Impressions.

To be fair, I've been here just over a week. Danish friends, you know that this is not personal/directed at you in any way. Hopefully you'll find it funny. If not, go have a Tuborg and a frikadeller and get over it.

These are my impressions of Denmark:

1. Black is most certainly the new black.

If you are a Dane, you must NEVER wear ANY colour. Seriously, it's like funeral central 24/7 around here. I wear my red jeans and get stared at - and not in a good way. Black is the past, present, and future to the Danish people. Why wear colour, when you can wear black?
Personally, I don't get it.
Colours are happy; colours show personality. Why, when the Danes are such warm, friendly people, should they wear black all the time?
"It goes with everything!" My host sisters shall cry. Yes, I think to myself, especially black.

 

Look! A Dane!

But I refuse to cave. I went to H&M and completely avoided the black clothes (which took up about half the shop). I will have my red jeans and I will wear them too! Eff you, black rule!

But let me assure you, this is not handy in my assimilation into Danish society (well, the society at Nakskov Gymnasium). Being the only Aussie in the school with the reddest of red jeans does not help with my current zoo-animal status. I am easy prey for the local wildlife (students & teachers), who see my colourful attire and pounce.
So many people (SO MANY) have approached me at the most inopportune times to bombard me with questions. Here are the most common examples:

"Oh, you're from Australia, right?! Can you please say Dingo?!" (or koala or kangaroo or g'day or mate or something equally as embarrassing).

"Oh. My. God. You're from Australia... DO YOU KNOW CODY SIMPSON??????????? I LOVE HIM!!!"
Uh, he lives on the Gold Coast. That's pretty far away.

"Sorry, are you really from Australia? I thought Australians were tanner than that."
At this point, I look down at my forearm. I'm of Mediterranean descent. I come from the sunniest place on the planet. What more do you want? An aborigine? Cue eyeroll.

"Have you ever seen a real kangaroo?" 
Again with the eyeroll.

And the numero uno most asked question:
"Why the hell did you pick Denmark?"
...
Sigh.

   2. Did someone say Grand Theft Auto? Oh, no, it's just a Danish driver.

Now, It may be -6 and snowing outside, but I assure you, there are people out on bikes. Everywhere in Denmark. Rain, hail, snow or shine, there are people on their bikes. Because of this bike culture, and the lack of designated zones in Nakskov, the cars don't really have right of way. So we have this immense weaving action happening. Forget the slipperiness of the road. There are are bigger issues at hand. Namely, the Dane on the bike with the Fjällräven backpack. Hold onto your Carlsberg, because these little Danish cars are weave machines. And the Viking at the wheel is well equipped with skill, experience, and a BAC of .08. You're in safe hands.

Who has right of way? I don't even know...

    3. Keyboard Smash...Sorry, Danish.

This is a language which involves more larynx gymnastics than I have ever encountered. Heck, even the tribes in Africa with the click language would have a hard time. But Danish is a language I MUST learn, and I am determined to do so. My chief teacher is my lovely host sister Juliane (wooh you got a mention). It is thanks to her that I now know all the colours, and I can describe my feelings (hungry, hungry... and hungry). But do not ask me to say red. IT. IS. IMPOSSIBLE.

But as I sit here in English class, I am reminded of the fact that most of the people here can speak at least basic English, or in the case of the English teacher, perfectly accented British English (and she's a native Dane!)
My Danish, on the other hand, sucks. So yeah, that makes me pretty unhappy with myself. But it's a driving point for me to continue trying my best when it comes to learning Danish. This Thursday, I start my first real Danish lessons in Maribo, about an hour's drive from Nakskov. Next weekend, I am in Bjerringbro in North Jutland for a whole week of into/language camp. These are my doors into the world of the secret language that is Danish.

   4. School

I just- brain does not compute.

I can't even begin to explain this succinctly. In fact, it deserves a whole post to itself.

So next time, it's all about school. That is, if I can fit it in before I go to Bjerringbro. I have a busy week coming up. I move from my counsellor family to my first host family on Wednesday (it is Monday). Then, this weekend, I am off to Bjerringbro. Then my winter holiday begins and I'm back in North Jutland with my host family to see the sights. Then, back to school again. So, it's all up in the air.

Until next time, 
Vi ses,
Georgia