Oh, how the wine flowed...

This is Horne Kirke (Horne Church), on South Fyn, where my friends Karina and Andrew were married on Saturday, July twenty-third.

I've covered my travels up until arriving in Denmark on the morning of July twenty-second. I'd taken the CNL (City Night Line) from Frankfurt all the way north, over the border, into Denmark and across the water east to the island of Fyn. I'd slept most of the way, it being a night train. We pulled into the Odense train station about eight o'clock on Friday morning.

It was in the train station, groggily walking towards the ticket counter to see when the next bus to Faaborg left, that I passed an advertisement for chocolate milk. In the fog of my fatigued and travel-weary brain, I slowly realized that I could understand the poster. The poster was all in Danish. I stopped... slowly looked around... and read every written word in sight. It hit me like a bolt of lightning that I could understand most everything in the train station! Danish! I could speak this! That realization was like a shot of adrenaline. I approached the ticket counter wide-awake and bold as brass. The words appeared suddenly from somewhere dusty and almost-forgotten in my brain, as if they'd been waiting for me to return to their native country. "Jeg vil gerne gå til Hvedholm Slottet. Hvornår den næste bus?" Which, honestly, was pretty broken Danish. Translated, I'd unabashedly said, "I would like to Hvedholm Castle. When the next bus?" But that was immaterial. I felt untouchable. Looking back, I strongly suspect that sleep-deprivation had a lot to do with this newfound feeling of linguistic invincibility. But the extremely polite woman behind the counter simply smiled and printed out my ticket. I grinned triumphantly and made my way to the bus stop.

This excitement of being back in Denmark and of reading and hearing Danish everywhere, and the resulting energy, slowly seeped away on the two-hour bus ride across Fyn to Faaborg. Hvedholm is situated in a very rural area of Fyn. I had to walk for ten minutes down a dirt road in the rain, having been dropped off at an unmarked busstop. The castle, which by my standards was actually a very, very nice estate, was hidden by trees. The bus ride and muddy walk had completely extinguished my previous ardor, leaving me even more grumpy and exhausted than I had been before. I checked in (the "castle" includes a hotel and restaurant), got my room key, found my room, and collapsed into my canopy bed and slept for six hours.

Luckily, I woke up just in time for dinner. I went downstairs (having showered and changed) and found the dining room full of people. The bride- and groom-to-be, Karina and Andrew, greeted me enthusiastically. I had met them both in Denmark eight years ago. Andrew had been a Rotary exchange student, like me, but from New Zealand. Karina happened to be studying in Denmark for the same stretch of time, and had started attending Rotary exchange student functions (despite her not actually being an exchange student), and a mutual friend introduced Karina to me because we were both from Alaska. Andrew and Karina began dating at the time, and never stopped, despite her going back to Alaska and his going back to New Zealand. I've kept in touch with the two of them since we met, and we've managed several visits in Juneau and Portland, and most recently, Vancouver in May. But they're moving to Denmark (like me!) to study at the university in Aalborg.

I met countless people that evening during dinner, including the girl with whom I would share the room that night, Sarah, a very sweet American studying in Norway. I recognized several people I'd met in Vancouver; Danish friends of Andrew and Karina, notably Lisa, a Danish girl with whom I'd especially hit it off. She and I were both nannies, and had bonded in Vancouver over au pair horror stories. She and I were super-tight for the duration of the festivities, and even after the wedding (more on that later). That evening, in the castle tearoom over coffee and dessert, the kids my age attending the wedding slowly coalesced and we began recounting how we each knew the bride and groom. Annika from Germany had been an exchange student in New Zealand and met Andrew. Sarah, my roommate, had been friends with Karina since elementary school. Melissa, who had traveled all the way from Zimbabwe, had met Karina in Denmark two years ago. Altogether there were over 150 wedding guests, from eleven different countries.


This is Sarah, my roommate at the castle. She was fantastic.

The next day was the wedding, and, like all momentous occasions that one would like to be forever distinct and memorable, is a complete blur. What I remember most? Wine, and lots of it. But because my mother would kill me if I simply ended there, I will do my best. The ceremony itself was a traditional Danish wedding, with no bridesmaids or groomsmen. The pastor, a wonderful lady named Bodil whom I'd also met in Vancouver, performed half the ceremony in English and half in Danish. But the best part was dinner. Ah, dinner... a fabulous five-hour, three-course affair it was, with wine glasses that were always full. Speeches, toasts, and lustily-sang national anthems of three different countries (America, Denmark, and New Zealand) were performed with zeal. I was seated, fortuitously, next to the people I had gotten to know the most: Lisa, Annika, Melissa, and Josh, and we had a grand time. By the time dessert (wedding cake) was finished, the band was ready for the bride and groom's waltz. And right after that, everyone, young and old, started to dance. The band was phenomenal. Dancing lasted until two in the morning.

This is one of the only pictures I have of me at Hvedholm. This guy was standing guard outside my hotel room, and he did an outstanding job.

As for pictures, I'm sorry for the lack of such. The hotel was gorgeous and looking back, I do regret not having taken more pictures. But the time I might have spent snapping photos was spent having a great time with new friends and old. Lisa and I had an especially fantastic time together, after having only met each other once in a restaurant in Vancouver a few months ago. The morning after the wedding, having stayed up until two-thirty am the night before, I missed my noon train from Odense. Lisa kindly offered to let me spend the night at her house with her parents in South Jutland. But that day and night is worth a post for another day!

As far as the last few days are concerned, everything is lovely. Brittany and I are taking it easy, with small day trips here and there. Today we went to Flossenbürg, to the concentration camp, which was very sobering. Yesterday we went to the outdoor farmer's market in the center of Weiden, and in the afternoon while I worked on writing, Brittany designed the fantastic header for this blog. The day before that we took the train to Nuremberg to see Harry Potter, which caused me to fall deeply in love with my soulmate all over again. As soon as the weather improves, we (Brittany and I, not Neville and I) plan on taking a small trip later this week somewhere south, perhaps Garmisch or Salzburg, Austria.

I'll end this post with the only picture I managed to take of the bride and groom (hence the poor quality). Andrew and Karina are two of the sweetest people I know, and I was so happy to be able to attend their wedding. There is a good reason why my friendship with the two of them has lasted this long, despite such distances between us. I wish them both the best of luck!

Yes, please.

I know I'm supposed to be relating the wedding weekend at Faaborg... but I'm browsing the Southern Denmark University's Masters' Program in Maritime Archaeology's blog (sheesh, what a mouthful), and I couldn't help but notice this little statement:

"First task was to document the finds lifted yesterday. An 'almost complete' grapeshot and a “maybe-a-pommel-of-a-dagger-or-a-sword-thing.'"

Let me repeat that for you. "MAYBE-A-POMMEL-OF-A-DAGGER-OR-A-SWORD-THING."

WHATAREYOUKIDDINGHOLYHELLYESPLEASE. I want to dive and find a maybe-a-pommel-of-a-dagger-or-a-sword-thing!! This is only the sole purpose of me uprooting my entire life and moving halfway around the world... After feeling mostly apprehension for this move and this decision, reading that blurb and actually being excited about being a part of this program feels awesome.

Psh. "Maybe-a-pommel-of-a-dagger-or-a-sword-thing." Are you effing kidding me.

A week and a day

Today, I've been in Europe for a week and a day, although it feels like a month. There's so much to impart that I'll have to do it in parts! Today's post will be from Tuesday morning, July 19th, when I left Portland, until the night of July 21st, when I rode the City Night Line (CNL) from Frankfurt, Germany, to Odense, Denmark.

This photo was taken as I left LAX, my last view of the Pacific Ocean for awhile. I think that's Catalina on the horizon.

The flights from Portland to LA, LA to Atlanta, and even Atlanta to Frankfurt were unremarkable. I spent the the entirety of all flights deep in my George R.R. Martin books, iPod set to Nicki Minaj on replay, knowing that if for one moment I allowed myself to consider the fact that I was on my way to Europe to live, I would dissolve into a disgusting, weepy mess. Even though Brittany (who moved to Germany with her husband in August) emphasized the importance of trying to sleep on the transatlantic flight, I didn't sleep for more than an hour... a mistake I would later kick myself for...

I arrived in Frankfurt at 7:30 am Thursday morning, having missed a day with the time change. With two suitcases (a combined weight of around 130 lbs), a backpack and a laptop bag, and Eurail pass in hand, I made my way to the train station, located within the Frankfurt airport itself. My plan was to travel to Weiden, say hi to Brittany and John, drop off my suitcases and laptop bag, and then travel back north to Denmark all day and night. My train reservations were as far as Odense, on the Danish island of Fyn, but the wedding was in a town called Faaborg. My hotel reservations at the castle where my friends Karina and Andrew were getting married were for Friday night, and as of then I had no idea how I was going to get from Odense to Faaborg. (If anyone is wondering why I didn't just fly into Copenhagen or Odense: it is a long, complicated story!)

It was very, very nerve-wracking having almost all my earthly possessions right there with me, on a train, surrounded by strangers. But everyone was, surprisingly, very helpful. When I was obviously struggling to exit a train, especially at stops that had a large step from the train to the platform, people would give me a hand. I had an anxious moment when I arrived on the platform in Nuremberg (Nürnberg) to change trains and no one was boarding my train. Even the Germans were looking around in confusion and asking each other questions, with no DB (DeutschBahn, the German train system) official in sight. To specify, the train was there, at the station, doors open. I could see nothing out of the ordinary. Now, it would be understandable if I was confused about something on a foreign train platform, or if perhaps other non-German people were confused, but if everyone on the platform is obviously baffled and upset, then something's up. And there was no way that I was boarding a train that no one else was boarding. So I start asking people if they spoke English, and here's where I was pleasantly surprised: if someone didn't speak English, they turned around and started asking around in German if anyone near spoke English. Like ripples in a pond, it slowly spread that a girl near Car C only spoke English, and especially needed help. In a few minutes, a woman was found who spoke English, and rode that particular train frequently. She told me that it was not the normal train, and that someone had heard it would decouple at a certain stop somewhere down the track but no one was certain where on the line it would decouple, nor did anyone know which part of the train would continue to which stations. Awesome. But with the clock ticking, people were reluctantly boarding. A man, not a train official, who seemed to know what was going on, was running up and and down the platform telling the confused travelers which car was going where, and the woman assisting me translated. So I boarded my assigned car, fervently hoping that this guy actually knew what he was talking about.

A few stops down the line, the same man comes to find me (at this point, I am known throughout my car, at least, as that American girl with the ridiculous amount of luggage who needs to get to Kirchenlaibach) and says that he was incorrect, that I actually needed to be on the car ahead of us. "But, because it was my fault, I will help you! At the next stop, we will run to the compartment!" An image flashed in my mind of him taking off with one of my suitcases... but at this point I trusted him, the station is full of people, and honestly, there was no way I was getting both the suitcases off the train and onto another compartment in under two minutes. Thankfully, the woman who was translating for me was also changing trains in Kirchenlaibach, so I knew she'd be with me, too. So at the next stop, we all flew down the platform, luggage banging against our legs.

I made it to Weiden, and to Brittany and John, with no further mishaps. Arriving at their house was such a relief. Not only was it great to see them, but I got to put down my suitcases. I got to have a drink of water. I got to change my clothes. I'd been traveling for twenty-two hours at that point, with one hour of sleep to speak of. Sitting down with them, laughing, relaxing... Nothing sounded more unappealing than getting back on a train for fifteen hours. But that's what I did. Changed trains in Nuremberg and Frankfurt, and took the CNL from Frankfurt to Odense. I found my seat on the night train, took out my camp pillow, and went straight to sleep. Yes, I was sitting upright, but it was better than nothing. When I woke up, I was in Denmark.

Finally feelin' blogsy...

This was taken at the Danish-German border, at the very southwest tip of Denmark. The monument says "The Danish-German Dike."

Hejsa, friends and family! First post ever, documenting my second adventure to the incomparable kingdom of Denmark (see first adventure here). I was accepted to the Masters' program of Maritime Archaeology at Southern Denmark University, which means for two years I'll be living in Esbjerg, Denmark. Right now, however, I am staying with my wonderful, selfless, awesome friend Brittany in her lovely home in Weiden, Germany. She has lived here since October of 2010. This entire trip would absolutely not have been possible without her and her husband John, both of whom I cannot thank enough.

The past week has been incredible but exhausting, as I had to book it up to Denmark immediately upon arrival in Frankfurt. I've definitely hit the ground running. A longer post is soon to come, describing night trains and airports, encounters with incredibly helpful Germans, rounding up cattle on the border of Germany and Denmark, and a traditional Danish wedding.

Denmark is currently ranked as one of the happiest countries in the world (according to Forbes). While biting my lip and worrying about an apt name, I said to Brittany that I wanted to call it "the happy something." Brittany said, "The happy what?" And I loved it.