X Marks the Spot

Or not.

Today, I had really promising intentions of visiting the Moesgard Museum.  The archaeologist in me was dieing to see the bog bodies and Viking ships and reenactments.  So, bright and early, I set out for the several kilometer trek to the museum.

Several kilometers to the spot on the tourist map (in Danish) that said the museum was located there.  Several kilometers to the forest preserve south of the city.  The street I was supposed to turn off at was non-existent.

Still, doggedly, I kept walking.  It had to be here somewhere.  And then I found the next crossroad.  Which was somehow a street further west and heading the opposite direction.  I looked at the map.  I looked at the street.  Hesitantly, I passed it, thinking perhaps there was a map error.  I ended up in a separate town.  I turned back.

I asked someone on the street how to get to the museum.  She did not speak much English, so I showed her the picture on my map.  “Oh!  Several more kilometers that way!” she said, pointing in the direction I had originally been going.

I gave her a concerned glance, but followed her directions.  For several more kilometers.  I saw a sign pointing to the museum, so I kept walking.  And then, once again, there was nothing but forest.  No signs, no people, just road and trees.

I turned around again.  There were some children playing on a hill, I showed them the picture of the museum and asked where it was.  They said they didn’t know English and went for their teacher.  She said she didn’t know where it was, but it was in the area and I should keep walking, following the signs or ask someone else.

What signs?

I kept walking.

Eventually, I admitted defeat.  This was, of course, after I saw the sign pointing towards Arhus that said “6 km that way.”  At this point, I grew entirely frustrated at my not-user-friendly map in Danish and decided to back track.  My feet were sore, my hip hurt, and I was thirsty.

Cursing the entire way, I made my way for the city again.

No, no twist of irony led me to the museum (although, pride be darned, I did hope that I would find it by accident).  Instead, I made it back to the hotel restaurant, where I could at least get online, and let Odin know that I did not make it to the museum (which was our meeting place) and instead meet me here, and then…

Well, then, I did the only thing a stranded knitter could do:

I started a sock.


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