European Spice

Walking out of the hostel Friday morning I had life back in me. It was a beautiful morning, and I was ambitious in that I've been able to maintain my map's proper position in my back pocket since I've been here. My sense of direction impresses me sometimes, but with this I was really surprised. I walked from one side of the city to the other in a relatively direct route. I guess I was more awake than I thought on that busride back to the city. Everything looks so different in the daytime. More bikes for one thing, and you know what that means.

Heading back to DTU, the driver was nice enough to let me know where to get off. I stopped by the Kantine before checking in, and yeah, you can stop holding your breath, they've got cheese danishes!! So of course I had one. I was however let down realizing that it's not their only form of sustenance. I think Danish people in general would be a lot cooler if it were true, but the whole bike thing wouldn't work out as well being top heavy.

What I've discovered since checking in is that off season at DTU is a lonely hungry headache. I got here Friday morning and it's all just empty and quiet. It was a very rough couple of days. It rained a lot, and my only real comfort or escape was the computer. I think that fact alone made me a bit depressed. And walking a couple of miles to some supermarket that you only hope is there is difficult, especially when the bags... oh those damn bags...

I finally venture out of my room for lunch Saturday. I go to the Kantine which is suppose to be the campus dining hall. Funny thing is, it's closed all weekend and has very limited hours during the week. That's ok, because I enjoy a good stroll on occasion. I discover some picturesque parts of the city, a great pizza place. Everything is going great. And on the way back I pass right by the supermarket. It is small, and really doesn't have too much, but it is food. Perfect. No. Things go bad from the start. I am kind of feeling the whole I'm an American paranoia, like I have some sweater with the flag on it or something. Sometimes I just catch these looks from people. It's probably all in my head, but I just get in this self conscious mentality. Or maybe it is just all the food making me nervous as if I'm on some hot date after spending a week alone in the desert. As I begin perspiring with consummatory anticipation, I struggle with the little coin release deal on the shopping cart and just can't get it to work. I read and fully understand the directions, but it just doesn't release. Denmark: go ahead steal our bikes, but don't you dare think about it with our shopping carts. I finally give up, really feeling subpar at this point. As for the food, I'd prefer to just lie down and nap in the produce section, but I have to make strategic decisions with regards to my two mile walk home afterwards. After a half-hour of drooling I finally decide on the pasta I want and proceed to look for sauce. Eventually, I make it to the check out. For some reason supermarkets here don't take my credit card. No big deal. No bag lady either; understood, it's gratuitous. So I find the bags. I pull on a clear plastic roll and it just keeps coming out. It's thin, narrow, and I can barely find the seams between bags. They honestly aren't even as good as the thin bags you get for tomatoes at Wegmans or Publics. It just isn't the polyethylene I'm used to. Not even slots for the hands to fit. I double bag my groceries, look outside and it's raining. I do my best to tie the bags though the groceries barely fit. Three stuffed bags with no handles, two arms with wet hands. Part of me wants to pull a Jackson Pollack all over the sidewalk, but I keep my cool.

Magical things happen in magical places. A nights sleep full of weird European spiced dreams and I wake up with a new perspective. I get out and walk. With nothing on my mind I soak in all the Danish details: the styles of the houses, how damn green everything is, grandparents in nice clothes riding bikes. Denmark has become a newly discovered flavor that I think I might just fall in love with. A walk like this makes me feel all better. I remember how hard it is to go for a walk like this back home. I look at the map of Lyngby and it's huge. There are no boarders. My daydreams anymore are simple: me and a bike.

Wonderful Copenhagen

From the plane you can see the wind turbines set up in the Baltic Sea between Denmark's island of Zealand and Sweden. I feet like the reason I've come is waving at me as I arrive. I think it's a good sign.

I take my time getting off the flight. Seeing as I am expecting to be a nordic nomad most of the day, I sit down and packed my great new hiking bag full. With that and my obese checked suitcase, I make for over 300 pounds of point at the stupid tourist fun.

It's a smaller airport, it seems like as soon as I step into the waiting area I'm already in the city. Everything just had that distinct European feel, and I decide to wear my distinct I'm in Europe grin. Jesper has a sign with my name, I immediately see him and just as quickly forget all 60 minutes of Danish I have been attempting to cram into my head. No problem though, his English is very good.

The public transport back consists of two trains and a bus. Not bad at all. We pass straight through Copenhagen to DTU just north of the city. What first comes to mind is what Charlie Bucket's paper route might be like. All the buildings have the clay tile roofs and bricks and stone everywhere else.

Making it on to campus I see the "containers" right away. With an unusually high influx of students a few years ago, the college decided on a quick fix with these mail order red containers. They really aren't so bad, but the first impression is a bit awkward.

Now I have to warn you, I was not so smart when I bought my tickets. I had done some quick research and had determined that Lyngby was quite far from Copenhagen. See... there are two. Kongens Lyngby where I am, and the other Lyngby which is on an entirely different island. Google Earth didn't get the memo, hence, neither did I. So with the limited international admissions office hours, all pending geographical obstacles, and of course the stupid American factor in mind, I decide on arriving a day early. That means arriving a day before my lease begins. That means that when I get to the office, they smile and politely point to the door. And for some odd reason, all the nearby hostels have already been filled. I believe it is 5 before I finally get to the hostel in downtown Copenhagen.

The line getting in is huge. Sweaty frustrated tourists from the world unite. It's fun trying to guess where everyone is from. Right now I'm pretty bad at it, but in a few weeks I'll be better. It is really interesting though, if you were to walk through the lobby of a hostel with your eyes closed, your mind would go crazy with all the smells alone. Every once in a while you'll come upon someone especially stinky and it'll be like a bad song you can't get out of your head. You just keep wondering where he's from and if they all smell that way. I like to think that I have the power to cause that reaction occasionally.

The hostel is shaped more like an office building. It's 15 stories high. The huddle of people waiting outside the mini-elevator with all their luggage is discouraging, so I took a deep breath and adjusted my pants for the hike to the ninth floor.





People in Europe are so strange sometimes. The first thing I see when I get into my room is some German in his tighty whities. Then when I get in again last night, I'm on my bed and some Italian comes in with just underwear and a robe on. Everybody's all about flaunting the goods. And their goofy accents make the whole ordeal so damn cute.

The nap is good, and extended which is always nice. With a bit more energy I venture out into the city. The bikes are everywhere, and I love that. What's even better is the women one sees riding the bikes. Most of the bikes aren't even locked up; I imagine it's not the same case with the women on them however as the Danish men aren't bad on the eyes either. Oh how I missed Europe.

The architecture in the city is beautiful and I love the water running through it all. I plug my ears into some good music and have myself a wonderful little walk. Eventually I make my way down to that place Copenhagen is well known for. Usually when abroad I do this whole little expedition into the unknown away from the people until I find this restaurant that feels just right. I'm not as ambitious tonight, and tnstead I settle for some tortellini with gorgonzola cheese sauce by the water.. I think I waited about two hours and paid $20 more than I should have. But I'm finally here...

Almost There

Well it's 12:30 in the morning my time, 6:30 Copenhagen time. 3477 miles traveled without filling up once. A bit more than two hours left in the flight and with breakfast thrown in the middle of that the time will surely fly by. Soon I'll be flying over Ireland and I'm fittingly listening to On Avery Island, which on the surface doesn't have much to do with Ireland, just that the last time I was there I remember listening to it on a bus from Dublin to Ennis. NMH is good traveling/thinking music for me.

So speaking geographically, I'm gone. The flight hasn't been bad at all. I may have even slept for a little bit. Seems like the more I fly the better it gets. That's a nice thing to think about.

It's amazing how I already miss the life back in the states. Los sobrinos especially. As I'm stripped of all comfort and control, my mind subconsciously searches for any mental hole I can hide myself in. It's like a fort, not the kind for troops, the kind for six year olds. The ones that only you were small enough to get in. Inside it's all soft pillows with blankets overhead. You can just crawl in and never have to think about how life would be after you're too big to crawl inside. Seems like that's a kind of metaphor for my life. I'll find myself crawling inside of a smile or feeling and not come out till I'm good and ready.


Elizabeth

Rachel Ray's on tv with her travel show. She's got three things that I love: she's cute, she apparently enjoys traveling, and she's a damn fine cook. She's making my belly dream of all the unimaginable deliciousness of Danish food I might be lucky enough to find. I really don't know what it'll be like, but I'm hungry and anything sounds perfect now.

Avoiding Stench

Different people feel different things during that transition between places. Some get nervous, apprehensive, excited... many things. For me, it seems like usually a week before my departure I stress out. I try to arrange everything, plan every little detail. Days later, I'll realize I can't possibly control every minute detail of the trip. That makes me frustrated, sad, hopeless. Quickly after it builds, it begins to fade away. I'm apathetic at best. The only emotion I'll show is impatience.

This trip's been no different. My flight from Rochester to Atlanta was short. I'm not yet tired, almost ambitious. I went for the Pimsleur's Danish audio files. Having been painstakingly studious all summer, I'm already at the astounding lesson two. At the end of this lesson I am told that I've "just had my first conversation in Danish". I can't wait to use my generic expressions to temporarily fool the first poor Danish person I meet. I'm looking forward to that.

My flight arrived quite late. Now people who know me well will laugh at my ludicrous policy of not running while wearing clothes that aren't specifically catered to the exercise. I find it silly. If anyone does run dressed this way, I think they should at least have a terrified look on their face. In my opinion, only in an absolutely indisputably terrifying situation should someone run in normal clothes. An obvious exception to this rule is while playing with children or animals.

Respecting this policy, I walked briskly to my gate. No race walking either, my hips were calm, cool, and under control. I was the last passenger to board, but I'm pretty sure I didn't hold anyone up. Honestly, it's simple, if it really comes down to the difference between running and walking, hell, I figure I just don't deserve to make it. Not only does running increase risk of injury while carrying overpacked bags, but sweating during airline travel certainly isn't desired. Festering in a pair of my own swamped up man panties for nine and a half hours only to smell like a pickled gym bag by arrival time isn't something I'd voluntarily put upon myself. I mean come on, I'm suppose to be representing the US as well. And though I'm no leader in personal hygiene, I wouldn't mind sending a positive aromatic message from time to time.

Concrete Jungle to Petrified Forest

Moving around so much plays tricks with the mind. You get used to a certain environment, and one of two things happen. If you know you're going to be there long, you'll start adjusting, accepting differences, learning, settling. Or the second thing happens. You begin longing for the next place.

I've been in a state of transition lately. My definition of home has metamorphasized from a comfort, staple, or stone, into something dynamic. Home is now growth. Home is in the making. Or maybe I travel the world finding these pieces of things, memories, ideas, and soon they will be put into my home. My fantasy is to one day have some place, home, that embodies all of my memories and me. It will be the ultimate comfort where I can swim in this deep and warm sea of nostalgia. Hopefully I'll never actually live there, and I'd prefer not to go there too often. All is well and good enjoying that sort of thing, but nothing much happens there. I guess it'll always be there though, in my head. It'll be an idle day dream at a dull day of work.

The farthest west I had ever been was St. Louis. And that had been years ago. Since coming back from Spain, or maybe ever since I arrived there, I've had this yearning to travel the states. To treat this country like it's foreign. I mean it really is. I've seen so little of this place, it's overwhelming to think about. It's unfair to think about, because I know I'll never see it all. There will always be some little haven hidden off the main path of traffic and life. There will always be millions of places like that.

Alright. You can tell I'm getting a bit excited. Things are starting to happen again. Summer is coming to an end, and the big changes will be taking place. The unknown, how great it is. Anyways, I recently returned from a trip to Yellowstone. Damian's been working out there at a service station. I figured it was the best excuse I was going to get to head out there.

I think I've conditioned myself into this feeling of nirvana when I step on a plane. Just the idea of going somewhere else when you've been somewhere too long. The days building up to all of it had been rough with hours to work over and my hairy nephew to clean up after. I had hung out with Nicole the night before my flight, and the haze began as soon as I got home at 12:30. Packing, madrugar and put some hours in before my long flight out west.

Wednesday night with two hours extra to take a formidable stab at rubbing the tiredness out of my eyes. Damian picked me up with the new lady Maria. A nice surprise. I was thinking I'd be in for a nice painful 3 hour ride back to Yellowstone, but instead we decided on a nice dinner. I had lamb shank.

Now I don't know if all national parks are like this, but Yellowstone has this park policy of allowing forest fires. From what I've read and heard, it's a good thing. And their thing is to let it happen naturally. It leaves the park a bit bare. Entire mountainsides will be fallow and all that are left are these toothpick trees scattered about. It's different. You walk into the forest and occasionally you can see for some hundred yards. It's just not what I'm used to. The earth seems bare and open. Maybe even a bit cold. It adds something though. It adds this mystique. Driving around at night seeing the bones of these trees, dried and burnt, it has its allure.


Damian looking down on Heart Lake

  
I managed to avoid most of the touristy areas during my stay. Yeah that meant no old faithful, but I saw some good geothermal activity away from the tourists, miles off the road, where apparently only about 1% of visitors dare go. That's how I prefer it though. Damian and I started our hike Thursday afternoon after a hearty meal of minute rice and black beans. Neither of us much experienced, we weren't quite as prepared as we should have been, but it was all part of the fun. Heart Lake was the destination. 30 miles in 24 hours. Besides vitamins, I had only 3 ginger bread cookies the entire hike. It was exhausting, but it was beautiful. I was one with nature swimming in lakes with leaches and sleeping in tents with mosquitos. I've never been more exhausted, tired, and hungry in my life.


Nice view to wake up to

The rest of the trip was basically a recovery of the hike. I went with the flow and saw the park from the road. The canyons, the mountains, the valleys, it's all gorgeous. It really makes me happy to know that Ulysses S. Grant felt it was beautiful enough to preserve. There aren't many places like it left.

Birth

I've always wanted my own website. I thought I could make it look so nice, all fancy with links and pictures. I'd customize everything, it'd be completely my own. It never happened. Maybe I'm too lazy, maybe I didn't have the time. I haven't really figured that one out yet. Well I got tired of waiting and I guess I have to start somewhere.

I feel like I've come upon an interesting time in my life. Things are beginning to change and I'm excited. Traveling has become a major part of me. Two years ago I did a year abroad in Spain, and now I will spend my senior year in Denmark. After that, who knows, but I'm going to attempt to keep you all updated on whatever it is that happens.

Honestly I've never been so good at beginnings and endings of things. It's awkward for me. So I'm going to get to the meat of it, and I'll do my best to put off the ending.