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.