From the moment I stepped into the airport I was gripped by a feeling of comfort. The way to the metro, the seating, the distances between stations. City center or periphery, rush hour or down times. Transport: simple. Then you walk. Simple. Big streets, yes, but big sidewalks too. The city center is walkable. Very often you reach a body of water or park, two days in you know your way around. Clean, inviting. Corner parks and coffee shops. Children play between housing blocks. The Assistens cemetery is a park. It even has a section dedicated to and cared for by the homeless. There is a lake, sunshine, wind and sea gulls. People jog, others chat on benches. A series of lakes in fact, between monumental architecture. Hip coffee shops, 15Eur per cup. Time. It did taste really good. A Scandinavian revival train station, a hotel from the 30s, old social housing that's still in use, modern architecture, energy efficient, clean. Space and breath dominate. The Utzon church undulates like clouds or a rounded sheet of paper actually, the white makes it liminal, suspended concrete blocks to hang paintings on make for a feeling of waitlessness. Grundvig's church makes you dizzy because the small and humble brick is repeated thousands of times to reach high and wide. High, wide and empty, like the Frue Kirke. Buildings have big windows and people don't mind. Apartments are lit from two sides, the kitchen drawers have drawers inside them which close comfortably and give you more space. The metro stations are all the same, you could find your way without looking, metal pillars block heavy luggage from the escalators but are low enough so that you and me and effortlessly walk through without having to squeeze awkwardly. Freetown Christiania doesn't have google maps and refuses credit cards but there are more tourists and parents next to dealers and crazy people. Free drugs and no property rights, it was declared legal by parliament as a social experiment. The incinerator is called the highest hill of the city, it has a park and a ski slope on top of it. A major museum has been built by a rich industrialist and looks like the hub in a steampunk game. Everything is so simple that I immediately think: Japan. My friend from Sweden points excitedly at lamps and furniture. Arne Jacobsen, Poul Henningsen. The lights in Tivoli have been made to illuminate the ground but not the sky, in case of air raids. Next to the university, a coffee shop is also an antiquarian with uncanny statuary and a place of study. The sun is setting behind me and a girl walks by. Blonde, wide eyed, beautiful even without the golden glow on her cheeks which makes her eye shimmer green, she makes me stop in my tracks like the first perfume advertisement you ever saw. I don't want to do anything else than live. Walk around, drink a coffee, strike up a conversation. Some places make me happy because I feel the care that went into them. A city is not one person's work, one designer, one philosophy or golden age of affluence. It's the accumulation of small acts over lives and generations. Sometimes they resemble a slap in the face and then at other times it's like a welcoming hand guiding you along. Coming from France, I wonder why people show so much disrespect to their own environment. Maybe you can not respect what is already beyond hope? Maybe a place needs to be impressive and worth living in before you make your small decisions? Litter or not. Stay or not. Contribute or not. In Japan I was once reprimanded because I let a piece of plastic packaging slip out of my pocket. I felt the stern expression on the person's face. But it was immediately obvious to me that the blunder was mine and I thanked them for alerting me. A country where the guy drawing parking lines on the street kneels down to make sure his work is exact, I want to leave in a better state than when I arrived. I did not spend enough time in the Danish capital. And I am not familiar with the language. But this is definitely a place to return to.