Oh no! I ended up in Copenhagen instead of Amsterdam!

I'm obviously joking. Copenhagen was a planned layover. When I was looking for flights a couple of weeks ago, SAS (Scandinavian Airlines) was the cheapest flight I found, with a 5 hour stopover in Copenhagen. Hey, you know me! Any place I haven't been before... I'm beyond pumped! So of course, against the advice of absolutely everybody, I decided to metro into the city center and walk around Copenhagen for a bit.

But let me back up and explain to you my first interactions with the Scandinavians. It was a bit of a process: first I thought they were really cool and fun to look at (sounds mean but it's true), then I got a little weirded out, then I wanted to smack them, then I thought they were charming and cool again. They all look like little woodland fairies and sprites, and so many have white-blonde hair, and are the color of a nut. I really don't understand the Nordic coloring. I really think I get my skin tone more from my Dutch father than my Peruvian mother, how do they get so tan!? They live near the arctic circle for heaven's sake! As I continued to stare at them (my fascination with them was endless), I started to notice strange similarities. They all have tiny feet, especially the men. TINY feet. Like I'm talking woman's size 9, and they are not short people. A lot of Hell's Angels wanna-be's (why??): leather jackets, earring, studs... and this is on 60-year-old people. They all were wearing Blues festival t-shirts from West Virginia, Missouri, etc. So strange...

Let me tell you the story of my seat partner, now here is an interesting character. Origin: unknown. Age: around 70. Nice guy, big smile, but what language does he speak?? He had a Danish passport, but every time the Danish flight attendants talked to him, he stared blankly at them. He smiled at me almost the entire flight long, not in a creepy way, but in an innocent, childlike way. When we got our food, he watched how I ate and ate the food in exactly the same order. When they took our drink order, I asked for ginger ale, and they didn't have any and offered me Sprite. When they asked him, he looked at me, looked at them, smiled, and yelled "SPRITE!!". And I mean yelled. He looked so proud of himself, it almost broke my heart.

The woman behind me, however, I could have throttled. She is the proud owner of Denmark's worst baby ever. I mean, really, I would expose that baby on a mountain. Okay, that's horrific, but I can say that after the flight I had. I could not close my eyes for even a second because Damian,  Demon Baby, the kid screamed the entire time. When she was happy, she screamed in pleasure. But when she was sad... ohhh man, forget the foghorn, they should see this tyke's lungs. I did not know they could have such stamina! And of course she was a kicker as well. And the mother? She looked so unworried, almost bored. 'Oh, I'm sorry, is my child disturbing your transatlantic flight? Oh you're trying to sleep?' She was reading a magazine, half-heartedly shushing every once in a while. I felt like turning around and saying "To hell with your Scandinavian, liberal, hands-off-approach-to-parenting, a little slap never hurt anyone."Needless to say, that flight confirmed for me that I don't want kids for a LONG time.

When I got to Copenhagen, I ran straight to the metro, and took it 15 minutes into the city to Kongens Nytorv, the main square in Copenhagen.
I went really early, around 7:45, so when I was there, it was almost completely empty. But I didn't mind, I walked around, took some pictures, found a cute little cafe, and had a nice breakfast.

But with the warning words of my father ringing in my head, I dashed back after only an hour and a half because I was scared I would miss my flight. -___- I got back to the airport and of course have 3 hours to kill. So what did I do? I walked around in circles in the Copenhagen airport because they hadn't posted the gate for my flight to Amsterdam yet. And when they did, I promptly went to the gate, and passed out asleep. I hadn't slept a wink the night before because of the Danish demon, so I don't even think I was conscious. I remember stirring for a second, hearing Dutch all around me, being comforted by the fact that I was among my own people, and going to sleep again. All of the sudden, I bolted up. I was at the gate, completely alone. Not a single person around me. I ran to the desk and said, "Are you boarding for the flight to Amsterdam??" She said "Are you Ms. van der Noordaa? We've been calling your name for 15 minutes!" Yep, that's right, I held up the whole flight. Let me tell you, the looks I got when I finally got on the plane...we're not too nice. I can't believe I didn't almost miss my flight because I went into Copenhagen, but because I passed out. Drooling. On my chest. Everyone always says, 'ohh you must be such a seasoned traveler.' Yeah, well, with the stuff that happens to me, I'm not so sure. I apparently need a chaperone. But no harm, no foul, I'm here, in Leiden, writing this blog post, so all is well. I'll save my first day in Leiden for the next blog post... keep you guys hanging. Kusjes! xx