People think I'm Danish- it must be my Scandinavian good looks.

True story.

It was decided that as it is our first weekend in Denmark, we needed to go out last night. 

After our classes ended, Samantha and I headed to the nearest Netto [your local grocery store] for some liquid courage party in a bottle cheap booze. 

I aim for the classiest cheapest liquor I can acquire and decide to be be adventurous and purchase something called 'Små Gule.' 

All you have to do is ask the working cashier to retrieve the bottle from behind the counter, but I like to make life more awkward from my side of the language barrier and manage to ask a woman working how we go about this in a sentence that is far from complete...and seemingly incoherent. 

'Err, ermm how do we, uh, get, that? Those bottles? From there?'

Confused looks. 

'Like...to buy? Liquor?'

I am about as smooth as a porcupines ass. [my knowledge on the anatomy of a porcupine is minimal, so for all I know a porcupine's ass is actually quite smooth. but that isn't the point here.]

I purchase my Danish liquor and examine it. 

It's brown. 

A brown vodka. 

I go with it because, hey! I'm supposed to be immersing myself! 

I head to the train with my newly purchased alcohol stowed safely next to my textbooks. 

There are train delays all over the place and the more Danish announcements there are, the more I feel the rising need to hop on the next train that comes through. 

So I do. 

I go one stop. 

The train stops. 

And a kindly Danish woman informs me that this train isn't going any further, so I exit. 

And after attempting to stare at the screen with what I hoped was a look of understanding concentration, I find my train to Helsingor. 

Once home I spend time with my host sister, Louise, and her friend..whose name I don't think I could spell properly here. 

We snack. 

We play the game I purchased. 

They inform me that the liquor I bought is pre-mixed and licorice, so I don't get to mix it. But I get to take shots of it, or drink it as is. 

We put in a movie. [it's nice to know that girls all over the world do the same things when they are vegging at home.] 

I fall asleep. No, that term is too mild for the hardcore passing out I did for two hours. 

We eat absolutely delicious pizza and I then attempt, in my full and sleepy state, to get ready for a night out. 

Cuz jet lag ain't got nothing on our party pants. 

Now you have to understand, I have a 45 minute train home from the city, and because the bus system makes no sense, I then would walk home whenever I made it back. So I needed to dress not only for the bar scene, but for the wintry walk home. 

A complicated, and almost impossible process. 

And I don't even like getting dressed normally. 

I drink some of my special vodka and finally get myself together.

My host brother, Nicolai, kindly offers to drive me to the train station. 

I somehow miss my first train because it's on a different track. 

Get on the second train. 

City time. 

We are looking for Billy Booze. 

A cheap bar/dancing scene that we've heard about. 

We find another bar we've been to, get directions (awkwardly) from several different Danish men and begin the journey. 

We find it! And enter, despite my lack of ID that actually proves my age. All I have is my travel pass and school ID. 

We check our coats and order drinks. Jagermeister and RedBull. 

We wander to look for a table, find none, and hang out on the dance floor for the entire night. 

The nice thing about dancing here is there are very few guys who try to dance with you by grinding their crotch into your ass. 

We dance just the three of us (did I mention that I wasn't by myself? I was with Samantha and Callie) and take in the almost entirely Danish scene that we were surrounded by. 

We dance, we drink, we laugh. 

The taller gentlemen like to comment on Callie's height and they think she speaks Spanish.

Drunk Danes think I speak Danish- at least I don't look that American. 

Samantha uses her height to push her to the bar to order drinks and to get our coats when we leave. 

We were chased by a Colombian in a suit and tie. 

Ass grabs were regular.

And to walk past you the Danes tend to put their hands on your waist, which is an adjustment to make after our American lifestyles where people would rather not move than touch a stranger.

Our first night in the city and we dared to enter into purely Danish territory. 

And we liked it. 

Bring it on Copenhagen, we can party with the best of them. 

Sort of. 

We won't try to keep up with your drinking, but the dancing and the staying out late we can participate in. 

2:46pm Denmark.
8:46am USA.