Landing in the Land of the Danes

COPENHAGEN, DENMARK -- June 22, 2006

It wasn't the night train from Oslo that did me in this morning. It was the unapologetic manner in which the train conductor blew off the fact that we arrived three hours behind schedule. Which wouldn't have been a huge deal. I can adjust to the quirks of daily travel -- it's a matter of being flexible and learning to think on your feet. But for my Danish host, Peter, who had risen two hours early and had taken a bus to meet me at my train platform, my absence was poor form.

I was frustrated with the train conductor, who no doubt was only trying to save face and avoid what would be a frustrating jumble of English-Danish explosions between us. Normally I am calm as a summer's day and carry off my frustrations with a fair amount of patience and poise. But I had been stewing in my sleeping compartment for three hours, watching out the grit-covered window with hope each time the train came to a halt, then realizing we were still somewhere other than Kobenhavn Hobengarden, Copenhagen's central station, the meeting place where no doubt Peter had long since given up on me.

Finally we pulled up to the platform and, feathers ruffled, I marched out into the chaos of the bustling station, my plan of attack spinning away as I counted out the steps it would take me to reach Peter and smooth things over. I hated the thought that this would brand me as a careless American. I didn't want to think that I'd already started out on the wrong foot with a stranger who had generously agreed to be my host for the next five nights as I explored Denmark.

I had met too many travellers, like the Vancouverite I chatted with for hours yesterday, who seemed to think that all the Americans he had met were slobbery, egocentric, closed-minded incompetents who were oblivious to their loud and ridiculous ways. It seemed to me that he was the closed-minded one, blinded by his own arrogance and able only to see that which he cared to see -- which was only to affirm his long-held belief that Canadians were much higher evolved than their next-door neighbors, the Americans. So be it, everyone is entitled to their opinions.

But among the many reasons I have attempted, wherever possible, to experience a homestay while travelling in a foreign country, is my belief that I can somehow undo some of the damage of the enduring "Ugly American" stereotype. That is, of course, is addition to saving a buck, and furthering my understanding of other cultures, and seeing a different side of a place than what the average traveller ever even knows exists.

After my pitstop at the ForEx to exchange my Norwegian crowns for Danish ones, I found an Internet cafe here and quickly logged in to retrieve Peter's mobile number. An email message from him seemed a bit on edge. Where was I? He had waited for me, but after several trains had come and gone, was at a loss. And the big one -- he had taken the day off to meet me. Guilt was rising by the second. I was mad at that damned train conductor for not caring about Peter's rearranged schedule.

I huffed down to the Tourist Info office to pick up some maps before honing in on a phone where I made the apologetic call to Peter. And I let out a sigh of relief as he understandingly accepted my apology. I guess I was expecting the pitbull approach, the likes of which Seb (my Paris host), clamped on me when I called him from some stranger's mobile after tramping around the Arc de Triomphe trying to find our agreed-upon meeting location.

So the story had a happy ending. I followed Peter's excellent instructions to take the local bus to his flat, and after several more apologies and some obligatory but enjoyable chit-chat, gleefully enjoyed my first hot shower in days. Two back-to-back night trains had left me feeling more than a little stale, and it didn't even matter that the shower was a drainage hole on the tile floor of the cramped bathroom, or that I had to hold the shower head with one hand while I soaped with the other. Some things just aren't that important in the grand scheme of things, you know what I mean?

~Melanie