18-20 March 2014: Denmark

In preparation for my trip to New Zealand, I thought I'd, y'know, finish up my blog posts from this spring.  Sorry about the lack of timeliness.  I suck.  But, on the plus side, pictures!

My flight from Estonia was entirely uneventful.  As I stepped into the bathroom after my flight, the first thing I saw was a plug that looked like this:

I'M A PLUG =D

 I do not think the shape of Danish plugs is an accident.  Denmark seems like a country that's so happy even their plugs constantly need to be expressing joy.  In fact, as I left the Copenhagen Metro, heading to my Couchsurfing host, a guy just outside the Metro greeted me with a pleasant "Welcome to Denmark!"  I was used enough to Finland/Estonia's character by now to be terrified by the intrusion and walked quickly away.

Denmark also offers iPhone reparations.  For those who lost property in the Great iPhone War of 2011.

What's this "Couchsurfing" thing, you ask?  Think airbnb or VRBO, but without a financial transaction.  Basically, the thought is to find people around the world willing to put visitors up in their home, in exchange for the opportunity to have a cultural exchange and the chance to meet someone new and interesting.  Best of all, it's free - it's definitely nice to bring something with you for your hosts, or, at least, to do the dishes or something for them, but it's not required.  Basically, it combines some of my very favorite things: meeting new people, learning new things, experiencing places like a local would, and being frugal.  Most excellent!

The user experience of finding a host is kind of like online dating.  Basically, you write a little message about who you are and what you're doing in the place where you're surfing and why you'd like to surf at someone's place.  It's completely acceptable for prospective hosts to turn you down if you ask.  Unlike online dating, though, there's also a system of references, where former surfers/hosts can leave messages describing their time with a prospective host.  (My hosts in Denmark were taking a bit of a risk with me because I didn't have any references.)  This can really help in finding someone fun and safe.

As soon as I saw my Copenhagen host Jen's profile, I immediately dashed off a message to her and started praying, basically.  Jen seemed really cool - she had a ton of good references, worked in a "biohacking" lab (basically, open source science; so anyone who wants to can wander in and do experiments, more or less), had a very fun profile, lived in apartment in a cool place, and, best of all, grew up in Minneapolis, Minnesota, of all places.  I figured for my first host, it couldn't hurt to stay with someone who would seem a little familiar.

True to form, the first thing Jen asked me to do when I entered her apartment was to take off her shoes.  I was in the process of taking off my shoes, because, really, what else would you do when you enter someone's home?  (On a related note, it still weirds me out when I'm taking off my shoes after entering their place and people start insisting that I leave my shoes on.  "Oh, no, you don't have to!"  But I want to.  It's really uncomfortable to have shoes on in a house; it's abnormal, unless you are expecting that I'll be leaving right away.)  We were immediately best friends.

She tried to set me up with a spare bike outside their house.  As we tried to get it unstuck, the key wouldn't fit in the bike lock, and she didn't have oil to fix the problem.  Jen thought a bit, then went up and got her hair oil, which fixed the problem.  But, alas, the bike had a flat tire, which the bike store couldn't fix in time for it to be useful to me.

There are seriously bikes EVERYWHERE in Copenhagen.  The only other place I've seen such crazy biking obsession was Amsterdam, which is also a pleasant happy city right on the sea.

Regardless, I walked into town to see some of Copenhagen.  The National Museum of Denmark was a disappointment.  Not so much for its organization or style (quite nice) or the price (free!), but because of the disturbing lack of Viking paraphanalia.  Seriously.  There were only like 5 rooms with Viking stuff in them.  THAT IS THE POINT OF DANISH HISTORY.  VIKINGS HAPPENED.

On the plus side, though, while walking to the teensy-tiny Viking section, I happened to walk behind two older ladies, who were ambling slowly in front of me.  One of them turned backwards and said something to me in Danish.  "Sorry?"  She switched to English.  "We noticed you seemed to be walking faster than us.  Do you want to go ahead of us?"  "Oh!" I said, "That would be very nice!  Thank you!"  "We're getting old!" said the one talking to me.  "Oh, no, you're not!" I said, walking past them.  Have I mentioned that I love Danes?

After the museum, I wandered further around Copenhagen.  I stumbled on a beautiful church that I wasn't expecting to exist after hearing it chime on the hour.  The building was beautiful inside, with a huge dome and ornate decorations.

Kierkegaard?

Unfortunately, my attempts to see the anarchist commune of Christiania were prevented by the extremely confusing system of bridges of Copenhagen, so instead I had to hurry back to Jen's apartment.  She and her SO, Magnus (who's a Dane) treated me to a delicious meal: meatballs in a (thankfully mild) curry, with lemon mousse for dessert.  One of my pet peeves is the sound of silverware scraping against dishes, but I managed to struggle through it in order to eat every last scrap of that mousse.  I also gave them a huge bar of white chocolate with blueberries that I had purchased in Estonia.  We chatted the night away, and she shared with me some Minttu, a minty (surprise!) alcohol from Finland and told me stories of the knife throwing that she apparently saw everywhere in Finland.

Jen and Magnus had a rug that was the exact same colors as my shirt.

The next day, I set off to the train station to head up to Aalborg to see my friend Bailey.  I made sure to stop by Christiania, which was very disappointing at 8:30 in the morning.  Apparently it is too early for anarchists to be out and about.  I boarded my train for Aalborg.  My notes on my train ride say "crying baby", "happy baby", so apparently there were small children.

In Aalborg, I met up with Bailey, as well as my couchsurfing host there, Mads.  Mads is pronounced "Mess", by the way, in case you thought other languages might make more sense than English.  Nope!  After getting my stuff situated at Mads's place, Bailey and I decided to tour around Aalborg together.  We tried to take a selfie outside the local church... and, no sooner had we done that, but a Dane freely offered, with no provocation, to take our picture.  Oh, Danes!

Heading into the church

Bailey and I had a lovely time chatting and catching up, as I heard stories of her time in Denmark.  You can read more about her adventures at Bailey Abroad.  Finally, we circled around to dinner, and had a delicious meal at a sort of brewpub in town.  On their menu, they had "a refreshing, cool glass of milk" (yes, in those words) listed as an option, much to my entertainment.  My readers will be shocked to learn that I had beer instead.

Mads, my host, was a surprise.  He volunteered to host me the week before (this is another feature on Couchsurfing... when you ask any individual to host you, you can also basically put out an APB asking for help, and Mads was willing and able to do so), and I accepted, in part, because I didn't really have anywhere else to stay on Aalborg.  He turned out to be a wonderful guy: very friendly, and with an interesting job helping arrange conventions for Japanese culture aficionados in Denmark.  He liked basically all of the games that I like... yes, he had played basically every single Paradox game (and loved them all) and had run a game of Mafia (although it went by Werewolf among his cohort) with about 120 people playing in it.  He even drank more milk than me in a week.  Than me!

I spent the night at his place, then, in the morning, had breakfast with him and Bailey at a delicious pastry shop called Penny Lane.  Penny Lane wasn't too far from the bus station to get me up to Frederikshavn, the port that would get me to Sweden.  My bus ride was uneventful, and I started wandering around Frederikshavn.  But both of the restaurants I had looked up cost more than the Danish currency I had left, and not even the Friends café could save me.  So, I started milling about, until I finally found something that had something for the money I had left.

It was good I did so.  As I sat down and ate my mediocre sandwich, I saw an old lady motor past in her scooter.  She was wearing a jaunty red hat.  But it was a terribly windy day in Frederikshavn... as days in Denmark all tend to be.  Her hat flew off her head.  I continued monitoring her progress as she looked around and scooted over to the hat.  She tried picking it up herself, but wasn't able to.  At this point, I decided to take matters into my own hands.  Disobeying TSA guidelines, and leaving my baggage unattended, I went outside, gave her the hat (to which she said "Tak!" and something else, to which I modestly said "Nej, nej," because I had no idea what else to say), and made sure she got off safe and sound, hat in hand.  I felt reassured that I was doing my part in repaying Denmark the favor of a most excellent visit.

From there, I headed up to my ferry and boarded it.  It was... pretty bad, with the deck I was sitting on featuring a terrible disco-themed live band.  Blah.  I guess nothing could compare to my first ferry with the mysterious witch.  Next stop: Göteborg, Sweden.

14-15 March 2014: Europe 2, Transportation Boogaloo

Washington, District of Columbia/Newark, New Jersey, USA/Stockholm, Uppland, Sweden/Turku, Finland Proper(!), Finland

H: 15/9/4/3 L: -2/-6/4/0 Weather: Overcast/Mostly Cloudy/Light Snow/Clear

Yes, friends, it's time for another European adventure.  I feel like you all must have heard this story at one point, but, here goes: once upon a time there was a Facebook News Feed, and upon that Facebook News Feed one Jonathan Andrew posted a link to an entirely accidental sale by a regional Norwegian air carrier.  Lo, and much flailing was had, and much wailing and gnashing of teeth about the failure to take the $399 Turkish Air deal to İstanbul was recounted (actually, I found that deal independently of the Flight Deal, but I knew it would have shown up there at the time!), and it was resolved to definitely for sure take advantage of probably the cheapest flights I will ever see to Europe again in my lifetime.

And so I posted on Facebook requesting compatriots to join my in my travels, after someone who shall go nameless claimed that he "was already going to spring training in Florida".  The marvelous David Bogojevich had meanwhile posted the same deal to his Facebook Wall, stating his desire to go to Scandinavia.  I said I just wanted to go somewhere, anywhere, gosh darn it.  We agreed to travel together to Stockholm.  I accidentally got a return ticket for a Monday rather than a Sunday, but whatever.  Hurry, hurry, hurry, some previously unknown part of my brain shouted at me.  And so I bought tickets.  But disaster struck: though I had a receipt, and was ticketed on United the next day, my dear David was not so lucky, and his purchase never went through.

So, yeah.  That's why I'm going on a Baltic Sea tour for my spring break, rather than seeking warmer climes... say, Spain, or Italy.  My itinerary is as follows:

14-15 Mar: Traveling (via Newark and Stockholm) to Finland
15-17 Mar: Finland
17-19 Mar: Estonia (nothing says St. Patrick's Day like Estonia)
19-21 Mar: Denmark
21-24 Mar: Sweden

It's definitely fast-paced and exciting, but that's just how I like things!

The morning of the 14th started off way too early, at 5, which is not a time that most humans should often see.  I propoelled myself out of bed through sheer force of will, ate the last of my strawberries, drank the last of my milk, and set off for the College Park Metro station.  The day started with an ill omen.  Just as I get to the top of the escalator, sure enough, I hear "doors closing" and I get to watch the perfectly-timed "rush" Yellow Line train head for the airport and other places in NoVa without me.

Timing was a big worry during the day.  Not the timing of the Metro—the Yellow and Green lines share vast sections of track, and indeed I only had to wait a minute to transfer.  I wasn't worried about the transfer between planes—due to the parameters of the tickets I bought, I would have 8 hours to make my flight to Sweden.  I was using those 8 hours to visit my good friend and former labmate Prashanth Rajarajan.  No, the problem was in Stockholm.

Some time in the not too distant past, the Swedish government decided that the whole business of regulation was passé.  An unusual sentiment to Swedes, to be sure.  So, in their infinite wisdom, they decided to abolish (almost) all regulations on taxis.  In one fell swoop, Sweden, of all places, became one of the most unregulated taxis systems in the developed world.

What does this have to do with anything?  In my itinerary, I had taken a gamble.  I only had 75 minutes to get from my plane to my ferry to Finland.  Factor in customers, and at least 20 minutes for a trainjust to get to Stockholm, and I was already worried.  When I discovered on the 13th that that the ferry port was in fact nowhere near the railway station, and I'd probably have to take a taxi, I was upset; I absolutely despite taxis.  (Something about the financial transaction and the having to explain a destination in an unfamiliar land.)  When I discovered the Swedish system is what it is, and that I'd have to hunt and pick for the "right" taxi (certain brands with certain "unit prices", listed on their back windows), well... I was not a happy camper.

So, as I saw the Yellow Line train pull away, I hoped that I was not getting a premonition of the ferry doing the same.  But thing started looking up pretty quickly.  Just as boarding began for my flight to Newark, I got an email from Couchsurfing; the amazing, talented Minnesotan(!) living with her husband in Copenhagen accepted my request to crash on her couch.  My plane was 30 minutes early to Newark.  As I bought my tickets to and from the airport (oh, I can get both directions simultaneously?  how convenient!), an NJ Transit train showed up immediately.  The conductor used an adorable hole punch to punch an adorable hole in some sort of mysterious slip of paper that was slipped in front of my seat.

Lunch with Prashanth was absolutely delightful.  I could practically feel his excitement for his work and his future oozing out of him.  We talk about science, our programs, our friends, and swapped gossip and stories.  I can't wait to see him again (come visit me, PRaj!).  As we went our separate ways, and I entered Penn Station to return to the airport, I assumed that my luck and struck again: I heard that a train headed to Newark Airport was leaving posthaste for Track 4.  I made my way down there.  It was an Amtrak train, but it was taking basically the same route as the NJ Transit ticket that the NJ Transit folks had been so kind to provide me with earlier, so it was basically the same, right?  People around me grabbed hold of some paper printouts not at all resembling my ticket, but they had just bought tickets a different way, right?  I nervously looked it up, and the route I was on was listed as a recommended route for getting to the airport by NJ Transit.  Great.  So I was good, right?

Right?

I broke into a sweat when the conductor announced he was checking train tickets.  I was reminded of when I was churchshopping and had to stare every time to make sure how this next church decided to do communion; I eagerly scanned to try to see what everyone else was doing.  I didn't see a cute little hole puncher.  I saw none of my tickets, in fact.  I started shaking a bit.  I was in the second compartment.  He entered mine and got within 5 seats of me.  4.  3.  And then... he briskly walked away.  I froze.  He did not reappear.  We got to Newark station.  He did not reappear.  We pulled out of Newark station.  He finally showed up again.  But the victory was mine.  The next station was the one for the airport.

So when he got to me, and confirmed my worst fears—though I had bought an identically priced ticket, it was not the right one, and I was in fact doing a Very Bad Thing (tm) by having boarded the Amtrak train—he basically just shrugged and told me to get to the end of the train to make sure I actually left at the Newark Airport Station like I said I was going to do.  I had to take a Walk of Shame to make sure I did so, but I considered that a small price to pay.

The screening process at Newark was uneventful.  But, as I got to teh front of the line to get on the plane, my ticket caused the scanner to beep unpleasantly.  I frowned.  "Oh," said the gate agent, "You have a new seat.  There was a baby on board that meant that someone needed to be reseated.  11A is your new seat.  It's also a window."  At least it's also a window, I thought.  But, as I discovered, it wasn't just "also a window"; it was also an Economy Plus seat, the sort of seat that they give you a formerly-normal-coach amount of legroom in.  Sweeeet!  It had a defective screen at first (also, did you know that United's inflight entertainment runs on Linux?  I learned this from the errors!), but that somehow magically repaired itself after Peter texted me to get a flight attendant on the case.  As we took off, the captain informed us that our flight time was going to be a full hour early into Stockholm, so maybe those taxis would be no problem.  Maybe the Metro wasn't a premonition at all, I thought, as I watched Frozen and Who's Line Is It Anyway, and then drifted into a fitful couple hours of sleep.

We did get in an hour early, which meant that I had time for such luxuries as "going to the bathroom" before I headed on the train.  The train was gorgeous and new.  And the ticket person immediately assumed I was Swedish, greeting me with a cheery "Hey, hey!" (actually "hej", but it's pronounced identically and is adorable).  I've honestly been very curious about whether people would do that.  On my previous journey, nearly everyone assumed I was German (I remember this being particularly true in Frankfurt... which is entertainingly coincidental given that my actual German ancestors were actually from very near to Frankfurt).  However, all Americans constantly believe me to be Scandinavian (which is, in fact, false, according to my research).  I figured Scandinavians would be a good test case.  If they went by statistics alone, I should be Scandinavian.  But if my appearance strongly suggested that I was German, they should assume that.

Oh, and no one should assume I'm American, as no Americans ever travel internationally.  People seem to be pleasantly surprised when I say I'm American.  I know our own self-perception of us as international travelers is terrible, but in reality, although we're perceived to be uncultured and somewhat brash, we're also perceived to be exceedingly generous, outgoing, and cheerful.  We're the kind of people you'd like to get a drink with.  People are alarmed by our use of guns and the death penalty, but, well, if you're someone interested in traveling abroad, you're probably also alarmed by our use of guns and the death penalty, so that's nice.

I got to the central train station, and by this point was somewhat unsurprised to find that the ferry's official bus was pulling into the station about five minutes after I showed up to take people to the ferry.  I bought my ticket and got whisked off, then boarded the ferry, which is a nice, new, small little cruiseliner with free wireless internet.  Nifty!

There was not much to the ferry ride... it was longer than the plane ride, but there was WiFi, so that helped.  Also, lots of loud, bellowing groups of Swedes and Finns who were about the age of my parents but liked to take about four shots each at 1pm.  Also, there was a woman who looked like a witch.  She had a long, flowing black cloak, hair down to her knees and also sticking straight up a half a meter or so above her head.  I would've taken a picture if I hadn't known I'm completely incapable of being inconspicuous.  She was kind of terrifying.

Finally, I stepped out onto the ground in Turku, and my friend Essi came right over.  Apparently my smiling face was conspicuous amid the crowd of boisterous yet somehow still dour Nordic faces around me.  She and I boarded a bus for downtown Turku, and stopped at what she explained is Finland's answer to McDonald's.  We then had an entertaining exchange with a cashier wherein all were flummoxed (but me) that somehow my card does not have a chip in it (things that are found in every single card other than those issued in the US), and talked about the tragedy that is people who have a Harry Potter character who is someone other than Hermione (though Neville could pass by our estimation).  I'm now in her apartment, trying to slow down and get ready to obey my body's instructions: SLEEP.  SLEEP NOW.  Good night!