But there you go you're sailing away - but there you are

Context for this post:
The metro broke down last night. Not only did I miss my bus, but it broke at a random stop that I had never been to before. This means that I walked 6 miles in the snow in HEELS around midnight to find a cab. No, I had no idea where the hell I was. No, there was no one around. No, my host family was not answering their cell phones.

This most unfortunate series of events gave me a lot of time - in between my brain's howling obscenities - to reflect upon my experience in Denmark.

DIS probably won't give this post "blog of the week." But here goes:

I appreciate my experience here. I have known from the outset that the opportunity to live in another country is an incredible privilege. For the most part, I think I have made the most out of what Denmark has to offer: academically-culturally (museums and such), socio-culturally (meeting Danish people, experiencing traditions), socially (bars, clubs - though not to the extent you might expect. More on that later.), naturally (the gorgeous landscapes), architecturally, politically, commercially, religiously.... I think I have covered the majority of my bases here.

Yet I have found this study-abroad experience lacking on a few levels. Academically, its not Wesleyan. It didn't pretend to be. Our assignments are predominantly "busy work" and, well, they've been keeping me pretty darn busy. I just wish that I felt like we were going more in depth, given the time committment expected. But... so it goes, I guess.

For Danish class, we had a project to "capture Danishness" through a 10-minute PowerPoint, which got me thinking. The entire time I have been here, I have been wondering about that whole "Danes are the happiest people" thing. Why? What makes them the happiest?

I think I have an idea:
Danes are very satisfied with the status quo. Now, the status quo is pretty great here. You have a lovely childhood, the welfare state takes care of your needs, you have had the same group of friends since pre-school, you can take a 3 week vacation to Thailand (no joke, this is really common). No complaints, really. If something bad happens, you watch it on TV and say, "tsk tsk, something should be done about those Arabs" - because, see, to a Dane, everything is the Arabs' fault - and then you drink some beer.

Harsh? Maybe. But here is my point: Danes are complacent and I am not. I'm not saying Danes are stupid and I'm not saying they are lazy; I am just saying that they are very satisfied with the way the world works. And the way the world works in Denmark is that all the people who look the same stick together. I could never live in that society. I need tension and discomfort and new experiences from people who aren't clones of myself. In retrospect, given my personality, I should have studied someplace like Paris or London or Cape Town - a wealth of diversity and excitement. Copenhagen is exciting, but the people aren't as dynamic as I had hoped.

But I knew that I was entering a homogenous society, which I precisely part of the reason I wanted to come here. I have never and will never again live someplace in which everyone is the same. Therefore, in order to get a) a true cultural immersion and b) a completely different cultural experience, I had to go someplace that wasn't necessarily what I liked, but what I needed for my own personal and intellectual growth.

On drinking culture:
My "party girl" rep continues to amaze and confuse me. Ryan always tells me, "girl, you so crazy!" Yeah, I'm a bit of a goofball and have few reservations when it comes to adventure (laser tag? karaoke? inappropriate dance parties? road trips to nowhere? LET's GO!). I make it out at least once a weekend, of course. But no, people, I am not in the clubs every night. No, people, I have not broken a thousand Danish hearts. Sorry, people, I'm usually fast asleep by 3AM.

I wonder if I am suffocating my "fun-ness." Am I just being too cheap/lazy? A little. But the Danish club scene isn't like those infamous Parties on Fountain. I like being around people I know (at least tangeantially) when I go out, I guess. And those sexy Danish men you are all imagining? They are AWKWARD. And not that cute, either. I really have no interest in them, which is a pity, because short brunettes are really in demand here. I guess they like diversity after all, haha.

In sum:
Parties are good, but without a great crew to share them with, who cares? And good conversation in a cafe is preferable to deafening techno in a club every time. Well, almost every time. Like, 90% of the time. Sometimes, man, I just wanna daaaaaaaaaaaaance.

I didn't leave MA or Wesleyan because I was unhappy. I have a great relationship with my parents. I love Wes. I love everything about Wes. I don't want to leave Wes. I knew that before I even thought about going abroad. That's why, even though I am having an amazing experience here, I am homesick. This whole thing would be so much better if all of you were here to share it with me.

That being said, going places alone never scares me. I don't think of it as being such a big deal. When people ask me, "don't you have any friends in Denmark?" I say, "no. That's why I am going to Denmark. To make friends." I like my independence and I like having to figure my own shit out. I like having time to think, because, as you all know, the middle part of my brain-filter-mouth mechanism frequently malfunctions.

So, yeah, it's good that I'm a little lonely. And it's good that I am not going out all the time. And it's fine that I don't loooooooooooove the Danish people and the Danish lifestyle. Studying abroad doesn't have to be the most super-incredible-fan-fucking-tastically-awesomely-awesome experience of my life. But I am getting what I wanted and needed:

I am learning about the world.
I am learning about myself.
I am on my way.

Santa Claus is coming to town?

I think Denmark can best be described through the 4 Bs:
Bread
Bikes
Blondes
Beer

Last night, I experienced the Danes' intense affection for B4, specifically Tuborg Julebryg, Christmas Beer.

The night Carlsberg releases its Christmas beer is known as "J-Dag (day)," an unofficial national holiday in which the vast majority of Danes over age 18 hit the bars. J-Dag used to be on a Tuesday, but was moved to Friday because employers complained of too many workers calling in "sick" the next day.

So, in the name of cultural experience, we decided to check it out.

"Copenhagen Weekly" described the J-Dag events, including a launch party at the Carlsberg Factory at 7:45 PM. When Gabi, Liza and I arrived, we were delighted to see snow in the streets! Fake snow, of course. Snow that looked like... foam? Beer head foam? In the road? Awesome! (but kinda gross, too)

Well, turns out the party at Carlsberg was only for Carlsberg employees. Oops. Awkward. So we joined up with a HUGE group of DIS students to head into Copenhagen proper.

All of the bars on the Strøget were decked out with lights and balloons and, yes, more beer head foam piped out from the roofs like snow. We managed to split off from the gigantic and awkward crew of Americans and find a table near the door of the Irish Rover. Everything was ridonkulously expensive (a pint of Leffe Brune was 49DKK!), but came with a free cup of Julebryg, which is really good.

According to the Carlsberg website, "Tuborg Julebryg (5.6% ABV) is a bottom-fermented, wiener beer brewed on lager, münchener and caramel malt with English liquorice. The beer is dark-golden with a fresh aroma of caramel, grain, liquorice and blackcurrant. It's excellent with traditional Christmas recipes, smoked fish, grilled/fried herring, smoked ham with curly kale, roast pork and duck."

Carlsberg employees dressed as "pixies" (elves for you Americans out there) scamper into each bar once a night with several big cases of beer, blinking santa hats, stickers and other nonsense. Everyone sings "jingle bells" with "Ju-le-bryg! Ju-le-bryg! Tuborg Julebryg!" replacing the normal words. You sing and shout and push to get free beer. Its awesome. We also caught pixietime at The Globe, which was equally a hoot.

A very merry early Christmas, everyone!

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...

I dig rock n roll music

Last night, John, Walter and I hit up the "Klub Geyser Festival" at Islands Brygge Kulturhus. Doors opened at "klokken otte i aften" (8 PM, for you non-Danes), so we got there about 10 minutes early. No one else was there except for some older people (they had to be 60+), but we had already paid the cover, so we decided to stay.

The opening act was super dubious. It was a 30something bearded gentleman with an acoustic guitar who sang "a welcome song" with the following lyrics:
Hello sun, let's have some fun
Hello moon, its much too soon
Fool, you are so cool
Fool, its not so cruel

(And my favorite couplet:)
We can make love in a flower bed
Or, if you like, do something else instead.

It reminded me of Coco's song from Flight of the Conchords, except, you know, sincere.

Turns out, the crowd became hipster-ified fairly quickly, which was quite a relief. Still, the atmosphere was more laid-back than clubs in the States. It was set up cabaret style, with small tables and cheap beer and big comfy chairs and candlelight. Hygge.

Nuance, the first band, was a kind of country-bluesy, featuring a female lead singer, sassy fedora-wearing bassist and banjo player. Naturally, I liked them. They sang in English, but all of the inter-song banter was Danish. Very disorienting.

The next artist was Cecille Trier and Le Fiasko. Very dark, with haunting harmonies and intense, atmospheric instrumental sections, and her vocal delivery was in the Amanda Palmer-Aimee Mann-Kate Bush vein. They did a nice cover of "Anthem" by Leonard Cohen, but I like almost all Leonard Cohen covers more than the originals. Brilliant songwriter, miserable singer.

The third group, Født Uden Filter, performed entirely in Danish, so I'm not quite sure what happened. Then again, I don't think I would've understood in English, either. It was a girl singer with two backup singer and an acoustic guitarist doing 'funny' songs. They danced and were silly and had props like giant cardboard teardrops. At one point, the backup singers put on sparkly golden cardboard bikinis and sang "get your hands off of me! get your hands off of me!" Whoosh - right over my head.

Il Tempo Gigante is a Danish band with a name in Italian, whose lyrics are in English. Got it? I can't put my finger on who they reminded me of - Calexico? Califone? All I know is their instrumentals were super clever and I loved the use of unusual instruments, like the saw. Good sleepytime music. Really cool stuff.

The last band I absolutely adored and you should check them out here . They are called the Elephants, and their music is sunny indie surf-pop. Los Campesinos! meets the Beach Boys, really fun. I danced out of the venue.

For a 60kr fee, we saw 6 bands and the music continued until 1AM! Sweet deal, huh? We all had a great evening.

She was an American Girl

Yesterday I realized two things:
1. I live in Europe.
2. I am such an American.

Now, I've had my suspicions about these facts, but they got up in my face yesterday like little punks looking for a fight. They puffed out their chests and curled their lips and invaded my personal space. "Yeah, Franni, yeah - you're in Copenhagen now. And you're not just visiting either. Nuh-uh, you ain't no tourist - this is your home punk. And guess what? You are a total American. Yeah, I said it - you couldn't be European if you tried. You heard me. Yeah, man, yeah - WHAT??"

It always takes awhile for changes in my reality to sink in. After 3 days, I accepted the fact that I am finally in Europe. I guess I needed 3 weeks to understand that I live here. This might be why I am so good with change - I don't comprehend that things are actually changing until after they happen! And then it is too late to go back. This can be a positive or a negative thing, but I'll continue my optimistic streak, thankyouverymuch.

The streets of Copenhagen and Dragør now feel familiar. They don't belong to me like the roads of Boston, nor do I ever think they will. You can live anywhere, but home only comes once or twice in a lifetime. Though I love this country, I don't think think I will ever want to expat permanently. Despite my complaining about "the U-S-and-A," I love those purple mountains majesty too much to ever completely leave them behind.

Which brings me to realization #2. At this point, I humbly request that you play "American Girl" by Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers for full effect.

Friday night I went out with Gail and a few of her friends at DIK (Denmark's International Kollegium). We had a blast. Dinner was an abundance of carbs (pasta, bread, cake) and silly stories, followed by the silliest S-tog ride you could imagine. I don't have the time or energy to describe it all, but let's just say that the macarena and an "America's Next Top Model" contest were heavily featured. PS: we drank Asti at dinner, Kait, and obviously I thought of you and Mickey Av.

We went to a couple of bars with some Danish girls Gail had met while volunteering at a gymnasium (high school). While clacking along the Copenhagen cobblestones (in heels!), I talked to a girl from Barcelona. Irene - pronounced "Ee-rhen-ah" is very sophisticated and flirtatious and I found it hard to believe that she only just turned 20. She started telling me about which European men are the best kissers (Spaniards and Italians - the French are too arrogant) and how to ask for a cigarette light and how to get men to buy you drinks. We then practiced the "Barcelona walk," which basically involves sticking your tits and ass out to the point of physical discomfort. Irene thought it was sexy, I thought it looked like we had inverse scoliosis.

Irene is glamorous and sexy and very very very Euro. I was so wowed by her for the bulk of the night. "You speak how many languages? Five? And you've been smoking since you were thirteen? Wow!" I felt really young and unsophisticated and, ugh, American. I tried posturing like her to be sexy and mysterious, and it kind of worked because, over the course of the night, several Danish guys came up to me. And that felt pretty awesome.

But at the end of the night, I had more fun splitting a giant pizza at 2AM with Gail and Caitlin. And I had more fun taking off the high heels and padding around in bright green socks than strutting on the street. I'd rather make chocolate chip pancakes in the morning than wake up next to Andreas or Søren or whoever.

The next morning, hugging my pillow on the train ride home, I made peace with my American ways. I like being low maintenance. Some nights it can be fun to get dressed up at hit Retro or Wall Street Bar and pose and be impossibly fabulous. But I spent Saturday night in my tie-dyed sweatpants, watching "Amelie" on my computer and eating Nutella out of the jar with a spoon.

Of course then, later that night, I dreamed of moving to Monmartre and riding on a Vespa with my beloved Nino Quincompoix and being marvelously European...

... but those are the dreams of the American girl.

Disco Infiltrator

Friday was the start of my first official EuroWeekend. On my way to Ryan and Toke's apartment, I literally bumped into John and Walter, two of my wandering buddies. They had just bought some Tuborgs from a convenience store and were heading to the park at Kongeporten (King's Gate) to drink them. I bought a can of Tuborg Grøen (green beer? sign this lil' irish wannabe up!) from 7-11 and decided to join them.

I'm standing quietly and, I thought, inconspicuously on line when all of a sudden some dude comes up to me and starts yammering in Danish. From the tone of his voice, I can tell he is teasing me, so I let him know that I don't speak Danish. "Oh," he says, "I just wanted to make sure you didn't go too crazy tonight! You're drinking one whole beer! Be sure to drink a lot of water before you go to bed tonight!" I laughed and thanked him for his concern, thinking that would be the end of it, but he just kept going. On and on with the same joke until I booked it out of there.
This dude was either a) a total a-hole, b) flirting with me, or c) drunk of his ass at 8 PM. I'm betting on A.

We sat on a bench in the park, drinking beer, chatting and people-watching. A group of teenagers started talking at us. When we didn't respond, one yelled, "where are you from?"
"America," we replied.
One kid perked up, "oh yeah? Me too! I'm from New Jersey!"
"Where in Jersey?" I asked, skeptical because of his thick, Scandinavian accent.
"Harlem!"
The three of us cracked up and walked away. "Next time you try that, remember that Harlem is in New York! " I called over my shoulder.

Whoever said Danes were unfriendly was a zillion percent wrong.

For the second time, we saw a group of tipsy young people twirling in a public place. "The Danes enjoy spinning and drinking," John mused. I proposed doing our final project for Danish language and culture class on the alcohol-induced vertigo that plagues the Danish people. "Wait until we see another, then it has to be more than a coincidence," advised John. 20 minutes later, we saw a kid run around a small pond 3 times, then stagger over to a tree, about to yak. I think our thesis is safe.

The DIS party at Luux was fun. I wound up leaving with Toke, Gabriel and a few girls for Vega, a popular Danish nightclub, around midnight. Toke knew a guy, so we skipped the velvet rope and got in for free (although Gabriel had to pretend to be "Simon Werner" and nobody knew why...). The second floor was a total Eurotrash techno bash - Eclectic parties on steroids and ecstasy, if you will. After a little raving, we headed over to Nørreport St. (aka Schwarma Street) for some late-night goodies.

The Danish party scene takes over the night air. House music blares from discos on every corner, drunk people stumble along the sidewalks, taking full advantage of the lack of open container laws, dudes with the munchies fall out of 7-11s like so many Tic-Tacs. Everyone is just stoked that its the weekend and wants you to have a good time as well: that is the best way to describe Danish nightlife.

Sidebar:
The 5 million DKK (1 million USD) question is:
How do these European women manage to walk on cobblestone streets in oh-so-stylish shoes 24/7 without breaking a heel or their necks? Discuss.

Hard-Knock Life

Remember that story about how I got lost this afternoon? Well...

I went into Copenhagen to meet up with Ryan and Liza from Wes, as well as a few other DIS kids and Ryan's Danish roomate, Toke (whose name suits his lifestyle, if you know what I mean). We went to the L.A. Bar, which was a great scene. They were playing oldies by the Beach Boys and Little Richard, everyone was dancing and draft beer was 20DKK (4USD) a pint. We headed onto a street corner to finish our Tuborgs, and the girls promptly got accosted by a group of Danish soldiers who left Afghanistan 3 days ago.

Background: The Danes have been a part of "Operation Enduring Freedom" since 2002, mostly supporting the American and British troops in main battle tanks. 15 Danes have died in combat. (source: wikipedia, and Emil. more on him soon...)

"My" soldier was named Emil, and he had fought in the tanks on the frontline in a mostly British battalion. When I asked him why, at age 22, he risked everything in his life - well-knowing the consequences - to fight in a war that didn't directly concern him, he answered quickly, directly and honestly. "I wanted to do something bigger than myself that I can tell my grandchildren about."

That blew my mind. I thought of my grandfather, the college-educated farm boy who enlisted in the airforce during World War II because he believed in American and helping his people in Europe. That heroism has always amazed me, and I was impressed with Emil's foresight into his legacy. And he seemed sincere! I don't think he just wanted to impress the tipsy American girl who was just really excited to be talking to a handsome, older, foreign soldier with an adorable accent (part Danish, part Brit).

He asked me why I came to Copenhagen. I talked about my desire for independance, my concern about the sheltered life I have led for the past 20 years with few risks, yet many calculations and concrete plans. He seemed unenthused. Of course he would. He literally risked life and limb. I am risking missing a semester of partying and Scott Higgins sightings. Whoop-de-friggin'-do.

I thought about our conversation/kicked myself for not getting Emil's number on the train ride back to Dragør. When I arrived at the last metro stop, I waited alone and in the dark for 15 minutes. I didn't feel too concerned (I am in one of the safest cities in the world, after all), but when my bus sped past the stop without hesitation, I got concerned. It was the last one of the night.

I called Jacob, my host dad. It was about 12:15AM. I asked him what to do. He said they were sleeping and I should just hail a cab at terminal 3. Before I could ask how that would be done, he hung up. I followed the signs to terminal 3, but they just took me back to where I was before. I started to freak out. It is pitch black, the airport is deserted, I am not entirely sober, I have no idea what the signs mean and... and... I was just about to start crying when a cab came.

The driver spoke English, thank the little lord baby Jesus, and I tried to tell him where to drop me. I don't know my host family's address, so I tried to name the bus stop. He had a hard time understanding me until I wrote it down. As soon as he got what I was trying to say, we were off. I was so relieved and tired and tipsy that I starting crying.

"Why are you crying?" he asked me, "what is there to cry about?"
I explained.
"That is nothing!" he said, though not in a mean way. "You are fine! Everything will be fine! I come here from Albania not knowing anything and I am fine. My mother, she has no home and she is fine. No cry, now, no cry."
I giggle-sobbed at his kindness and apologized for being a big baby. I wasn't in my right mind, I said, trying to find an excuse.
"when you have no money, then you can cry," he said.

Well didn't I feel like an asshole. I am no hero for coming to Denmark. My adventure here is only daring when compared to my reality at home. In the harsh, cold, real world (not the MTV version of hot tubs and bisexuality), I am a coddled Westerner, privileged in every way. I am no Gramps or Emil or Albanian cabdriver, doing something greater than myself. I am spending my youth selfishly, despite my attempts at helping the greater good (which as all still so calculated and safe).

With that perspective, I am going to pass out. Tomorrow is a new day.