Copenhagen
It was a 2.5 or so hour flight to Copenhagen that started with me sitting around Barcelona airport just waiting for the check-in to open. I took one of those cheap flights on Transavia and the check-in is only open for the two hours leading up to departure. The woman in the information counter in Terminal C told me that I needed to go to Terminal A. I had just come from Terminal A and I didn’t see anything resembling a Transavia check-in. But she had to know what she was talking about, right? I got to Terminal A, asked the info desk if this was, in fact, the right Terminal, and upon confirmation I grabbed myself some breakfast and waited until 9:30.
Around 9AM I decided to go look around again – maybe I’d missed the check-in the first time. Still nothing. And looking on the Sortidas (departures) board the closest thing to Copenhagen was Helsinki and I knew that the Spanish word for Copenhagen couldn’t be that far off. So I went back to the information counter (a different window this time) and asked the woman there why my flight wasn’t listed on the departures board. “Oh that flight? You need to go to Terminal B.” “Terminal B?” “Si, Terminal B numberos cuarenta y quatro a cuarenta y seis.” Well, at least I was getting specifics this time. So I headed back to Terminal B. At this point I’ve walked the length of the airport at least 2.5 times and all I wanted to do was get my bag on the plane. I could see it from a mile away – a whole bunch of tall, blonde people waiting under a sign that said Copenhague. At last!
The flight was uneventful. I slept for all but about 30 minutes of it.
Upon arriving in Copenhagen I had to find my way to my hotel for the night. Stupid me didn’t check the second page of my reservation to see if they’d included directions from the airport. The other hostels had included it, but this particular place included a “Click for directions” link instead. Bah.
I had to wing it. In Danish. Which I don’t speak. And all of that crap about everyone in Denmark speaking English? Yeah, that’s everyone but the voice on the Metro train and the maps that tell you where to go and where to transfer. The man at the info desk told me I needed to get to Central Station and circled it on a map for me. Problem: the Metro he told me to take doesn’t stop at a Central Station. He didn’t tell me where or how to transfer. And the machines that dispense tickets for the Metro? Unlike Barcelona and Madrid, these machines only speak to you in Danish.
