Gypping the from another site.
http://www.xmel.com/denmark_directory.html
I thought this was a good read and incite into Danish culture. Long though.
My Life in Denmark
I've lived in Denmark for six years now, and I like it very much. As an American, however, I am a perennial target for complaints about U.S. eating habits, George Bush's foreign policy, and the inappropriate behavior of characters on American sitcoms. Danes particularly enjoy delivering these lectures when I have a beer in my hand and am trying to relax.
Needless to say, I have my own issues with Danish culture, and in fine American fashion, I have figured out a way to make money off them. The articles below appeared first appeared in BT, Denmark's most widely circulated tabloid newspaper.
When I first came to Denmark
two years ago, people kept asking me what I thought about Danish men. It seemed like a weird question. Why didn't they ask what I thought about Danish weather (bad) or Danish food (bad), or, for that matter, Danish women and children? (very nice, in my experience).
I soon learned their interest in Danish men was a variation on the famous German saying: Man spricht uber das, was man nicht hat. (You talk about what you don't have.) There are NOT a lot of men in Denmark, although there is quite a bounty of tall, timid boys.
While the culture of egalitarianism has done some great things for Denmark - where else will you see tattooed musclemen pushing baby carriages? - it has led to a terrific siphoning off of testosterone. Danish men seem too timid to do anything that makes men men, such as taking risks, taking initiative, or enjoying the pure thrill of the chase. Don't return a Frenchman's calls, and he will become intrigued and pursue you until the end of the Earth. Don't return a Dane's phone call (singular) and he will forget the whole thing.
Either that, or worse, he will sit home and sulk about it. Last year, I briefly dated a good-looking triathlete, a guy with a hot job and a fancy car, the kind of guy that in New York would have arrogance preceding him into the room like a bad after shave. Three days after a single unreturned phone call, I got a tremulous email from him.
You haven't called I wonder if this is because you don't like me please , if I am bothering you, let me know.
For a girl used to American macho, this was about as expected like John Wayne asking for second coat of nail polish.
This is not to say that American men are perfect: they wear baseball caps everywhere but the shower, and their idea of child care often involves letting the child sit beside them while they watch basketball on TV.
But I've done a lot of travelling, and I must say that the relations between the sexes in Denmark are the strangest I've ever seen. The women do everything: they initiate, they seduce, they even get on top, and the men seem to expect it. "I want to be scored," a drunken colleague once confessed to me. Imagine John Wayne saying that.
I know that when you choose to live in a foreign country, as I have, you must learn to adapt to local culture. I have learned that expecting a door to be held open for me is an invitation to get hit in the face with a door. I have struggled home with large packages while male neighbors just cheerfully wave hello. Wearing high heels and a skirt, I have wrestled my bike out from a pile of collapsed junkers while hefty workmen smoked cigarettes against the bike rack.
But I don't know if ever get used to the timidity factor. Three months ago, my co-workers set me up on a blind date with a 36-year old man Danish man who had built a successful international company. We arranged to meet in a small cafe downtown, and since I was there a bit early, I got a cup of coffee and sat alone at a table near the door. Apart from the waiter and a group of elderly Swedes, I was the only one in the place.
My date arrived on time, and when I saw him coming through the door, I was pleased. He was a real looker, tall and athletic. He saw me, smiled, and went to the bar. Fair enough, I thought. He'll order himself a cup of coffee, and then come sit down.
And he did sit down. He sat down at the bar, and took to looking out the doorway.
He sat there. I sat there. He sat there, staring out the door.
Could he not see me? Did he think I was late? Was he waiting for somebody better to come along?
Or, as I now suspect, was he simply waiting for me to make the first move? Was he waiting for me to get up from the table where I was sitting, walk across the room (carrying my unfinished coffee), and introduce myself?
Sadly, I'll never know, because after the 15 minutes it took me to figure out what was required of me, Mr. Wonderful got up and left.
What do I think of Danish men? I have heard that they are wonderful, that they are warm, funny, thoughtful, and sexy. I hear that they are the prototype for men of the 21st century. I am looking forward to meeting one.
On my very first night in Copenhagen,
I went with an American girlfriend to a downtown discoteque. I'm a blonde, and she's an attractive blackwoman, so you could say we had something for every taste.
We sat at a table roughly the size of a pizza. Three men sat across from us, a distance of approximately 25 centimeters. For an hour. Without saying anything. I think Zulus or spacemen would have found some way to communicate with us, but this was apparently beyond the capability of three well-educated Danes.
Finally, fortified by gin and tonics, we spoke to them first, and they turned out to be nice guys. But that was a lucky night: Since moving here, I have been to many a discoteque where women shake their booty with their girfriends for hours while men watch with pretend disinterest from the sidelines, their eyes radiating invisible beams of desire: Please, miss, ask me to dance.
How do Danish men and women meet each other? I know it happens; the streets are full of Danish babies. But much like other reported miracles, such as Christ walking on water or an American president delivering a speech he wrote himself, it's something I've never seen with my own eyes.
For one thing, Danish people seem to think that talking to strangers is uncouth. Ask Danish men why they don't chat up women, and they say that women don't want to be approached. They'll make fun of you; they'll think you're desperate. They'll think you want something from them.
What men want of course, is the same thing that has produced a world population currently in excess of 6 billion. Most women want the same thing, although they'd probably like it to last longer than three minutes. Yet you see Danish men and women in parks in the summer, sitting alone on blankets, or in cafes in the winter surrounded by their buddies or girlfriends with their hair carefully gelled, lonely and horny but contemptous of anyone who dares to approach.
The icebreaker of course, is alcohol, and I have little doubt that if it vanished from the Earth tomorrow Danes would never reproduce. It didn't take me long to learn that in Danish parties and nightclubs, there was a window of time, roughly from 1am to 3am, where social intereaction was possible. Before 1am, Danish men weren't drunk enough to talk, and after 3, they were too drunk to talk.
Extreme drunkness seems to be the accepted way to meet that special someone, as explained to me in the days when I still was seeking a Danish boyfriend.
"What you do," a Danish girlfriend explained to me, "is you get trashed and go home with somebody. Then in the morning you decide if you want to be boyfriend and girlfriend."
This one-night stand culture is very difficult for foreigners to understand. One-night stands certainly take place in the US, but it is something unusual and embarassing, like making a lot of money in Denmark.
Here, drunken sex with a complete stranger seems to be the hopeful prelude to a serious relationship, possibly marriage. If children result from this, it is hard to imagine what their parents tell them about the night Mom and Dad first met. My grandparents once told me that they met outside a Depression-era dance hall, since my unemployed grandmother didn't have the 10 cents necessary to get in, but maybe I just didn't hear the whole story.
Which leads me back to dancing. Here is what I have learned: in Denmark, it is bad manners to ask a girl to dance, but it is good manners to get very drunk, make sure she is drunk too, and ask her to come back to your place. She will quite likely say yes, if only in a misguided audition for the role of girlfriend, leaving you both a little sad and bitter the next morning.
Long ago, before I ever thought of living here, a Danish woman told me that her country was a place with a lot of sex but not very much love. I wonder.
When Danish right-wing nutcasePia Kjaersgaard
went on one of her rants about how most foreigners in Denmark were criminals, my friends and I were furious. Here we were, foreigners, and we were clearly not getting our cut of the criminal millions being made on the streets of Copenhagen. All we did was go to work every day and pay Danish taxes. We figured we had better get started.
After considering a variety of profitable crimes, we decided on a male prostitution ring, with the idea that our workers could do internal projects on slow nights. But our male escorts would not provide sex: that was too easy to get in Denmark.
Instead, they would offer romance. Specially imported from Mediterranean countries, these Romeos would bring flowers, write poetry, and say things like "Your eyes are like the ocean." In short, they would do things that Danish men wouldn't consider even if it would give the local Copenhagen team an instant victory over the German national squad.
Foreign men play a curious role in the world of Danish romance, since they can sometimes make a Danish woman realize exactly what she is missing: those longing looks, those sweet words, that masculine worship that makes her feel so wonderfully female. A man in Madrid once told me that Danish girls on vacation were easy. Well, no wonder. Nobody's said anything nice to them in years.
Take a deep breath, everybody, but in the world outside of Denmark, florists are not just for buying a centerpiece for Aunt Bente's Sunday lunch. They are for sending roses to your wife or girlfriend, and in France, to your mistress too. In foreign lands, men buy women jewelry and furs to win their favors: they open doors and carry furniture. Some even earn a lot of money and pay all of the household expenses.
Sometimes Danish women capture these men alive and bring them back to Denmark, where the government punishes them by making them sit through infinate Danish courses and refusing to allow the couple to live in sublet apartments. I suspect that the new restrictions on marriage to foreigners are just Pia's sour grapes about ending up with a Danish husband.
Of course, there are already a large variety of foreign men available right here in Denmark. Many are tall, dark, and handsome, many are Muslim, and many are lovely people - one of my closest friends in Denmark now has a Pakistani boyfriend who treats her like a queen.
That said, one of the sad lessons of a multicultural society is that assholes come in every color. I'm ashamed to agree with Pia about anything, but there are, unfortunately, some "new Danes" who cannot understand the difference between an ordinary blonde girl on the street and the blond bimbo they saw soaping her plastic breasts on cable access TV late Friday night. Some of them see Danish girlfriends as temps until their future Mrs. Muslim right comes along. I've fallen for this one myself; it took me a while to figure out why the sweet Muslim surgeon I was dating would never introduce me to his friends, and always wanted to sit at the very back of cafes.
I have met these embarrassments-to-Allah; I have occasionally removed their hands from my inner thigh on the dance floor at the Copenhagen Jazzhouse. (In one particular case, I handled the situation New York fashion, firmly grasping the gentleman's hand and bending it back so far I almost broke his finger. He won't try that again.) Anyway, these jerks do more than cause bad karma between "new Danes" and standard Danes. They get in the way of truly nice immigrant guys getting laid.
Maybe, instead of importing romantic manpower, we could train Danish men to do better. Instead of those scuba courses they're so fond of, Danish guys could be sent on kissing courses to France, or seduction courses in Italy. Since I like a man who stands up for himself, even when confronted with lunatics carrying lethal weapsons, I might even suggest "misguided macho" courses in the USA.
In return, Danish men could provide exchange courses in the things they do well: housecleaning, meal preparation, child care. Forget Danish foreign aid - this is what would really win Denmark a place in the hearts of the world's women. And, darling Pia, it just might cut the immigration rate. Plenty of men will choose another destination when they find out that in Denmark, they must help do the dishes.
Americans can't be prissy, can they? After all, we invented Las Vegas.
So why am I so shocked at the debauchery of a Danish corporate Christmas party?
It's not the drinking that shocks me - God knows, Danish people do that all year - or even the sex. I think it's the proximity of work and sex. In a land with few limits, Americans draw a firm line between work and sex, based on the (rather prissy) notion that no one should have to put up with sexual come-ons or even sexual talk in order to keep a job, and that anyone who does should be compensated with a hefty legal settlement. All I can think about at a Danish Christmas party is how much an American lawyer could earn off the proceedings. One stalk of corporate mistletoe, I am sure, would generate more than enough business for him to redecorate his office with the high-priced furniture at Illums Bolighus and his wife with silver from George Jensen.
This American concept of sexual harassment has been difficult to explain to my Danish male co-workers, who like to tell saucy jokes in the office, and whose hands have occasionally ended up attached to my hair, shoulders, and bottom until I threaten to call an American lawyer. For them, I offer this easy-to-follow rule: Anything I might want to discuss with, say, male model Oliver Bjerrehus in a jacuzzi over two flutes of champagne, I do not want to discuss with you, married father of four, over six pages of computer printouts on letterhead. Anything I might want to do with Oliver by candlelight, I do not want to do with you by fluorescent light. It's that simple.
The overfamiliarity between co-workers is just one of the reasons Christmas partys are difficult for foreigners. The structure of the party, the long tables and the fixed seats, is a challenge in itself. At American parties, the format is loose and everybody mingles, which allows one to break free of a bore with a number of convenient excuses, such as Hey! Isn't that my plastic surgeon over there? I must say hi. At a Danish Christmas party, you sit at a seat assigned to you by luck of the draw or cruel party planners and are expected to chat for seven hours.
What do Danish people say to each other for seven hours at those tables? Of course, I know what two close friends say to each other, but what about people who have nothing in common but a copy machine? All of a sudden, those dull people from the back of the office, those people you've avoided all year, are your companions in fate for the evening. This is where snaps comes in. I feel confident that the tradition of heavy schnapps drinking at Christmas parties can be traced to a Viking forced to sit next to the dull guy from the back oars he'd been avoiding all year. Schnapps must be the only way to get through Hour 3 of hearing about a stranger's pets, office feuds or summer-house redecoration.
Snaps is also just the beginning of an enjoyable program of Danish food. Question: do foreigners like Danish food? Answer: Is there a fast food chain with "Golden Ds" serving "Dyrelaegen's Natmal" (pork paste and raw gelatin) to customers all over the world? Of course, the Christmas party has its own delicacies, most of which, taken off the table and reassembled like a puzzle, would form a large, live, and angry pig. Except, of course, for the parts which are herring. When you are a foreigner, Danish people thrill to making you try everything, the odder the better, and watching your reaction when you discover that there is an extra layer of pork paste underneath the bacon and mushrooms. If other foreigners are reading this, the secret is to take small bites of everything and smile a lot. When fellow partygoers are distracted, you can soak up the alcohol in your stomach with bread and butter.
After the almond has been found in the ris a la mande and the snaps topped off with wine and aquavit, the Viking drinking songs begin. Drinking songs seem to be the only modern remnant of Viking culture, except for the way Danish people behave in the bike lanes at rush hour, where they will use their bells with all the ferocity of an ax if you don't move into the right lane fast enough. At any rate, everyone but you will know all the words to these songs, and enjoy singing them enough not to notice you are sitting against the back wall looking confused. For foreigners, it is time to go to the loo and pretend to wash your hands for about an hour.
By the time you get back, the deejay will be playing. This is a mixed blessing, since from what I can tell, there is a paragraph in the Danish constitution that requires Danish deejays to play George Michael every five songs. But loud music means that you no longer have to pretend to talk to the people next to you, and, freed from your chair, you can shift around and talk to the people you actually like. A few courageous souls start the dancing, mostly women, along a few sad men in elf hats who don't realize that apart from a bow tie, no garment cuts your score potential more than an elf hat. Every once in a while the deejay plays an old Danish Eurovision song contest entry, and then it becomes easy to tell the locals from the foreigners again. The Danes are the ones on their feet in ecstatic remembrance, while the foreigners are sitting down looking bewildered, wondering when George Michael will come back.
By this point in the evening, those people who plan to score have chosen their target, and perhaps even their location. This, in particular, has always confused me - I mean, I've certainly dated people I've met in the office, but I've always dated, and slept with them, outside the office as opposed to within it. But Christmas party stories are always rife with tales about ping-pong tables, bathroom stalls and the boss's desk. Some people leave together, but even at home and in bed, I have to wonder how much fun this drunken sex can possibly be. How much sexual technique can these snaps-soaked middle managers have to offer? For the women, it must be about as erotic as having the statue of Bishop Absaolm fall on top of you.
The real challenge of the company Christmas party is the first day back at work afterwards, when you are required to take the middle managers' opinions on sales strategy and corporate downsizing seriously again. You'll get little help from the managers themselves, who will be avoiding your eyes, knowing perfectly well that you saw them dancing in their shorts and elf hat to Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go just a few days before. Years ago, before my very first Christmas party, I was told that people would go wild at the party but then forget the whole thing the next day. That's what's supposed to happen. Somehow, nobody ever does.
As distressed as I am that I may never get a chance to date Crown Prince Frederik,
I'm happy that he has found love with Australian lawyer Mary Donaldson. She's seems to be a lovely women - although, Mary, it isn't really fair to go running back to your sunny homeland during the worst months of the Danish winter.
It seems that the only thing Mary still needs to work on is her command of Danish, and anecdotal reports indicate she is struggling. Every foreigner in Denmark sympathises with her. Danish, to a newcomer, can be overwhelming.
So let me offer a solution: I'll teach Mary Danish. Having been in Denmark for more than two years now, I speak it reasonably well, except when a policeman stops me on my bicycle, upon which time I speak only very complicated English. But most of the time, at work and at parties and while trying to get the immigration department to let me stay here and pay more even Danish taxes, I speak Danish.
Frederik loves Mary.
Of course, during that two years I've made some pretty big mistakes. Like, for example, the time when I was forced to quickly leave a sublet apartment, and told everybody that I was not thrown out (smidt ud) but thrown out the window (kastet ud.) Or like the time I went past the Fødevareministeriet (Agricultural Ministry) and, getting fødevarer confused with fodtøj, wondered why Denmark had such a big ministry for shoes.
But I'm sure I'll be a better teacher than the government-funded Danish-language schools I went through. Their programs were clearly designed for a 1963 type of immigrant: one made us repeat over and over, supposedly as a pronunciation drill, "Jeg arbejder på en fabrik i Vanløse." ("I work in a factory on the outskirts of town.") They also insist on lumping candidates from all countries in a single class, being politically unwilling to accept that someone from Sweden might learn Danish a little faster than someone from Korea. As each day's class enters its third hour, the Swedish girl is drawing pictures in her notebook, while the guy from Korea is lost and gradually losing the will to live.
So we'll work one-on-one. Written Danish won't be too hard; it's straightforward, and free of all the kaleidoscopic verb endings of Spanish and French, and the silly old-fashioned spellings of English.
Unfortunately, written Danish has absolutely nothing to do with spoken Danish. Danes, in a salute to Scandinavian minimalism, say only part of each word. Thus, what looks in your workbook like "Hvad hedder du?" ("What is your name?") is actually pronounced "Hv' hed' du?" Learning to understand spoken Danish is learning to guess which part of the spoken word is missing.
While you're trying to learn to understand spoken Danish, the best people to listen to are other foreigners. Other foreigners, in their ignorance, say entire Danish words. You'll be pleased to know that one of the first Danish speakers I could understand was your prospective father-in-law, Prince Henrik. Danes hate the way he speaks Danish, but that's because he says the entire word, every time. If you'd rather not practice on him, try the nice Pakistani lady at the kiosk. Not being Danish, she will speak a Danish you can understand.
I can also recommend watching hand puppets on television - since they have no real mouths, whomever is speaking for them needs to enunciate very well - as well as speeches by Anders Fogh Rasmussen, who is so desperate to cover his Jutland accent that he speaks very, very slowly. Thank you, Mr. Prime Minister. Anything on TV in Danish with Danish-language subtitles for the deaf is also good. If all Danes came equipped with subtitles, life would be much easier for foreigners.
Anyway, you might as well take mumbling as an advantage and mumble yourself. It makes it a lot harder for people to tell if you are making mistakes. I find it a particularly effective way of hiding my problems with adjective endings, i.e. the correct “hver dag” or the incorrect “hvere dag.” (By the way, “hverdage” (week days) does not really mean “hver dag” (every day of the week), as I found out when I tried to go to a “Åben hverdage” supermarket on a Sunday). At any rate, you will often be surprised to find Danes themselves differing about spelling and other points of language: Danish may be formalised in books, but in daily use it is less so, perhaps because until recently no one has had the bother of teaching it to many foreigners.
Small disputes aside, the Danish language generally reflects the homogeny and harmony of Danish culture. That means no one ever says anything too definitively, for fear of having an unpopular opinion and being forced to back down.
For example, if something is good, you would say in English that you definitely and positively like it, but in Danish you will say that you kan lide it, directly translated as you can suffer it. This construction keeps Danes from being unfashionably enthusiastic about things, and thereby assuming their opinion is more valuable than others, as proscribed by the Jantelov.
Also keep in mind non-committal phrases like i mine øjne (in my eyes), kunne godt være (could well be), and the all-time favourite, blandt andre (among other things). Blandt andre should be added to the end of every list to make sure no one will ever be able to accuse you of leaving something off the list. For example, if you are making a list of the most attractive princes in Europe, you could say something like, "Prince William of England, Prince Felipe of Spain, and Prince Carl Philip of Sweden, blandt andre." This will help you at home.
But, in case the Queen would prefer to have someone else teach you Danish, let me just leave you with some tips. Watch the "o" and "ø" - for example, the "Mønster Bageri" near my home is trying to tell people that it is an excellent bakery, not that it is full of monsters. Be careful about words that sound similar: after hearing a safety announcement on the 2A bus, I once tried to explain to a deaf old lady that "en tyver" (a twenty-five cent piece, as opposed to "tyv," a thief) was stealing passengers' purses. And take special care when you use "dufte" (smell good) and "lugte" (smell bad) It's the same word - "smell" - in English, but people get real mad if you tell you can "lugte" the dinner they spent all day preparing.
Actually, there is a secret to learning Danish quickly, but it would horrify every Dane. That said, it assisted me enormously with grammar, vocabulary and comprehension. I might never have learned Danish without it. The terrible secret is: Learn German first. If you can speak English and German, functional Danish is only a few months of practice away.
To truly know a country, you must get to know its people.
Not just ordinary people, the butcher and the baker and the sulking lady at the sausage stand, but its famous people.
On this basis, I am integrating very badly. I simply cannot tell Danish celebrities apart. Of course, the Royal Family and their troubles are familiar to anyone who stands in line for groceries, but the others all blend together for me in a sea of teeth and hair.
It's confusing and isolating, being outside the local currents of fame. Magazines run in-depth profiles of Danish actresses disclosing their new, intimate secrets when I don't even know their old, intimate secrets. The Big Brother celebrity house looked exactly like any other Big Brother house to me. And out in public, I have often witnessed the Danish people around me are getting very, very excited by someone who looks to me like a well-dressed bus driver.
Not famous, just Danish.
I've tried to catch up. Recently, I did what thousands of Danes do every week - I bought one of the supermarket gossip magazines. (At least, I hear that thousands of Danes buy supermarket gossip magazines every week. I never see them reading them. In cafes and other places where people can see them, they always seem to be reading the very smallest print in the intellectual newspaper Information.)
Anyway, after flipping through the pictures and reading the rather short articles, I realized that apart from the Royal Family, the weekly magazines have three basic themes: pregnancies, premieres, and TV hosts. Sometimes they report on pregnant TV hosts attending premieres.
I didn't recognize the hosts, since there is so much terrible American TV available in Denmark that I rarely watch terrible Danish TV. But I did learn a lot of interesting things from the magazines. Did you know, for example, that Birgitte Nielsen has had pretty much the same hairstyle since Ronald Reagan was president? (She also seems have been wearing the same black mini-dress - perhaps she uses that detergent advertised to keep black from fading.)
Furthermore, if Denmark ever faces attack from the air, we will all be able to protect ourselves with a shield made from Princess Alexandra's fancy hats.
But the gossip magazines were no help with Danish celebrities who had been out of the public eye for awhile. Just the other day, my colleagues rushed to the window of our office building to see someone passing on the street outside. It turned out to be the former Danish foreign minister Uffe Elleman Jensen, who in person looks a lot like an elderly, balding man.
I think the main problem is that Danish celebrities are Danish - that is, they are modest, gentle, and eager to fit in. In New York, picking out a celebrity is easy. Someone like the rapper P.Diddy can be counted on to have a car the size of a small yacht, be wearing a canary-yellow business suit and at least a kilogram of jewelry, and be surrounded by an entourage of 60. If you were surrounded by an entourage of 60 in some small Danish towns, there would be no one left to admire you and your entourage.
It's the same thing with Danish sports stars. American athletes look like living cartoons, the football stars as wide and thick as refrigerators, the basketball stars as tall as trees. Danish handball and badminton players look like ordinary Danish guys, if in slightly better shape.
In fact, when I first arrived in Denmark, some guy-in-good-shape tried to impress me by telling me he had once played for FCK. He didn't look particularly impressive, I had no idea what an FCK was, and Americans don't care that much for soccer anyway - when the movie "Bend It Like Beckham" was released, the reviewers had to explain who Beckham was. Anyway, I failed to fall off my chair with excitement, and Mr. FCK went away with his ball intact and his ego bruised.
This is one of the great ironies of celebrities everywhere. They say they want to be treated just like ordinary people, but they are horrified if you do. If you ever want to hurt a celebrity's feelings, pretend not to recognize him.
Which does not mean that they will return the favor. Since I do some work in the dance world, I have met choreographer Alexander Kolpin on at least six occasions. He can never remember having met me before.
After the third or fourth time of staring into his handsome, empty eyes, I began to play a fun game. Each new time I'm introduced, I gave him a brand new name. "Hi, I'm Suzie," I'll say. "Hi, I'm Michelle," I'll say the next time.
He has never noticed the difference. I plan to work my way up to statements like, "Hi, I'm Lucifer, the prince of evil and darkness," and "Hi, I'm Marilyn Monroe," just to see at what point he notices that there is a person on the end of the hand he is shaking.
To be honest, I am getting pretty good at recognizing Danish movie stars, assisted by the fact that the same six or seven people star seem to star in every Danish movie. I'm also getting good at recognizing Danish music. By the time Aqua broke up, I knew them so well that I was able to jump up and turn off the radio within the first two bars of any of their songs.
Now rap is big in Denmark, and tall blond men wear "do-rags," designed to assist in the difficult maintenance of African hair. My friends tell me these men are very talented, but, frankly, I want to hear Danes rap in English about as much as you want to hear Jennifer Lopez struggle her way through the Danish national anthem.
Still, I was excited when I thought I had recognized one of the Danish rappers at a party. He was a handsome guy in his early 20s with blond dreadlocks, and the girls were wild about him. "Which record is his?" I whispered to one of them.
"He's not a musician," she told me. "He sells pants at Illums."
"We all love him," she added. "We make him bend down and get pants off the bottom shelf."
So perhaps celebrity is relative. You can be known worldwide, you can be known in Denmark, or you could be known in the pants department at Illums. You could be David Beckham and be able to walk down the streets of Kansas City unnoticed. No matter how many people know you, there will always be some people who don't know you.
After two years in Denmark, I can recognize both the Royal Family and the lady at the sausage stand, and that will have to do for now.
I must admit I envy Danesat vacation time.
They have so much of it, and it must be so much easier to travel when your country hasn't started any wars lately. But I have a lot of trouble understanding how they use it. They seem to be on an endless search for other Denmarks with better weather.
There is no Jantelov when it comes to comparing Denmark with other countries. I have seen Danish women furious when men in Italy and Spain flirt and flatter and generally act like Italian and Spanish men, instead of their wimpy Danish counterparts. If only men here respected women, like they do in Denmark.
Danes shake their heads at drunks sleeping on the sidewalk in New York City - If only they had social workers to help them, like we do in Denmark - and at veiled ladies in Africa. If only they could wear what's in the weekly ladies' magazines, like we do in Denmark.
In general, they feel a quiet shock and pity for anyone who can't eat fried fish balls and watch Danish reality television. Why can't everyone be tolerant and open-minded, like we are in Denmark?
So why leave Denmark at all? Well, there is the weather, although I have never understood why Danish people insist on traveling during the summer, in the only few weeks of the year when the weather in Denmark is any good. November in Copenhagen is dreadful, March is a misery, but in July, Copenhagen's Ørested Park is one of the prettiest places on the planet.
But good weather in Denmark is an exception, and no one ever seems to suggest Danish weather serve as a model for anywhere else. In fact, it makes Danish tourists easy to spot during the winter months: they are the ones standing in the airport parking lot in Tenerife with their faces up to the sun, trying to get the last drops of light before they board the plane.
This, I think accounts for the eternal popularity of Australia, which can be counted on to be sunny. It has other things in common with Denmark, too - lots of athletic, blond people, an endless supply of beer, and even its own Jantelov, in the form of a Tall Poppy Syndrome. (A friend of mine once tried to mail an important letter first class letter in Australia; "Only one class here, mate," the postal clerk told him.)
Most Danes have been to the United States too, and I always quiver a little when they start to tell their America stories. Did they have a good time? Or am I about to have to apologize for something?
Fortunately, most of the time they've enjoyed themselves and my fellow Americans have been pleasant. In fact, most Danes seem pleased by the willingness with which Americans will strike up conversations, say, in the line at the supermarket, although they always seem slightly hurt that these supermarket-line relationships turn out to be so short-term and superficial. ("And then checkout lady said, How are you today? But she didn't really care about me.")
I've actually enjoyed vacationing a lot more since I've come to Denmark, in part because I've learned Danish, a great a secret code language when traveling abroad. Incomprehensible to anyone but Norwegians and sharp-eared Swedes, it makes the communication of sensitive information easy and fun. "Do not buy that. That is clearly not an authentic ancient papyrus," you can tell your friend in at Egypt bazaar. Or, in a bar in Italy, "Buy him a drink if you insist, but that's all you're getting. The man is clearly gay."
Of course, this technique works a lot better in Texas or Tokyo than it does in London, and if you guess wrong about who speaks Danish you can easily get your block knocked off. Especially since, as an American, I am constitutionally required to speak very loud. But it's a good concept all the same.
Secret language or not, Danish will soon be heard in the campgrounds of South France, on the beaches of Thailand, and in the supermarkets of Mallorca, for the Danish summer vacation season has begun. Danes will be opening their hearts and minds to exotic cultures (while hanging out with any Swedes or Norwegians they may happen to meet) and secretly checking out foreign newspapers in the hope that the weather is really bad back home.
I must admit I envy Danesat vacation time.
They have so much of it, and it must be so much easier to travel when your country hasn't started any wars lately. But I have a lot of trouble understanding how they use it. They seem to be on an endless search for other Denmarks with better weather.
There is no Jantelov when it comes to comparing Denmark with other countries. I have seen Danish women furious when men in Italy and Spain flirt and flatter and generally act like Italian and Spanish men, instead of their wimpy Danish counterparts. If only men here respected women, like they do in Denmark.
Danes shake their heads at drunks sleeping on the sidewalk in New York City - If only they had social workers to help them, like we do in Denmark - and at veiled ladies in Africa. If only they could wear what's in the weekly ladies' magazines, like we do in Denmark.
In general, they feel a quiet shock and pity for anyone who can't eat fried fish balls and watch Danish reality television. Why can't everyone be tolerant and open-minded, like we are in Denmark?
So why leave Denmark at all? Well, there is the weather, although I have never understood why Danish people insist on traveling during the summer, in the only few weeks of the year when the weather in Denmark is any good. November in Copenhagen is dreadful, March is a misery, but in July, Copenhagen's Ørested Park is one of the prettiest places on the planet.
But good weather in Denmark is an exception, and no one ever seems to suggest Danish weather serve as a model for anywhere else. In fact, it makes Danish tourists easy to spot during the winter months: they are the ones standing in the airport parking lot in Tenerife with their faces up to the sun, trying to get the last drops of light before they board the plane.
This, I think accounts for the eternal popularity of Australia, which can be counted on to be sunny. It has other things in common with Denmark, too - lots of athletic, blond people, an endless supply of beer, and even its own Jantelov, in the form of a Tall Poppy Syndrome. (A friend of mine once tried to mail an important letter first class letter in Australia; "Only one class here, mate," the postal clerk told him.)
Most Danes have been to the United States too, and I always quiver a little when they start to tell their America stories. Did they have a good time? Or am I about to have to apologize for something?
Fortunately, most of the time they've enjoyed themselves and my fellow Americans have been pleasant. In fact, most Danes seem pleased by the willingness with which Americans will strike up conversations, say, in the line at the supermarket, although they always seem slightly hurt that these supermarket-line relationships turn out to be so short-term and superficial. ("And then checkout lady said, How are you today? But she didn't really care about me.")
I've actually enjoyed vacationing a lot more since I've come to Denmark, in part because I've learned Danish, a great a secret code language when traveling abroad. Incomprehensible to anyone but Norwegians and sharp-eared Swedes, it makes the communication of sensitive information easy and fun. "Do not buy that. That is clearly not an authentic ancient papyrus," you can tell your friend in at Egypt bazaar. Or, in a bar in Italy, "Buy him a drink if you insist, but that's all you're getting. The man is clearly gay."
Of course, this technique works a lot better in Texas or Tokyo than it does in London, and if you guess wrong about who speaks Danish you can easily get your block knocked off. Especially since, as an American, I am constitutionally required to speak very loud. But it's a good concept all the same.
Secret language or not, Danish will soon be heard in the campgrounds of South France, on the beaches of Thailand, and in the supermarkets of Mallorca, for the Danish summer vacation season has begun. Danes will be opening their hearts and minds to exotic cultures (while hanging out with any Swedes or Norwegians they may happen to meet) and secretly checking out foreign newspapers in the hope that the weather is really bad back home.
My Danish has improved, thanks to weekly private lessons in my apartment from my tutor, Eva Olsen. The official language of the 5 million residents of Denmark is Danish, and speaking, reading, and writing Danish is not enormously difficult. What's hard is understanding what the hell people are saying. Danes stay true to Scandinavian minimalism by pronouncing only a portion of each word. For example, "What is your name?" or "Hvad hedder du?" is pronounced "Ve' he' du'?"
For the first year, I understood no one but professionals paid to ennunciate - mostly TV newsreaders and hand puppets.
Denmark is a lovely country, but it is not very diverse. Almost all the men are named Christian, Mads, or Anders, which is why there are so many last names like Christiansen, Madsen, and Andersen. As a matter of fact, foreigners here joke that you can crash any party by saying, "I'm a friend of Christian and Mads." There is ALWAYS someone named Christian or Mads at the party.
The Danes are famous for their open-mindedness, but what they really mean is We are open to anyone who is exactly like us. I went to a job interview recently - the ad specifically said they were open to hiring foreigners - but when I turned up they rejected me because I spoke Danish with an accent. We are open to hiring all foreigners who speak Danish with no accent.
It is difficult for an American, from a relatively new and multi-cultural society,to understand the level of groupthink among people who have lived together in the same place for a thousand years. For example, there is a tacit agreement to dress for the time of year, not for the weather. If it is rainy and cold in July, Danish women will still wear tiny sundresses: to wear a sweater would be to imply that the Danish weather is lousy. (Danish weather IS lousy.)
Then there are the delicate politics of wearing a winter hat. There seems to be a certain date in the fall when one may start wearing a hat: I have no idea when it is, but I do know that wear a hat before that date is to withstand a hundred looks of silent disapproval. We are not wearing Our hats yet. Suddenly, though, Hat Day arrives, and five million hats sprout on the heads of five million Danes. Why aren't You wearing Your hat?
Danish men are very pleasant, and perfectly willing to do half of the housework, but these charming traits seem to be linked to a low testosterone level. Women do most of the calling for dates, and are even required to ask the men to dance at nightclubs. You'll often find a Danish disco full of women dancing alone, watched from the sidelines by lonely, passion-filled men, terrified behind stiff smiles as their eyes send out invisible out rays of desire: Please, Miss, ask me to dance.
Fortunately, there is a mitigating factor, and that is alcohol. Generally, you can count on Danish men at any given gathering to be moody and silent for the first couple of hours, or at least untll the first rounds of Tuborg kick in. At that time, around the third hour, they are become friendly and sweet, with a slight tendancy to tell their life stories to strangers. (I once thought that this life story business indicated a man's desire to date me; sadly, it indicates only a desire to tell me his life story.) By hours four, five, and six, they are sloppy drunk and interested only, as the Danish term goes, in "scorer damen."
If the women, who have also had plenty of beer by this time, are willing, new couples depart to whomever's apartment is closest. The next morning, they decide if they would like to see more of each other.
Suffice to say that if alcohol disappeared tomorrow, the Danes would never reproduce
I've seen Crown Prince Frederik only once, in the lobby of a theater during the peformance of a ballet. He was not very interested in the ballet, and was instead hanging out in the lobby eating licorice fish from a plastic bag.
There was a crowd in the lobby - it really wasn't a very good ballet - so I couldn't get too near, but did I walked past him about 50 times trying to get his attention. I got absolutely no reaction from Frederik, but the guy standing next to him did notice and was very flattered.
Anyway, Frederik is considering marrying a girl from Australia (whom, according to press reports, made the first move.) Royal watchers assumed at that Frederik would avoid having her visit Denmark while the weather was bad - ie in September, October, November, December, January, February, March, April, July, or August - for fear this might diminish whatever interest she had in being Crown Princess.
But the gossips were wrong - he did bring her to Denmark, for several grey days around New Years' Eve. For "security reasons," however, she was not allowed to leave the palace. Perhaps the royal courtiers papered the interiors of the windows with sunny pictures; perhaps Frederik simply permitted himself a royal lie, such as "Wow, the weather's usually much better than this."
Questions and Answers about Living in Denmark
Of all the things I've posted on this website, nothing has brought in more comments than My Life in Denmark.
I get support from other foreigners in Denmark, and queries from people thinking of coming here. I get a few laughing Danish men who see themselves in Danish Men: Not John Wayne, and the occasional angry Danish man who tells me to get the hell out of his country if I don't like wimps.
Anyway, most of the questions were pretty standard, so I decided to put together a Q&A for Foreigners Coming to Denmark. I hope this answers the basic questions, even for people too lazy or shy to email me.
A blue "clip card", which can be used on Copenhagen's metro, buses, and trains, including the train from the airport. I recommend buying one as soon as you arrive.
What type of clothes should I bring?
The Danish weather can go from freezing to broiling and then back again within a few hours, so layers are your best bet. Bring lots of sweaters and at least one waterproof jacket. Most Danes own a whole set of "rain clothes," a sort of waterproof jogging outfit. For winter, you'll need warm scarves and a warm coat - a short one is more practical, since many people get around on their bikes all winter long. (Fur is entirely acceptable in Denmark).
Even for summer, plan on bringing a few sweaters and a solid jacket - leather is ideal. Danish summers are often rainy and cold.
You'll be doing a lot of walking, so bring comfortable shoes, waterproof it possible. Bright white tennis shoes will identify you as an American. Danish men and women tend to dress in subdued colors - brown, navy, grays - that match the colors of nature in Denmark.
For women, long skirts are more practical than short, even for summer, since skirts that are knee-length or shorter are too revealing when riding a bicycle. (I often wear bike shorts under my dress until I get where I'm going.) Danish women wear little makeup and simple hairstyles, so there's no reason to drag along a suitcase of fancy products. High heels are a nightmare on cobblestone streets, so if you must wear them, bring along a pair of flats to wear until you reach your destination.
You probably won't need much in the way of fancy clothes, unless you're a real nightlife aficionado. And unless you have a job in a bank (as I do), there is no reason to bring more than one business suit. Jeans - without rips or holes - can be worn almost everywhere.
You can always purchase the clothes you need when you arrive in Denmark, but prices are at least double and sometimes triple those elsewhere, once 25% sales tax is factored in.
What will I be able to bring home with me?
If you'd like to bring home gifts for family and friends, I recommend Danish housewares.
Mom or Granny will enjoy china from Royal Copenhagen (and you can get it half-price on the top floor of their Copenhagen headquarters), your newlywed sister might like a beautiful glass vase from Holmegaard, and even your buddies will like brushed-steel CD or wine accessories from Georg Jensen or his imitators. (See the Royal Shopping site for images).There are also beautiful textiles on sale in Denmark. You should be able to find something for everybody, if you have a general idea what they're looking for.
How will I make friends?
Denmark is a small country, and many people still hang out with the people they grew up with. That can make it hard for a foreigner to make friends: some Danes simply have all the friends they need, and really don't want any more. My Danish friends are almost all people who came from outside Copenhagen, so their childhood friends don't live nearby.
To make things even harder, Danes value privacy very highly - it's part of their general policy of tolerance. Neighbors, for example, may feel that by not greeting you or asking where you come from, they are respecting your privacy. If you smile and introduce yourself, most people will respond positively.
Get to know people in your work or study group. It's easier to do things in groups than one-on-one. Asking people over for a dinner of some of your native food is a great way to make friends, or bring some native sweets to your office on one of your national holidays. Invite a bunch of people out to hear some music from your part of the world. Danes love to see themselves as international, and they will be flattered that you think of them that way.
One quirk of Danes is that they love to make plans far in advance, and they are very good about sticking to those plans. You can invite a bunch of people for dinner on a Tuesday two months from now at 8pm, and although you may not see them in the meantime, they will all turn up, precisely on time.
When dining at someone else's house, bring a bottle of wine or some dessert. A fancy present isn't required.
One more tip: When you enter a room containing a group of people, it is your job to go around and shake everyone's hands, saying, "Hi, I'm so-and-so." Just keep going until you have shaken hands with everyone in the room, upon which time you can stop and talk to whomever seems interesting.
If you want to start a conversation with a Dane you don't know well, ask about the places he's travelled and his future vacation plans. Danes get six weeks of vacation per year, and they love to spend it in places with better weather.
How will I meet someone of the opposite sex?
Even Danes have trouble with this one. As I explain in Get Drunk and Find Your True Love, Danish men don't approach women in the way men do in the rest of the world, and consequently, Danish women don't get much flirting practice. The whole thing can be very awkward, and sometimes succeeds only because both parties are drunk.
Foreign men sometimes assume they are getting turned down because they are foreign, or because they are not white. Not true - Danish men get turned down just as much.
I'm probably not a good source of advice on this one, since I'm single myself.
Will I face racial prejudice?
If you are a non-white person from a western country, probably not - at least as soon as people hear you speaking English. You will then be considered exotic and fascinating, and may get some very interesting dates with blond Danes who are interested in expanding their horizons. There are a lot of multi-racial babies among the younger set in Denmark. Spanish-speakers are considered particularly desirable; Danes love Spain and Latin America.
But there is racial prejudice in Denmark, most of it directed against local Muslim immigrants, who can be of Turkish, Palestinian, Iraqi, Pakistani, Afghani or African origin. In the 1960s and 1970s, "guest workers" were invited to Denmark to help fill a labour shortage, and in the 1980s and 1990s, Denmark made the noble decision to accept refugees and people who were persecuted or tortured. Many of these people came from rural areas, had little education, and were very conservative and religious. Of the more recent immigrants, many have had trouble finding work in Denmark and trouble fitting into Danish society.
There are certainly individual success stories - immigrants and immigrants' children who make important contributions to Danish life - but generally, there has been an unwillingness to integrate on both sides. Danish employers have not been quick to offer the immigrants jobs, which makes it hard for them to show what they have to offer. On the other hand, some immigrants see the Danes as unclean and immoral, and make great efforts to keep their children from becoming "too Danish." It's a story with no heroes.
What this means to you as a foreigner is that if Danish people think you are a local Muslim, they may be unkind to you - until they find out that you are not, upon which time they will be very courteous.
Will I have problems because I am gay?
Being gay is no big thing in Denmark - in fact, the non-Danish gay people I know who have visited or lived here have been a bit disappointed, since the lack of prejudice means there's not much of a gay or lesbian community and not much solidarity.
The Danish world "kaereste" which means partner, can refer to either sex. In professional or social circumstances, feel free to refer to "my partner, so-and-so," but prepared for listeners to be neither shocked nor impressed.
How do I learn Danish?
If you are here for less than a year, it may not be worth it. Danish children begin English instruction when they are 10, and most Danes are very proud of their ability to speak English. You may find some elderly people or blue-collar workers who are less confident in English, but they will probably understand whatever it is you're saying.
That said, learning basic words like "Tak" for thank you (there is no Danish "please") and "Goddag" (Good Day) will be much appreciated. Saying hello is easy - it's just "Hej!!" (pronounced Hi!) Goodbye is "Hej Hej!" (Hi Hi!) So you've got that one mastered already.
If you plan to stay longer, the Danish government provides free Danish classes. I found these a bit slow, and preferred to work with a private tutor. I also drilled with "Danish in Three Months" (available on Amazon.com) although I did not, in fact, learn Danish in three months.
What will I eat in Denmark?
There are some terrific things to eat in Denmark:
Fresh, dark rye bread - called "rugbrod."
Buttery salmon, prepared many different ways, or eaten smoked on rugbrod. Herring, too, if you like it.
Wonderful local cheeses.
Fresh, tasty butter, and organic milk available in every supermarket.
Carlsberg and Tuborg beer - they also make special "Easter" and "Christmas" versions.
Danish pastries - fresh and much better than the plastic-wrapped version. The Danes call them "Wienerbrod" or Viennese bread.
Hyldeblomst juice, or elderflower juice. Great alone as an alternative to soda or alcohol, but also good mixed with champagne or vodka. Hyldebaer juice - elderberry juice - is also excellent, and has medical properties. Kids like both.
Summertime berries - Denmark grows the world's best strawberries, available only in June, as well as wonderful raspberries and blackberries. Local cherries and apples are also excellent, in season.
Danish bacon is, of course, world-famous - but Danes don't eat very much of it.
There is also plenty of dreadful food - hot dogs dyed bright red, fried fish balls and fried meatballs, fatty pork in a variety of disguises, overcooked cabbages and root vegetables, shots of "Gammel Dansk" breakfast alcohol, and waxy chocolate for dessert. Don't let anyone in Denmark tell you that your homeland's cuisine is uniquely unhealthy.
The selection of ethnic cuisine in Denmark is improving, but if you really love Italian, Mexican, Chinese, Thai, Indian or Japanese food, fill up on it before you leave home. The Danish version is rarely authentic - and watch out for Danish pizza!
A good steak is also hard to find, and expensive if you do find it. Hamburgers can be iffy. In general, Danes eat less beef than Americans, and more fish and pork.
Vegetarians will have a tough time in Denmark, since the vegetables just aren't very good. If you eat fish and dairy products, you should be able to get by. Tofu is not popular, and often available only in jars or in ethnic supermarkets. There are, however, shwarma shops all over the country where you can pick up hummus, babaganush, and felafel.
If you like peanut butter, you may want to tuck a big jar into your suitcase. The Danish version is not encouraging.
Will I be able to find work in Denmark?
As a student, I believe you are allowed a certain number of work hours - but don't quote me on that. If you're out of school, finding work will require tremendous commitment and aggressive tactics. The best thing you can do is to get a Danish company in your field to sponsor you before you leave home. To do so, they will have to prove that no Dane can do your job. Engineers, IT specialists and nurses are the most sought-after at the moment.
Some large, export-oriented Danish companies, like Novo Nordisk and Lundbeck, have English as their corporate language and are happy to employ qualified non-Danes. They are great companies to work for, with great benefits, and therefore receive a lot of applications from both inside and outside Denmark.
Working off-the-books in a restaurant or as a cleaning person is possible, although illegal and not always reliable.
If you are coming to Denmark to be with a boyfriend or girlfriend, getting married will not necessarily make things easier for you, work-wise. In fact, your partner will have to prove to the Danish government that he or she can support you before you can get a "fiancee visa" - and since you won't be eligible for government support, you should plan on living off your partner for at least a year or two before you know enough Danish to get a full-time job. Can your relationship survive that?
What should I never do?
Danes greatly admire people from Latin countries like Spain, France, Italy. They love their relaxed nature and high style, and go to night school to learn their languages. Danes enjoy visiting Southern European countries, and sometimes retire there.
That said, Latin-style behavior will cause problems for you in Denmark.
Being relaxed about appointments is a good example. If you have a 10am meeting at a Danish office, your colleagues will expect you to be there at 10:00.00. Arriving at 10:05 is bad manners, and at 10:10 you will find the meeting room door closed, with a lot of sour faces when you open it.
The same is true of social appointments. If dinner is at 8, you are expected to be there at 8. It is considered appropriate manners to circle the block until 8.00.00, upon which time you press the doorbell. Arriving after 8:10 is intolerably rude. Do not cancel social arrangements unless there is an emergency, or unless you are ill.
Do not lose your temper. If someone upsets you, by all means tell them so, but in cool, measured tones, without using any bad language, and don't wave your arms. I violated this rule myself, at my own expense. On day I tripped over a heavy iron refuse bin that some idiot had left in a hallway at my office. I was badly bruised, and I swore loudly. Several months later, the incident turned up in my annual employee evaluation. Apparently several of my colleagues had been disturbed by my loss of composure.
What is there to see and do in Copenhagen?
I'll leave the details to www.woco.dk, the official tourist site, but for a single day's visit I would recommend the following:
A stroll down Stroget, the central shopping street. If you've got energy to spare, climb the Rundturm, a 17th century tower. No stairs, just a long, spiral ramp, so feel free to bring the baby stroller.
An hourlong flat-boat harbour cruise. Cheap at EUR4/$5, and it includes a trip to the Little Mermaid. Bring your own food/beverages.
Lunch at Hovedtelegraphen, a rooftop cafe above the main post office. It's non-touristy, has a reasonably-priced menu of Danish food, and offers a great view of all the city's medieval spires.
Shopping at Illums Bolighus, a four-story Danish design museum where everything is for sale. Right next door is Royal Copenhagen, where you can get some great bargains at the top-floor outlet shop.
