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What I owed in Denmark IV: Nettle Rash
By Yan on 5/12/2009
One who has never had a nettle rash attack doesn’t understand how it feels unless there are ever thousands of ants biting him at once. On a summer day in 1994, I had a nettle rash attack on top of a sudden fever. I rushed to Rishopitalet (the central hospital in Copenhagen) for treatment. All the medications to treat a disease of this kind have heavy side effects of drowsiness, so when I left the hospital, I was sick, feverish, itchy and drowsy.
In my sleep walking, I stepped on the bus on my way home. The bus was very empty as it was a Sunday afternoon. I chose my usual favorite seat at the second left row and immediately closed my eyes. When the bus driver reminded me it was time to get out, still sleep walking, I saw I was the last passenger in the bus when I stepped out.
It took me a while at the bus station beside a highway in a vast land of crops to realize that I was in the middle of nowhere. Using all of my energy to fight my want for sleep, I rationalized that during my sleep walking I must have taken the wrong bus. Judging from the vast land of crops, I must have taken the country route bus that normally runs one route an hour and stops after 4 or 5pm on weekend afternoons.
Suddenly, I saw through my heavy eyes a taxi driving down the road and I leapt over from station bench, jumping up and down and yelled in Danish: “Hjelp! Hjelp! Hjelp!”
I saw the taxi driver shrug his shoulder but he couldn’t do anything as he was at the opposite side of the highway. It was impossible for him to change sides on the freeway.
Disappointed, I didn’t know what to do but flop down on station bench. In the year 1994 few people had cell phones and I did not know where the closest house or shop was. Anyone who has been to the European countryside knows how empty it is. I was little bit scared as even though the sun sets at 8 or 9 pm in the Danish summer, it still sets. My drowsiness overcame my fears though and I fell asleep on the bench.
Even in my sleepiness I realized it was not long, 40 minutes or an hour, until somebody woke me up. I opened my eyes and I saw a guy, and behind him, a taxi!
Overjoyed, I leapt up from bench and jumped into the taxi! But how did he know I was in the middle of nowhere? The driver showed me a small screen in front of him; it was a device for their internal communication. I was almost moved to tears when I read what was on screen: “On---side of ----way, there was a young girl jumping up and down calling for help. Whoever is close to that spot, please go help her.”
It must have been the first taxi driver sending out this message. That guy, though I only saw a glimpse of him for a couple of seconds, always stays in my memory.
On the way home I told the friendly driver, a Danish man around 45 or 46 what was going on. I told him I was an international student there studying social sciences and economics; I told him about having a nettle rash attack and taking the wrong bus in my fever and drowsiness.
When we arrived at my Albertlund collegium (dormitory), I remember it showed 140 kroner on the price screen. I took out my wallet, but the driver refused to accept any payment. He said: “Young Chinese girl, I wish you have a speedy recovery and have a good study here in Denmark.”
Now when I recall back I can’t believe that in my sleepiness I did not even insist to pay. What was worse was when I woke up the next morning, I realized not only did I owe him 140 kroner, I did not know his name nor his phone number. There was no way for me to thank him.
That is just one of hundreds of things I owed to Denmark. All of these moments that have made their imprints in my memory remind me about Denmark, a country that is small in size but a giant in spirit. It is the country where I spent my youth, the country that generously hosted me for five years, the country where H. C. Andersen’s world started, and the same place, where my world started. (My writings and translaitons about Denmark)
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