we left copenhagen on a cool autumn evening. the carriage was warm and gentle like the friendly ticket man who is fluent in danish, german and english with a strong northern european accent. eye-to-eye, he walked over with a mighty smile, ‘excellent,’ he said after checking our rail passes and off we go into the fields of gold and a sea of glistening grey-blue. as we passed through a woody patch of flimsy trees, i glugged down a big mouthful of jordbaer yoggi, slowly crushing the tiny seeds of the small fruit, which slid down slowly in a flow of creamy white. the carton so large and the yogurt so thick i struggled to hold it up high with a long pause so yoggi can make way to my hollow mouth at its own pace.

we got this litre of yoggi as an economical way to sustain our poor stomach. after paying for breakfast and entrance for the world clock, cath and i were only left with enough money to buy two toasted sandwiches, which we had to share for lunch and will share for dinner, and a litre carton of jordbaer yoggi. it was only five-o-two when two-thirds of the yoggi had already entered my forever-hungry pouch yet i could still feel its dissatisfaction. no. i must not have any more yoggi or cath will starve when she wakes. and no. i must not eat the sandwich or we’d have nothing to eat later tonight. as i leaned forward the scrumptious smell of the chicken sandwich haunted me bad.

‘the train is now going to board the ferry for germany. all passengers must leave the train…’ i unplugged myself from the headphones and turned my head to look at my still-sleeping travel buddies. stunned by the faint words i’d overheard: ferry. fourty-five minutes. deck… i quickly gave cath a shove who gave back an uneasy look, and jo woke with rosy cheeks and a pair of sleepy-eyes, half open with a dew of tear.

we have to go.

as i walked up the steps to the upper deck, the thick jordbaer yoggi chuckles in my stomach. let’s hope it’ll be a smooth journey.