Take my 2012 for instance. The way it's broken up feels to me like a play in three acts with a couple of brief intermissions spent with my family. Act One - Denmark. [Intermission] Act Two - The Ranch. [Intermission] Act Three - Eastern. As I write this I'm at the end of Intermission #1, having spent a joyful and memorable week with my family. I was home just long enough to see everyone, do my laundry, re-coop, change out costumes, and gear up for a different role to play. Away with the sweaters and scarves, winter boots and European chic in exchange for plaid shirts and bandanas, cowboy boots and western wear galore.
But since this blog is dedicated to my time in Denmark, I suppose I should tell you how Act One ended. Last time I wrote was just before my final week in Denmark. Since I'd finished all my classes I got an entire week to go and do whatever I wanted. The "whatever I wanted" consisted of finishing out my Copenhagen bucket list and revisiting the places that had become "my spots" around the city. I honestly don't remember right now everything that I did but I have it written down somewhere. So sorry if you were actually interested in details. But a couple of highlights included spending lovely afternoons biking around the city and taking pictures of all the touristy things, visiting the grave where HC Andersen and Kierkegaard are buried (Niels Bohr is also buried there but I couldn't find his grave), seeing various friends for one last time, making a trek over to Malmo, Sweden (which is less than 30 minutes from Copenhagen) and finally climbing to the top of Our Savior's Church to touch the gold ball up on top. Here's proof:
By the time it was all said and done, I was honestly ready to get on the plane. Not because I'd gotten sick of Copenhagen but because, as I wrote in my last post, I knew it was just time to move on.
Since this is my last post I thought about writing a long and thoughtful entry about the ways in which I grew to become more like a Dane during the semester (after all, my blog is called "How to Be a Great Dane" and I honestly didn't write much answering that question - sorry). But I decided against it for this reason: once you're different it's hard to put into words just what makes you so and once your perspective is changed it's hard to describe how you used to view the world; all I can say is that yes I changed and that yes I became at least a little bit more Danish - and the rest you'll just have to get out of me in conversations. Which I prefer anyway.
Instead, I thought I'd end this post with the tale of the final leg of my journey back home. I had an abrupt "welcome" back to the States in the Dulles airport in DC. It was there that I was reminded of the hurried pace of American life, of inefficient service and impatience with non-English speakers, of the prevalence of arbitrary rules and laws, and of the unspoken code to always answer "how are you" with a "good" or "fine." After I boarded my plane from DC to Jacksonville, I was busy ranting in my journal about all of this when I heard the following: "Welcome aboard to full service to Albany!" Albany. Definitely not Jacksonville. The completely wrong direction in fact. Somehow I had actually managed to board the wrong plane! I successfully traveled all around Europe for four months in countries that don't have English as the native language and on the very last day of traveling and in my native country, I somehow ended up on the wrong plane. Well, let me tell you, I booked it off that plane. But by the time I got off, the plane I wanted to be on had already left. Being the competent world traveler that I am... I had a bit of a nervous breakdown. Meaning I collapsed underneath the departure sign of the terminal and let loose tears of exhaustion, frustration, and culture shock. I still wonder what people were thinking of me because I was a real mess right then. Eventually I pulled it together and everything worked out, but not before shedding a few more tears and calling my parents several times to figure out a re-booked flight. The only person to speak a word to me during my disheveled state was a clearly-Southern mom who said, "Sweetie, it can't be so bad. Missin' your plane isn't the worst thing that coulda happened to ya." Even though I knew she was right, my response was: "Yeah but I've been traveling for four months and all I want to do is get home!" (I'm glad I refrained from adding "And I really dislike America right now!") Still, when I combine her advice with the fact that, for my mom, a phone call from her daughter in tears, at the time when her plane was supposed to be in the air, translates as "my daughter's about to be in a plane crash," that Southern lady is right: There are far worse things that can happen. So, as cliche as it sounds, better to look on the bright side.
And on that note, God bless America! =)
[End of Act One.]
P.S. If you'd like to keep up with me from here on out, check out my other blog Trinkets and Travels. Vi ses!
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