Can I call myself an international individual yet?

In the 20 days since I last posted, I have not only had some Danish cultural experiences, but also have embarked to Barcelona and Madrid in Spain and to Prague during the 2-week travel break that DIS offers us to explore a little of greater Europe on our own terms.  I promise that I will attempt to give these adventures their due attention in my writing, and while I'm going to divide the entry into sections for each city (you can click the links above to skip down to those sections), I want to note that the post will probably have a more holistic perspective than what I would have written had I done so day-by-day (or even city-by-city).

Overall, the travel break was certainly a new experience for me, not only planning how to get there and where to stay on my own, but what to do, what to eat, and how to navigate my way through it all.  Language was certainly a barrier, since I felt like I know more Danish than I do Spanish (although my Latin background and common sense helped me understand what was going on most of the time), and once in the Czech Republic I knew NOTHING about any of the words I saw, except that I couldn't pronounce it right if I tried.  I'm proud of myself (if I'm allowed to say so), and it made me feel a little stronger and wiser for the wear.

One end-result that I found interesting was my eagerness to return to Copenhagen at the end of it all.  I don't think it was just that I was looking for the relief of familiarity after the exhausting demands of traveling and sightseeing (even after only 11 days!).  No, visiting a few other European cities helped me realize how much I like Copenhagen as a city itself.  While in Edinburgh and Glasgow, I was restless wondering why I hadn't studied in Scotland, my trip this time around left me more satisfied with my decision to go to Denmark.  Whether just a cognitive reaction or my true opinion on the matter, that's certainly a good feeling to have.

Barcelona:  Sunday 01 - Wednesday 04 November

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I don't know what I was expecting in Barcelona.  I knew it was going to be warm down by the Mediterranean, but as far as the mood of the city goes, I think I was picturing it alternately as the cold, yet spiritual ghost-town from Jewel's song "Barcelona" (yes, released when I was in 3rd grade), and then as whimsical place with music and spirit vibrating from Gaudí's mosaics (which, thanks to my longtime friend Ellen, I have been dying to see since I was 12). Surprise surprise, it was neither.  We (my friend Nina and I) arrived on the evening of the first, but there was still enough time to take in some of the city's atmosphere and get confused trying to order some less-than-appetizing food and water from a non-native Spanish speaker.  Maybe part of it was the palm trees and the colorful skyscraper our our hostel window, but there was something about the city that felt more like we were on vacation in LA or Miami than on a cultural tour in Europe. 

The first day we spent walking almost the entire length of the city from Eixample right above the Gothic Old Town (on the coast) to the mountain bordering the northern edge, where we could have taken a funicular railroad up to an amusement park had we arrived an hour earlier (instead, we had a drink at a bar that overlooked the entire city; so that was pretty nice).  It was mainly our own version of a walking tour of Antoni Gaudí's buildings, starting with La Sagrada Familia, down to Casa Batllo, La Pedrera, Casa Vicens, and on up to the public park he designed:  Park Güell.  For the most part, I love the curves and colors in Gaudí's architecture and public art, especially with La Pedrera and the forms of paths and structures in Park Güell.  But for some reason, it also felt a little dirty and out of place within the context of Barcelona, and I was a little turned off by  Park Güell, both for it's lack of open, grassy space and because it was originally funded by Count Eusebi Güell to be an upperclass garden city, closed off to the general public.  It's understandable that you can't enjoy the interiors of his buildings without paying some pretty ridiculous prices (which I didn't indulge myself on), but his outdoor art could not have just been made for the sake of beautifying the city?  I guess too I was a little irked that I had based my feeling of Barcelona off his work, when really it doesn't characterize the bustle of the city at all.  While all Modernisme buildings are unique in their own right, other ones (like Casa Amattler) have a more traditional architectural style that just fits more with the character of the city.  I realize that Gaudí was integral part of the Modernisme movement, which is specific to Barcelona, but may I politely wonder if his work might have been better in another city?

BUT, just because I was a little disappointed with this does not mean I didn't have an excellent time.  On days two and three, we explored much more concentrated, yet touristy areas--including Wednesday when we mostly hung out on the beach in the mica-dusted sparkling sand, ate paella for a late lunch, and went to the ever-so-prestigious museum of chocolate.  La Rambla, the main tourist street, was absolutely crazy with pet store kiosks, not-too-talented street performers, and annoying vendors selling pitos (this mouthpiece that helps you make animals noises, I swear, I was so sick of those sounds by the time I got to Prague).  We even stumbled across our first Mercat (the Catalan word for "market"; in Madrid the name was Mercado, and the concept is common across Spain, apparently)--huge, age-old shelter structures with stalls that opened every day to sell fresh produce, fish, meat, ice cream, and all sorts of goodies.  This one had beautiful stained glass panels on the facade. 

Just to the east of La Rambla was the old Gothic town, with streets windier, taller, narrower, and darker than any alley I've seen in Copenhagen.  Many of the upper floors were apartments with laundry or plants hanging off the patio, and it felt odd to be walking through common class residential areas in the middle of the tourist district.  But, from the gorgeous cathedral with it's secluded chapels surrounding a courtyard and goose pond, and the remnants of original Roman walls surrounding the city, the Gothic section of town definitely was the most charming.  On Tuesday morning we went underground to the ruins of Barcino (the original Roman city), where they showed us sections that used to be used for laundry and garum.  There weren't a lot of detailed artifacts remaining, but it was still very cool to see the foundations of buildings that are 8 meters beneath the rest of the modern city. That afternoon after lunch, we headed to the Museu d'Picasso, where I was really surprised to see some of the sophistication in Picasso's earlier paintings (and childish mishaps in his earliest ones), as well as some of his pottery work, which was super cool.  The museum also features his 58-image series of reinterpretations of Velaquez's Las Meninas.  It was really interesting how looking first at Picasso's image, I had a lot of apprecation for them and the work that was put into finding the perfect abstract forms.  But after viewing the video that compared Picasso's work with the sections of Velaquez's original, it seemed like a pathetic attempt of a copy.  It's strange how things work that way.

We were really fortunate in Barcelona to meet up a few times with Nina's friend Lucy who was studying there for the semester.  I like learning about things wherever I go, and that's hard to do when you don't know much of the language, the English displays are limited, and you don't want to dish out a lot of money for tours.  So Lucy was not only a nice companion to show us some of the city life, but she was also a great resource for learning about politics in Barcelona and Catalan language and history in the context of the rest of Spain.  On Tuesday, she showed us a restaurant for lunch called La Champagneria (I think), where for every two sandwiches you bought, you could get a bottle of cava (traditional Catalan sparkling wine) for 2 Euro.  There were no seats at all to sit, just a crowded bar you had to push through to order, and small ledges to set your bottle and glasses, while sandwiches were kept in a wrap in your hand.  It's not something I'd like to experience as a regular lunch routine, but it was certainly a fun time, laughing and attempting to converse over the din of loud Catalans crowded in a small space, drinking more cava than I should at one in the the afternoon, and enjoying some pretty good smoked salmon.  It's also a little odd that lunchtime ended up being more exciting than that evening when we met up with some of the IES Barcelona students to chill outside at a bar in Plaza del Sol in the Gràcia district. That area of town was very pretty at night (and it was already pretty in the day), with magnolia trees, the lantern lights, and only the quiet murmur from the bars (though that might have been because 11 pm was still too early in the evening for things to really get started).

Madrid:  Thursday 05 - Saturday 07 November

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Nina and I took the Renfe overnight train from Barcelona to Madrid, which was an experience in itself that I wasn't really expecting.  Even though we had paid 10 more Euro to get bunks, I think the coach seats might have been just as good a deal, considering I was stuck in a tiny compartment with 6 bunks, pillows no more than a centimeter thick, and a girl right above me who hissed at me when I accidentally hit the bottom of her bed after I had gotten up for a bit (even though she was awake and watching something on her phone the entire time?).  It was also during the night on the train that I started catching some sort of flu, and by the morning I was not in the mood to do anything.  I had to, since we couldn't check-in to the hostel until noon, but we were able to drop our stuff off, chill out in the weather that once again felt like November (a surprisingly nice change), and warm ourselves up with our first taste of churros dipped in incredible, thick hot chocolate.  However, once we did check-in, I was too sick to get back up and out to the city until 5 or so.

While Barcelona is a little smaller than Copenhagen, Madrid is enormous.  But we chose only to stay in Old Town and Bourbon Town, which was small enough that we didn't have to use the metro at all except getting from the train station and to the airport.  With the help of a guidebook on Spain and a little internet research in the evening, we were able to learn some about the old buildings and sculptures we passed as we walked back and forth through the two districts.  There's a lot of history in a capital city like Madrid, almost to the point that it was overwhelming.  But it was nice just to stroll through an area (arguably) less chaotic than Barcelona, hitting up awesome playgrounds, listening to slow trumpeters, and feeding sparrows (which, after just one crumb was thrown to one bird, flocked completely around our park bench).  We had some tapas and beer in a bar while watching the muted telenovella about Antoni in the Time of Revolution (I think?), and we wandered into La Latina one evening to try a drink in one of the older bars. Even on the times we "went out," it was all just really chill.

But, there are also two outstanding art museums in Madrid that we couldn't miss.  We managed to see all of one floor and parts of another in the extensive masterpiece collection of Museo del Prado during its free hours from 6 to 8 in the evening.  Apart from seeing Spanish works, like the original Las Meninas and works by Goya and El Greco,  the museum also had some really impressive paintings by Rubens and some of the most gorgeous inlaid tabletops I have ever seen (seriously--I enjoyed every tabletop displayed in some of the gallery rooms.  There were even two where the artist full-out painted the design before moving on to the actual table).  I was particularly struck (and a little disturbed, to be frank) of La Trinidad by Rubens, which featured incredibly realistic stigmata on the figure of Christ.  There was also a more medieval-aged tri-fold panel with hell, earth, and heaven--a subject I always find a little interesting in interpretation.  Unfortunately, I didn't get enough time to examine it before the closing bells rang and they ushered us out of the building. 

I tend to like contemporary art better, but I surprisingly ended up being more impressed with El Prado than with the Reina Sofia 20th century art museum, which features some Dali, as well as Picasso's giant mural Guernica (which is pretty incredible, I must say).  The art on display was great overall, but the building used to be a hospital, so the layout (and English descriptions . . . ) was a little to be desired for.  On the other hand, it was still super cool to see some of the earliest films, a giant metronome by Man Ray, and a temporary exhibition on Russian Constructivism (which was a nice transition theme for my trip to Prague that evening).  Plus, the Reina Sofia was nice enough to offer free student admission.

Last but not least, we spent one afternoon visiting the Catedral Nuestra Señora de Almudena (Cathedral of Our Lady of Almudena).  Interestingly enough, "almudena" is taken from an Arabic word for city, and the name references the time that the Virgin Mary appeared in the city walls and she was named the patron saint of Madrid.  While I liked the colored lights shining on the cathedral at night, it didn't have a particularly attractive exterior (Neo-Classical = not my style).  However, I'm really glad we ventured inside, since it features a Gothic-style sanctuary (my favorite), very modern stained glass, and speakers that filled the hall with some incredible choral music.  The ceiling is painted in bright colors, and words representing the word of god appear in several different languages in the stained glass behind the nave.  The building itself didn't particularly call to me, but especially with the music playing, wandering around the cathedral had a very calming effect on my day. We also ventured underneath into the Neo-Romanesque designed crypt.  Apart from offering the BEST English-translated brochure I have ever seen (including such gems as "sumptuous the columns" and "Ahhh! the tombs!"), I saw a beautiful stone interior with unique capitals on the hundreds of supporting columns.

While the morning I arrived in Madrid I had some good first impressions and was hoping to like it a little better than Barcelona, I wasn't so sure of this by the time I left, and I didn't feel like the two cities were ALL so different. Spain, in general, may just not have been my type of country.  With the exception of the Modernisme buildings in Barcelona, the buildings weren't particularly my style; the food, while tasty, did not leave me starving for more; and the prevalent Catholic culture--while not over-bearing--felt like just a little too much to handle.  But that's ok!  I've seen it, and I'm happy to say I've visited Spain.

Prague:  Sunday 08 - Wednesday 11 November

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Let me just say this first:  I LOVE PRAGUE.  Despite a little bit of trouble getting there, the city left me with a sense of awe: with natural beauty, with the centuries of stories etched in the stone structures, and with the fighting character in a city ravaged by despotic governments in the past 100 years.  On top of that, it was just really nice to be able to spend time with my friend Kate, not only just to see a friend, but also to learn a little about the Czech Republic, eat some really cheap American-style Chinese food, and share experiences both about our time abroad and in relation back to DePauw.

With only five hours of sleep, we took our time just talking and slowly getting up and out of her dorm on Sunday.  But for the afternoon we headed out to Divoká Šárka--a nature reserve on the edge of town (with some interesting legends, if you'd like to read about it).  Even though I live a good 25 km south of Copenhagen's city proper, it has been tiring for me to be stuck in a city environment all the time, and this walk was just what I needed for a little refresher.  The wet yellow and red leaves stood out brilliantly against the black rock wall face, the air felt crisp and clean, and families flew kites on the grassy top of the rocks.  From the top, we could see the star-shaped summer palace that Kate had learned about in class but had no idea how to get to, and so we decided to embark on an adventure to find it.  We ended up winding through more forested paths on steep hillside until we got up close to it, but we still made it!.  Although the building was closed, we still found an open park with several Czech families playing frisbee, walking with their dogs, or just enjoying the fall air. 

Since Kate had classes almost all day, I spent the next few days exploring some of the city on my own and eating pastries from Tesco that were one third the price of Copenhagen 7-Eleven pastries.  Kate walked me up to the grounds of Vyšehrad fortress, where her classes, a pleasant park, the Church of St. Peter and St. Paul, and the cramped yet charming Vyšehrad Cemetery stand.  After that I just saw the main sights, admiring art noveau at the Mucha Museum, watching the apostles bid you "hello" at the hour on the Astronomical Clock in Old Town Square, walking by the darkened statues on the Charle's Bridge and wondering about their stories, and admiring the (mostly relevant) proclamations of peace on the John Lennon Wall in Mala Strana (Small Town).  Prague was also bustling enough to let me find some perfect Christmas gifts, which I am very relieved to have gotten (almost) done.

Although I didn't pay for the audio tour of Prague Castle, I was still able to visit St. Vitus Cathedral, which is the tallest structure in the complex and the most beautiful cathedral I have ever seen.  Construction started in the 14th century, but it wasn't not finished until the early 20th century, so the building features a Gothic style in old, worn stone, some Neo-Gothic designs and experimental structures, art noveau embellishments in the stained glass, and some extravagant crypts in the chapels around the nave.  Although there were no speakers to echo music throughout the sanctuary, my visit to St. Vitus Cathedral affirmed a suspicion I started to get in Madrid:  my favorite thing to visit in cities is not always the museums, but cathedrals and historical places of worship.  Even in a very agnostic and/or atheistic country like the Czech Republic, the buildings feel so powerful and speak so much about the people who built them.  I wish now I had taken the time to inside the Old-New Synagogue in the Jewish quarter, but at the time, I had not really given thought to it.  And, maybe I WILL go back to Spain some day, post-2025, so that I can see the inside of La Sagrada Familia.

The last thing that really struck me in Prague was how recent history has left its mark on the city--with some really ugly Soviet-era buildings and older ones left in disrepair--and its people.  In the states, we learn about the Holocaust and about the later Communist regime in school, but to see what it has done to the regions they affected is a totally different experience.  I was fortunate enough on Monday to attend a guest lecture at Kate's study program with a Holocaust survivor who painted her life in Terezín (a Nazi-German Jewish ghetto in the Czech Republic) when she was 12 and later, drew some of what she saw in Auschwitz.  Now, she is a lucid and happy-appearing 80-year-old woman, but her stories were horrid and moving.  I guess I least expected the very visible effect that Communism left.  Whether through the funny, yet obviously biased posters for the Museum of Communism, a very striking memorial to the victims of the regime, or just the temporary exhibit that displays personal stories from the tumultuous 20th century, it is apparent that the Czech people have not yet come completely to terms with that period in their history (which ended 20 years ago this coming week).  I think that's a good thing:  we shouldn't forget.

The World is Ours , aka "modern art just gets me every time . . ."

My brain is still buzzing a little from the amazing field study I went on with Women, Art, Identity yesterday afternoon/evening.  It was a 6 1/2 hour trip with sensory overload and aching legs, but it was something I'd do again if I could!  We went both to the Ordrupgaard in Klampenborg and the Louisiana Museum of Modern Art in Humlebæk.  Both were old summer homes/villas with added on modern architectural extensions, although the Ordrupgaard houses mostly the private, largely Impressionist collection of the original owner, while Louisiana is more of a proper museum.  Either way the setting in the Danish countryside was perfect for both galleries.  Art should be graced by the changing leaves, wildflowers, and/or the lapping waters of the Øresund Sound.

One of the best parts about Ordrupgaard was the building.  The old home had gorgeous and intricate woodwork, melded into the high ceilings of the late 19th century.  But Iranian architect Zaha Hadid also perfectly blended her curvy, glass-paneled extension onto the grounds.  This wing currently houses Munch og Denmark--a selection of paintings and drawings by Edvard Munch when he spent time in Copenhagen.  I didn't know much about Munch before, but I have a huge appreciation with what he does with color--both to make things to stand out and how he blends bright colors into neutral ones that we expect in images.  He also had this crazy story called Alfa og Omega.

But the Louisiana museum was just INCREDIBLE.  It's a very large estate--with part of the museum hidden underground, while the rest is either hidden by trees or is outside as a part of the sculpture garden (to the right is a picture of Janey-Waney by Alexander Calder).  The building is joined in a circle, so it's very easy to navigate around, although--like with many art museums--it's hard not to feel like you're missing some totally awesome corner.  I didn't really spend much time in the permanent collection or in the green architecture exhibition because there were two others that really took a lot of my focus. 

The first was called Faith, Hope, Love, and was a series of photos in America by Danish photographer Jacob Holdtz.  I took no pictures, but was just in awe at how he captured some of the darkest corners of American society, taking notes from an outsider perspective, judging it, and still making friends:  with Klan members, revolutionaries, the poorest of the poor, millionaires on plantations, a serial killer.  It was incredibly moving, and surprisingly not at all offensive with his (obviously) negative story to tell about my own country.

Then there was The World is Yours, which captured contemporary art in some of its best moments.  It was the single most interactive (yet still serious) art exhibit I have ever visited--including a wall you had to smell, a microscope that played the Police, a mirror that creates an army out of one viewer, a cloud of microphones that sings the sounds of India and Pakistan, a stage that allowed the audience to manipulate radio playback by stepping in the lights, and (last but not least) a toilet that gives the user a chance to relieve oneself with full view of the sculpture garden.  The whole exhibition just gave normal museum-guests agency that they wouldn't normally have.  Some pieces were joyful, ridiculous, but others--including Singing Cloud--addressed a very real, modern problem.  But the world is ours, right?  If we can have agency in a museum, we can have it in the real world.  I've only ever been to three different countries, but that doesn't mean I have any less ability to explore, to feel, and to change.

Of Flags and Fridays

Being in Copenhagen does not prevent Friday syndrome, i.e.  the inexplicable urge to do nothing while thinking about how much there is to do in the next few days, feeling disgusted about how you poorly you've planned your day, and complaining about things you can't change, all while waiting for the real excitement of the evening to begin.

However, I had promised that this post wouldn't be a downer like the last one.  My host family got back from Dubai Wednesday, but before they got home, I woke up and noticed that someone had been to the house while I was asleep.  At least, that's if the bag on the doorstep and Danish flags planted along the driveway and in the wreath were any indication.  I've learned over the past two months that the flag is used pretty frequently:  birthdays, weddings, anniversaries, football games, royal birthdays, etc.  It's part of the pride that comes with both Danish homogeneity and having the oldest state flag in the world (which dates to the 13the century and is said to have fallen from heaven and inspired the Danes in a battle against the Estonians), and I have to admit that I'm a little jealous they can use their flag everywhere without looking like an arrogant tool.  Thankfully, I've never heard of flags being used in midnight attacks on unsuspecting residents, so I managed to smile and snap some photos instead of interpreting this particular display (which was a 'welcome home!' gift) as a threat to my life.

But it's certainly good to have my host-family back.  We shared pictures of our respective trips, and I learned about how insanely commercial Dubai is (which isn't really a surprise).  I also got to eat biksemad again (which was fantastic) and watch Rene use the new pineapple cutting tool that they got in Dubai.  I mean, who knew those even existed?  Granted, both Rene and Kirsten are pushing me on the language now, but I suppose I asked for it when I stated in my welcome letter that I was "super-excited to learn some Danish!"  It's much harder now that I'm actually here and my ears can't differentiate between common English phonemes and new Danish ones (especially vowels and a few silent consonants).  But I think I may know more than they think I do--especially when it comes to reading it.

I also went to the climate seminar that DIS held on Wednesday evening, which was meant to set the frame for COP15 in December.  I know a lot less about COP15 than I should, and the picture that the speaker painted wasn't exactly a pretty one.  There's only one more set of negotiations left (in Barcelona--WHILE I'LL BE THERE!), and the negotiators haven't really dug into the biggest issues (financing and mitigation for developing countries).  There's also the whole issue that everyone still loves coal, which wasn't something I was expecting to hear outside of the midwest.

On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond!

I'm a little unsure about how to do justice to my long study tour to Scotland in just one post.  It's a beautiful country--not just for the breathtaking highlands that surround the cities, but also for the layered streets and tight  closes of historic Edinburgh and the modern vibe of Glasgow.  Yes, we had our visits through Edinburgh Castle, we ventured into the haunted vaults underneath the South Bridge of Edinburgh in a historic ghost tour, and we critiqued aspects of positive psychology with members of Scotland's Centre for Confidence and Well-Being in Glasgow, but I feel like the real value of the trip was the mutual experiences shared with my fellow classmates in Psychology of Happiness.

This was undoubtedly facilitated by the abrupt change in cultural contexts.  On our first night in Scotland, I spoke with many students who felt the same way I did--how absolutely refreshing it was to be in a country where people on the street would welcome you and joke with you over a beer in a bubbly little pub.  That just doesn't happen in Copenhagen (with the exception of the Jutlanders I had met a week before).  Granted, maybe the outward 'coldness' of Danes has more to do with the language barrier.  Sure, they speak English, but I don't speak Danish, and I think that changes the way I act around Danes (I often have a mentality of staying silent, thinking it might be better they just think I'm quiet then know I'm American; I don't want to embarrass myself, right?).  But stick me in Scotland and I'm all over the place obnoxiously speaking English, (even though it did take me a few days to stop saying tak instead of "thanks" and undskylde instead of "excuse me" or "I'm sorry"). 

That behaviour was what got 3 of my friends and me turned into the butt of several jokes at The Stand Comedy Club in Glasgow.  It was certainly all in good fun (and one of my best memories from my time in Scotland, aside from hiking up Ben A'an all of Tuesday), but it's just fact that a guy can't simply walk into a Scottish comedy club wearing a human-rights t-shirt accompanied by 3 loudly-cheering girls and expect not to be called out as American.  Indeed, it was Eli and his human rights ideals that were subject to most of the jokes, while Jill, Katie, and I just sat next to him; together we were a group of overly-happy positive psychology students that exemplified American over-optimism (and the downfall of Halloween, according to one of the acts).  This all meant an overly-giggly night (though, admittedly, the beer didn't help). 

Don't get me wrong, KBH has been good to us DIS students (and did I mention that while I do enjoy haggis, I'm a much bigger fan of Danish food?). But I think I prefer the open, chatty mockery by the Scots to the lurking "am I being judged?" feeling you can get around the Danes.  That can make a big difference, and I'm going to make an effort to be more aware of cultural perception within Denmark: maybe holding back isn't the right way to go about things.

Jill, me, and Katie on the stage at The Stand.

Remember, you can click on pictures to enlarge them (like the one from the top of Ben A'an at the beginning of this entry), or view all my photos from this trip on facebook!

The Small Things--Touching Base After a Month of Pretending to be Danish!

There's so much to talk about here in Denmark, but so little time to blog!  I feel like I skip over a lot of the little things I'm experiencing, but I promise to write more about it in the future.  Some of the ideas are even in my head--I'm just waiting for the right time.

In the meantime, I finally had a weekend without major plans, where I was able to both chain down some travel break reservations and bounce around the vibrance of Copenhagen in the evening, lit with a little neon, dusted with nightlife litter (and the beggars who pick up bottles to get the 1 krone refund), and filled with the sounds of people--alive, laughing, and dancing.  I even went to a bar made out of ice, where we had to wear fur-lined ponchos and a group of Danish women from the mainland approached my boisterous group of Americans to learn about why we're here and make us congo around the ice table.  DIS students were told that Danes are often considered 'cold' because they don't like to approach anyone they don't know.  But skål (cheers) to these women for defying the norm!

My host-mom, Kirsten, gave me a pile of Danish CDs to try after I went to the library on Friday and unsuccessfully attempted to select some music that I might like.  I'm slowly working my way through it, although I haven't been incredibly impressed so far (it's just not my style).  But right now I'm listening to Lars H.U.G., who's pretty good!  He kind of reminds me of Toad the Wet Sprocket with a little more of country and pop sounds and hooks.  I wasn't sure what to expect because Kirsten had said he was "very special," and the last time she used that phrase was in reference to Christiania.  I also need to listen to a little more of Grand Avenue, though, which she claims is kind of like Coldplay (and her sister LOVES them).

Lastly, I feel a need to write about a potentially sensitive topic about national identity and outsider perception.  In my Danish class, there's a lot of effort to learn not just the language, but also the concept of 'Danishness' as it applies in both historical and contemporary cultural contexts.  There are, surprisingly, quite a few articles on the issue (not to mention sometimes conflicting views from my host-family), and I'm not having the easiest time sorting it out.  Plus, everytime we learn about something that is supposedly a staple of Danish culture, I can't help but wonder, "Is this truly universal, or is it just what we're learning?  What do most Danes actually think?"  We hear about how Danes are so homogeneous that they're almost a 'tribe'--does this still hold in the 21st century?

As an American, I've always lacked a sense of a concrete, shared culture with my nationality.  However, I know that someone, somewhere is being taught the ways I supposedly think and act, and either they're completely wrong, or I'm completely clueless about how I fit into American culture.  I learned this week that my host brother Jonas' English class is currently going through a unit about school shootings in America, and I'm at a loss for how I feel about this.  On one hand, it's downright insulting to insinuate that school shootings are a 'part' of American culture.  On the other hand--I doubt that's what they're trying to say by including this unit in the curriculum.   It is, after all, a horrid phenomenon that is increasing worldwide, and it's important to remember these disasters and learn how to locate warning signs.  And maybe I'm wrong about its place within the history of American society!  I mean, I just looked at the Wikipedia article about school shootings and was surprised to see 14 events listed from 2008 to present--most of which I had no idea occurred.  Kirsten said there has only been one event in Denmark that could be called a "school shooting."  Is this a specifically American problem, or is it also due to the fact that we're so much larger?  I'm still just unsure.  I'm not trying to say that the English classes here should only focus on the positive aspects of culture, but I can't help but question the appropriateness of this particular subject.

Culture Shock?

I needed an introductory post for you all graciously reading my cliché blog. Please ignore the cliché title--it's part of the package.

I have been in Copenhagen for nearly a week now, arriving Sunday morning after an exhaustingly boring flight.  Since then, I have been thrown information and opportunities at every angle by DIS and my host family.  It's certainly been overwhelming, and the 600-strong student body (of which I only recognize about 30 at this point) has not been a huge help.  Nevertheless, classes started this morning, and as we move into routine schedules, get into the groove of learning, and arrange social and travel plans, it will all start to feel right.

BUT, you're not here to read about my mental and emotional well-being.  What about the city?  The food?  The people?

Well, let me say from the get-go that I do not like to set hard expectations.  Hopes and dreams, yes.  But expectations?  I can't set them or I will be very disappointed when they are not met.  I fantasized all summer about what Europe would be like.  My Dad mentioned to me yesterday that many people who have never been outside the US may seem to think that everything "Euro" is perfect.  And yes, I think that is what I was envisioning pre-departure--after all, I'm going to the happiest country on earth!  I was also grappling with my identity as an American.  I mean, obviously, someone who's lived in Indiana for all 20 years of her life is nothing BUT American.  But I've also always liked to think of myself as somewhat classier and less culturally arrogant than the majority, and I was fully anticipating those visions to be horribly shattered once I began my studies in Copenhagen.

It was the airplane to my layover in Stockholm that brought me my first touch of reality.  First it was the realization that everyone on the plane was able to speak English to me, and I could not have been more grateful.  It would have been so indescribably alienating if the situation was different, and I could only feel a little shame for not being able to reciprocate.

Second, I had the sudden realization mid-flight that Copenhagen is a city . . . like New York or Chicago.  It's not just a totally awesome historic district, but a city.  I don't think anything could have prepared me for what I would find on the ground:  the woosh of bicycles at every intersection, the sudden light changes at the crosswalk, the tight, winding streets, and the fact that I have to walk down an alley way to get into my classes, which are held in a building that also rents office space to other tenants.  And then there are things you would find in American cities as well:  incredibly complex graffiti on the S-trains, immigrants digging through trash cans for food, and ads for something every 20 meters.  I quickly became accustomed to this reality, but I'm still working my way through it and balancing my comfort level with a place my host mom described as somewhere you need to be careful, but where there is no need to worry about safety.   

For the most part, I do not believe I have a horrible case of the "romantic" stage of Culture Shock.  Granted, I am still very much a tourist (and not too ashamed to admit that).  I will be for a while until I know the city and stop being so interested in every new corner.  I love the colors of the buildings, the ornate metal work, the canal, the eclectic shops, and all those beautiful corroded copper statues.  But the people, their attitudes, and the symbiosis of land and social strata are more important.

So, with one week short of three months left to go, I declare this blog open to my every observation I wish to make public.  Maybe I'll make a few conclusions on the way, finally learn to think a little like a Dane, or simply just notice way more than might be healthy.  We shall just wait and see.