Where Scrooge lives (Duckburg revisited)
info at klartekst.no
Tue Feb 5 16:38:07 CET 2002
"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
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?"
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