You ride bikes in Copenhagen. It’s just what you do. And last night, not 20 minutes off the plane we were straight into it. Hugging the back tire of Arto Saari, our guide and photographer for the trip, our rapidly growing crew navigated the stunning and pictureque streets of downtown Copenhagen, trying to get a sense of where the hell we are. We wandered through the ancient cobblestone alleys and wandering canals that stitch all the quaint bars and cafe’s together into a perfectly orchestrated city. I really don’t think we even understand what we’re in for. It’s just now starting to set in like the excitement that comes with that first beer in a foreign place.

It’s hard to explain how refreshing it is to travel to a region that is 100 percent foreign to all of us here. No letter combinations you see are even remotely familiar. No cultural nuance is recognized. And the eyes of every Scandinavian girl you walk past nearly cripples you. We’re finding out feet and are out the door again right now.