Day Two

Copenhagen to Brussels

The next morning starts with a breakfast served in the forward facing restaurant which features an excellent view ahead. While I work through a large plate of almost everything on offer (a habit of mine that will later safe me from the troubles of finding lunch) a reluctant sun rises over the Swedish coast.

On time around 9 o'clock we approach the port of Copenhagen. While we carefully manoeuvered into, a raven is the first to set foot on the ship even though it has to fight a nasty wind. For some reason, seagulls on the other hand never seem to land on ships.

The ferry company is operating a free shuttle bus service from the port to the city. Oddly enough, it doesn't call at the Central Station. It seems there is not many people travelling onwards these days. Which is strange since with the recent disappearance of the overnight train between Oslo and Malmö, the ferry actually is the most convenient alternative to flying.

I have to take a suburban train to Central Station, Hovedbanegården. Danish pronounciation turns this into some gibberish that a foreigner has no way to understand. Maybe this is the reason, why official documents tend to simply call the thing København H. I have two hours to kill before the train to Hamburg leaves. Too short to lock away the bags and stroll through town which is beyond Tivoli and thus a bit away. Spend the time reading on some platform instead.

The train to Hamburg is one of those funny rubber-nose trains that they love so much in Denmark. To get into Germany, a 45 minute ferry trip is necessary which happens on what may be the most modern ferry in the world. Which, in turn, means it's maybe the most unspectular ferry ride ever. The train arrives in the station of Rødby, and after a very short stop slowly rolls onto the boat which about thirty seconds later leaves port. Just like that Gone are the days of endless shunting and much fuss and yelling.

In Hamburg I meet a friend for dinner. We end up in a restaurant overlooking Binnenalster. After living in Norway for more than a year, the smell of stale and fresh smoke inside is quite disturbing. After dinner, our ways part. He has tickets for some cultural event. I, on the other hand, have three hours to kill. I start off with a visit to a bookshop stocking up on books for those lonely hours at sea. After that, I make my way to the Altona station and wait for the overnight train to Paris to be ready for boarding. Once it is I settle into my sleeper compartment. After a while, my room mate for the night (for apparently I have booked a double even though meaning to book a single) arrives and turns out to be a sailor on the way to his ship.