Good Day, Sunshine

It isn't sunny often in Denmark. When the sun occasionally peeks through the clouds during a lecture at DIS, you can watch the entire class begin to unconsciously lean toward the window. Heads turn, and people perk up almost instantly. And the Danes are junkies for it too. I often joke that my Copenhagen suburb of Sjælør can feel like a ghost town, especially early in the semester when I left for class before the sun came up and arrived home just as it was setting. But Danes come out of the woodwork in droves on sunny days, and the atmosphere on the street is noticeably more cheerful.

Tuesday was one of these days, intensely sunny and not a cloud in the sky. Without the clouds, Denmark feels like a different place, a different country entirely. It's almost disorienting how good it feels to walk around under a clear, blue sky after weeks of gray, gray, gray. As it was my one-month anniversary in Denmark, I decided it was time to explore Sjælør a little more thoroughly. Embarrassing though it is, most of my wanderings had been around the center and surrounding neighborhoods of Copenhagen, and my only routes in and around Sjælør were:

apartment ---> Sjælør S-tog station
apartment ---> Fakta
apartment ---> Mozart's bakery (highly recommended)
night bus ---> BED

I wandered into the neighborhood behind my apartment building, and immediately realized that this was not an ordinary neighborhood. It was a storybook town for children, with colorful miniature houses, snow covered gardens, and hedge-lined lanes. My roommate later explained that it is a colony of summer "garden" homes, that began in the 1960's when Copenhagen was still very industrial. City dwellers purchased plots of land very cheaply, and built small houses and planted gardens as a place for barbeques and picnics during the summer. Very few people actually live here. This made more sense. During my wandering, I had been envisioning either a colony of extremely short Danish squaters or people crawling around these little cottages on their hands and knees. I'm looking forward to walking around the gardens again in the springtime when everything starts blooming.











Along the way, I met a jolly Danish fellow who I will lovingly refer to as "The Cat Man of Solskræten". I was caught off guard when he began amiably chattering to me in Danish as I walked by. Most Danes are extremely reserved in public. We learn in our Danish classes that Danes consider it a right not be spoken to in public and I consider a feat even to make eye contact with these evasive people on the S-tog.

He told me that people pay 2000 kroners a year to live in the gardens and asked me about my studies and my home in Colorado. But after a few minutes of friendly small talk he informed me quietly, "My cats, they are coming." And sure enough, his cats started slinking out of the hedges left and right until we were surrounded by about 8 strays, some purring, some hissing at one another, and he introduced me to all of them. "This one is...oh, how do you say? A fatty?" He told me that people come to the gardens with their cats in the summertime but when they go home, they leave their cats behind. The cat man lives in the gardens all year round and feeds them. I could hardly stop myself from bursting into laughter when I realized that this was the first time in a month that a random Dane had made small talk with me on the street, and here I was standing in a garden colony of miniature houses with Fatty the cat rubbing against my legs.


The strangest things happen to me in Denmark. This week's misadventures include being nailed with a snowball by a drunken Greenlander on Købmagergade and attempting to figure out who the HELL is stealing one black sock from my drying rack in the basement every time I do my laundry. I may or may not have been asking for that snowball, but the disappearing sock joke is getting old, fast...

Doris and Harry Wander to Sweden

With our Wednesday free of field studies and an itch to get out of Copenhagen for the day, my friend Rachel and I decided to hop the border to Sweden for a little "harry trip".

A little background on Harry: The Swedes are the brunt of constant jokes among their Scandinavian counterparts, the Danes and the Norwegians. From what I have gathered thus far in coffee shop conversations and passing references, Danes think that Swedes are humorless bumblers who talk funny. When practicing my Danish to chuckles about my accent I ask, "Do I sound like an American?" And 9 times out of 10 I get the response, "No, you sound like a Swede." The Danes are not accustomed to hearing their language spoken with an accent; it is a very obscure language for anyone to spend their time learning. Consequently, I can’t even say “tusind tak” without getting a blank stare or a sarcastic little smirk. And I’m beginning to think that telling me I sound like a Swede is not, in fact, a consolation, but I joke within itself.

My Norwegian grandfather, on the other hand, placed his jabs at a more serious level. “NEVER trust a Swede” he used to say. Though officially remaining neutral during WWII, Swedish efforts to appease the Nazis by opening their borders indirectly enabled the occupation of Norway in 1940. And those 5 years of occupation are something he never forgave them for.

What purpose does all of this background information serve, you ask? Because while they jab at Sweden constantly and almost unconsciously, the Danes and the Norwegians do love Sweden for one thing. THE SHOPPING. I first became acquainted with the concept of a “harry trip” two summers ago when visiting family in Norway. My aunt, uncle, and their 2 children were in the process of preparing for a harry trip, in which they would climb into their car, drive over the border to Sweden, and buy everything in sight at an outrageously low price. Since Norwegian agriculture cartels are so stringent and the tax on alcohol is so high, beef and liquor are popular purchases when the Norwegians hop the border. The trips came to be called “Harry” by way of the former Norwegian Minister of Agriculture, Lars Sponheim, who criticized these border jumpers and named them “Doris and Harry”, a pair of superficial humans with no academic background who dared to undermine his protectionist agricultural industry.

In Denmark, where the standard of living is equally as high, harry trips are manifested as trips to Malmö, Sweden, about 30 minutes from Copenhagen across a massive bridge. My roommate informed me that the Danish government is similarly concerned with Danes who are undermining the system, and they charge around 500 DKK for every car crossing the bridge. In other words, if you’re going to Malmö by car, you’re planning to fill it to the brim. Fortunately, for about 130 DKK (around $25) and a willingness to purchase only what you can carry, the train to Malmö provides a cheap and convenient means for traveling between the two cities.

Doris and Harry departed fair Copenhagen without a plan, without a map, without any expectations. Their intentions were neither cultured nor academic. After a month of living in expensive Copenhagen, their only desire was to buy some clothes and sit down for a meal without the distinct and compulsive urge to smack their foreheads against the wall upon opening their wallets.

They shopped, they ate, they were content. They spent the afternoon wandering around King’s Park:





...and a sleepy little graveyard covered in moss and dripping with rain:



They met a Swedish couple in the park and stopped for a photo op:





They ate cream puffs their size of their faces and sipped hot chocolate in “Les Trois Roses”. They felt they were in a scene from the movie "Chocolat". They never wanted to leave:





But in the end, they wandered back home to Copenhagen. And smiled when they realized that they had started calling Copenhagen "home".

Odense & Århus

There are so many thoughts bouncing about in my head that are screaming for the organization pen to paper, or in this case, fingers to keyboard? It is safe to say that this past weekend has been the best since my arrival in Denmark. I feel entirely enriched and inspired. I am full of laughter. I have laughed harder these past days than I have in a very long time.

Thursday to Saturday was the first short study tour to Western Denmark, to the second and third largest cities of Odense and Århus. We traveled with our programs by bus and I was immediately pleased to see that while other more popular programs were split onto two buses and separate tour groups, our Migration & Identity crew of around 35 fit nicely onto one bus. The weekend turned out to be a nice bonding experience, as we had yet to really participate in any activities with our specific program. And with four girls to every sardine can of a hotel room, the hygge factor went from 0 to 100 in the time it took to lay out 4 full grown bodies and 4 sets of luggage in an 8x10. Reminiscent of a cargo hold, but memories were made regardless.

In the realm of academia, we were able to visit a slew of integration projects and councils to further explore the problem of immigrant integration in Denmark. I think this is a very ironic problem, as most aspects of Danish society are extremely progressive in comparison to the USA, namely in energy conservation (remember the grocery bags?) and gay marriage (Denmark was the first country in the world to legalize registered partnerships in 1989). But while the USA is a country founded on the idea of immigration, a melting pot since the very beginning, Denmark’s historically homogeneous population didn’t start experiencing immigration until the Turkish work permit migration in the 50’s and 60’s. In the grand scheme of things, immigration is very new to Denmark, and passions are much higher here in regards to the topics of integration, assimilation, and multiculturalism.

At the Odense Integration Council we talked with the Ethnic Job Team, a group of 30 job counselors who help immigrants break into the job market with the goal of bringing as many as possible into the workforce. Job training and Danish classes are provided, and helping immigrants set reasonable goals as to the nature of their employment is key. Most interesting was the fact that the majority of foreign degrees are not accepted in Denmark, so teachers, lawyers, and doctors are often required to go to university AGAIN or settle for a job that they are often over-qualified for.

An entertaining lecture followed by a Turkish scholar who turned out to be a little more radical than even our tour leaders may have expected. While his basic claim was that Danes are, in fact, NOT racist, the means of proving his point was through a complex web of cultural relativism and deconstructionist discourse: you can perceive the Dane’s behavior as racism, or as rational anxieties. While he presented an interesting point with a fervor I can only hope I will one day feel for my field of study, many were left scratching their heads, or laughing quietly to themselves when his critique of social science was summed up in the phrase “psychological masturbation.”

Søndervangskolen is the school in Denmark with the highest percentage of immigrant youth, at 90%. We were given a tour of the school by Simon, whose parents fled persecution in Eritrea and started a family in Denmark. When asked how he reacts when people ask him where he is from, he responded, “I tell them that my parents are from Eritrea, but that I am Danish. I was born in Denmark and I am a Dane.”



Bazaar Vest is an indoor Turkish/Arabic marketplace that results from the high immigrant population in Århus. Less academic, more enlightening, we spent an hour wandering the shops and falafel stands, and the most heavenly fruit market I have ever laid my eyes upon.







Saturday night was the best of times. Great conversation with great new people and a "Carpark North" concert in downtown Århus. Eat, drink, and be merry they say, and that is exactly what we did.





At the close of the trip, I found myself wandering the spacious galleries of the Aros Kunstmuseum and I could have happily spent an entire day. I can think of few things more intellectually satisfying than getting lost in an art museum.




Aros boy, a 17 foot fiberglass sculpture and the museum's most famous exhibit.


This interactive exhibit represents the most universal part of human life, the heartbeat. Grip the pulse sensors at the back of the room, and your heartbeat is transferred to the first lightbulb as a flicker. Your heartbeat moves up and down the rows as more people add theirs, until eventually, it goes out.




Michael Kvium's
"Double Brown"


Jars of horse parts as art.


A solitary
resting
place.


View of Århus from the top.

"This is MY Country"

Wednesdays at DIS are days for "field studies". Instead of sitting in the classroom, we get the opportunity to engage ourselves in hands on activities at local institutions in order to contextualize the 8:30 AM lectures that may or may not be fully absorbed during normal class days.

Today was a field study for my Cross Cultural Encounters class, the core course in the Migration & Identity program. As a project for the semester, we are collaborating with local asylum seekers in order to publish the next edition of the only publication run by asylum seekers in Denmark, New Times. There is currently much debate on the asylum system in Denmark, as the rules are much stricter than those of other EU countries. It is considered extremely hard to be granted asylum in Denmark, and it is necessary to produce quite a bit of documentation, including documentation of persecution. In other words, you must be able to prove, on a piece of paper, that returning to your home country poses a legitimate threat to your life or your health.

The Dublin Convention makes matters even more complicated. Passed in Denmark in 1997, the convention is a piece of EU legislation that seeks to streamline the application process by requiring the first EU country in which the asylum seeker is apprehended to take responsibility for this person and process their application domestically. Once you have been fingerprinted in Denmark, you may not leave Denmark to apply for asylum in another EU country. This poses a serious obstacle to many seeking asylum, because the laws on granting residence permits are so stringent, and the citizenship test and expectations of self-support are so high. As a result, there are a very high number of people waiting in the limbo of "asylum centers" who have been rejected by Denmark but who are unable to return to their home country for fear of persecution. There are people who have been sitting in these centers for 10 years without any hope of being granted a normal life in Denmark.

This morning, we were seperated into groups and introduced to the asylum seeker and the article topics that we will be working with for the next months. Farnam, our asylum seeker, is in the unique position of being an "unaccompanied minor". His parents were mathematics teachers in Iran and were too public about the fact that they were practicing Christians, not Muslims. In Iran, this is grounds for execution. He left Iran for Belgium, with the end goal of settling in England. However, Farnam was seperated from his parents, who moved on to England and were fingerprinted there. A family friend bought Farnam a ticket to Denmark and told him that he would have to purchase a ticket to England in the airport, but he was detained in Copenhagen where he was fingerprinted.

He is 16 years old and he has been living in a foreign country for 7 months by himself, unable to directly contact his family in England. He told us that when he was apprehended, he was promised by the authorities to be reunited with his family, but that promise has yet to be upheld. And because of the Dublin Convention, he cannot legally join them, nor has he the means. His English is extremely advanced for only 7 months in classes, and he received his diploma in Iran when he was 14. He hopes to attend university to become an architect. He hopes to return to Iran one day.

The most striking comment he made today was about the manner in which the Danish authorities speak of Denmark. "You are in MY country now..." He says the Danes speak of Denmark as if it is the best country in the world, all other places inferior. He says that they expect him to be more than happy to be here, living in an asylum center, without his family.

In two weeks, my group has arranged to visit Farnam at his asylum center in order to see what a day in the life of an under-aged asylum seeker in Denmark is like.

This boy is remarkably composed and well spoken, given his situation. And by the end of the meeting, I was feeling quite petty for complaining about the rainy weather and the crowed train on my way into the city.

Feverish Musings & A Picture Story

The Danish influenza was inevitable. My roommate was down and out with it last week and as soon as I started hearing scattered whispers of it throughout the DIS buildings, I knew that it would very shortly be upon me. I was holding my breath in vain. If there is a germ to catch, I will catch it, without question. Such a weakling. It truly never fails. So while my social life has hit the pause button and the Danish nightlife is dangling tantalizingly out of my reach for the time being, these past couple days in bed have given me some much needed time to catch up on my journaling and organize my academic life (& my life altogether). Ibuprofen/yo-j cocktails are the only cocktails I see in my immediate future.

I must say that so far, I am extremely impressed by the DIS program. I'm not sure exactly what I expected from my first couple of introductory weeks in Copenhagen. I suppose I envisioned more time spent wandering aimlessly, trying to figure out the streets, the stores, the language, on my own. But DIS put together a very impressive orientation schedule filled with endless activities; survival danish classes, a scavenger hunt to help orient us in the city, field trips to castles, dinners with our Danish teachers. Every second has been filled with new experiences and danishes. One of the very first (and truly most vital) things we were taught in Danish is how to say:

I would like a danish.
Jeg vil gerne have et stykke weinerbrød.
(Yai vi ger-na hay et stooka veener-brohhhth)

This silly little "ø" is just impossible. It comes from the back of the throat, in a really awkward, gurgly sort of way. I sound like I'm gagging. My danish teacher assures me that by looking in the mirror when you practice it, you will improve. But I'm very certain that if I looked in the mirror, it would then sound AND look like I was gagging.

Here are few of the best photos from orientation week and the following first week of classes:

Danish design at its best in the "Black Diamond" Royal Library. This is where I plan to spend time cramming (when necessary).

Our scavenger hunt group hit the postcard worthy area of Nyhavn at just the right moment for sunset shots.

Kongens Have (The King's Gardens) ... venturing away from the scavenger map, I found my favorite place in Copenhagen.

The director of DIS, Anders Urskov, waits in the cold with everyone else to introduce us to Rosenborg Palace ... and to point us in the direction of free soup!

An evening of ice skating at Kongens Nytorv with my roommate, Cecilie. It's alright, you can say it. It's pretty damn cute.

Tall Poppy Syndrome

Last spring, I took a class in Western European politics and was assigned a group presentation on the ideas, interests, and institutions associated with the Swedish welfare state. Now normally these types of situations put me in a cold, dead panic. Not only do I hate depending on other people when it comes to the quality of an assignment associated with myself, but the fear of speaking in front of a room full of people rattles me so thoroughly that I never actually remember what I say. I come to later, having experienced 30 minutes of tunnel-vision and white noise. A blackout more effective than any night of drinking could ever deliver. This particular assignment, however, resulted in some pretty interesting nuggets of insight that I now carry around in my head. And quite a sensational romance, I might add. Once I came to, I realized that it had been worth the temporary disorientation.

Tall poppy syndrome is a phenomenon occurring most commonly in welfare societies, in which the higher class, or the most visibly “taller” poppies are purposefully “cut down” by the other poppies, producing a leveling effect on society. The earliest recording of this phenomenon in Scandinavia came in Aksel Sandemose’s 1933 novel, “A Fugitive Crosses His Tracks”, in which he describes his Danish hometown of Nykøbing Mors. The citizens live by the following rules, called Jantelov (Jante Law):

1. Don't think you are anything. (Du skal ikke tro du er noget.)
2. Don't think you are as good as us. (Du skal ikke tro du er lige så meget som os.)
3. Don't think you are smarter than us. (Du skal ikke tro du er klogere end os.)
4. Don't fancy yourself better than us. (Du skal ikke bilde dig ind du er bedre end os.)
5. Don't think you know more than us. (Du skal ikke tro du ved mere end os.)
6. Don't think you are greater than us. (Du skal ikke tro du er mere end os.)
7. Don't think you are good for anything. (Du skal ikke tro du dur til noget.)
8. Don't laugh at us. (Du skal ikke le ad os.)
9. Don't think that anyone cares about you. (Du skal ikke tro nogen bryder sig om dig.)
10. Don't think you can teach us anything. (Du skal ikke tro at du kan lære os noget.)

This concept was very novel to me when I first began my research, but it seemed to fit in well with the ideas I was trying to assign to the structure of a welfare society. Following a week in the land of 50-70% income taxes, however, I find myself with a more informed perspective on Jantelov. Perhaps the best way to sum up the ways of Danish society would be to quote an article from my Danish Language and Culture class, meant to enlighten us competitive Americans about the Danes’ self perspective:

“It is not considered appropriate to brag of your money, your excellent grades from university, your important job, your family . . . in general you should not in any way hint that you are more or better than others.”

Not so very different from America, though certainly more modest. I’m guessing those braggy Christmas cards detailing the achievements of every member of your extended family would be met with perhaps a heightened sense of contempt in Denmark.

But the plot thickens:

“In the Danish folkeskole kids follow the same class from first to ninth grade. It is considered more important that talented and less talented children get to know each other and learn how to cooperate than to create an environment in which talented and intelligent children get the opportunity to learn as much as possible.”

HOLD UP. I had to read that twice to be sure I was reading it correctly. I think that any American would stop dead at this sentence. Since birth, it has been ingrained in our core values that hard work leads to prosperity, and competition is healthy and necessary in a dog eat dog world. What is this emphasis on cooperation you speak of? Work hard and you will be rewarded. Look out for yourself and you will succeed.

I’ve learned a lot about Danish culture in the past week, and I must admit, it’s hard not to admire this hyggelig little world that the Danes have created for themselves. When choosing Scandinavia as a destination for study abroad, I knew that many parts of my life would remain the same. The sea of Arian faces I see when walking down Nørregade every morning is the same sea of faces I see walking down Pearl St. in Boulder, though perhaps slightly more stylish. I can purchase and eat everything in Denmark that I eat in Boulder, though a spoonful of peanut butter would certainly be welcome. And it only took two Cross-Cultural Encounters lectures to realize that Danes are just as xenophobic towards Muslims as Americans are towards Mexicans. The Danish Tribe is quite protective of their “Danishness”.

But it seems that the most fundamental mentality on life and how it should be lived are what differ the most. I have to plan my time accordingly if I want to grocery shop in my neighborhood after classes, because shops close at 5 or 6. I ate sandwiches for 3 days straight and recounted my frustrations to my roommate, who explained that there are laws about how many hours store clerks can work. And god forbid anyone be subjected to an evening shift (that would be encroaching on vital family time). Apparently, Danes are very concerned about overworking their grocery store employees, and all of their employees, in any field, for that matter. The average Dane works 9-4.

A much, much smaller percentage of Danes actually go for their PhD. But why would they? When everyone is taxed the same exorbitant amount, it makes no sense to be competitive. Sure, with a higher education you will be paid more, but in relative terms, once taxes are paid, you’re not making ENOUGH more than that grocery store clerk to justify working so much harder in a higher position.

I haven’t come to terms with Danish society yet. It lacks a competition and a drive that I am accustomed to, but there are many parts of it that I admire. They are extremely family oriented, and cherish all the extra time that they have to spend with their children. And besides Muslims, I have yet to encounter even one, tiny thing that Danes have to worry about. Everything that gives an American a headache (student loans, picking a career path, long hours in the office, no time for the family) are non-existent in Denmark. The state is the provider. And here I am, the silly little American girl who has always been taught that providing for myself is life’s most important endeavor.

It’s a sweet life, this Danish one.

Dutch Umbrellas

Silly moose,

When you passed your little umbrella into my possession some months ago, you forgot to mention that it is, essentially, worthless. I brought it along on my adventure, thinking that it may keep me dry on these rainy Copenhagen nights, but was disappointed to find that it wasn't sturdy enough to withstand the gusty Danish winds. Last night, halfway between the train station and my apartment, it had digressed into a tangled mass of wire and nylon. Though a frustrating struggle it was, I was able to provide a good 10 minutes of quality entertainment to the two, old Danish men laughing loudly behind me. I couldn't understand what they were saying, but it may have been something along the lines of "Look at that drunk American wrestling with an umbrella! I wonder who will win?..."

So while the traveling umbrella added Copenhagen to its list of cities traveled, it has unfortunately been retired to the bottom of a Danish dumpster.

.
AL

Please enjoy some Danish pop, compliments of my Danish teacher, Nina.

Some people make videos for dancin', but the Dane's say, "Hey, wouldn't it be funny to sing while walking and hopping as awkwardly as possible...and then play it backwards!?"