I awoke from my slumber a new woman. Refreshed and rested, the girls decided to go
to the grocery store and make dinner, as opposed to go out and spend a lot of
money at a restaurant. We strolled
across the street to find the closest grocery store and after a bit of hunting,
we found our destination and decided to make fajitas for our dinner. Once the ingredients were purchased, we
headed back to the hostel and started to prepare our feast.
Don’t worry; I know what you’re
thinking. Thus far, this story sounds delightful
and non-eventful compared to the others, but alas, much like the rest of the
trip, we had our hurdles. Our first obstacle came when we almost
burned down the hostel. While I was
chopping the onions, unbeknownst to me, someone had turned on the burners and
let the pots on empty to sit on them, heating on high for 15 minutes. When we poured the oil into the hot pan it
started burning, sizzling, and smoking, until I screamed to take the pot off of
the heat. Too late. The fire alarm was
already blaring overhead as we ran around like chickens with our heads cut off
looking for a way to quell the madness and quiet the siren of the alarm.
When it was finally quiet we were able
to finish our preparations in peace and we ate our chips and fajitas with the
satisfaction of the first home-cooked meal that we had eaten in days. However, the glee and fulfillment we felt
from our meal was short-lived when soon after the meal, the bathroom was
frequented by the all but one of the sickened, vomiting girls who had partaken
in eating the meal. Once our stomachs had settled we started to get ready to
meet the boys so that we could get our night’s festivities underway.
When we finally met up with the boys,
we discovered that to our dismay, you can’t buy alcohol (in stores) after 6pm
on Saturdays so we were left with the shockingly abysmal quantity of left-over
cruise booze to get the party started.
After hanging out we finally (and I say finally because to get a group
of 12 out the door is quite the production) left the hostel, walked to the
metro and started our journey to the city center, again not knowing exactly
where the night would take us. Literally
as soon as we walked out of the metro in the city, we ran into the other half
of our CBS group which was fresh from their dinner of classic Norwegian cuisine
at TGI Fridays. What ensued was a long
rambling walk of trying to find a bar that let in people under the age of 20 –
we had about three in the group who were not yet 20. Much to our chagrin, our search was futile and
we admitted defeat, scurrying back to the metro before it closed so that we wouldn't have to take yet another cab ride back to the hostel.
There is a part of this story that I have
purposefully left out thus far, simply because it needs to be told as its own
story and it occurs over the course of a day, and because it's the most embarrassing part.
At approximately 9pm while I was getting ready to go out and assemble my
belongings in to something that resembles some form of organization and order, I
noticed that my passport was nowhere to be found. Frantically I emptied the contents of my
backpack, shaking each item of clothing, looking in every nook and cranny for
that elusive document that was proving impossible to locate. Finally I realized, to my shock and panic
that it simply was not there and I had lost my passport. Me. Emily Hope. As organized as I am; I had
lost my passport. In utter dread, I
hoped that I had left in on the cruise, as in no other scenario I could imagine
getting it back. To be honest, I didn't even
really need my passport to get back to Copenhagen the next day. I had my Danish residence permit with me and
that would have sufficed for my identification. However, I was going to
Brussels that Thursday and I couldn't imagine the hassle and time it would take
to have to mess around at the American Embassy in Copenhagen to try to replace
the necessary documentation and rectify the titanic (no pun intended) mistake
that I had made.
After trying to forget about my quandary
Saturday night (after all, there was nothing I could do at 10pm on a Saturday night)
I awoke Sunday morning still full of dread as I slinked in shame down to the
reception desk where I told the staff that I was having an emergency with my
passport and asked if there was a phone I could use. In the most unsympathetic, heartless and
frankly cruel voices they could muster, I was told that I would have to find a
payphone and was thence given some haphazard directions to the nearest one. At
this point in the chaos I couldn't imagine payphones even existing. Who needs a payphone in our cell-phone
dominated world? With my friend Kate for
support, I headed out in search of a payphone, which was nowhere in sight.
Exasperated, I shared my fear of lack-of-payphones to Kate in an almost
psychotic voice when she reassured me that there are, in fact, payphones still
around and that I just don’t notice them because I never need one.
Finally, after asking the 7-11
attendant where the closest payphone was, we found what we were looking for and
I sauntered up to those beautiful machines which beckoned to me with a faint
halo and the beautiful, summoning sound of a choir calling me towards it. My euphoria was quickly hampered as I stood in
front of the booth staring at the phone.
I had never used a payphone before and the only ideas on how to use them
came with from movies or my mother’s fraught, decade-old explanations on how to
use one in the event that I ever got lost. I eventually, somehow mustered up the wherewithal
to call the Oslo office of the cruise line and had the following discussion…
- Cruise-Lady Operator: …Something in Norwegian…
- Me: in a whiny, desperate voice… Do you speak English?
- CLO: Yes, Ma’am. How can I help you?
- Me: I’m calling to inquire (yes, I used those words) about some lost
property on the cruise from Copenhagen
to Oslo on Friday evening. I believe I lost my passport on board.
- CLO: One moment while I check to see
if anything was found. (A minute passes) What
is your name please?
- Me: *glimmer of hope* Emily Strickman
- CLO: Yes, your passport was found on
board. *my heart falls from in my throat
to somewhere slightly closer to where
it should be* It is our policy to send passports to their respective embassies. Yours has been sent to the
American Embassy.
- Me: The embassy in Oslo or in
Copenhagen?
- CLO: In Oslo. *at this point I’m just so relieved that it’s not a big deal to have to
go to the embassy just meet up with my
friends at the boat later that afternoon* Let me get you the phone number for the embassy. (a few minutes pass) Here is the number,
but the embassy is closed today.
- Me: (and this my friends, is my true reaction with the poor lady on the
other line) Screaming…HOW CAN AN
AMERICAN EMBASSY BE CLOSED ON A SUNDAY. WHAT IF I NEEDED POLITICAL ASSYLUM?!?
WHAT IF THERE WAS TENSION AND STRIFE BETWEEN
THE UNITED STATES AND NORWAY AND I NEEDED POLITICAL ASSYLUM TODAY? What am I supposed to do? I am going back to Copenhagen
this afternoon.
- CLO: Please let me check to see if we
still have your passport in our office. Because
it’s the weekend, it might not
have been taken over to the embassy…Yes, we do have it in our office, you just need to come to the
port office when you depart on the cruise.
- Me: Practically doing a jig at this point Thank you for your help, bye!
How lucky was I?
