Day 22 - January 22

First half of the Danish exam this morning – the written part. It ended up being ridiculously easy. We had to listen to some tapes and do some exercises, but they over-exaggerated everything (thank God, because when they’re actually speaking I can’t understand any words except for prepositions). We also performed an “entertainment” for the rest of the Danish classes at the ending session…we sang a Danish children’s song that, of course, no one understood, but we had fun.

Today at the kantine I finally founda “Danish” in the pastries. Of course they don’t call them Danishes (French fries, anyone?), but, ironically, Claudia said they are called here Viennese. So I guess no one can decide where they come from. But it wasn’t one of the mediocre, chewy, hotel-breakfast type pastries. It was amazing and flaky and the berry filling – so good!

Shopping around Field’s today (the mall across from my kollegium), I noticed once again how many shoe stores there are in Copenhagen. Not just in the mall – I first noticed it walking around the city center. Everywhere you look is a shoe store. It would be like going to America, but every time you see a Starbucks, you put a shoe store in its place. In the mall, there were at least ten that we passed by. Possibly more shoe stores than clothes stores. The weird thing is, the shoe stores are very rarely alike – somehow they’re all different, at least within a mile radius.

I found pretzels in the grocery store and thought, “Ah! Pretzels! Amazing…” Here, however, they are not called pretzels but ‘party sticks’. Also, they’re about twice as long and twice as thin. As in, I can break them with a flick (and this is not just some fancy exaggeration or metaphor or anything…I actually flicked one into thirds with one flick…and my flicks are weak). They’re kind of fun to eat, although not so good for dipping.

Last but not least, though I am in Denmark, I am reading a book called The Anglo Files, a sort-of case-study of the British by an American journalist who moved to England after marrying an Englishman. Most of the book relates more to the upper class, but with the sections that apply to the British in general, it seems to me that, with the exception of the drinking, I’m practically British. Self-effacement? I’d say I’m pretty good at it. Saying sorry all the time, even when it’s someone else’s fault? Yeah, probably me. Of course, most everyone knows my anglophilia (I don’t think that’s actually a word, but I’m making it a word now), and if they don’t, they learn it fast, but having now actually been to England, I have discovered that somehow I grew up British without ever having been there. Besides what the book said, I have the skin tone, I have the humor (I much prefer British humor to American, and when I was over there for the field school, they once asked me, “Is our sarcasm too much?”/”I hope you’re able to tell when we’re not being serious but being sarcastic” and I just got confused because I hadn’t noticed anything different from what I’m used to), I use British terms (I say “quite” and “rather” rather often, had a few Americans point it out, then went to England only to discover that it’s quite normal there – and yes, I realize I used “quite” and “rather” in that sentence but it was not meant to be clever, just how I would naturally write), I drink black tea with milk and sugar...seeing a pattern here? Oh, I also think the Union Jack is the best flag design, that Doctor Who is the best TV show, and that America should have a constitutional monarchy just because it’s cool to have a king and queen if they have no power.

Our talented class singing a Peberkager Bager Syng