Yet another pre-travel blog.

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Based on my own limited experience, the most important tools you have when travelling as a single woman are:

Acting skills and crying!

Last year I was in Denmark, and on a whim decided to buy a discount train ticket to Hamburg ( about five hours (I think) for about 200 DKR). I was staying with Noogies' relatives in Havdrup, which is a small town not too far away from Copenhagen, but off the S-train schedule, so trains were about an hour apart. I said my goodbyes, not knowing how long my trip would be, and hopped on the next train to the capital where I wandered around for a while before purchasing a ticket to Hamburg. Needless to say, I was excited, never having been to Germany before, but the long train ride soon zapped me of my limited strength, and I found myself dozing off in the relative safety of the train. After a while we reached Rødby, where the train boarded a ferry to Puttgarden in Germany. The passengers filed out, and up to the main deck, where a very rude steward asked me for ID, so I had to go all the way down to the train deck to get my passport. I know I shouldn't have left it on the train, but c'mon, I'd just woken up, and it was still there, so I waltzed upstairs again, where my beer and an apologetic steward were waiting.
The view was lovely. It was a clear day, so for a while I could see both Denmark and Germany from a certain point on the upper deck. It was fairly windy, however, and my book wouldn't co-operate, so eventually I gave up and sat inside. As luck would have it, the ferry was arriving in Germany, so we shuffled back onto the train, an off we went.
I remember being a bit confused upon arriving in Hamburg. Compared to Iceland, Denmark is crowded, but even a relatively small city (relative to Berlin, anyway) like Hamburg is stuffed! I sort of wandered around the train station for about an hour, before deciding to find a hostel. On the train I had called the two hostels I had listed, but they were both full, so I decided to find an information booth. There they told me that most everywhere was booked, so I just walked aroud until I happened upon a lovely hotel. I'd give anything to remember the name, but I can't. It wasn't cheap, but it was definitely the nicest hotel I've ever seen, which almost made me feel guilty about stealing one of the cupboard keys. Almost. (However, I have always been an avid key collector, and these were just way too nice to skip!)
I'm most ashamed to say that my activities in Hamburg consisted mainly of eating very bad noodles, buying DVD's and watching Schindler's List in my bedroom whilst drinking smuggled-in beer and crying over the terrible things humans are capable of. However, it was a lovely time (in retrospect, anyway), and I quite enjoyed spending time on my own in a foreign city.
One of the low points was when I decided to go out for a beer, and stumbled into a very nice looking tavern not too far away from the hotel. Inside were two people; a barmaid in her fifties and a guest (I'm assuming he was a regular, since he had the only double-wide barstool in there. Then again, maybe those are standard issue in Germany, and not specially installed), who greeted me with an enthusiastic Guten Abend. I ordered a beer in my most confident German, and the barmaid went in the back to get them. In the meanwhile some other people around my age entered, and asked me something in German. I didn't understand them, of course, so I asked if they spoke English. Right about then the barmaid came back with the beer, and as soon as she realized I wasn't German, the beers went under the table and her smile disappeared. "Keine bier!" She almost yelled, and when I pointed to her hands (still holding the beer), she merely repeated the same phrase louder and pointed to the exit. The other patrons laughed as I left, almost in tears.
After this, and spending almost an hour trying to work up the courage to enter another bar, I finally found a lovely little basement pub, covered in pictures of movie stars. The few people there were friendly, didn't mind taking tourist money, and we had a long discussion about my former experience. The matron there said she didn't mind whom she served, as long as they had money, but the people I had encountered earlier were probably just tired of the immigrants. I didn't question this, as I was in desperate need of a beer, but I couldn't help but wonder if the fascist rumours were true.
Unfortunately, being such a wimp, I didn't stay to find out but decided to head back to the familiarity of Denmark. I stuffed my backpack into a locker at the station, and ambled around the main shopping street. I started noticing people lined up along the street, and, curious as I am I took a gander past them. There was nothing to be seen. For a brief moment I pondered the possibility of this being a national pasttime; gazing at empty streets, but soon disco music was blaring in my ears. Suddenly I realized the meaning of the posters I'd seen. "Schwule?" they said, or "Kampelesbe?" with pictures of young, healthy looking people. A woman in a bridal gown, a man in soccer uniform. Turns out it was Christopher Street Day, Germany and Switzerland's name for Gay Pride. I was so happy to have stumbled upon this! I joined the festivities, occasionally removing myself from the crowd to take pictures (which I still haven't developed), and observed the drunken teenagers trying to mix Screwdrivers whilst dancing. It seemed to last for hours, and I managed to make several stops along the way to buy beer, food, film, and even take a long look around a gaming shop without ever losing the parade. At the final destination I sat down for a while and simply observed. It was very refreshing, just sitting there, drinking beer and taking the occasional picture.
I suddenly realized how late it was, and rushed to the nearest underground station, where through some magic I managed to find out which train to take to the central station.
Bad thing #1. Once there I went to the ticket line and waited for a really long time before getting to a clerk, and then discovered that the ticket back was about four times more expensive than the ticket I'd used to get there. This is where crying came in handy. I bawled my eyes out, sobbing that I didn't know how to get back, that everything was a mess and how I was such a screw-up. The ticket lady took pity on me, and, after a brief conference with her supervisor, gave me a huge discount, by selling me a ticket with one extra stop. I thanked her and went to get my bag. Ah. Bad thing #2. Since the line was so long, my rental of the locker had expired, so to get my bag I would have had to pay 2 euros extra. But, since I spent my last money on the ticket, I only had about 1.5 euros. Again, crying and moaning saved the day. After about five minutes of banging the locker and sobbing loudly, a guard came in and asked me what the problem was. I told him, and he graciously pulled out a purse and paid the 2 euros, enabling me to get my bags. I thanked him (still in tears, by the way), and went on my slightly-less-than-merry way. I slept most of the way back, but as I had to change trains somewhere (the guard woke me, and, still half-asleep, I stumbled out. I still have no idea where I was), I sat on a bench for a few minutes (barely enough for one cigarette) until the next train arrived.
I was furiously awake on that train, as I didn't want to miss my stop, and finally arrived back in Havdrup. It's not a big town, and my hosts lived close to the station, but it seemed so far away that I actually pondered just laying down in somebody's back yard. Still, I made it, but since it was so late, and I didn't want to wake the family, I slept on the bench outside, and I swear it was the best sleep I ever had.
The next morning I woke up just before they did, and boy did it feel good to crawl into the guest bed for a few hours!

Next summer I'll definitely be more prepared, and to paraphrase (or possibly distort the words of) somebody who must have said something along these lines at one point or another; I ain't takin' no shit from no Hamburger, so just give me the fuckin' beer!

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