“Road Trip” Off to Greenland

But Copenhagen First (and Last)

SAS A-330

So, it’s off to chilly Greenland for ten days but who knew that the way there was through Denmark?

The Danes own Greenland (sort of) so we come here and then fly back across on Tuesday.

I had paid for an economy-plus ticket on Scandinavian Airlines but my so-called frugal resolve folded when I asked at the ticket counter if there were any business class seats available.

Up front I went, to seat 1D, in fact.

Upon arrival in Copenhagen I was all but waived thorough passport control, clearing any meager formalities in about two minutes.

The airport is the typical European one, complete with an easy to get to train station taking you to within blocks of where you are staying, in my case in Osterport.

I have taken to stopping first at the airport visitor information desk to find out the basics of land travel such as bus passes, etc.  It is invariably useful.

Everyone was apologizing for the weather here today, cloudy and poring and in the sixties, but they needn’t have.

After the blast furnace weather in DC it was a tonic though my shoes were full of water after an aborted attempt walking to find friends in the city center.

(My fellow guide buddies will be amused that I forgot an umbrella.)

I’m not far from where the cruise ships come and go and there is a star-shaped fort I circumnavigatedon my stroll downtown.

There are statues and outdoor sculptures everywhere.

I wandered into an immense courtyard surrounded by huge stately buildings, several of which were guarded by tall soldiers made even more so by their large headgear; worth a photo, I thought.

I leaned against the building and the sentry said, “Hey, away from there” and then uttered the words “two minutes” without further explanation or clarification.

I apparently had two minutes, but for what?

I kept it to sixty seconds and wandered on.

People don’t jaywalk here even when it is coming down in buckets on a Sunday afternoon.

I did but felt like a sharp-elbowed American as I was doing it.

Unable to locate my friend’s hotel and well beyond soaking wet, I opted for a stop at the supermarket and then a taxi to the hotel, where ever it was since I was hopelessly turned around by then.

At checkout the lad behind the counter spoke to me in Danish and I said sorry as I did not understand.

Then, in absolutely flawless English, without the merest hint of an accent, he said, “Oh, sorry, the barcode on the grapes isn’t working, we are getting the price for you now.”

It’s about 6 Danish Krone to the dollar so I spent part of the day in my jet-lagged induced state trying to figure out whether bargains were abounding.

They were not but whatever.

Time to see if the clothes are dry.








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