6 July 2015, 9:24 am: I didn’t ride a bicycle on either of my visits to Copenhagen because I didn’t want the side-eye that all the Danish natives would’ve given me when I invariably proceeded too early through every crosswalk. They take crosswalks incredibly seriously in Denmark. Take two steps into the street when the “don’t walk” light is on, and they look at you as if you just applied for a gun permit.
I most certainly did not attempt bike-riding in Amsterdam. If you ever see me on a bicycle in Amsterdam, you’ll know I’ve been diagnosed with a terminal illness and have decided to go out on my own terms.
Salzburg was the city that got my butt on a too-small plastic seat. It was the serene vistas of the mountains that lulled me into a sense of safety. It was the manageable number of pedestrians compared to the elbow-to-elbow street scenes further north. It was the desire for some wind through my hair during the stultifying heat wave. It was the opportunity to get my Von Trapp on. And yes, I did obnoxiously sing “Do-Re-Mi.”
You would’ve, too.