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If we thought I didn't make a fool of myself enough in France, it's a good thing I moved to Copenhagen. It didn't take me more than an hour from the airport to be perceived as completely crazy. Here's the story of my arrival:
I had found a temporary place to live on the internet, so I had written the address down along with some vague directions from the airport. Side note- my directions are always vague, because naturally I consider myself gifted and don't ever read what I wrote down. Anyway, from the airport I'm suppose to take the metro into the city and then hop on a bus which is suppose to magically drop me off outside the door of the apartment. There is only one metro leaving the airport for Copenhagen, so this shouldn't be too hard. I get my little ticket with the correct number of zones I have to travel through then head down this moving sidewalk to the platform. There's already a train there and it looks to me like I have impeccable timing. The people around me are running to board, so obviously I start running, too because it's a big deal to miss a train. Here's the thing though- it's not a big deal to miss a train, because as a wise man once said, "there's always another train." PS: the wise man is my dad. So, I'm running with 2 suitcases and a giant backpack, I make it right up to the doors and turn around. I stop. I look. I READ. Reading really is the most important part. I read the board with all the stops and realize, "HEY. This is not the metro. This is the train and it's going to Sweden." With that, I grab my bags and head back upstairs to find the metro. One disaster adverted at a time. At this point, I'm pretty proud of myself for not blindly boarding a train to Sweden. I find the metro and blah, blah, blah I'm in beautiful Copenhagen. Now, it really is beautiful, except I'm tired and can hardly see anything at all. I walk the streets with my large suitcases and get on the bus. I remind myself that this is the hard part and soon I'll be where I need to be, which is in a bed in a random apartment I found online. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that throughout all of this I haven't actually looked at the paper upon which my directions are scribbled. Only when I forget the name of the bus stop do I pull out my trusty paper. I locate the name of the stop and the address of the apartment. I get off without hassle and find the street. Now, I'm looking for number 13. Aha, number 13 appears and the name of the girl is Christensen. I see E.A. Christensen and push the button. I hear a man's voice, but I'm not too worried because she said someone would be there to let me into the apartment. I tell the man, "It's Noelle" and he hits the buzzer. The door opens and I go in looking for TH, which I guess is how these Danes distinguish one apartment from another. The first floor has nothing with Christensen, so I climb the stairs. I get to the second floor and I see the name E.A. Christensen again. I haul all of my heavy belongings up the stairs. Beginning to sweat, I knock on the door. And who answers?
A man. An old man. 75 - 80 years old. In nothing but his underwear and a pink long sleeve button down shirt.
Of course. Hoping it's the man who's suppose to let me in, but knowing it's absolutely not him, I say again, "I'm Noelle". And he speaks Danish. And I laugh. And he laughs. And we're both confused. I pull out my trusty paper hoping he can read the address and tell me where I went wrong. Upon pulling out the paper, I glimpse at the street number. 17. SEVENTEEN. 17. NOT 13. I'm at 13 and she lives at 17. I pretend I'm not freaking out inside and give him the paper. He leaves the doorway and comes back 2 minutes later and points at the 17. He then proceeds to use hand motions to explain that 17 is 4 away from 13. I smile, apologize, say thank you, and swiftly exit. Feeling like a complete crazy, I walk the 20 feet from 13 to 17 and greet the young girl with the keys to the correct apartment. Inside is a nice, lovely bed for me to sleep the whole day away and think about the lesson I've learned. The lesson being read or be crazy or be in Sweden.
One adventure at a time. Welcome to Copenhagen.
