We Are Family

My parents are in town!!!!!

Hadn't expected to update the blog while they are here, but this evening was just so great I had to report while it was still fresh in my mind.

Mom and Steve finally came to visit the host family today, which happens to be the Danish holiday of Mortensdag. Mortensdag is the feast of St. Morten, Bishop of Tours and commemorates... something about Morten's getting betrayed by ducks? And then having to slaughter them? I really don't understand what went down (or why St. Morten also goes by the alias St. Jordi), but here's the Danish wikipedia article. Anyway, the Danes celebrate on November 10-11 by lighting candles and eating ducks and having a hygglit evening with friends and fam.

I really wasn't worried about my parents and host parents' getting along. Conversation flowed smoothly and it was wonderful to see Jacob's mom (host far-mor, if you will) and hear about her travels in China. I forget what we discussed, but it was lovely. And we ate and laughed and ate and drank and ate.

Boy, did we eat.

The duck was spectacular. Jacob really outdid himself. It was served with hot shredded red cabbage, two kinds of boiled white potatoes (plain and with caramel sauce... wahwahwaaaaah so good!), dried spiced apricots, plums and grapes, potato chips (idk) and 3 different kinds of liquor. First was a Christmas beer from a microbrewery, then a red wine, followed by gløgg for dessert, which is a Danish mulled wine with nuts and raisins. Dessert was, of course, Jacob's special æblekage with homemade piskefløde and preserves. I kind of feel sick from eating so much, but it was WORTH IT.

It was so nice to hear all of the wonderful things the Stages had to say about my family. Even Tobias commented that mom and I look exactly alike! Jacob, washing dishes only in a tshirt, boxerbriefs and "Hot Stuff" apron, commented on how "kind and open" my parents are. Trine was glowing and raving about them. I felt extremely proud. So glad to be reunited with the folks for a week! I am incredibly lucky.

Move on up toward your destination

I leave for Sweden in 9 hours. 45 minutes ago, I realized that there are only 2 pairs of clean underwear in my drawer and I have been wearing the same jeans for the past 3 days. While waiting for my laundry so that I can start packing, I'm writing a speedy, yet newsy entry.

Music:

I am addicted to motown/soul music. I don't know when or why this happened, but I actually cannot stop listening to the "curtis mayfield" and "marvin gaye" stations on last.fm. A day without Sam & Dave's "Soul Man" is truly a day without sun. OMG "My Girl" just came on - life is good.

Midterms:

Not awful. A lot of stuff needed to get done in 6 days (3 papers, 2 outlines, 2 exams, 1 oral exam), but I think they went well.

Yom Kippur:

I had an easier fast than usual, probably because I didn't understand people when they bitched about the lack of food/water (Danish: it's all Greek to me!). I had planned to crash at Chabad after Kol Nidre, so I arrived at 3PM, when Ruchel told me to. Um, the place was locked and empty. I rang the bell and nobody answered. Knocked on the door, nobody answered. After 10 minutes, I called Mom. Never in a million years did I think I would be trying to break into a freaking Chabad center. Finally a little girl came by.

"At m'daberet ivrit?" "Kayn! Kayn!" "Bayt chabad?" "Kayn, b'vakasha!"

And she let me in. Thank you, Temple Emunah Hebrew School.

I helped Ruchel the Rebbetzin and her 67 children chop vegetables - it reminded me of Shabbat at the Bayit at Wes, except Ruchel is less of a tyrant than D.Bar.

At dinner, Seth, Gil and I listened to an old man from Jutland pontificate on the history of Danish Jewry. It was really interesting, but Gil bristled when the man told him, "vous n'e^tes pas francais. Vous e^tes Juif." Interesting clash between old and new world Judaism - but maybe the man had a point? I don't know.

Kol Nidre was pretty good. The Great Synagogue is a wonderful location for it because of its majestic size and white and gold interior. I missed the cantorial stylings of David "Srebby" Srebnick at Emunah, but I found a Siddur like the ones we use at home, so that was nice. The inscription was from Tovah Feldshuh, an actress I greatly respect, so that was cool, too.

After services, I walked back to Chabad with Gil and we hung out with Yitzy the Rabbi and 3 Yeshiva boys, just shooting the shit about politics and religion and travel. I stunned Gil by perfectly translating a couple of articles in Le Monde (my French is better than I thought!) and learned about - ready for this? - action movies for ultra-Orthodox jews. I'll try to find some titles from Yitzy and let you know how they are. The Yesiva boys were cool, 2 were British and had cute little Paul McCartney accents when speaking, but when davening, they sounded like little old men from Ze Old Country.

Anecdote: the stairwell in Chabad echoes. You know how American kids test echoes by yelling out stupid things? One of the Yeshiva boys tried it out by going "Koooooooool Niiidreeeee."

Services were spent with my new friends who recognized me from Rosh Hashanah. Sharon from Stockholm and I bonded majorly. And I saw the cute little old grandma with the sweet grandchildren, who greeted me with a, "hello, American girl who misses her family!" She then invited me to her house for the breakfast.

At the Chabad breakfast (bagels and lox! And eggsalad and tuna salad!), the man from Uruguay introduced me ("Ah! Mrs. Boston!") to his son, who is considering spending a semester studying communications at BU. The father was pounding back the whiskey shots, as was the Rabbi and every man over 30. Gut yontif, indeed.

Jonathan's Birthday:

Jonathan turned 11 on Thursday, so Friday was his birthday party with his class from school and today was the family party. The kids were SO CUTE. The party was loosely structured - entertainment ranged from watching the popcorn in the popper, playing "CounterStrike" and watching "Jackass," jumping on the trampoline, freezedance (to Rihanna's "please don't stop the music," obvi) and charades. It was funny to watch the kids: boys on 1 couch, girls on another, things like that. And Jonathan has a cute little girlfriend. Her name is Alberte. Aww...

Culture Night:

After the party, I headed into the city with Gabi, Liza, Madeline and DeDe for KulturNatten, the night when all of the museums, monuments, cafes, etc. are open late with special events. We explored the ruins under Christiansborg with a flashlight, which wasA really neat. Then we wandered around the Stroget, City Hall and Radhusplasen. So many people were in the streets! Young, old, drunk, sober... I have never seen Copenhagen this crowded before! The cobblestones at Amager Torv were sticky from all the beer spilled - it felt like a frat house floor.

Hilarious moments:

"My ex-boyfriend always wore an orange sweatshirt."

"did you date Kenny from South Park?"

On the Metro, we met the Super Mario Brothers and Hunter S. Thompson.

(After getting toasted, sugared almonds)

"You can eat the nuts."

A drunk man dancing to "Get Down (You're the One for Me)" by the Backstreet Boys.

"Are people from the Czech Republic called Czech... Republicans?"

And, oh yes, the Lederhosen boys.

Many other amazing things happened, and several facebook albums shall be made, but I need to get ready for bed soon. Plus I didn't even mention...

The Canal Tour of Copenhagen

and

Jonathan's Birthday Party 2.0

(or, how I ate my weight in carbohydrates - twice).

Hopefully I won't forget after the trip to Sweden and Estonia. I just hope my clothes are dry enough to pack by now...

Family Affair

Living with a host family is a weird experience. Kerplunk - now you are in someone else's world. And I'm operating in a bit of a vacuum - what happens in Copenhagen stays in Copenhagen - but for them, this is their reality and everything that happens over the four months we're living together will actually have a consequence. Somedays I feel really out of place here. I don't know what to do with myself and worry that I am intruding on something or messing everything up.

Today was not one of those days.

This afternoon, we went to Amager Strandpark, a boardwalk near Copenhagen. Jonathan and Tobias took their scooters and Jacob his rollerblades. Lots of people were strolling along the promenade, flying kites or watching the windmills churn double time because of the brisk gusts. One crazy soul was even going for a swim! We got ice cream and enjoyed each other's company and the pleasant (if windy) outdoors. A very nice afternoon.



Later, I came into the house to get some water (remember, my room is a detached annex) and saw the four of them on the couch, watching TV by candlelight. Jacob had just made cinnamon buns, and he gave me two on a plastic Pikachu plate. Trine loosely translated the serial for me during lulls in the action, and Tobias annoyed everyone by quacking his duck whistle whenever something exciting happened. I really felt at home, then. So this is Danish hygge... I like it.

Thursday, never looking back

Cute story:

Jacob my host dad decided that tonight I would make "American food" for supper, so we went to the grocery store to get some dinner fixin's and dragged Jonathan along. J looked really cute today in his skinny jeans, silicone bracelets and hoodrat trucker cap. We had fun at the supermarket which, for some reason that I cannot understand, sells bicycles, cell phones and other random crap in addition to groceries.

On the way back from the store, we were listening to the radio. A song caught some recessive part of my memory and I started humming along, "all along the eastern shore... nahnahnahnahnahnahnahhh" What was this electropop trash? Why do I know this random 80s song?

Because it was "Electric Feel" by MGMT.
On the radio.
In Denmark.
OMGOMGOMG.

For those terribly out of the loop, MGMT is an up-and-coming band whose members graduated from Wesleyan a couple of years ago. All of us cardinals are terribly proud of them.

The next song is also a favorite of mine, "Friday I'm in Love" by the Cure. (I always associate it with passing my driver's test, haha) I was singing along quietly in the front seat, when I heard an echo from the back.

It was Jonathan.

He was using the song to practice the names of the days of the week in English! I corrected his chronology ("Thursday... Friday... Saturday, not Wednesday!"). And he taught me the song in Danish:

I don't care if Mandag's blue
Tirsdag's gray and Onsdag too
Torsdag I don't care about you
Its Fredag - I'm in love!

Now I'm young and free, but how will it be when I grow up to be a man?

While doing laundry this evening, I heard a small verbal tussle. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Trine trying to brush Tobias' teeth with an electric toothbrush. Dentistry is not covered by the Danes' socialized health care system, so I can understand her desperation to get her kid some pearly whites.



I kind of smiled to myself, thinking "I could brush my teeth when I was 8. And look at me now! I'm living in a foreign country! And doing my own laundry!"



But then another thought crossed my mind: when I got into a bit of a bike accident the other day(cuts and bruises, I'm fine now), all I wanted was for my mommy to give me a hug and make it all better. 20 years old, and I still call my mom for every little thing. In fact, I was just talking to her. Seriously.



All this made me wonder, when do we truly become adults? Some kids, like my cousin Jay, seem to have been born possessing a level of character rarely seen in your average 50 year old man. Some grown men and woman remain in a woefully childlike state until death. You become a Jewish adult at either 12 or 13, a full American citizen at 18, and a senior citizen at 65. Do these ages mean anything? Or is it some other milestone: high school graduation? Having a job? A house? A pet rock?



Let me make one thing clear: adulthood is not maturity. I think the cliché goes, "you are only young once, but you can be immature indefinately." I like that.



After thinking about it for a bit, I think a person becomes an adult when ze assumes responsibility of caretaker for another human being (or sole responsibility for themselves). This explains why parents (good ones, anyway) are adults, and why young people who are required to "be strong" in the face of some difficulty develop 'grown-up' characteristics. Conversely, a child is someone who knows they are being taken care of by someone else. This explains the relation between parent-offspring, as well as romantic relationships in which one partner consistently leans on the other to make decisions.



I do not think the state of "adulthood" is static, either. It depends on context. For instance, a young person can be a child when ze depends on hir parents to make hir lunch, but an adult when ze holds hir younger sibling's hand while crossing the street. On a small scale, shifts can occur moment-by-moment. On the larger scale, however, I think you just wake up one morning and realize that you have been a grown-up for the past 15 years... what happened??

This burst of philosophizing isn't completely unprecedented, by the way. In my "children in a multicultural context class," we have discussed that the primary responsibility of Danish children is, well, to be children. But what does that mean? I hope these thoughts provide me with a better working definition.

In the meantime, I have to get ready for our study tour to Odense and Skanderborg in western Denmark. These locations probably mean nothing to you until I mention our plan for Saturday:

LEGOLAND!!!!

Screw responsibility: I'm gonna make a giant tower to Mars!!!!!!

***EDIT***
a shortened version of this post is on the DIS student blogs website as "post of the week" as of 9.19.08! holler.

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.

Good Day Sunshine

I woke up bright and early Saturday morning (much to my chagrin, having gone to bed at 3AM the night before). After writing Ryan and Toke a brief thank-you note on a pizza box, I slipped out into the sunny Copenhagen morning. It was only 9AM and I had some time to kill before I was due to meet Courtney for a tour of trendy cafes and shops in Vesterpørt at 11, so I grabbed a romsnaegle at the closest Netto (how Danish of me!) and hit the streets.

What I found: several outdoor flea markets, cute boutiques on the Strøget, men drinking beer at 10 AM on a public street, and omg Topshop. Had Tracy been with me, I would've needed a defibrillator to be still her little hipster heart. During the tour, we discovered the trendy Copenhagen meat-packing district, cozy cafes and gauche bars, and smoothie places that give Jamby's a run for their money.

Then I headed back to Dragør for some quality time with the host fam. We decided to ride bikes to the town center to get ice cream and enjoy the sunny weather. Anyway, you know that aphorism about "riding a bike - once you've learned, you never forget"? Yeah... it ain't true. I made a complete ass of myself. No, I'm not being oversensitive, they were actually laughing at me. I mean, I did look ridiculous, so it's all good. We walked instead. I'll try again tomorrow.



Now, I am an ice cream aficionado, a connoisseur of the cold and creamy, if you will, but I have never had a frozen dessert like this: First of all, ice cream in Denmark comes in not one, not two, but three - count 'em - three levels, served in a big waffle cone. First, the ice cream itself. Its the regular hard stuff and they give you a decent portion. It would be satisfying enough until you get to the layer of vanilla soft-serve. Its a little overly creamy, more the consistency of a McFlurry, but still delicious and still a sizable amount. Then comes the topping: an avalanche of pink marshmallow goo that covers the entire cone, Did I mention that they put a whole flodorbolle on top? 'Cause they do.
Oh yeah, and that was the "mini" size. I maybe ate 15% of it.


Dragør overlooks the Kattegat and on a clear day like today, you can see Sweden. So we climbed up an old army fort to get a better view.


We looked at the horses and elephants from a traveling circus,


ambled among the 600 year-old houses,


witnessed a human foosball game,


and watched Jonathan and Tobias do tricks on their scooters.


The only word to describe the feel of the afternoon is "lovely." The town, the sights, company... lovely, lovely, lovely!



We walked home along the water and Trine and Jacob told me all about the Danish political system and its lack of corruption. They think the political honesty in Denmark is due to the politicians' proximity to the people and the egalitarian nature of Danish society. I think the small size of Denmark also has something to do with it. They said one of the biggest problems for the state is the black market for workers who get paid under the table - and are exempt from the taxes that claim upwards of 60% of your income. I forget details of the conversation, but I was pleased to finally feel comfortable enough with my host family to engage in political debate.

While Jacob grilled dinner (beef, lamb, potatoes, grilled corn-on-the-cob, salad, bread), I tossed around a Nerf football with the boys in the backyard. Dinner was perfect, served by candlelight with terrific Italian red wine. Jacob and Jonathan made pandekagen (Danish crepes) for dessert while Trine and I discussed how learning disabilities are addressed in public schools in the US vs. Denmark. We were done with the meal around 10 PM. It was the definition of hygge.

Decided to skip the club scene for tonight. I need energy to go to Tivoli with my new family tomorrow!