Ode to the Chestnut

’Ode til Kastanjen’

af Louise Albers og Stina Mott

While browsing around this morning, I came across an article on the Magazine KBH's website (the magazine has been threatened with closure, and seems, sadly, to be folding) on a book about the impact of the new metro works on one of the historically working class areas in Copenhagen. A 114-year old chestnut has been removed from Enghave Plads, a central square in an area which has recently developed from being a neglected, socially challenged place with strong internal community links into fancy cocktail/pricey caffe latte/poncy posing land: Vesterbro.

To be honest, my friends are doing what they can to contribute, having moved in with their highly educated selves and partners, dragging the latest design items, expensive hair-dos and healthy living values with them.

The contrast between them and the experience of the area of 15 years ago is marked. I haven't lived away from Copenhagen for that long, but the changes that have happened in that time span, and in particular the time I have been away, have been remarkable. I too love the new, clean Vesterbro, where new cafes and bars and cool clothing shops pop up, but I can't help but think that there in gentrification is very little respect for the values and qualities of what was. And indeed that the people who have lived in the area for ages have not seen their lives improve by the changes - can they afford to go to a cafe where a coffee costs 30kr? I don't think so. Do they feel welcome in their own 'hood?

I loved this quote from the book:

”Engang var det sådan, at man på Vesterbro ikke behøvede at trække maven ind og tvære sorgen væk fra øjnene.” Præsten Mette

”It used to be, that in Vesterbro you didn't have to pull in your stomach and rub the sorrow from your eyes.” Mette, the priest

I hope there is still room for emotions in Vesterbro.

Yoga

I've just done my Monday yoga; every Monday, following a thinking session straight after work, I head to my yoga class. I love it. Some times I have to drag my mentally refusing brain by the stem, but I know that my body will thank me. Every single time. It's amazing what an hour and a half can do for your well-being. And it's amazing how many times my brain just doesn't feel like going. But I do go.

My teacher is lovely. She has that calm air about her that you'd somehow expect in a yoga teacher, warm, tender almost, and has with gentle adjustments since I started coming to class in January this year taught me a lot about my body.

I've learnt to activate muscles I have never been aware of before. I stretch and twist my spine with an awareness that leaves my muscles sore and used. Tuesdays I really feel my arms from holding them outstretched to the tips of my fingers, shoulders released, or from reaching them straight above my head as high as I ever could. When I bike to work my legs remind me of the mental space and the stretch and use they experienced Monday evening, and I feel a certain satisfaction.

It's a respite, in some ways, from the busy bustle of my daily work, from my hyperactive brain, from my emotional cowardice. It's just me. My body. My breathing, my muscles. It's so incredibly healthy for me.

What do you do for your mental and physical health?

When good things end

When you pass on something good because it's 'for now', rather than 'for longer', are you then grown up? Mature? A sorry sod? A killjoy? Realistic?

One thing that's for sure is that I did.

Distance