Travel - Copenhagen

Trojan

[Disclaimer: In case you think it’s not funny – well it’s not meant to be. Try the Humor board]



1500 GMT, Tuesday, 23rd March 1999. Copenhagen, Denmark.



I'd just arrived into Copenhagen from Dublin, and had 3 or 4 hours to mess around until the flight departed for Delhi. So I set out into the airport and ensured I didn't have to check-in again, then I acquired a map from the nice lady at the SAS information desk. The train was easy to find, and the journey into the city centre was quite short, about 20 minutes or less.



My supposition was that I happened along at the wrong time, but whatever the reason, Copenhagen was quite boring. It was a dull, cold day, and being dressed for the 30-plus centigrade heat of Delhi was not the wisest, amazingly I actually had my coat in the hand luggage.



Coming out of the train station, I was confronted by a large square by Tivoli. Down to the left was where I should be heading according to the map. Copenhagen allegedly has the longest pedestrian shopping street in the world; it’s a couple of miles long [1]. My objective was to have a look, stretch the legs, and see if I could find a nice cold pint of Carlsberg [2] with one of those deadly glasses that keeps the head nicely.



My first halt was at a crêpe [3] vendor for a delectable honey and strawberry pancake! Delicious! I got one for the road; it was too hard to refuse.



The next port of call was the newsagent it was imperative to send a postcard back to the class so that while they were studying through Easter they knew I was off having a great time… life can be cruel sometimes… Of course I was not going to admit that it was cold and starting to rain, so I picked a nice sunny beach postcard, you know the one with the bikini girl facing into the sunset, caption says “Pull string in case of emergency”? Well, that’s the one. It was almost true [4], there were a lot of beautiful blonde women around; the only problem was that they were all 6 foot tall (I am a huge 5 foot 7), and not showing much interest. Ho hum…



I got bored of walking down this bloody street after a while, so I decided to have a pint. Typically, as soon as I had decided this, I happened across O’Connell’s Irish Pub, Main Strasse [5], Denmark.



I was disappointed with the drink; the Guinness I got was very metallic, tinny, in taste. That, and it cost me nearly 4 quid. I moved onto the local brews of Carlsberg and Tuborg rapidly, but even they were still quite expensive.



I spent the rest of the afternoon drinking a selection of local brew, some were pretty good [8]. Heard the usual emigrant rubbish about “home” as if it was on another continent. Don’t these people get weekends? Some auld lad gave back his Guinness, that was interesting. The barmaid, (from London I reckon) with the 20k ear-rings, nose-rings and whatever-else-rings, was a bit cantankerous. Maybe she lost some attachment or something while she was pulling the pint…



At about 18.20 it was time to head back for the plane, my flight to Delhi was leaving around 20.15. Getting back to the train station was no problem, I even got to the right train. However, I ended up in a bit of trouble when I misinterpreted the announcement about the stop for the airport.



Let me explain – when I came into town from the airport, the train did not stop between the two stations, as far as I can remember. But on the return trip we stopped at the station between the two. Brilliantly, as part of a collaboration between the rail company and organised crime, there was an announcement saying “the station after this is the airport”. Of course, with the Danish, then distorted mispronounced English, I managed to think that I was in fact at the airport. So, it was cold, dark and wet, and I was in the wrong station, in a fairly dodgy area by the looks of it. Good thing I had that wee bottle of Jameson from the plane!



When the sole other passenger from the train didn’t leave the platform it became obvious he was a victim of the same cruel twist of fate! The poor lads flight was in 45 minutes too; he was heading to Amsterdam.



In the end it wasn’t too bad, the next train was along in 15 minutes, so I finished my Jameson in the warmth.



Back in the airport, I went up to departures and found my boarding gate – disaster! No bar, no newsagent, no duty-free, no seats, and worst of all, all these people, who would be best described as “Indians” [9].



After a 20 minute delay, we boarded.



TBC



(1) Must check up on this, the name is Strøget.
(2) Of course, being Irish, and me being me, I ended up drinking Guinness.
(3) Thin pancakes that they have in France & (I think) most of continental Europe.
(4) That phrase is most excellent!
(5) See note [1]. You know what I mean… oh yeah, the name of the pub might be wrong too [6]!
(6) Recursive comment [7].
(7) It calls itself, see [5].
(8) Must remember to dig out notes on “Guinness Drinkers Guide to Lager” I did down in Limerick. Sorry about [6] and [7], lost them somewhere, circular reference or something, invalid data.
(9) This is, in fact, a joke. If you are offended please get out the box your computer came in, repackage it and send it back to the manufacturer with a note saying “Please take it back, I am too stupid to own a computer”.

Al.


[This message has been edited by Trojan (edited 26-05-2000).]

[This message has been edited by Trojan (edited 26-05-2000).]

BossArky

Nice one