In Which I Go To Cardiff
I had a whole post written before I left about how DIS was expanding my perspective of my classmates more than of Denmark. I found my fellow Americans rude, ungrateful, and privileged. They didn't seem to mind breaking Danish social norms, like jay walking and talking loudly on the bus. They complained that it's winter in Scandinavia and it's cold. They talked about their exciting plans for trips to Tuscany, Paris, Greece... I felt their privilege, and they didn't seem to notice it, and it bothered me deeply.
Uh, and then I spent lots of money to fly to another country and visit The Mob. And I had to stop, and check myself, and go, "oh yeah, I'm really privileged too!"
I'm lucky to be here. And I'm thankful for the opportunity. I need to say that more, and keep my Liberal Arts Student Rage in check.
Now, this was supposed to be travel-blogy, right? So let's start with last weekend, when I went to Hamlet's Castle. We had to get up early on a weekend to drive through the idyllic Danish countryside.
Pictured: Idyllic Danish Countryside
The streets of Elsinore.
The town was very small in relation to Copenhagen. When walking around, all the buildings felt... short. It was quite nice, though, yes, cold. After a few minutes of walking around we were ready for lunch, and maybe some nice Varm Drinkke. Unfortunately, we also proved the myth that all Danish people speak English false. After several failed attempts at communication, I finally obtained felafal* and felt like I had my first real "out of the US" experience. Nothing like a real linguistic barrier for you to start to feel like an American abroad.
We soon reconvened for the short drive to Kronsburg Castle, which, let's be honest here, is a fucking castle, and not like the one where I work that was made 80 years ago, but a legit castle, so of course it was lovely.
The gates leading to a path around the building.
The main courtyard.
The inside of the castle is very different, because most of the rooms were destroyed by (surprise!) fire. So very much of the castle was a museum, with emotionless displays. It was cool to see, but at the same time, I was viewing objects in cases, which is never my favorite way to really feel history, especially in such an amazing historic place like this. There were a few rooms set up as they may have been used, which were lovely, but the real gem here was our tour guide. Having a good tour guide is essential! She had all the best anecdotes to really make me feel like I learned something. I left very cold, but satisfied.
Above: two images from the staged rooms
Below: a hair salon in Copenhagen
I then really started getting into the routine of classes. Monday, early class, long break, afternoon class. Tuesday, three classes in a row. Wednesday, no class. Thursday, same as Monday. Friday, same as Tuesday. Weekend.
I took advantage of my breaks between classes to catch up on course reading, figure out the Danish postal system, and explore around DIS taking pictures. I know that I'm clearly obsessed with silly signs. The thing is, it's not just a Danish thing. Even signs in my own culture are silly. There's a store in my local mall called Purfumania! The thing is, I don't normally walk around my local mall with a camera.
I should.
Above: Coffelicious
Below: Very Gentlemanish (still no idea what this means)
Anyway, come Friday, it's time for me to leave. I barely make it through all of my classes (doesn't waiting for something you're really excited about suck?) and rushed back to my dorm, where I dumped my school stuff out of my bag and packed up everything I would need for approximately 36 hours in the UK.
And then I sat around and waited for it to be a reasonable time for me to leave.
I then took the S Tog to the Metro, and the Metro to the wrong stop, and then the Metro to the right stop at the airport. Checking in and security went quickly, although I had a moment of confusion at security when they didn't realize I didn't speak Danish** but after that it was just a matter of getting something to eat and finding Terminal F.
To get to Terminal F you actually have to go THROUGH a two story H&M. The whole airport is the most consumerist place I've ever been in - a stark contrast to the rest of the city. It's also the location of the only Starbucks in Denmark and yes, I did buy something there.
Waiting to board the flight was only frustrating because I was so exciting. I got a new stamp in my passport and off we went! After about an hour's nap on the plane, I landed in London, and began the long, slow process of going through customs.
"Welcome to Britain! Here's your introduction to our favorite passtime: queuing."
After customs, it was just a matter of getting from Gatwick Airport, London to the Cardiff Central Bus Station, where The Mob was going to meet me. So I took a shuttle to a train station, a train to another station, walked to the bus terminal, bought my ticket and a suspicious sandwich (dinner!), and was on my way to Cardiff within, oh, two hours of landing.
Shown: My brain after arriving in London
I then discovered the next big problem of the weekend: to turn my phone on, you need to remember the PIN. If you guess wrong, you're locked out and you have to enter the much longer PUK number. Both numbers were located in an email in my inbox, but not in my brain. So I couldn't call The Mob and impart the vital information of when I was arriving in Cardiff. All of my connections were of the "catch the one in two minutes or wait four hours" variety, so I didn't have much time to look for internet access to figure out my number or get a message to Mob (also, I don't memorize phone numbers, so I couldn't use a pay phone).
Fortunately, when I got to Cardiff, The Mob was there, looking very chilly and disgruntled because I was stupid again and didn't call (and it was totally my fault, because I could have done something like write down the PIN to my phone, but I didn't and then I forgot it and it was just stupid). But we hadn't seen each other in way too long and it was really nice.
And it was 2 am.
So I fucked up my sleep schedule real good, going to bed at 8 am after watching Dirty Dancing and trying Pear Cider flavored booze (not as bad as I thought it was going to be, as long as you ignored the fact that it tasted like alcohol, which it did because it was) and waking up at noon.
I didn't have much time in Cardiff, and besides it was snowing, so The Mob and I didn't go see any sights as much as we just walked around, looked at some stores (two DIFFERENT stores selling American Candy as a Thing! I will have to go back with my camera, I didn't bring it on the walk because of snow) and also bought groceries, because that is what we do. We had dinner, and then second dinner with Flatmates (who were nice!)
Then it was a game of staying awake (Torchwood! X-Men!) until my bus at 1:20 am. We went through several different plans (We'll take the 11 pm bus. We'll take the 12 pm bus. We'll call a cab. Our cab is an hour early. We'll ask them to come back later.) before we finally had to give in and go to the bus station.
It was hard to say goodbye. It always is. But we will see each other again, soon, when The Mob is coming to Copenhagen (what a fun sentence, it sounds like the tagline for a film!) for a few days visit. It will be longer than 24 hours, which will be nice!
Anyway, the way back to Copenhagen was it's own mess of things. On the bus I was so sleep deprived that I felt sick, but couldn't really sleep because the seats were such that I couldn't curl up in them (I did manage it for a while, but people talking about me and pointing as I curled up on two seats, still wearing seat belt, kept me awake, and then the bus driver chastised me). I woke up from a doze to see we were at an airport and got off the bus. Then I realized it was fucking Heathrow, which was not where I was headed. I ran back to the bus, which fortunately was still there, and returned to my seat in shame.
Anyway, the bus dropped me off right where I needed to be, I got a breakfast croissant and chai*** and headed off to my terminal. We boarded quickly, and were ready to take off...
...
....
.....
......
.......and sat on the runway for three hours.
There was snow on the plane, it needed to be de-iced, we were waiting for them to finish clearing up the runway, the wheels couldn't get traction on the ice under the plane, they were going to get a bigger tug but that wasn't strong enough either, and so on.
Finally we took off, and the rest of my journey was rather uneventful.
Upon returning to Denmark I got another stamp in my passport (fancy) and quickly returned to my dorm to sleep. It was an exhausting, whirlwind of a weekend, but it was worth it. Time, money, energy-wise, I really just needed to see a certain someone, and get some proper hugs. It was too short, but there will be more trips.
And yes, I am going back to Cardiff to look for Torchwood.
* a word I cannot spell even close enough to correctly that Chrome will tell me how to actually spell it.
** Passing for a Dane is so much fun, it makes me feel very... included. Like I'm doing all the right things. I'm following the unspoken codes of conduct that make me seem Danish. (people who don't think I'm Danish think I'm an American Russian Jew, I'm not sure what to say about that)
*** made from loose-leaf and very, very good. The British know how to make their tea!
Uh, and then I spent lots of money to fly to another country and visit The Mob. And I had to stop, and check myself, and go, "oh yeah, I'm really privileged too!"
I'm lucky to be here. And I'm thankful for the opportunity. I need to say that more, and keep my Liberal Arts Student Rage in check.
Now, this was supposed to be travel-blogy, right? So let's start with last weekend, when I went to Hamlet's Castle. We had to get up early on a weekend to drive through the idyllic Danish countryside.
Pictured: Idyllic Danish Countryside
The streets of Elsinore.
The town was very small in relation to Copenhagen. When walking around, all the buildings felt... short. It was quite nice, though, yes, cold. After a few minutes of walking around we were ready for lunch, and maybe some nice Varm Drinkke. Unfortunately, we also proved the myth that all Danish people speak English false. After several failed attempts at communication, I finally obtained felafal* and felt like I had my first real "out of the US" experience. Nothing like a real linguistic barrier for you to start to feel like an American abroad.
We soon reconvened for the short drive to Kronsburg Castle, which, let's be honest here, is a fucking castle, and not like the one where I work that was made 80 years ago, but a legit castle, so of course it was lovely.
The gates leading to a path around the building.
The main courtyard.
The inside of the castle is very different, because most of the rooms were destroyed by (surprise!) fire. So very much of the castle was a museum, with emotionless displays. It was cool to see, but at the same time, I was viewing objects in cases, which is never my favorite way to really feel history, especially in such an amazing historic place like this. There were a few rooms set up as they may have been used, which were lovely, but the real gem here was our tour guide. Having a good tour guide is essential! She had all the best anecdotes to really make me feel like I learned something. I left very cold, but satisfied.
Above: two images from the staged rooms
Below: a hair salon in Copenhagen
I then really started getting into the routine of classes. Monday, early class, long break, afternoon class. Tuesday, three classes in a row. Wednesday, no class. Thursday, same as Monday. Friday, same as Tuesday. Weekend.
I took advantage of my breaks between classes to catch up on course reading, figure out the Danish postal system, and explore around DIS taking pictures. I know that I'm clearly obsessed with silly signs. The thing is, it's not just a Danish thing. Even signs in my own culture are silly. There's a store in my local mall called Purfumania! The thing is, I don't normally walk around my local mall with a camera.
I should.
Above: Coffelicious
Below: Very Gentlemanish (still no idea what this means)
Anyway, come Friday, it's time for me to leave. I barely make it through all of my classes (doesn't waiting for something you're really excited about suck?) and rushed back to my dorm, where I dumped my school stuff out of my bag and packed up everything I would need for approximately 36 hours in the UK.
And then I sat around and waited for it to be a reasonable time for me to leave.
I then took the S Tog to the Metro, and the Metro to the wrong stop, and then the Metro to the right stop at the airport. Checking in and security went quickly, although I had a moment of confusion at security when they didn't realize I didn't speak Danish** but after that it was just a matter of getting something to eat and finding Terminal F.
To get to Terminal F you actually have to go THROUGH a two story H&M. The whole airport is the most consumerist place I've ever been in - a stark contrast to the rest of the city. It's also the location of the only Starbucks in Denmark and yes, I did buy something there.
Waiting to board the flight was only frustrating because I was so exciting. I got a new stamp in my passport and off we went! After about an hour's nap on the plane, I landed in London, and began the long, slow process of going through customs.
"Welcome to Britain! Here's your introduction to our favorite passtime: queuing."
After customs, it was just a matter of getting from Gatwick Airport, London to the Cardiff Central Bus Station, where The Mob was going to meet me. So I took a shuttle to a train station, a train to another station, walked to the bus terminal, bought my ticket and a suspicious sandwich (dinner!), and was on my way to Cardiff within, oh, two hours of landing.
Shown: My brain after arriving in London
I then discovered the next big problem of the weekend: to turn my phone on, you need to remember the PIN. If you guess wrong, you're locked out and you have to enter the much longer PUK number. Both numbers were located in an email in my inbox, but not in my brain. So I couldn't call The Mob and impart the vital information of when I was arriving in Cardiff. All of my connections were of the "catch the one in two minutes or wait four hours" variety, so I didn't have much time to look for internet access to figure out my number or get a message to Mob (also, I don't memorize phone numbers, so I couldn't use a pay phone).
Fortunately, when I got to Cardiff, The Mob was there, looking very chilly and disgruntled because I was stupid again and didn't call (and it was totally my fault, because I could have done something like write down the PIN to my phone, but I didn't and then I forgot it and it was just stupid). But we hadn't seen each other in way too long and it was really nice.
And it was 2 am.
So I fucked up my sleep schedule real good, going to bed at 8 am after watching Dirty Dancing and trying Pear Cider flavored booze (not as bad as I thought it was going to be, as long as you ignored the fact that it tasted like alcohol, which it did because it was) and waking up at noon.
I didn't have much time in Cardiff, and besides it was snowing, so The Mob and I didn't go see any sights as much as we just walked around, looked at some stores (two DIFFERENT stores selling American Candy as a Thing! I will have to go back with my camera, I didn't bring it on the walk because of snow) and also bought groceries, because that is what we do. We had dinner, and then second dinner with Flatmates (who were nice!)
Then it was a game of staying awake (Torchwood! X-Men!) until my bus at 1:20 am. We went through several different plans (We'll take the 11 pm bus. We'll take the 12 pm bus. We'll call a cab. Our cab is an hour early. We'll ask them to come back later.) before we finally had to give in and go to the bus station.
It was hard to say goodbye. It always is. But we will see each other again, soon, when The Mob is coming to Copenhagen (what a fun sentence, it sounds like the tagline for a film!) for a few days visit. It will be longer than 24 hours, which will be nice!
Anyway, the way back to Copenhagen was it's own mess of things. On the bus I was so sleep deprived that I felt sick, but couldn't really sleep because the seats were such that I couldn't curl up in them (I did manage it for a while, but people talking about me and pointing as I curled up on two seats, still wearing seat belt, kept me awake, and then the bus driver chastised me). I woke up from a doze to see we were at an airport and got off the bus. Then I realized it was fucking Heathrow, which was not where I was headed. I ran back to the bus, which fortunately was still there, and returned to my seat in shame.
Anyway, the bus dropped me off right where I needed to be, I got a breakfast croissant and chai*** and headed off to my terminal. We boarded quickly, and were ready to take off...
...
....
.....
......
.......and sat on the runway for three hours.
There was snow on the plane, it needed to be de-iced, we were waiting for them to finish clearing up the runway, the wheels couldn't get traction on the ice under the plane, they were going to get a bigger tug but that wasn't strong enough either, and so on.
Finally we took off, and the rest of my journey was rather uneventful.
Upon returning to Denmark I got another stamp in my passport (fancy) and quickly returned to my dorm to sleep. It was an exhausting, whirlwind of a weekend, but it was worth it. Time, money, energy-wise, I really just needed to see a certain someone, and get some proper hugs. It was too short, but there will be more trips.
And yes, I am going back to Cardiff to look for Torchwood.
* a word I cannot spell even close enough to correctly that Chrome will tell me how to actually spell it.
** Passing for a Dane is so much fun, it makes me feel very... included. Like I'm doing all the right things. I'm following the unspoken codes of conduct that make me seem Danish. (people who don't think I'm Danish think I'm an American Russian Jew, I'm not sure what to say about that)
*** made from loose-leaf and very, very good. The British know how to make their tea!