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| Copenhagen |
Malmo was a mistake. It’s cathartic to write that so definitively, since most of my descriptions tell of how great everything is. Malmo is the last big stop in Sweden before Copenhagen, and Kelly and I thought we’d visit it for a day. The weather was miserable, even by Scandinavian standards...unrelenting wind and rain. We got poured on while carrying our packs to our hotel. Room sucked. Kelly and I were grumpy. Clear mistake. Let’s just move on, shall we?
Kelly and I have been staying with my friend Morten and his new wife Annette in Copenhagen. They have a gigantic house, the likes of which we haven’t seen for months. It has been awesome. They cooked lasagna and sushi for us, we ate the famous Danish pastries, and we took a driving and walking tour of the city with Morten the tour guide. We were going to walk in the forest toward a castle, but that plan changed when we came across a horse stable at the edge of the forest. Instead of walking, we rode horses through the forest, which Kelly has been wanting to do since we started our trip.
I have never been horseback riding before. It was a cool experience. I got the slowest horse in the stable (probably the slowest horse in Denmark). I was told I had to constantly remind him to move with brute force, which for horses consists of jabbing them in the sides of their guts with your heels and striking them with the hand-held horse whip. As a beginner, I was reluctant to really lay into the horse. My horse sensed this immediately, and therefore never bothered to extend me the normal horse courtesies, like….say…keeping up with all the other horses. When I would kick him or whip him, he would speed up…sometimes, and never for very long. I was wondering what the big deal was about horse riding, when suddenly we transitioned from walking to trotting (my horse just did what the ones in front of him did). Hey-ooooh! Immediate adjustment was needed to prevent my impending sterilization. Trotting requires pressing your feet into the stirrups, which relieves pressure from your taint, which would otherwise be hopelessly rebounding off the saddle. Kelly told me that galloping is actually less jarring than trotting, but I only experienced a half-second of galloping when my horse could sense his corral approaching on our return, and took off running for it (this was immediately stopped by me, at the request of our guide). My main fear was falling off the horse, which didn’t happen, so for that fact alone it was a successful endeavor.
Along the trail there were dozens of caribou (I’m pretty sure that’s what they were), which are very large deer/elk looking creatures (did I mention I’m from the city?). The best were the huge males, with their enormous antlers, which, if you ask me, are obviously compensating for something, if you know what I mean. We heard two of them bat antlers, and saw another running from a bigger male, who was bellowing in a low, almost cow-like sound (only deeper) that resonated throughout the forest. As this description implies, these creatures were often very close to the trail, allowing for a that’s-maybe-a-little-too-close assessment…especially when riding horses. Horses get spooked easily, that was my concern. But of course, this was their 100th time on that trail this year, so no 8 point buck was going to spook them. Have you ever noticed the word “spook” almost always is used in reference to horses. Nobody ever says, “I didn’t see you there, John, you spooked the crap out of me!” Likewise, no cowboy worth his salt ever says, “Storm came rollin’ through something awful, scared the horses and they run off.”
Morten and Annette signed us all up for a free wine tasting event. I confirmed that you can’t taste several (in this case 20) wines in a row and expect to be able to discern a difference. Yes, I ate the palette-cleansing bread between the tastings. It just doesn’t matter…after a certain point, my taste buds rebel and simply lock onto the tannins, and all the wines just start tasting bad. This theory was further supported when I went back to one of the (more expensive) wines after having had a break, and it was delicious. Just for science, I made sure to toggle between that good wine and another good one, back and forth, for a few more iterations. After this, I penned the fourth law of thermodynamics, which is that wine gets you drunk. Then I apologized to Kelly for writing “Wine gets you drunk” on my arm at an upscale wine event. No I didn’t (apologize).
Morten and I have always had myriad activities to choose from when we get together, because we are both very competitive. This visit we played ping pong in his brother’s basement. I started losing to everyone. To brag, I am a good ping pong player. So it says something about the Danish that I was losing to three white men in a basement. I collected my pride when I defeated the two non-Morten’s present (both of whom I had lost to previously), but I never won a single game off Morten. This is no surprise, as Morten always beats me at all sports involving a racquet, and most that don’t. I would tell you that I consistently beat Morten at chess if I thought that would raise anybody’s opinion of me.
I met Morten in Los Angeles. He lived there during two 6-month stints working abroad. I was sad when he left to return to Denmark, and I am sad to be leaving from this visit (my third) as well. I have really enjoyed my time with my old friend, and it was great to meet his new wife Annette, who is extremely nice, and shares a tinge of Morten’s playfully sarcastic side as well. In honor of my good Danish friend, I have decided to randomly select one Indian we meet on the next leg of our journey and call him Morten. And as a display of my loyalty, I will continue to call him Morten despite his no doubt several appeals to me to cease calling him Morten. Goodbye for now, Morten, see you in India.
Kelly’s new saying that cracks me up is “My tongue is dizzy.” It’s a sensation, she says, that she gets sometimes before she gets sick. It’s been several days now and no sickness, just the same, hilarious line.
I have officially given up on trying to fully enjoy the moment. Now don’t get me wrong, I am enjoying plenty of moments. But fully enjoying the moment involves foregoing thoughts of the future, which I am now admitting I take great pleasure in. Ever since I got an email from Morten while in Greece (at the start of our trip), I have been looking forward to our visit to Denmark. And now that I’m here in Denmark visiting my friend, I am really enjoying it, but a non-zero portion of that enjoyment comes from my excitement that we are about to head to India.
India, I will add, is now desperately needed. Kelly and I have seen the museums, we’ve drunk the cola with no ice, and we’re at the point where every European city is so remarkably different, and yet it’s all starting to feel the same. Weather changes, language changes…no matter. Our cultural differentiation tolerance is sky high, and we are ready for the jaw dropping differences of India. But I am not naively looking forward to India. I am on to my game. So instead I will say this: I can’t wait to get to India, because while there I will derive so much pleasure from thoughts of Thailand, where we can trade the chaos of India for an iced drink and a beach-side massage. Thailand’s real allure, however, will come from the sheer bliss of anticipating my return to San Diego, where I will reunite with friends and family, Tivo, and clean drinking water. I feel fortunate that time will help dull the painful irony that in a year from now, I will be sitting somewhere in San Diego reflecting back on my trip around the world, wishing I could get away to travel again.
Damn, that felt like the perfect final blog to finish off the trip, but we haven’t even gotten to the third world country part yet. Oh well. If my final post fails to be the reflective masterpiece that it should, simply return here to remember the profoundness of my writing before the malaria pills kicked in.
