An Unforgettable Battle with the Blue Reader. At Copenhagen Airport Station.

Travel memories are strange things. While memories gradually fade, I still vividly remember my failures and troubles. This is a story about my battle with anxiety from the moment I passed through the arrival gate at Copenhagen Airport until I left the Central Station.

After getting off the plane and exiting the arrival gate, a sophisticated space typical of Northern Europe spread out before me. However, I had no time to get sentimental. First, I needed to get a 'Rejsekort' IC card for transportation (there was no app version at the time). I looked for a DSB ticket machine and, while mentally converting the mysterious numbers called 'Danish Krone'—not Euros—I finally managed to get the plastic card.
Now, you might think all that was left was to board the train, but this was actually the real trial.

There were no gate-style ticket barriers like those in Asia anywhere to be found. I thought I had gotten used to the European railway system, which lacks ticket gates. I had an IC card in my hand, not a ticket. Where was I supposed to tap it? The flow from the airport lobby to the train platform was designed so naturally. Perhaps I had missed it... I looked around in a panic and found a small, blue, circular reader standing alone on a pillar in the walkway.

'Is this the thing...?'

I gathered my courage and brought my card close to it, and a mechanical electronic beep echoed. That was it. It felt so unsatisfying. What if the reading failed? Rumors of ruthless ticket inspectors appearing on the train and heavy fines brushed against my back along with the cold Nordic air. Just to be safe, I tapped it one more time.

My heart didn't rest even as the train left the airport station and headed for the Central Station. It wasn't just the usual tension of 'what is the next station' when riding abroad. Yes, it was the ticket inspection. When a uniformed staff member appeared from the end of the carriage, my heartbeat reached its peak. I must have stood out, as I was clearly not a local and was acting nervous. The inorganic terminal touched my card, and after a few seconds of silence... with a single 'Thank you,' I felt as if I had finally been granted permission to enter this country.

However, the trial was not over yet. The moment the train slid into Copenhagen Central Station with its heavy beams and I stepped onto the platform, I found myself looking around suspiciously like a 'suspicious person' once again.

I had to touch that 'blue dot' when getting off as well. I had heard that if you forgot to 'Check ud,' a penalty fee would be mercilessly deducted from your card. Amidst the hustle and bustle of the wide platform, I desperately searched for the 'blue thing'.

'Found it!'

I rushed to the machine I found. But another trap was waiting there. There are two types of machines: 'Ind' (In) and 'Ud' (Out). I stared at the letters until my eyes hurt to confirm the 'Ud' sign, and then held my card up with a prayer in my heart.
'Beep.'
The same mechanical sound as at the airport. But this time, the screen displayed the remaining balance after the deduction. This must be the real, final end.

'Phew...'

Feeling as if my knees were about to give way from relief, I rushed into the 7-Eleven at the station. The first thing I grabbed was a green label—an authentic Carlsberg.

I pulled the tab in my hotel room, which I had finally reached.
I had won the battle against those 'incomprehensible' traffic rules. I realized I had come a long way, more because of the unfamiliar boarding rules than the language barrier. The cold, golden liquid stimulating my throat was the most luxurious reward for myself for having survived the foreign boarding rules. The next day, I talked about how I had tapped it while acting all nervous.

'Now you're one of us Danes too.'

They laughed it off.

Even now, as time has passed, I can remember that blue machine and the green Carlsberg I drank in relief as vividly as if it were yesterday.