This week, the journey completely overshadowed the destination. Right after work on Friday, I headed to the train station, excited to meet my roommate in Copenhagen. She’d already arrived earlier that afternoon. I, on the other hand, took the scenic route—two canceled trains and four transfers later, I finally arrived around 3:30 a.m.
The ride itself felt like a story. At one point, I crammed into a train car so packed I could barely stand, only to dart into another cabin and end up perched on a luggage rack alongside other stragglers. It was survival of the calmest. Somewhere between Hamburg and Odense, I met a man named Mohammed—a solo traveler originally from Morocco, raised in Spain. He had no phone, no Wi-Fi, no confirmed ticket, and no destination. What he did have was “Project 23 80 A,” his plan to design and manufacture cars across Europe.
At first, I thought he was on a call—he gestured, nodded, and referenced diagrams in magazines as if presenting to an invisible audience. It was so convincing that I hesitated to interrupt. When he finally noticed me staring, he smiled like we’d known each other for years and began answering my questions. Where was he staying? “Not sure.” Where was he headed? “Maybe Denmark. Maybe Poland. Who knows? Depends.” But every answer circled back to one point: “I know one thing—Project 23 80 A.”
By the time I arrived in Copenhagen, I was exhausted but immediately impressed by the city. My roommate had picked a hostel that felt like something from the future—sleek kitchen, arcade, pod beds, and a bar that made me forget I’d just crossed half of northern Europe to get there. And the city itself? Equally futuristic. Metro stations with protective glass doors blocking the tracks. Driverless trains arriving precisely on time. Bike lanes that felt as essential as highways. Everything operated with this quiet efficiency that made me wonder why more U.S. cities, Pittsburgh included, haven’t caught up.
Over the weekend, we climbed spiral towers, wandered along canals lined with colorful houses, and ducked into cafes to escape the drizzle. We even found a Shah’s Halal—apparently not exclusive to Pittsburgh—and ate there every single day out of nostalgia.
Copenhagen taught me a lot about infrastructure without even trying. The city breathes around its public transportation system. Buses, trains, and bikes aren’t just options—they’re expectations. Compared to Pittsburgh, where public transit often feels optional or unreliable, Copenhagen runs on collective trust in its system. People step onto trains without tapping out at turnstiles. They bike everywhere—suited professionals, parents balancing kids in cargo bikes, students pedaling casually through traffic—all without the car-centric urgency I’m used to in the U.S. It made me reflect on priorities: efficiency and accessibility are ingrained in Copenhagen’s daily life, while in Pittsburgh, the default often leans toward individual convenience over collective design.
Communication, though, felt less smooth than the metro system. Interactions were blunt, transactional, and efficient—direct without warmth. It wasn’t rudeness, just an expectation of minimal exchange. In Germany, I’ve noticed a similar low-context communication style, though with more formality and structure. Denmark, by contrast, felt casual but colder. Even babies seemed to mirror the tone; every one we passed was mid-tantrum.
That bluntness has made me more conscious of how I express myself—especially back in Berlin, where my hybrid work environment often requires reading between the lines of emails and quick Slack messages. Miscommunication, I’ve realized, isn’t about language alone—it’s about assumptions.
And then there was Mohammed. His way of communicating was the opposite—layered, almost cryptic, but deeply human. He didn’t need a phone, a schedule, or even a clear destination. His certainty came from his purpose, from this single idea anchoring him in constant motion. He reminded me that not all connection needs clarity. Sometimes, you just need to listen.
This week was a lesson in contrasts: the efficiency of systems versus the complexity of people; the smoothness of infrastructure versus the unpredictable nature of human interaction. It also gave me perspective on what our priorities reveal about us. In Denmark, collective trust supports seamless transit and urban design. In Pittsburgh, the emphasis on individuality means convenience often outweighs efficiency. Neither is inherently better, but understanding those differences helps me think critically about what we value—and how those values shape our daily lives.
Traveling, working, and navigating these spaces is teaching me to adapt quickly: to communicate clearly, observe closely, and stay open to stories—even when they sound like Project 23 80 A.