This morning, I did laundry, knowing that I had time for the first instance in a week, and also knowing I would not want to do it once I arrived. The morning was a lazy one as I waited to leave the hostel, and while I could have used the time to maybe see something I had missed in London, I found my time much better spent rewatching a recent favorite of mine "Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon." It's a great flick that I recommend to anyone who has at one point or another enjoyed the great slasher flicks of our time.
That being done, it was time for me to gather my bags, say my goodbyes to the now all to familiar hostel workers, and head out. I walked down Queens Gate, in South Kensington, enjoying the repetitive nature of the high-priced domiciles and admiring the variety of luxury cars. Turning down Queens Bridge and the left on Gloucester, I soon found myself at the Gloucester Road underground station. I do not mean to imply in my brevity of the description that this was by any means easy. I had on my back my 50 pound pack and was carrying my computer bag in my arms, crossed over my chest. The Backpack does not provide much more shoulder room for a bag so when I walk at a good clip with both it behooves me to carry the bag as such. In recent days, London has been experiencing a bit of a heat wave, and today was not any different, the peak being 32 degrees centigrade (90 f). I was sweating wuite a bit when I finally got to the station.
The underground uses a card that can be reloaded with money as you use it, and this is by far the easiest (and cheapest) way to use the underground. It is called an Oyster. Well, as it turns out, my oyster was depleated of funds and after cursing the fact, I threw another 5 pound onto it and entered the terminal. 16 stops and one train change later I was at Heathrow. And this time, I was able to check in without a hitch. For today, in fact, was my scheduled day of travel.
Heathrow is an incredibly busy airport and in the international terminal can only be decribed as bastion of capitalistic endeavors. The entire waiting area is organized as a bit of a circus with the outer ring being populated by restaurants and the field being an open form duty free shopstravaganza. I bought a magnet. And a beer.
It wasn't until I got onto the plain to Copenhagen that the reality of my situation settled in. I am going abroad for 6 months. To this point, I have been able to keep so busy that I never worried about what was tomorrow, only what was next but there and then on that flight, I came to face it. By the time we landed, I was feeling a little low. This was exacerbated by the fact that there was no one to meet me at the airport, as there were for all the other travellers in my program, because I arrived too late for them to wait.
I walked through customs, and checked the banal new stamp in my passport book and headed to baggage claim. Once again encumbered with my pack, and my new weight of woe, I headed to get some cash (another woeful experience) and to hail a taxi.
On the brighter side of things, the taxi was relatively cheap but that was mostly due to the fact he drove like I do. At one point, about 30 yards from a yellow traffic light he floored it. We hit the intersection at incredible speed (in no danger, I assure you, the intersection was clear) and the car rose up just the slightest bit. The driver looked into his mirror at me, and I could tell he was looking for a reaction. What he got was a smile.
"You drive like I do." I said.
"I like to get there." Said he.
That was all the conversation until we arrived at the point his GPS said was Kettegard Alle 70, The Hvidovre Hospiktal Kollegium. My heart not so much sank as it free fell into the pit of my stomach. The building, a three story complex, was less than inviting. This was made ever more intense by the fact that what he pointed out as the front door was a big iron door with a keypad. I paid him and got out.
I looked around.
Had I forgotten something? Some detail? The email had told me to go straight to my Kollegium since I missed the ride. Didn't it?
I looked into the window at the darkened hall. I knocked on the iron door. I even tried to randomly punch numbers on the keypad but to no avail. I began to circle the building. In these situations (i.e. breaking and entering) it is best to see the problem from all sides. Thankfully in my meanderings, I ran into a student locking up his bike and he was willing to let me in.
"Is there someone in charge of the building"
"Yes but he only comes in in the mornings" At least English is taught early here. I can only imagine this problem in Rome. Or Paris.
I walked through the hall and found the door for the Inspektor, which I assumed could only be fancy talk for head honcho. The hours were posted stating he was only present in the mornings and my knocking proved it. My mind went to places that all minds go in this situation. I began thinking about how I was going to contact anyone. How could I get to email? Does my program know I am here? But mostly it was just repeating the same cuss word over and over again...the one that rhymes with "luck".
Earlier, when I had written down the address of the kollegium I had thought to write down my room number as well. I think it was this little piece of forsight that really saved me tonight. I found 3103, my supposed room, and saw a name written on the door. A name not mine. I knocked with no answer and just to check I tried the latch and was thrilled when it gave way in my hand opening into a small, sparsely decorated room. I entered feeling a bit the cat burglar but knew I was in the appropriate place, at long last, by the new package of sheets and towels on the bare bed, and the complimentary DIS tote that was waiting on the chair.
Ok...a victory but now what?
Wander down the hall and look for the door with no label. The door with no label is generally the common room. Upon entering the kitchen/common room for my floor I was greeted with the questioning look of five people.
"Hi, um, I'm Tom. And I am a little confused as to what I am doing but are any of you part of DIS?"
It wasn't long before the friendly Danes had shown me down the hall to the far end of the dorm where there was a DIS pizza party going on. I walked in and a girl asked if I was Tom. I said yes. And I hugged her.
All in all it was a trying day. But at least, now I have unpacked, and have received the catharsis that arises from such a simple act of permanence.
Here's my room
And lookin the other way
And this is my bathroom. The nozzle hanging right of the sink? Yeah, that's my shower. Drains through the floor. Awesome. But at least it's home for now.
Tomorrow: orientation? I think?
N.B. I just took a shower, and for the life of me I couldn't think of what this squeegee was for that was already in the room. And then after my shower, I realized that I need it to push the bathroom water down the drain! O happy days are here! At least my bathroom floor will always be clean :)
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