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January 11, 2005
Finally...things are back to normal.
Who needs creative writing when truth is stranger than fiction?
I began my journal back to Karlskrona on Friday afternoon. After a failed attempt to change my ticket to a later date, I had resigned myself to spending a couple of extra days in Karlskrona before classes started up again.
After an eye appointment (in which it was suggested that I might benefit from reading glasses!), I had lunch at Delhi Dhaba with former co-workers, where I got all caught up on office gossip (quite juicy). It will be interesting to see what happens over the next 6 months, as I would definitely consider going back after the program is over.
From lunch, I ran home to throw the remaining clothes into my backpack. I have to confess that packing for my return trip was quite a debacle. I wanted to take my backpack, tent, sleeping bag, and air mattress with me (to do some camping in the spring), along with a supply of personal items (like shampoo, conditioner, gallons on body lotion, etc.) And, of course, I needed to bring all of my summer clothes. I thought I would be able to pack everything into my two big suitcases (I had brought them both back from Sweden—the smaller one packed inside the bigger one), but it was not to be. I ended up using the backpack as a carry-on (in addition to my messenger bag), and was weighed down with nearly 100 pounds of luggage by the end of the saga.
Anyway, I made it to the airport for my 5:30 p.m. flight in time to meet my dad coming back from Japan. After 10 minutes of farewells, I wandered over to my gate, only to find out an hour later that SAS had accepted my offer to take the next flight (theirs was overbooked). In exchange for $600 in travel vouchers, I was moved to a British Airways flight later that evening. A good deal, I thought. Two other guys (Kim and Michael) had also been chosen to take the next flight.
And then the real adventure began.
First, we had to get our luggage back. We ended up waiting at the SAS counter (after having been escorted all the way from the gate back to the main entrance) for almost an hour before our luggage appeared, with long scratches and streaked with grease. We pulled everything over to the other end of the airport, where a customer service agent from British Airways informed us that their flight, leaving at 9:30 p.m. was overbooked and that we would have to be placed on stand-by. Rosalind also told us that last night's flight had been overbooked as well, and 30 passengers hadn't been stranded overnight in D.C.
After two hours of wrangling with British Airways and SAS, we were finally bumped up to "priority stand-by" and made it on to the flight—but not before we were required to do some luggage juggling. Apparently, British Airways has much stricter luggage weight standards than SAS. While our checked luggage was all under weight, all three of us were overweight on carry-on luggage (of which we were each allowed only one 15-pound piece). I managed to shove some items from my backpack into my suitcase, and then stuffed my messenger bag into the backpack. In the end, it weighed about 22 pounds, but I somehow managed to evade their scrutiny.
Kim stuffed his items into his suitcase, but Michael's suitcases were too packed to accept any more items, so we put his toiletries bag and a stack of books into my suitcase (British Airways had us traveling together, so we didn't have any trouble sharing baggage). Having finally gotten our checked bags through security, we thought our troubles were over. We passed through a security checkpoint, ran to the gate (we were running late after the stand-by and luggage scramble), and boarded the flight to London. (The original SAS flight was direct to Copenhagen, but the British Airways flight connected at Heathrow.)
The flight was uneventful. I sat next to Michael, a 24-year old computer science student who has been spending time at Cal-Tech and traveling around the US for the last couple months. He lives in Copenhagen and will finish his degree this summer. Kim, a 28-year old Danish Army Special Forces guy, sat a couple rows ahead of us. Kim was in Key West visiting friends after returning from a year stint in Iraq. He'll spend the next 8 months in Denmark doing high-readiness NATO exercises. Both guys were delightful and spoke excellent English—I would not have been happy to go through these trials alone.
In London, we passed through security with a minimum of fuss, only to find that our connection to Copenhagen had been cancelled. Once again, we found ourselves killing time in an airport (this time, for 5 hours). The next flight was late, and we were feeling rather grumpy by the time it finally took off.
I dozed for a bit (sitting between Michael and Kim) and awoke to the chipper British Airways captain announcing that there was a hurricane in Copenhagen. Because of the 100 mile/hour gusts of wind, the airport and all trains had been closed down. Unable to land in Copenhagen, we were diverted to Hamburg, Germany.
In one of the bumpiest rides ever (in which I seriously thought we were going to die, it was so turbulent), the 1-year old twin Indian girls in the row ahead of us screamed nonstop for the last 30 minutes of the flight. After the first 10 minutes of their crying, their yelling ceased to be recognizable as human and began to resemble the grunts and screams of animals. It was quite disturbing, especially in addition to the overwhelming nausea everyone felt at being buffeted in every direction by the wind.
When we finally landed (the passengers clapped for the pilot once we were on the ground), the wind was still strong enough that the plane rocked back and forth on the runway, even after we had stopped. The pilot conferred with the Hamburg Airport, and it was decided that we would be put up in a local hotel for the night.
An hour later, we had debarked from the plane, cleared customs, and were waiting for our baggage. Inevitably, none of our luggage had made the flight (despite the extra 5 hours we spent in Heathrow), and none of us had ANYTHING of value left in our carry-on bags because of the ridiculous weight restrictions. We checked with the British Airways people, who said that there was nothing they could do that night, but that we could file a claim in Copenhagen.
At this point, Kim decided to call his family (which lives just an hour from Hamburg on the Danish border) and spend the night with them. He'll have to go through Copenhagen to get to his final destination, so I guess he'll try and pick up his luggage then. Michael and I joined the group going to the hotel, where we had a nice dinner and said goodnight.
The plan given to us at the reception desk was that the hotel would put a notice on our televisions (channel 1 was for hotel information) the next morning, providing us with information on transportation back to the hotel. I specifically asked, and was assured, that the earliest the notice would be available was 8 a.m., with a planned departure for the airport at 9 a.m.
With this plan in mind, I set a wake-up call for 7:15 a.m. (or so I thought). The wake-up call directions were all in German, so I followed along as best I could. Sleeping badly, I awoke at 6:15 a.m. to my phone ringing. The message was in German, and I figured that I had set the alarm incorrectly. Just to be sure, I checked the TV—no information. I re-set the alarm (using the TV this time, with directions in English) for 7:30. I figured that with no toothbrush, no hair brush, no clean clothes, no ANYTHING, it wouldn't take me long to get ready.
Once the alarm went off again, I was in no rush to get ready. I turned the TV on, so that I would be able to see the instructions once they were posted. After reading for a while, at 8 a.m. I called down to reception to see if they had any information. I was informed, in pleasantly-accented English, that the bus to the airport had left at 7 a.m.
Puzzled, and a little irritated, I confirmed that the hotel could provide me with a shuttle to the airport at my convenience. I hopped in the shower (glad that they provided a soap/shampoo combination), thinking that they would probably put me on the next available flight to Copenhagen—but who knew when that might be. Hamburg is not exactly a hub airport.
I got out of the shower and dashed to answer the ringing phone. I was told that British Airways had called to check on my absence. If I could be at the airport in 10 minutes, I could catch the plane with my fellow passengers. Still damp (and with hair uncombed—remember, no hair brush—and streaming water), I threw on yesterday's clothes and grabbed my bags. The hotel had a shuttle waiting for me, and we flew to the airport, where I ran to check in and get through security.
Michael was waiting for me at the gate, and breathed a huge sigh of relief to see that I had made the flight. The ride itself was uneventful, and by 10 a.m. we had landed in Copenhagen. Unfortunately, our bags were still missing, so we filed claims for them.
Before parting, Michael gave me his address and email, so that I can send back his stuff once my luggage is identified and delivered to Karlskrona. (I confess that not having to drag 100 pounds of luggage home is a welcome thought.) Then I went to the train station for the last leg of my journey home.
Or so I thought.
When I tried to buy a ticket to Karlskrona (usually a 3.5 hour journey where I have to change trains twice), I was informed that trains were only running between Copenhagen and Malmö (the city just over the bridge from Copenhagen)—all other trains in Sweden had been cancelled because of the hurricane. At the present time, trains were cancelled for the rest of the day, although they might resume at any moment (or not until tomorrow or later).
After some quick thinking, I decided that my best plan of action was to get to Malmö and try to catch a bus the rest of the way home. So I purchased a ticket and got on the next train. A half-hour later, I was in Malmö, which was a teaming hoard of humanity, where everyone in Sweden seemed to be waiting for the trains to resume.
Despite help from the Tourist Bureau and the train depot, I was unable to find alternative transportation to Karlskrona. Rather than wait at the train station (I was nearly falling asleep on my feet), I decided to give in and get a hotel. A short taxi ride found me at Ibis Hotel in southern Malmö, where—for the low, low price of 99 SEK (about $15)—I have a hotel room.
Amazingly, the room was wonderful. It looked like a Motel 6 (strangely enough, it is owned by the same hotel chain) with an ugly comforter and bizarre pictures on the walls. I slept for a glorious 10 hours, then enjoyed some American TV with Swedish subtitles.
The next morning, I made my way back to the train station, where I purchased a ticket to Karlskrona. I was told that I could take a train to Hässleholm, where I would then need to switch to a bus for the rest of the way. So far, so good.
In Hässleholm I dutifully exited the train and waited with a group of people (none of whom seemed to speak English) as other passengers got on other busses. I somehow managed to get on the right bus, which took us as far as Kristianstad, where we were again deposited. There was some confusion about the next step, but thankfully a professor at BTH noticed my confused look and took me under her wing. After waiting for two hours, we finally caught a train from Kristianstad to Ronneby, where we then boarded another bus to Karlskrona. Once in Karlskrona, there were no taxis to be found, so I just took the bus back home.
Jess had arrived earlier in the afternoon (it was about 7 p.m. by the time I got home), and Roya made it several hours later. Thankfully, one of my suitcases was delivered that night around 10 p.m., so I was able to comb my wet hair before going to sleep.
This morning, I woke up at 6:30 a.m. and spent a lovely two hours having tea and reading the Bible. Well, the reading the Bible part wasn't so lovely—I'm still in the part where God turns over the Jews to slavery, then when they repent, he leads them on a rampage where they slaughter all their enemies. Along the way, they sacrifice their daughters to God as burnt offerings, stone entire families for collecting firewood on the Sabbath, and buy and sell slaves according to God's prices. Really, it was the tea and the glorious feeling on watching the sun rise that made it a nice morning.
At any rate, around 8 a.m. I got on my bike and set off to do some errands. I mailed Michael's stuff back to him (it cost me nearly $50!!), did some grocery shopping, stopped by the ATM for rent money, discovered that Karlskronahem no longer accepts cash for rent, noticed that I didn't have enough cash to pay for rent AND the surcharge required for paying at the post office, bought some new flowers to replace the ones that died over the holiday (herbicide-by-over-watering was the culprit), and came back home.
I didn't realize how much I enjoyed Karlskrona. The small-town feel of the city center early in the morning is so peaceful, and the weather (for once) was beautiful. The sun still hovers a foot above the horizon, so it feels like early morning until noon, when it slowly starts to sink again. I hope we get some more days like this—I don't think I can take another couple months of gray and rainy days.
I was surprised to see how much damage the hurricane caused here. I suppose I thought they were exaggerating a little, not being used to high winds. But the bike paths are a mess, with tree branches all over the place, and terracotta roof tiles smashed all over the roads. I didn't really see any repair crews out this morning, but maybe they are working on different areas of the town.
I got back to the apartment around noon, and was just finishing a breakfast/lunch of granola and yogurt when my other suitcase was delivered. Hurray! This suitcase contained the VERY important power cord to my computer, and I am recharging even now.
Other plans for the day include getting hooked up to Skype, checking email, finishing unpacking, and finishing my paper. With any luck, I'll be all set to go by tonight, and will have a full day to play around before classes start again on Thursday.
