The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page.
- Saint Augustine

Friday, January 27, 2012

"Just click your heels together three times and say..."

There's no place like home.



Silly Glinda.


If only things were that simple. Or perhaps if each click corresponded to a 9 hour plane flight than maybe she would have been more on track.


While I like to think of myself as a positive person, I almost think it best to completely skip over the details of my flight home. I find that "Negative Nancy" at the core of my being trying to push her way through (she's holding hands with Debbie Downer)


What you should know was that there was a flight, two of them. There was airline food that I couldn't eat. There were children under the age of seven on every side of me. But to keep it positive I scored some black market NyQuil (it's illegal without a prescription in Denmark, but since I'm an American I had no qualms about guzzling down the little blue pills) and pretty soon those twisted little red faces just melted away.


I swear to Father Christmas this was sitting next to me.
She's even blonde, a true distraught Dane!


I have to say, one of the reasons this flight felt so long was because I knew what was at the end of it. Every hour I would get a drop in my stomach, a simultaneous flutter in my chest as I thought about arriving in San Francisco. There would be my mother, my father, my sister and my boyfriend waving me in a the gates, seeing me in person for the first time in five long months.


The certain gent I was waiting to see gave me these. (Representing Denmark in colors of course, and note the 5 kroner sitting on the table- I tipped him)


And so now, at the end of this journey, what is it to be back?
What does it mean to have an extra 25 kilos (I'm NOT going to apologize anymore for this) of weight in my suitcase of souvenirs? The endless roll of pictures I took, what does that prove?


All that I have concretely taken back with me are the memories. The things I've learned, the life long friends I've made.


A friend asked me "How was Copenhagen?"
How on earth could I sum up my five months of experience with the word "good? It was better than good, it was, at times less so. 
If I answered that way, we would both know I was lying, both know that I was leaving some crucial part out, by using the easy answer.
As a Literature major, it's become more and more apparent to me that even if I did have the correct words to express the way I was feeling, they never could understand what I went through in Denmark, the experience was singular to me.
And so I replied "It was a place."


But even if the souvenirs didn't sum up my trip, my family certainly liked them!
To leave you, a picture of my mother and sister drinking glogg out of the cups I got for them in Sweden.






SKOL! (cheers) my cheery readers, thank you for going on this quest with me.


Perhaps I'll begin a new blog about my life back entitled "A Dame who's Done!"


Farvel KĂžbenhavn!