way of living and being.