I meet christiane at the Stockholm central station at 10pm, and it appears our flight to Amsterdam is doomed due to icelands volcanic episode. Desperate to make the wasteland party on Saturday night, we commit to an adventure in trains, kayaks and dromedary, whatever the fuck gets us from here to there, trusting in a refund from air Baltic to at least defray the expense. We are astride our second train of the morning, toward Copenhagen and count dracula cannot be far behind… We shall make for the borgo pass, cutting the fiend off from his native earth that so, wait, I’m reciting keanu reeves; at best volcanic ash might coalesce into some demonic Finnish golem named Ed Walpole. The line for the ticket counter in Copenhagen coils like a giant python, and it’s 6am. We fail to get the direct train to Amsterdam, resulting in a 200 euro mission through 6 cities over 12 hours. No volcano raining ash on my party, bitch. Despite the face bleaching cost, the sheer adventure of the detour is exhilarating, and we have 4 hours to kill in Dane land.
