He also wrote “to travel is to live.”

I got equal parts sun and rain. It started to rain upon my arrival and seemed to keep up an every-other-day kind of rhythm. My first day was well-planned by my friend, Father Gregers. I watched him celebrate mass in English -- for children and families. The theme of his homily was Pippi Longstocking, shame and confession. The children loved it.

Gregers was intent upon showing me the true Danish way of life. The Danes, he explained, are much more likely to entertain at home -- rather than meet in public He cooked for me that first evening and had arranged invitations for two other home dining experiences (including one evening with the Bishop -- more on that in a moment).

On my first full day, we drove through a countryside sprinkled with little cottages and homes with thatched roofs. We passed over the Great Belt Bridge. It holds the title as the world's second longest suspension bridge. To me it looked like the Brooklyn Bridge, only higher: an anorexic span on growth hormones.

We toured the Sønderborg castle. This was not some dusty manse with bare floors, tapestries for wall covering and time-worn landscapes. Apparently, an actual Baron lived there with his Baroness and attractive blonde, blue-eyed children. We knew this because there were sofas that looked sat upon, fireplaces with recently burned wood, and tables full of family pictures. Just like in our homes, only these were nobles photographed with royalty.

We visited Egeskov -- the estate of another noble: this one a count. That's the castle you see above. It was a sprawling estate with dozens of gardens. Renaissance Garden, Smell Garden, Kitchen Garden. There were several buildings containing collections of cars: antique and otherwise -- from limited edition automobiles to a VW bug, motorcycles and along the walls, dolls: from porcelain ladies to barbie dolls to smurfs. Something for everyone, I guess.

On the grounds, there was a curved stairway to a tree house. It led to a suspended bridge which allowed you to walk through the trees.

We decided to go through the maze designed by Peit Hein, a famous Danish designer. As we walked and turned, maneuvered around corners, chose this way or that, waded through mud puddles, my creeping claustrophobia hit. I got more and more anxious, blaming my friend for getting us into that predicament. Unfair, for it was my idea too. Alas, the cut beech hedges were built over wire. Otherwise, I would have just busted my way out of that blasted maze.

We moved on to Odense to pay homage to Hans Christian Andersen. He was born in a tiny, dirt-floor house 200 years ago. Celebrating that anniversary was the national obsession. In Odense, the symbols on traffic lights were Hans. Red: standing Hans with cane at his side. Green: striding Hans wearing top hat. In Copenhagen, HCA's actual footprints walked you through the city. When the footsteps were turned and together -- you faced a sign that explained its significance to Hans Christian Andersen. It was cool.

My first day ended at the home of Gregers' sister. We had dinner with her, her geologist husband, their three stunningly beautiful blonde, blue-eyed children. I learned all about the game of War Hammer from the children. The kids -- we talked about whether they used secret codes to IM one another. The adults -- we spoke about politics and potability.

Pre-dinner cocktail hour was charming, a little tense as I worked my way through our conversation. He is a quiet man, not particularly talkative. Although, not surprisingly, I was more than willing to fill the "dead air" with questions.

Dinner. Okay, first there was this jumping jack moment. As we walked to the dinner table I started to sit down. I noticed however that I was the ONLY one to do so. The men of God were still standing behind their chairs, preparing to say Grace. Oh yeah: that. I jump back into standing position. After the "our father, son and holy ghosts" were uttered, I started to sit. But, they were still standing. So again, I'm down, I'm up, I'm halfway down -- I stand, only to discover THEY are standing out of courtesy, waiting for me to sit. I have visions of my mother kicking me under the table.

Once seated, the Sister comes in. Throughout the meal, she seems to magically appear, at just the right time. It turns out the Bishop has a wireless remote to summon her at each course.

Primo: Pasta with Shrimp, to which I am allergic. I figure I have no choice but to tell him that. At which point, HE becomes the jumping jack. Oh no, I'm so sorry, what can we fix. No, no, that's okay -- I don't need anything. He's up. He's down. Forgoing his summoning button, he goes into the kitchen himself. He returns. She's used up all the pasta, he confesses. No really: that's okay, that's okay. He frets, he half sits. And then, he has a Eureka moment, and returns to the kitchen.

Out comes, well, how do I put this: the strangest concoction of antipasti I have ever seen. The main attraction being ham wrapped around aspic, with little cubes of the horseradish jello scattered about. An inscrutable corn and veg-all cold dish. A hard-boiled egg topped with some kind of bread crumb affair. White bread, dark bread with butter. And, something I recognized: slivers of red and yellow peppers.

The rest of the meal went by much more smoothly. Ending with a strawberry dessert topped with, what else, gelatin. Sale on Knox perhaps? Or, as my friend Allison put it: Aspects of Aspic.

The evening was fueled by liquor: pre-game gin and tonic, red and white wine, and after-dinner Limencello. By the end of the meal, well, I just have to say it: I was bombed! At one point, my friend and I were standing in the Bishop's backyard giggling and rambling "where's the bishop, where's the bishop? do you think he's spying on us?" when he disappeared for several minutes, looking for the Limoncello.

It was actually a delightfully fun evening! The Bishop is a nice man, I asked him all sorts of questions, none too provocative. And, it was pretty cool to be sitting there in the Bishop's private home talking about Catholic doctrine. Interessante.

Though Dinner with the Bishop was a highlight of my week in Denmark, it was just the beginning. My days were filled with incredible desserts, peaceful walks through the streets of Copenhagen. I saw a very sexy ballet called Silent Steps at the Royal Theatre. I spent a sunny afternoon at Louisiana, a world-class modern art museum by the sea outside of Copenhagen. After walking through its outside park and sloping lawn full of sculptures, I sat on the terrace, drinking a Danish beer and watching seagulls. It was richly relaxing.

Another day, I visited the Danish Jewish Museum: a lovely jewelbox of a space, designed by Daniel Libeskind, the architect of Ground Zero. The museum is set into an already existing brick building: the Royal Boat House. It is essentially a building within a building. Its concept: Mitzvah, which, to Libeskind, reflects the Danes approach to its Jewish citizens during the war.

My last night in Copenhagen, I went with Gregers to Tivoli, the 150-year-old glitzy & kitschy amusement park where ordinary Copenhageners go. Its bright lights are incandescent only. No Neon. They pride themselves on that.

I went to Copenhagen to learn about the Danes. I left, having learned a little bit more about myself.