We’d all be lucky to have a love like that in a lifetime
I’ve been extremely neglectful of this blog. I can’t even attribute this to a lack of time or a lack of interesting things to write about. In fact, prior to Sunday, I had planned to discuss a smorgasbord of topics ranging from from my solo journey to Disneyland Paris to the ever frustrating trials in dealing with the French university system. I’ll write about the those things another day, I’m sure of it. However, today I have to discuss something that happened on the aforementioned Sunday. It was a little after nine PM (French time) when I got a call from my mother. I had just spoken to her the day before, so I was surprised to be hearing from her so soon. The conversation started out normally but I could tell something was up. She asked if I was at home, if I was alone,if I had settled in for the night etc. If i had only experienced this behavior once or twice before, I might have been oblivious to it, but that hasn’t been the case in quite a long time. In my house (and I’m sure in many others) these are the early indicators that you’re about to be told that someone has died or has been in an accident. In this case, it was the former. After I basically yelled at my mom to tell me the bad news, she informed me that my Aunt Marlene had passed away. The cause of death has not yet been determined. She just ate some Chinese food, went to bed, and didn’t wake up. It’s not a bad way to go, but I wish it could have occurred 20-30 years down the road.
Before I left for France, I told a handful of people my fears and anxieties concerning living abroad. My anxieties are generally pretty atypical, with one in particular that stuck out. I told these people that I was pretty sure I could handle anything France had to throw at me barring one. I told them that I wouldn’t know what I would do if someone died while I was abroad and I was unable to get home. I was reassured by many that such a thing would be highly unlikely. But lo and behold, my worst nightmare has been realized, with three weeks left before I’m Long Island bound. I have a lot of support here, which has been incredible and I’m grateful for every ounce of it. Still, for the first time since those lonely early weeks in La Rochelle, I just really wish I were home. There’s something peculiar about being removed from all that grief, but maybe it’s for the best.
My mom thinks that my aunt died of a broken heart. Her daughter (my cousin) Patty, died when I was in 10th grade. Aunt Marlene never really recovered;I suspect that most people don’t. I’m an agnostic, I don’t come from a religious family, and yet these past couple of days, I find myself praying. I don’t know who I’m praying to or even if what I do even qualifies as prayer. I suppose it’d be more fitting to call it wishing. Aunt Marlene, I wish so many things for you. Wherever you are, I would like to think that all of your pain has evaporated, that you can rest easy and give a genuine smile for the first time in years. Above all, I hope that you and Patty found each other and that you’re finally at peace.
Excuse me, sir, I don’t mean to bother you…
When you travel alone, you basically have to depend on the kindness of strangers if you’re in a pickle. Lucky for me, Copenhagen, Denmark is full of shiny happy people. Getting to Copenhagen wasn’t nearly as fun as actually being there. I had to leave Oslo around five in the morning to get to the airport, unfortunately the people I was staying with accidentally got the bus times mixed up. NBD, right? WRONG. The next bus would have gotten me to the airport ten minutes after my flight left. What’s a girl to do? By the grace of God, a cab was cruising down the highway before I had a chance to hyperventilate and I practically jumped into the middle of the street to get his attention. I asked him how much he would charged for a ride to the airport. I didn’t care how much it cost, anything would be better than re-booking the flight, right? The ride was a little under fifteen minutes and I paid 670 Norwegian Kroner via Credit card. Before I left, the cabbie made it a note to tell me that I got a really good deal, that he usually charges 700. At the time, those numbers meant nothing to me. I would later find out that 670 Norwegian Kroner is about 118 USD. Shit a brick and fuck me with it, 118 goddamn bucks for a 15 minute cab ride?! Never take a cab in Norway (or anywhere in Scandinavia for that matter) unless it’s an absolute emergency. I’d like to think that my situation qualified as an “emergency” but that’s just to prevent me from crying myself to sleep every night.
If I have learned anything thus far in my travels, it is how incredibly lucky I am to be a native English speaker. Yes, I’m being serious. When I first arrived in Copenhagen, I was was completely fertummelt. I though for a hot second that I should learn at least a couple of Danish words before going to Denmark. HA! If you want a good laugh, go to youtube and type in “Basic Danish Phrases” and give it a go. So I wound up in Copenhagen without any knowledge of Danish, and you know what? IT WAS FINE. The first person I spoke to was the guy at Passport control. I handed him my Passport (which was clearly issued in the US) and he began to speak to me in English. He even made a few jokes. And here I thought that being completely devoid of humor was a part of the job description for airport security personal.
Danish Guy: So, you’re from New York? I’m scared now.
Me: Haha…yea…
Danish Guy: *frowns upon seeing my French visa* But you live in France…?
Me: Just until December, I’m studying in France.
Danish Guy: Dear God, what on earth are they teaching you…corruption?
I lol’ed as he stamped my passport.
My time in Copenhagen was largely without incident. I attribute this largely to the fact that my English is impeccable. It still felt weird walking up to someone and just starting yapping away in English ( albeit rather timidly and slowly) but I think that’s just because it’s something that you just can’t get away with in France. It’s not like I would ever expect the French (or anyone for that matter) to speak English, but assuming someone in France speaks English is practically a cardinal sin. In Copenhagen, their attitude towards language is just different. The girl I stayed with described it by saying “Well, the Danish know that their language is incredibly difficult to learn so we can’t expect tourists to know it. Since English is generally considered to be the universal language, everyone learns it from childhood. People from all over the world can come to Copenhagen and get along just fine speaking only English. Have you ever heard non-natives try and speak Danish? They’re impossible to understand.”
I honestly have no idea what prompted me to go to Copenhagen in the first place. It’s not exactly the #1 destination for study abroad students, heck, a lot of people has to ask me which country it was in. I went and saw A LOT, but I’ll highlight my four favorite things.
Ripley’s Believe It or Not: It’s no secret that I’m a huge fan of the RBION enterprise. It was one of my favorite TV shows growing up and I have my Firefox homepage set to the RBION blog. The RBIPT odditorium (god, I love that word) is a lot smaller than a lot of their other attractions, but it was definitely worth seeing. It was also connected to “The Wonderful World of Hans Christian Anderson.” TWWOFHCA is this really awesome experience where you can actually hear and see the the stories of Hans Christian Anderson come to life. I know I sound like a brochure but it was just that cool. Each set looks like a large diorama and animates when you press one of three buttons (one for Danish, English, and German, respectively.) Lucky for me, I was the only person in the museum and didn’t have to worry about a bunch of angry Germans behind me waiting for the American to finish listening to the story in English. Derp.
Tivoli Gardens: This was basically a Halloween lover’s paradise. For a country that doesn’t even care that much about Halloween, they sure as hell pull out all the stops at this place. Aside from being a pretty bitchin’ amusement park, Tivoli Gardens is just filled with pretty. Pretty lights, pretty people, pretty EVERYTHING. I felt like I bumped into like ten people because I was the tool who had to take a picture of every cool thing I saw (and there were MANY) but the Danish people, being Danish and all, didn’t seem to mind. I want to say that it was crowded, but it really wasn’t. I can’t remember the last time I went to an amusement park where I could ride the roller coaster ten times in a row because there were practically NO LINES. When I was fourteen, my sister, two friends, and I went to Six Flags and were only able to go on four rides…despite being in the park for eleven hours. My sister still refuses to go back there. Tivoli had a ton of awesome rides and the ride attendants weren’t douchebags when I said I was a single-rider (I’m looking at YOU, Disneyland Paris!) so I basically went on every ride in the park barring the ones with a maximum height requirement. I initially felt like a loser being there by myself, but I got over that pretty quickly. I also bought a cotton candy that was twice the size of my head.
The Little Mermaid: People tried to sway me from going. Even though it’s basically Denmark’s equivalent to our Statue of liberty, people told me that tourists walked past her each day without even noticing her. One Danish guy said to me, “She’s nothing special, people think it’s this big statue and it’s really not that cool.” The thing is, you can’t just go to Copenhagen and just NOT see The Little Mermaid. How dumb would it be to go to Paris and just think that the Eiffel Tower wasn’t worth your time? I actually saw The Little Mermaid twice. The first time, I was on a canal tour and caught a pretty decent glimpse of her from the back. For a hot second, I considered leaving it at that. After all, it was mad cold, drizzly, and it was my last day in Copenhagen. However, I was determined to get a picture in front of her. When the canal cruise pulled back into the harbor, I walked alllll the way back to the pier where I took the sea bus to where she’s perched on the rocks. I don’t know what most people expect, but I thought she was BEAUTIFUL. There weren’t a ton of people crowding her, but every time I saw a group or a family pose for a photo, I offered to take it for them so that they all could be in the picture. Some families gathered by the rocks and got their feet wet while others opted for a picture on the boardwalk with her in the distance. I captured two Swedish girls posing like the Little Mermaid, on the rocks. Aside from being a nice thing to do, I figured that this would be a good way to “pay it forward” considering the theme of my entire trip was basically, “Excuse me, sir, I don’t mean to bother you…but would you mind taking a picture of me?” :)
There are so many reasons why I’m madly in love with Dr. Anja Wieden…but this has to take the cake. Everyone should take at least one class with this woman before graduating from SUNY New Paltz. I come home to find this in my inbox…
Kim Takes A Vacation,Questions Moral Compass
Bah! I have been super neglectful of this blog. Unfortunately, Ryanair’s semi-ridiculous baggage policy prevented me to take my laptop with me on break. This is our first lesson of the day,kids. Kim is emotionally dependent on the internet. Starting on October 21st, I embarked on a solo journey to Oslo, Copenhagen, London, and Paris. I feel like I have so much to say so I’ll have to break this up into several entries. For now, I’m going to focus on Oslo and how northern Europe made me question whether or not I have a moral compass.
So, the first question you may be asking yourself is why did I travel alone? The answer is relatively uncomplicated but the effects of doing so will come to shape my entire voyage. When discussing break plans, my best friends in La Rochelle really wanted to go to Italy. Since Italy wasn’t even on the list of places I even considered going, I opted for solo travel. Even as I type that, I have a hard time believing that it actually happened. After all, traveling by oneself is what everybody said not to do before I even came to France. After I returned, the reactions that I received from others were mostly positive. “Wow, that’s so brave” or “Man, I wish I could do that but I’d be too afraid.” Of course, not everyone was so supportive. For example, someone said to me, “Weren’t you like scared that you were going to like get raped or something?” Le sigh. More on that later.
OK, so my first stop was Oslo. I got up at like 5:30 AM to get a bus to the La Rochelle airport. There was only one person at the counter, eating a banana, and the janitor. I was three hours early. I bought a kitkat and a coke from the vending machine (breakfast of champions!) and sat and read a book for class. The flight itself was uneventful. Ryanair flights aren’t nearly as sketchy as people make them out to be. When I arrived in Oslo, I followed the directions to where I was supposed to be staying. Luckily, a friend of a friend who lives in Oslo agreed to host me for a night. The directions were easy enough to follow but I had a little bit of trouble with the metro, as per usual. I was running late because I accidentally took the wrong train. When I finally found the apartment complex I was so relieved. The directions read, “walk down the steps, there’s the apartment. Our last name is on the doorbell.” I walked down the steps and indeed, I saw their last name on the doorbell. I rang the doorbell. No answer. Waited fifteen minutes. No answer. I start to panic. Did I mention it was raining? I walk back to the metro station to get out of the rain and to see if I could get wifi reception on my phone. No such luck. If fact, I couldn’t get ANY reception on my phone. I walk back to the apartment and rang the doorbell again. This time, I get an answer.
Me: Hi, is this Irena?
Lady: No, sorry.
Me: Someone gave me this address. Is your last name Dahl?
Lady: No, that’s my boyfriend’s last name.
Me: What’s your boyfriend’s name?
Lady:Erik
Me: Oops, sorry.
Lady: Wait,do you know my boyfriend?
I didn’t answer because I was too embarrassed to continue the conversation. At this point in time, there is one loud resounding thought swimming in my head: FUCK. In addition to that, I may or may not have ended someone’s relationship. Just when I thought I was going to be spending my time in Oslo on the street, I hear a “Kim?” just behind me. There Irena was, wondering why I was out here in the rain. As it turns out, there is more than one “Dahl” in the complex, her apartment was about five doors down. The thought of that possibility didn’t even cross my mind. Lesson learned.
My time is Oslo was painfully short since it was really just a stopover on my way to Copenhagen. The only thing I really wanted to see was the Munch Museum but it was closed by the time I got there. I did however manage to take a picture in front of it. It rained the rest of the day and into the night so I just walked around for a bit and took a couple of pictures. In a nutshell, I didn’t really get to SEE Oslo, not really. Riding the metro back and forth was fun but I couldn’t help but notice that there were no turnstiles and no conductors with paper punchers inspecting tickets.When I returned to Irena’s for the evening, I asked if anyone ever checked to see if anyone bought tickets. The answer? “Not really. It happens every now and again but they mostly just trust you”.
I’m sorry, WHAT?
I obviously bought tickets in Norway because I was a guest in the country and have an irrational fear of foreign police (although I hear Norway’s jails are rather swank) but I did have to think about this from the perspective of a New Yorker. If the LIRR or the NYC subway didn’t check tickets, would I ever buy them? Hell no. For some reason, when Irena told me about the honor system, I basically said to myself, “Oh, so it’s free.” Subway and LIRR fare evasion is practically an art form, but it’s something that I myself don’t take part in because I’m afraid of getting caught. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? I don’t evade fares because I know that it’s stealing and that stealing is wrong, I just care about the eventual consequences of doing so, like being scolded by a stout metro-transit worker. These thoughts eventually lead me to have a near sleepless night in Oslo. Do I not plagiarize because I believe in academic integrity or because it’s a painfully stupid way to cheat and a surefire way to get kicked out of college? Do I only care about academic integrity with subjects that I like? For example, I wouldn’t dream of plagiarizing a paper but I basically cheated my way through high school math. My conscience would never let me steal from a mom and pop store or not return a dropped wallet but I wouldn’t think twice about stealing from Walmart or target if there weren’t any consequences. I wake up before 5:00 AM the next morning, leave a thank-you note for Irena, and ponder whether or not I live a shame-based life. I give some Norwegian Kroner to an old homeless guy in Norway who is sleeping on the sidewalk. This is the same person that Irena told me not to give money to because, “You have to try to be homeless in Norway. He made his choice” I board a plane for Copenhagen. It’s only October 22nd.
Exposé: The Nikki and Paulo Post
For those of you who don’t get the reference, this is basically going to be a fluffy “in case you missed it!” entry. This is largely due to the fact that a whole bunch of stuff has happened in the past couple of weeks but you don’t know about it because I suck at posting. So now, I can’t form a coherent post peppered with intense moments of reflection. Boo. For now, this will have to do.
Previously on Not Penny’s Boat:
I went to Ile de Ré about a week ago on the last hot day of the season. It’s an island off the coast of La Rochelle that’s well worth the €5 bus fare. We were only able to stay for a few hours (because men can’t read bus schedules/ plan shit, in general) but I had a great time. The tide was out (which, in La Rochelle means “where did the ocean go?”) but on Ile de Ré, it just means that you can swim and swim and swim and the water will only go up to your waist. Cool! Back on the sand, we read a French Cosmo and talked about things we missed about home. I miss Chipotle. I mean…I miss my grandma and my friends and the rest of the family, too…but you can’t skype or phone Chipotle. The bus ride home took about three hours (it usually takes about 45 min) because of a bad accident…does this sound familiar? Luckily, this time I didn’t have anywhere to be so my friend Katharine and I talked while simultaneously sending tasteless, vulgar text messages to our friends at the front of the bus to see who could “out gross” each other. We totally won. See how cultured and French I’m becoming?!
My classes are STILL not sorted out. As of right this moment I’m taking: Three French language classes, Linguistics and Communication, Linguistics and Semiology, two translation classes, Australian studies, History of North America, and History and Culture of South East Asia. I actually enjoy the classes I’m taking (barring Australian studies because my professor is mean) but I’m still adjusting to how the French educational system functions.
Here is a question that a lot of people have been asking me: Are the French rude? Not from what I can tell. Rudeness is subjective. What I try to remember is that MOST people don’t intend to be rude. If someone does something that I consider to be discourteous, I will either write it off a cultural difference or ask a native if a certain behavior is normal. For example, when I speak French to the French they will automatically reply in English. To some extent, this irritates the shit out of me. However, I understand that the French aren’t doing this to be rude. In fact, they’re just trying to make the transaction easier for me. The vast majority of French people that I’ve met have been nothing but kind and helpful to me. I have to make an exception for French waiters, though. I quote Stephen King, “Don’t you know that all French waiters come from the same island? Snooty.” On a side note, if you order any type of beef in France, be sure to ask for it bien cuit. If not, whatever they put on your plate will still have a pulse.
Slowly but surely, my French is improving. I still need to make more of an effort to have legitimate conversations with French people and I need to stop comparing myself with other students who have attained a higher level of French proficiency. Learning a lot of the grammar is grunt work but learning colloquialisms has to be the best part about studying language in a foreign country. My new favorite expression is, “Minute Papillon!”. It basically means the same thing as saying “easy there, tiger!” when someone is getting riled up except that it’s more beautifully condescending…because “papillon” means “butterfly.”
All in all, La Rochelle is closing up shop for the season. Tourists have gone home, ice cream parlors are closing, and the temperature is dropping a few degrees each day. I haven’t done any real traveling since I’ve gotten here so that needs to change. Luckily, I have a break soon! I don’t have school from Oct 22nd to Nov 2nd for the La Toussaint holiday. Woo hoo! I’m still figuring out my travel plans but I’m open to any and all suggestions!
