Go West, Young Woman! (Odense)

Sorry for the lack of updates. No excuses, just laziness.

Last week, DIS took my program ("Child & Developmental Psychology: Children in a Multicultural Context") on a long weekend to Western continental Denmark (Jutland). For Copenhageners, Jutland is essentially the boondocks, so I wasn't too thrilled about our destination at first... until I found out we got to go to LEGOLAND. But I am getting ahead of myself...

My journey started off bright and early: 5AM. It wasn't very bright, but it sure as shit was early. As the bus pulled out of Frue Plads at a miserable 6:30AM, we watched the sun rise over Copenhagen. Fanfreakingtastic. Sidebar: earlier that week, the city of Copenhagen outlawed buses that emit a certain amount of pollution. This meant that the charter bus DIS had rented was illegal, so once we left the city limits, we had to switch automobiles.

We got to Odense, the 3rd largest city in Denmark (population 158,000 - the comedy writes itself here, people) around 9:30 to visit a pre-school. Børnehuset is a kindergarten located in an immigrant neighborhood that is undergoing a rapid gentrification. It is now about half and half immigrants and ethnic Danes. The focus is on cultivating language skills so that the children will be well-prepared to enter primary school at age 6.

What I found most interesting about Børnehuset was the extensive communication between parent and pedagogue. At the beginning of each day, the pedagogues take photos of each child and upload them to a flat-screen television that flashes them on a loop. As the day goes on, photos from the activities are added to the slideshow. This way, parents can know what their kids did all day. There are also twice-yearly parent conferences, a parent advisory board, and written reports from the pedagogues, all keeping the adults informed of their little darlings' activities. The teacher we met with explained that 75% of her time at the school is administration, rather than education. Wow - and I thought American parents were demanding!

After that, we had the afternoon to explore old town Odense. It reminded me of the town from "Beauty and the Beast," with its quaint cobblestone streets, candy-colored houses, and mom-and-pop shops. I'll post my pictures soon, but here are some of Liza's to tide you over:

Our favorite attraction was a gigantic statue of a naked woman with the craziest muscle definition I have ever seen. There was also a statue by Yoko Ono of either herself or John Lennon (you really can't tell) surrounded by doves with the caption "Imagine all the people living for today - 1981."

I also liked the street musicians - especially an adorable old man playing the accordion who mugged shamelessly for my camera.

We then checked out the Hans Christian Andersen museum. Gabi and I listened to a recording of Ginger Rogers' reading "The Princess and the Pea," which is one of the cuter things I've heard in awhile. The grounds were beautiful, but it wasn't a great museum per se. HC, the pride and joy of Denmark, deserves better. Plus the gift shop was waaaay too sparse - what gives?

Dinner was, to continue the theme, at a restaurant called "The Ugly Duckling" (Den Grimme Ælling) Good, FREE food, served buffet-style. It was the best lamb I've had since Israel and the salad bar was better than MoCon. Pandekagen with chocolate and raspberry ice cream and marzipan for dessert - oh man, I can't even begin to describe. All 37 of us were members of the clean plate club that night.

After dinner, Madeline, Liza, Gabi and I roamed the streets. We found some cute bars and cafés, but nothing really gets going until late and we were bushed. What we DID find were some drunkitydrunkdrunk Danish guys (at 8PM?) who liked following us around and sneaking into our photos:

Despite my pleas to go to the "James Dean Dance Bar," we wound up at a cute Euro café, sipping the best cappucinos we've ever had, enjoying the heat lamps and each other's company. I even flirted with the cute foreign waiter, in honor of Granna. Then back to the hostel to gear up for day 2: Skanderborg.

Always remember you like a child, girl

I think everyone should have a Danish childhood.

These kids are so free. They have no fear, no reservations, nothing but a need to explore. The same could be said for most children, I'm sure, but the difference here is that their parents and teachers appreciate their hunger for adventure and cultivate it. The kids at my practicum are under 3 years old, and they are far more independant than many American children of 6, 7, or perhaps 8 (I'm sorry I can't go into details. Policy.)

One of my favorite things about my host family's house in Dragør is the huge trampoline in the backyard. Tobias and Jonathan are up there whenever they have a free 15 minutes. Their favorite trick is to fall straight back, bounce, then jump up onto their feet again. They don't look down - they just fall, bounce, and land on their feet.

I'll spare you the obvious metaphor, but watching the boys has made me re-evaluate the way I live. I wouldn't say that I'm a fearful person or that I avoid risk or don't enjoy life or any such nonsense. What I would say is that I am afraid of falling.

Literally.

Re-learning how to ride a bike last week, I wobbled so terribly that Trine looked away. "If you think you're going to fall, you're going to fall," Jacob said.

I didn't see one of the funniest, most comically obscene signs in Copenhagen (a green cartoon woman with grenades for breasts - I'll upload a photo tomorrow) because I was too busy watching my feet on the cobblestones, making sure my heels didn't get caught in the cracks.

Last weekend, I took baby steps walking down from the old fort because the rotting wood felt a little too rickety underneath.

Danish people don't do this. I need to get over my literal fear of klutziness. If I fall, I fall. So what? Scraped knees build character and street cred. Plus, maybe taking more physical risks will lead to intellectual, emotional, experiential risks as well - who knows?

Yesterday, Robin and I got "pizza" (huge, thick blocks of Sicillian-style, folded in half, wrapped in wax paper, and served vertically. Not bad for 11 kr.) and wandered around Rådhusplasen. He says that, on a scale of 1-10, Danes are a 9.2 "Even New Yorkers don't rank that high!" he laughed, shunning his fellow downtown Manhattan intellectuals. We cited the healthy lifestyle, freedom from want, closeness to nature, love of food and culture, and general lack of neurosis as reasons the Danes collectively rock our socks. "I'm glad I came here for study abroad, because I really do think that life is better here," he said, "So when I go back to Swarthmore, and say that everything is better abroad, I won't sound like as much of a jerk because Copenhagen is really obsure. Anyone can talk about Paris or London, but Copenhagen? People just ask if that's in Sweden."

True story. These people deserve more global props.

We then went to an exhibit on Nordic children's books at town hall. They were beautiful, creative, funny, and fucked-up. We were especially captivated by the story about a dog who gets eaten by another dog, then gets pooped out, run over by a car, covered in blood and gore, and, finally, stitched back together. Could I make this up? Lordy, I hope not.

Later that day, I rode my bike to the airport. I enjoyed the view of the ocean, watched the cruise ships glide to Finland, and scattered a group of sparrows as I pedaled my 3-speed down the pavement. Then I heard a whirring noise, looked up, and saw a HUGE SAS plane directly overhead. It is the lowest I'd ever seen an aircraft fly. 10 minutes later, another plane came in for a landing - so we raced. I picked up the pace and flew my bike directly under the aircraft. This game continued through the end of "rush hour."

Exhausted, I came back to an empty house. Immediately, I hopped on the trampoline. I let myself fall blindly backwards, bounce, and land on my feet again.