Where Scrooge lives (Duckburg revisited)

[Klartekst]

"If we're going to the States, I want to visit Duckburg," I said to my 
wife. "I want to meet Scrooge McDuck." "He won't see you," she replied, "he 
doesn't receive visitors." "Oh, I think he will," I said, "if we bring the 
right gift."

We flew to New York and from there, three transfers later, we landed in 
Duckburg. As we flew further and further west, I noticed as I looked out 
the window that the scenery gradually changed. It got brighter and sharper 
somehow, with more vivid colors and contrasts. It was during the last 
stopover that we got the first hint of where we were going. The polite 
young clerk behind the ticket counter of Calisota Airways was a pig. 
Literally... and figuratively too!

After collecting our luggage we took a cab from Duckburg Airport into town. 
It was an old-fashioned taxi, as were all the vehicles we saw in the 
streets. They were all well maintained considering they appeared to be 
models from the 1950s. And yes, it is true: The residents of Duckburg all 
wear hats - from the plain and practical to the fancy and fashionable. 
Despite these quaint impressions, however, the hotel had a state-of-the-art 
computer terminal in the reception.

In the hotel room, I turned on the TV. The news anchor was a distinguished 
elderly gentleman with a moustache, a dark suit and a very 'knowing' 
expression. The evening movie was a western.

The next day we rented a car, since there is not a lot of public 
transportation in Duckburg. It was a small open model, a little like 
Gladstone Gander's, and it didn't go very fast. It was a bit like driving 
one of those bump'em cars in an amusement park.

As I had hoped, after a quick glance at our gift the security guards at the 
entrance to the money bin rang to McDuck and directed us to his office. It 
must have been Ms. Quackfaster's day off because McDuck himself met us at 
his office door. Up close he looks older than he does in the pictures but 
he is still very impressive. Although he is short, he simply radiates 
power. Even if you didn't know he is the richest coot in the world, you'd 
know you were in the presence of an icon.

As I gave him the gift we had carried so carefully from Norway, I explained 
how I had always wanted to meet him. He was visibly pleased. "I have a lot 
of Norwegian coins, of course," he said in a deep old-man's voice with a 
slight Scottish accent, "but none from the mint in perfect mint condition. 
Thank you very much." Then, after a slightly awkward pause, he asked, 
"Would you like to see the vault?"