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Published: August 25th 2009
I could spend a page relating to you the difficulty in deciphering the Danish bus schedule, the problems in finding Annex B off of Norregade, or how I was instructed to not try to out drink the Danes...they are legal at 16 and thus alcoholics at 13, or even how you are more likely to offend a Dane by using extra water than insulting his mother...but I have a much more eventful story to tell.
My first experience with socialized medicine.
Having scraped my ankle a couple of days ago and suspecting infection, I asked my friendly front desk at school where I could see a doctor. Seeing as the doctor's mostly close early, at 4 pm I called the Night Doctor hotline and silently listened to Danish hold music for 20 minutes. I was so hoping for an option like "For English press 2" as my Hispanic counterparts often get in the United States but to no avail. Fortunately, my operator spoke English and instructed me to haul home to Hillerød (forty minutes north of Copenhagen) for at an appointment at the hospital I've never visited at 5pm. It's 4:30.
I strode through Medieval Copenhagen with my school books I had just fetched (15 of 16 books) as fast as one can with 15 books and a bandaged ankle. Arriving at Norreport train station I saw the E train just as I got there!....leaving. So I waited 9 min. The E S-tog train whisked me north in utter elegance and efficiency.
Upon arrival in Hillerød, I took the first beautiful taxi on the curb (Mercedes minivan -- almost all taxis in Denmark all Benz's, the others are Beamers), and the polite Dane spoke a little English and whisked me to the hospital....and then opened the door for me upon arrival. Perfect service for a $10 cab fare.
The hospital receptionist told me to find room 04 on the first floor (which means the second floor). Following completely Danish signs I was finally stopped with a sign that clearly was pointing outside for the room 04....hmmm. So I tried it, against all previous hospital experience protocol. I walked around the corner and there it was haha.
There was no receptionist here. Fortunately a little old lady noticed my lostness and I asked if she spoke English. She directed me to a take-a-number system they use. I pulled a number, and waited. Watched Friends with Danish subtitles. I knew three words 😊
The doctor spoke English, thank the Lord Jesus, and got me all checked out, wrote me a prescription, and called a cab for me!
The Indian cab driver sped like a mad demon (he was of course in a C class lol -- and not as crazy as Chicago cabbies) to the pharmacy where I filled it in five minutes. Feeling totally exhausted...I got a burger and fries from a stand 😊 and they directed me to the train station and an ATM.
Except I didn't make it to the train station. Now I'm lost, it's raining, with no Danes, and on the phone with Momma tryin to get her to spell Danish street names accurately.
Then an angel popped out of a pizzeria for a smoke and I asked him where the train station was and he led me right there. I found my bus fine after that. There never was an ATM though. On the way I found a palace. Enjoy Frederiksborg Slot:
More pictures of the rest of my travels to arrive soon.
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