To understand

At one o'clock in the morning on Sunday night, I hurled my backpack onto a seat of a taxi outside the airport and grunted to the driver: "Hej. Can you take me to Tåsingegade? It's off of Jagtvej, in Østerbro." Or at least that's what I thought I said. Six weeks into my semester in Denmark, however, my pronunciation of even the street I live on eludes native Danish speakers. Just the way I say, "hej," which sounds almost identical to an English, "hi," immediately marks me as an American. I handed the driver a card with my address typed on it. "Oh, Østerbro. OK."

In Amsterdam, my eyes lit up at the site of any Dutch word that resembled something in my limited Danish vocabulary. I proudly pronounced to Caitlin, the friend I traveled with, that a bus with, "reis" on its side was probably related to transport because "rejse" means travel in Danish. Also, it was a bus. That bolstered my linguistic hunch. Great, I thought. I'm thinking at the level of a two year old.

What I am learning, if not fluent Danish, is how to survive in a world where drivers and doctors and the people sitting next to me in cafés seem to be speaking in code. Caitlin, who is studying in Paris for the semester, has been studying French since high school. She is living in a French host family where she is never allowed to speak English, not even to the other American student in the house. Caitlin humbly explained that French people have asked her if she's Spanish, told her that she pronounces words too perfectly, told her that she sounds like a southern hillbilly—but I am dazzled by the way that she interacts with French people every day in their own language. I think it felt strange for her to hear an announcement on the train and not understand a word, while I have become accustomed to constantly eavesdropping without ever understanding.

Amsterdam's city center is crammed with international tourists, so most people who work nearby had no difficulty assisting us. When we asked for directions or explanations, we received and understood them. Most people in Denmark can speak some English, but they only use it when they are speaking directly to someone who can't understand Danish. Just as they are proud of their national identity, Danes are proud of their language. I've been told, though, that those who only speak Danish are thereby limited to travel within only other Scandinavian countries. If an international traveler can only speak one language, it might as well be English. That's as close as it comes to Esperanto right now. I manage as unilinguist, but it's a little frustrating.

I can't help but feel that Caitlin's experience, like the experience of anyone forced to speak the language of the country they're studying in, is somehow more authentic. An American friend who lives in my apartment told me this week that he's fallen in love with Copenhagen. He is even considering living here after he graduates this year, he said. Another friend, Marlo, told me that she's begun to consider going to graduate school for architecture in Copenhagen. We have all been charmed by Denmark's beauty and life. But aren't we just admiring her from afar? Would we really know what we'd be in for if we began to establish a life here?