The Danish word of the day is: kylling (chicken). Not to be confused with killing (kitten). So, if you want to order a chicken sandwich, you'd say "Jeg ville gerne en kylling sandwich." DO NOT order a "killing sandwich"--I don't think the great Danes would take very kindly to that. Unless of course that's what you're into...I don't judge.
I think Francy the cat has finally taken a liking to me. 1-She doesn’t skitter out of the room whenever I enter anymore. 2-She let me touch her ear. Maybe tomorrow I’ll try scratching her head.
I also think I’ve finally gotten a schedule down. I wake up to the thud of Dagmar’s cup being thrown on the kitchen floor around 6:45. I shower, eat, and bike to the train station where I commute into Copenhagen (it’s about 15 minutes). Class starts at 8:30 every morning with lovely breaks in between. In those breaks I join the masses huddled around the one coffee machine as we complain about the 5 kroner coffee but then get it inevitably each time. Blair and I try to find a pretty spot for lunch such as the King’s Garden, a center fountain, or old church steps. I know, sometimes it’s hard to be me. After classes I hit the gym to watch all the Lars and Hans strut about to euro techno music in their muscle t-shirts (I kid you not). I also get the privilege of being sandwiched next to naked Heidi Klums in the locker room as they dry their hair. It does wonders for your self-confidence…not. Then it’s home for dinner/homework and maybe back again to go out.
Which I suppose leads me to my shenanigan of the week. The Danes have this concept called “hygge,” which can best be described as coziness. It defines their culture from the home all the way to the bars. For instance, a “hygge” evening might be chatting with close friends in a cozy place over a bottle of wine. So, we decided to “hygge” Saturday evening at the Dubliner. We all cozied up in a corner with our glasses of wine to enjoy some live Irish music. Little did we know that there was a bachelorette party and a birthday party simultaneously taking place in the middle. As the band switched from the Beatles to legitimate Irish music (and as the two respective parties got drunker), things got rowdy as people began stomping and clapping to the music. Suddenly the entire bar was filled with the spirit of leprechaun-a-go-go-land (and other spirits…tehe). They proceeded to take their enthusiasm to the top of the table. Because we are guests in this country, it was only polite for us to join the entire crowd Irish jigging on the table. To return the favor, a Danish man flashed us in his kilt. Thank God he wore underwear. After our frolick with Wears-Underwear-with-Kilt-Man, the four of us conveniently joined a male Danish group of 4 on the dance floor. Three of them were oh-so-charming, but the fourth was a little ambitious and creepy. For a while we communally danced until I took a break to the loos, whereupon I returned and found they’d all coupled up except for one…Creepy-Dane-Man. There was no time to run because he hurled me on the dance floor and took me as his hostage. Let me pause here. Anyone who thinks that whispering Danish in your ear while sweating profusely is seductive must be mad. You might as well be speaking German (which sounds like you’re hacking up flem). My repeated attempts at shimmying off the dance floor failed, but my panicked face caught Anne’s attention. Without saying a word we all grabbed our gear and evacuated the Dubliner before he barricaded me against a wall. In the end, I biked home safely once again. I’m not counting that as a “hygge” evening. I think we’ll have to try again.
I lack a cohesive transition to this story, but I think y'all in hamburger-land need a bite of Danish counter-culture. On Wednesday we went to visit the “free town” of Christiania. Apparently during the “flower child” days (i.e. 70’s), a group of hippies took over an old military base in Denmark and declared it their free commune. And that is the short of it. Quite literally. It's a self-proclaimed autonomous neighborhood regulated by their own unique laws. That's a fancy way of saying it's a controversial place to live because they can do whatever. This "whatever" means anything from designing bikes, architecture, living the bohemian lifestyle, or legally selling marijuana on Pusher Street. Did that get your attention? Christiania is famous for its visible soft drug market, which is legal by their standards. So imagine the pack of us sporting our North Faces looking bewildered in the middle of this very active and completely visible marijuana market. Did I mention our "guide" was wearing red valor overalls with green socks and crocs? Clearly he's lived in Christiania all his life. I was thrown off by the children's playground directly across from the bar within a 100 yards from the Hashish market. Not to mention the children's "rec center" that's turned into a dance hall at night. Oh the juxtapositions...
(And for the record--no, we did contribute to Christiania's...erm...thriving economic activities)
Well darlings, as Porky the Pig would say, "that's all folks!" (for now)
Vis ses!
F
No comments:
Post a Comment