20 years ago today – Day 155

View Larger Map

Monday, August 5th – train from Copenhagen to Berlin, 8372 km

I am on the train to Gedser, my bike and bags locked and stowed away at the back of the car. Kersten packs me a lunch first thing this morning while I pack my bags. I've been quiet all morning, at a loss for words. He gives me a big affectionate hug as he wishes me well at the door. He tells me he will be in India, if I am going that way. First Oysteinn and now Kersten. I am being pulled towards India but I cannot see myself crossing Asia alone.

I am in no mood to take photographs today. The Danish countryside rolls by, the telephone poles, roads, fields, farm houses, windmills. It is grey and repetitive. I don't want to look at it. It's information overload. It's the same message over and over, but I'm not getting it. Where is this leading to? What am I supposed to be learning from this trip?

I thought I'd be much happier once I was traveling on my own, away from the reoccurring conflicts with Michael, but now I am lonely most of the time. Am I denying myself social interaction I need by traveling alone? Is my spirit wasting away like my scrawny body, suffering some sort of ethereal malnutrition? But wasn't I just as lonely traveling with Mike? Perhaps this is just something I have to push through. I have met many others traveling alone who seem to be quite at peace with it. Maybe I just have to give it more time.

At Gedser, to disembark with my loaded bike and roll it onto the waiting ferry. It's a two hour crossing to reach Rostock, the entry point to Germany. It's all déjà vu in reverse. From Rostock the train passes through the forests and lakes of northern Prussia and eventually rolls into Berlin. It is 6pm. I am staying with Andres again, but he is working the evening shift at the hospital.

It's sprinkling rain as I arrive at Andres' apartment block. It's 7:30 because I have stopped to eat a bratwurst at a vendor's booth along the way from the train station. It is reassuring to know my way to his place, to have been on the same streets before and to be somewhere I half know, just as it was when I returned to Copenhagen, but there is nothing left to do now but sit and wait for him. I don't want to ride anywhere in the rain and have to watch my bags getting wet as I have a coffee somewhere, so I sit in his musty hallway, the smells of the years emanating from the ancient carpet and walls.

The four hours pass painfully slowly. Sadness wells up inside me and fades again. When Andres finally arrives I stand to greet him. My butt and legs are barely working. He greets me warmly with a kiss and a hug, and he feel greatly relieved. I apologize for leaning on him again but he silences me. He makes tea and asks me about my time in Scandinavia. Nothing has changed in his life. It has been slightly more than two weeks since I last saw him but it seems much longer.

There's no thrill of the chase or ache of anticipation when we go to bed, only the comfort of affectionate friendship, which is what I need at this point.