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?

A few crumbs of Danish

Colby requires that I take an introductory Danish class while studying at DIS. Most young Danes, particularly those working in stores or restaurants, can speak English and are eager to chat with Americans. I've tried ordering a cup of coffee in Danish, but most of my usage is still limited to saying "thanks" and "excuse me" on the street. After a few weeks of class, though, some of the phlegmmy soft "R" sounds and swallowed ends of words are actually beginning to make a tiny bit of sense. This morning I gave a presentation on my family in class. All I have to post here is the text—unfortunately I can't figure out how to upload an audio file to my blog yet—which is a shame, because written and spoken Danish are almost like two completely different languages. If I master technology and a few more sweet gutteral sounds, you may get the chance to laugh at my accent in a later post.

In the meantime, "Min Familie":

Det er min familie. Min far, Joseph, bor i et hus med min mor i Newton, Massachusetts. Han kommer fra New York. Han er en læge på en hospital hvor han arbejder med børn. Han ser fjernsyn hver aftenen. Min mor, Mindy, kommer ogsa fra New York. Hun er en sygeplejerske. Hun er ogsa en lærer på universitetet. Charterferie kan hun godt. På billedet, hun er i Alaska med min far. Min søster, Jessica, er 27. Hun bor i en lejlighed i New York City med hendes kæreste, Josh. Hun arbejder på Liz Lange, en modeskaber. Kunst kan hun godt. Vi taler i telefon om omsdagen og i weekenden. Min bror, Carl, er 24. Han bor i en lejlighed i New Jersey. Han læser medicin på universitetet “Robert Wood Johnson.” Han har en kæreste somme hedder Jess. Han laver mad hver dag. Mit hund, Pablo, er en år. Han bor i et hus med mine forældre. Han er sort og hvid. Han arbejder ikke.

The last four sentences can be translated as:

My dog, Pablo, is one year old. He lives in a house with my parents. He is black and white. He does not have a job.

The rest is yours to freely interpret or copy into an online translator. Hej hej!

Some first thoughts on culture

Throughout the past week, I have learned enough Danish to navigate the meat aisle of the grocery store, ordered my first tryksnegel, and begun all of my classes. Each experience revealed a little more about the design and charm of Denmark. Initially I was focused on the similarities between Copenhagen and cities in the United States: Residents are wealthy and well-dressed, grocery stores and boutiques line the streetes of the suburb I live in, American movies are advertised on the billboards at the bus stops. Grasping these details helped me to connect with Copenhagen at a time when I expected to feel foreign. As I have become a little more comfortable, the differences between Danish and American culture that reveal themselves more readily.

The physician who is teaching my Human Health and Disease course provided a succint and beautiful description of the political system of Denmark. I know almost nothing about government, but I'll do my best to reiterate the points I found most relevant in a health care context. The government collects one of three levels of income tax from each citizen: low, medium, or high. Physicians fall into the high bracket, owing 56% of their income to the Danish government. The steep taxes pay for residency, education (from day care through graduate school, including medical school), health care, and other benefits. Disabled and chronically ill children are afforded not only hospital and home care, but special schools and medical equipment. Everyone over the age of 67 has a visiting caretaker assigned to them who aids in cleaning, bathing, and other chores. Nursing homes are provided for the elderly. No one is excepted. Even DIS students, once they collect their CPR or social security numbers at the local kommune, qualify for these provisions. The average work week for a Dane is 37 hours long, which explains why it's hard to find a cup of coffee at 8:00 am or 8:00 pm. Workers are required to take six weeks paid vacation, and new mothers and fathers have one year of maternity/paternity leave to share between them.

This regulated leisure leads an generally easy pace that can't be found in Boston or New York. Everyone stops at red lights. It's a serious fine, not to mention social taboo, to run across the crosswalk before the little green man lights up across the street. Because Danes seem to have everything taken care of, they can be perceived as standoffish or unwilling to hear the opinions of outsiders. Once you start talking, though, they seems to love to practice their English. I talked to some guy the other night who is designing silicon tweezers the size of chromosomes for his thesis at KU. (He knew a lot more English physics lingo than I do and clearly had a much better knowledge of fine American cinema, like Evan Almighty.) I think Danes are proud of the elegance of their country, but if you approach them, they become eager to make a connection.

Exploring the city alone or with friends has been a good way to get my bearings, but my classes will likely provide deeper insight into the Denmark's history and culture. My Danish class is headed to a few movies, a soccer game, and a Christmas lunch at the house of our teacher, Nina. (There are a lot of Ninas in Denmark. In every store or coffee shop I go into, I hear my name called, with the first syllable elongated and the second drawn to a quick halt.) The professor of my Jews in Europe course is bringing a famous Danish klezmer singer, a Holocaust documentary director, and the director of the Jewish Museum in Copenhagen to our classroom. My Human Health and Disease course meets twice a week at Amager Hospital, a general hospital on one of the southern islands of Denmark. Next week we'll be learning to take histories and conduct physical exams, an opportunity which is almost unavailable to undergraduates in the US.

I'm still in the "Honeymoon Period" on the U-curve of cultural adjustment. It's possible that my excitement could subside in the next few weeks. But considering our similar tastes and openness to each other's cultural differences, I think Denmark and I have a very happy marriage ahead of us.