It’s funny how travel experiences can leave a lasting impression. For instance, when we went as a family to Epcot in Disney World in 2001, Henrik saw a replica of the Eiffel Tower for the first time. He commented, “I want to see the real one someday”. Since he was only 8 years old at the time, I thought it would be a good idea to wait a bit before trying an overseas trip with either of my boys.
In June 2007, Henrik was 13 ½ and almost 6’2”. Completing 7th grade, he had two years of French under his belt. It seemed like a good time to take him to Paris before he decided he was too grown up to travel with Mom.
Back to the travel agency I returned. At that time, I had zero experience with booking international travel. Besides Paris, I thought it would be nice to take Henrik to Denmark to meet more of his Danish relatives. My cousin Christian had invited us to come stay with him and his family in Copenhagen.
Bill suggested that Henrik and I travel by train to Paris after our visit to Denmark via overseas flights on British Airways. He sweetened the trip plans with the idea of reaching London by way of the Chunnel. Pete would fly over from Philadelphia and meet us in London for an overnight. For the final leg of the journey, the three of us would sail home out of Southampton on Cunard’s Queen Mary 2.
The trip sounded perfect! After booking, all I had to do was plan the sightseeing.
I bought the 2007 Pauline Frommer’s Paris - Spend Less See More (the 2009 printing is still available on Amazon), reading it cover to cover several times. Gradually, I put together a detailed chart listing all the Paris museums, famous sightseeing spots, and Metro stops needed to make the most of our three days in Paris. Bill made all the flight arrangements and secured accommodations at the Hotel Saint Christophe, located in the Latin Quarter, not far from Notre Dame.
In case you are wondering about Phil. He had a summer job and stayed busy working on his private pilots license at a small airport near our home. He expressed absolutely no interest in traveling with us. We had just completed a long driving trip touring colleges in early April. He’d seen plenty of his parents on that long car trip and seemed ecstatic to stay at home with his grandparents ``supervising”.
On Sunday June 17, 2007, Henrik and I departed for Copenhagen. Both of us felt super excited and thankfully were naive of any travel hiccups waiting just around the proverbial corner. The first one? It was a doozy.
First, it seemed concerning at check in when the British Airways agent gave me no choice but to check my carry on (where I had packed my extra change of clothing, toothbrush, etc.). We had a layover in Heathrow and I had heard plenty of horror stories about luggage getting lost at the enormous airport. Henrik and I handed over everything we had with us except for his backpack and my purse. I knew to keep the luggage ticket stub handy but hoped I wouldn’t need it.
The flight itself was uneventful. I remember the inflight meals being very good actually. Our time in Heathrow was pleasant. I even found a few minutes to do some shopping at the Harrods kiosk.
Without delays, we landed safely in Copenhagen. If you have flown internationally, then you know that at arrivals, you must collect your luggage and go through customs before going out into the waiting area where you can greet family, friends, or your limo driver. Henrik and I waited at the baggage carousel…and waited, and waited. We weren’t concerned at first as we watched fellow passengers collect their bags. Eventually though, it was just Henrik and I, along with a few other bewildered looking passengers standing at the empty belt.. We remained hopeful until finally, the belt stopped completely. “Oh Henrik, I think our luggage is lost”, I said in disbelief. I tried to be a brave little soldier but no doubt, my son felt my frustration.
Eventually, we found the lost baggage window to file a claim. I produced my claim ticket (these were the days before bar codes). The agent at the window only said that our bags would be delivered to our hotel (in our case, my cousin’s home) when they arrived, hopefully on the next flight. Miraculously, I was able to recall Christian’s home address for delivery. I sure hoped the bags would arrive soon. Neither Henrik nor I had anything else to wear for our stay in Denmark, or a toothbrush for that matter.
We arrived in Copenhagen mid morning on Monday, June 18. Christian arranged a wonderful family cookout at his house that afternoon. It was fantastic seeing and meeting family on my mother’s side. Mother’s first cousin, Jorgen, encouraged Henrik to try on a jacket that my grandmother sent to him from Detroit during WWII when Denmark experienced a wool shortage. The moment was priceless.
Monday evening, I got busy on the phone, trying to reach someone at British Airways who could help me with my lost luggage mystery. The only phone number I could find put me on a endless hold loop. Much of the next morning passed without success or luggage. Christian took us sightseeing, including the Kronborg Castle and the Louisiana Museum of Modern Art. When we returned, I tried BA again to no avail.
Most concerning to me was that most of our clothes for the Queen Mary were in my large missing suitcase (Pete was bringing the formal wear in a hanging bag). I couldn’t fathom what we were going to do if our suitcases weren’t found.
I finally called Pete early Tuesday evening (he was six hours behind us time wise). After explaining that I hadn’t yet been able to talk to anyone at British Airways, he said he would look into the matter. Henrik and I continued to make do hand washing what we could.
Wednesday morning, Pete called saying that he had success finding our lost luggage. Both pieces had never left Philadelphia. Pete reassured me that BA promised delivery of our luggage before we left for Paris early afternoon the next day.
A bit reassured, Henrik and I did our fair share of sight seeing all over Copenhagen. What a beautiful city. Cousin Jorgen met us at the Statens Museum for Kunst. After a quick tour, Henrik and I left Jorgen to wander the city on our own. We climbed the twirling steps in the steeple at Church of Our Savior, went round and round in the Rundetarrn (Round Tower), checked out the royal palace grounds, and enjoyed a pricey lunch at Restaurant D’angleterre. In the afternoon, we visited Tivoli Gardens with my goddaughter Ellen, her brother Frederik, and parents, Christian and Mette. It was a glorious summer day and we stayed into the late evening. Travel Tip — Visit Tivoli if ever in Copenhagen in the summer. It’s wonderful for all ages!
When we arrived back at Christians around 10 pm, the suitcases were sitting on the front landing!! Oh happy day. Finally, something different to wear.
Thursday, June 21st –travel day!
Early in the morning, Mette drove Henrik and me to a nearby suburban train station so I could purchase tickets for the train traveling from Copenhagen to Hamburg. From Hamburg, we’d catch the night train to Paris. The station appeared charmingly quaint. Amusingly, the agent still used the antiquated method of selling tickets referencing big, thick timetable books. I explained to Mette to ask the agent, in Danish, for a couchette on the train from Hamburg to Paris. A couchette is a separate room on a train, usually consisting of up to six bunks. Pillows and a blanket are provided. There is a lock on the door, but you don’t get to choose the other travelers in your bunk space. Having a locked area seemed like a better way to travel than sitting up in a chair all night clutching valuables while trying to sleep.
I was more or less out of the transaction as the ticket agent seemed to speak very little English. When all was done, I paid for two tickets for what I thought was a coach seat to Hamburg and space in a couchette for two on the night train to Paris. Written in Danish, my ticket didn’t make much sense to me.
With tickets and our found luggage, Mette drove us to the Copenhagen train station. She walked in with us where the three of us verified that our train departure hadn’t changed. It soon became time to say our goodbyes. Despite the suitcase mystery, it had been a wonderful visit!
Henrik and I looked at the track number and thought we had better make our way to the platform. It seemed easy enough. We found the platform with the corresponding number we saw on the monitor and stood for a while watching the trains come and go.
Wow, it seemed so busy! Trains whooshed by at frequent intervals. I kept track of the time and grew more concerned as it grew closer to our train’s time of departure. Something wasn’t right. For one thing, hardly anyone had luggage. I tried to ask a few folks if we were at the correct spot, but no one seemed to understand English.
The minutes continued ticking by and warning bells went off in my head. Only one other person had suitcases which should have been a big clue, “Ellen, you aren’t in the right place”. It got to be under 10 minutes before we were supposed to leave. Feeling desperate, I got bolder.
“Excuse me”, I said to an older gentleman wearing what looked like a rail uniform, “Is this the right track for the train to Hamburg?”
“No, your train is on the OTHER set of tracks, up and over”, replied the kind man in his best attempt at English.
Oh no! “HENRIK, we’ve got to run!!! We’re on the wrong platform!”, I yelled as I started to sprint up the steep staircase the man instructed us to take. “Come on Henrik, we’ve got to go!!!”
I took a moment to explain to the other woman standing with a suitcase that the train to Hamburg was “up and over”. After that, I never saw her again because Henrik and I were in a sprint to save our vacation.
The man wasn’t kidding when he said “up and over”. As Henrik and I reached the top step, I saw the other tracks—------but to get to them, we had to cross several lanes of busy road. “Follow me Henrik, Quick!”, I yelled as I did my best action movie stunt moves. My large suitcase felt weightless from the adrenaline. As we both successfully crossed and proceeded down the steps on the other side of the road, I saw the open doors of what had to be our train.
“Henrik, get on the train, get on the train!!”, I yelled back, willing the train car doors to stay open.
Henrik and I clambered on, gasping. Unbelievably, two open seats were just inside. We literally fell into them. Within seconds, the doors closed and our train moved forward. We made it, but barely.
I sat stunned for a long while. Henrik passed out into a deep slumber within minutes. We both liked excitement, but this had been just a bit too close for comfort.
Our train ride was fabulous. I loved watching the countryside go by. Henrik slept as we passed numerous villages and farms.
After a while, I could see the sea in the distance. I hadn’t given it much thought about how we’d get to Germany. My geography was a bit fuzzy, well, downright lame. And keep in mind, these were the days before Google maps. As we drew closer to the water, I grew intrigued. Was there a huge bridge that we were about to cross over? Did the train tracks parallel the water?
Suddenly, we were at the coastal edge and the train stopped. Still unaware of what was going on, Henrik and I watched out the window very curious as to what was going to happen next. With a lurch, our train suddenly moved forward—-----onto the waiting ferry. “What, the entire train is going on the ferry?”, I said out loud in disbelief.
Sure enough, our train trip included a ferry ride across the Baltic Sea. Unbelievable!!! Once we got under way, Henrik and I made our way up to the restaurant where we found a bite to eat. The ferry ride was spectacular. Despite the icy sea waters crashing against our vessel, we traveled quite comfortably the entire shore to shore excursion. Once on land again, we continued on to Hamburg.
Sadly, the train ferry we took ended service on December 15, 2019
My inexperience as a world traveler really showed itself on this trip. Close to 10 pm, as Henrik and I waited (on the correct platform this time), I asked a fellow traveler if he could decipher my ticket enough to let me know where our couchette was located on our night train.
He looked at my ticket and said, “I”m sorry Madam, but you only have seats, no couchette”. “Oh but you must be mistaken. I asked specifically for beds”. He again shook his head and said, “your seats are located on the back of the train. The couchettes are more forward”.
Still hoping he was incorrect, Henrik and I boarded the train compartment designated on my ticket. Sure enough, there were only upright seats, six of them, in a closed compartment with no lock on a door that I could see. Rick Steves had said that sleeping on the overnight train can be risky if you are not in a locked compartment as thievery had been known to happen.
We were not staying in these seats.
“Henrik, I’ll be right back. You stay with the luggage”, I instructed him as I went off looking for help.
Three cars later, I found a very kind conductor checking tickets. In my horrible French, I explained that I thought I had purchased a couchette ticket for me and my son. Without any question, he simply said, “Go to cabin number 720 and I’ll find you there”.
Quickly, I went back to where I had left Henrik who looked at me like he had just seen a ghost. “Mom, where have you been? This creepy man was staring at me through the door window making a bad gesture”. “Oh my gosh, I’m a horrible mother”, I thought to myself.
“Come on Henrik. We have a room. Follow me”. Together, we made our way to the bedroom that the conductor had instructed me to find. When we entered the space, we found it thankfully empty. Henrik immediately locked the door and climbed onto a top bunk. He was asleep in moments. When the conductor came a short while later, he kindly accepted the ticket I had and did not charge for the additional cost of having couchette accommodations.
“I’ll have to write about this someday”, I must have said to myself as I drifted off to sleep immediately. I didn’t even want to think about what was waiting for us at our next destination, Paris, France. After all, it couldn’t get more exciting—---
Or could it?
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