A voice from immediately behind me asked in a perfect London accent, “Pardon me. Do you know what this is? What does it mean?”

Over my shoulder I responded, “Hell if I know. Whatever it is… its ridiculous.”

Here in the middle of the Gammeltorv market square a large office trailer was parked. The trailer was covered in a metallic gold foil, and across the front of it facing the Federiksberggade was the proclamation: Brad Pitt is Saving Planet Earth in Copenhagen. Fluorescent lights glowed from the inside.

“Yes it’s awful. Do you think this thing really belongs to Brad Pitt?”

“I’m afraid so,” I said.

I turned to confront this inquisitive person behind me. She wore a long black wool coat, out from which protruded well-worn black boots. Black and purple scarf, and on her head a red and green Nordic ski hat. The hat would have looked funny on most people, but on her it worked perfectly. She had a brown leather messenger bag over her shoulder, and she was carrying a gift package. I thought she looked rather smart.

Like me she was here in town for the conference, and on this particular evening she was on her way to a reception at the d’Angleterre. I was headed in the same direction, but beyond, to the port, where I hoped to shoot some photos of a large vessel called the Viking Lady. We walked together as far as her engagement and had a nice visit. She was from the Middle East, schooled in the UK and now living in Paris. Her business was finance, but she worked for a private foundation. She could do a wicked good Sarkozy imitation, as in Sarkozy the climate negotiator. She could also do Gordon Brown and others, but the Sarkozy thing was my favorite. On the steps of the Angleterre we said our goodbyes and I went off to find the Viking Lady, stopping off briefly at the Admiral Hotel for a vodka. It was cold as hell, especially down by the harbor where the arctic winds whipped into Copenhagen from Sweden and the Baltic. I found the ship and took a few photos, then quickly headed off to Nyhavn to meet friends for dinner. I told them about the funny girl I met.

Now here’s the thing. A couple days later I was over at the Bella Center for meetings. Security had been increased and there were horrendous lines waiting to get in. Anticipating this I wore thick wool hunting socks and boots, carrying my dress shoes in my satchel. Because I got into the center late I stayed late. By the time I left the building in late afternoon it was snowing and the temperature had dropped further. After passing through the barricades I made my way past the metro and decided to keep walking to the train station at Orestad. But it wasn’t until I reached Vejlands Allé that I realized I had mistakenly been walking in the opposite direction from the train station, for at least twenty minutes. Believe me, that’s a long time in this weather. The snow was now coming down in large flakes and accumulating heavily on the sidewalk. Visibility was difficult. Pissed at myself for the error, I turned around and began the walk back.

Moments later I passed a figure that I almost immediately recognized. “A___, is that you!?” Yes it was, and we ascertained she had made the same wrong turn as me. It was her red and green hat that tipped me off. How amazing we would meet again, and here on this mistaken street corner of all places. Now we would both have to pay the price of misdirection, and begin the long cold walk to the train station. (haha. actually I have to admit I was quite thrilled with this double twist of fate.) We talked for a bit about our days and plans, etc., but soon we could only talk about how cold we were, and why on earth the UN would do this stupid conference here in December, what with this oppressive Scandinavian cold and darkness.

We walked arm-in-arm and kicked our boots through the snow. The big flakes piled up on our hats and stuck to our wool coats. She asked me if I knew any Christmas carols and if I would sing one. She insisted she knew not a single one so it would be up to me. I went with We Three Kings because I know most of the words to that one.

O Star of wonder, star of night

Star with royal beauty bright

Westward leading, still proceeding

Guide us to Thy perfect light

It turned out to be a good marching song and I sang every verse I could remember and then sang them over again.

Myrrh is mine, its bitter perfume

Breathes of life of gathering gloom

Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying

Sealed in the stone-cold tomb

It doesn’t get any more Christmassy than that! I was warming up from the walk but she was still cold so I held her closer against me as we trudged ever onward toward the train station.

Oh oooooooooh!

Star of wonder, star of night

Star with royal beauty bright

Westward leading, still proceeding

Guide us to Thy perfect light

And so on. It was dark now. After crossing a wide open area that was particularly windy we were in front of a big store. Her feet were cold so we decided to go inside and get warm before completing the rest of the snowy walk to the train station. Inside the door we shook the snow from our coats, unwrapped scarves and removed our hats and gloves. We sat down on a bench.

“My feet are absolutely frozen”, she said.

“Can you move your toes?”

“No.”

“No? Take off your boots then.”

“Here? People will think I’m crazy.”

“Sure, go ahead, who cares.”

She tugged off her boots.

“You call those socks? Those aren’t doing you any good.” I got down and took her feet in my hands. “Your socks are wet. Take them off and we’ll get you some wool socks.”

She peeled off the useless thin socks and I held her feet again in my hands. They were ice cold. We wrapped her feet inside her coat and I went off on the quest for wool.

Soon I returned victorious with a pair of thick red wool socks. She tugged them on. “I’ll pay you for these. How much were they?” A hundred Kroners I said. Each. We sat and chatted and she picked what was left of the melting ice from my hat. I had a flask with some Calvados in it. We each took a hit. She grimaced. I thought it was pretty good and took another.

Once sufficiently warmed we made the final trudge on to the train station. The snow continued to fall. Evening commuters funneled into the station as we arrived and we flowed with the crowd through the doors and down the stairway onto the platform.

Her train arrived before mine. We hugged and I gave her a lift up into the door. She brushed the snow off my hat and shoulders.

“Don’t wash those red socks with your other laundry”, I said. “They’ll turn everything pink”.

She smiled. “Yes. OK.”

We exchanged brief pleasantries until the conductor blew his whistle. I waved goodbye and the conductor pulled the door shut. As the train pulled away she smiled out the window and gave a wave back.

I watched the train leave the station. She never paid me for the socks.