A Week of Culture

>They always say that the tourist experience is different than the local experience, and I strongly believe that. I never experienced New York like I did with a New Yorker, and I’m sure Kiev would have been completely different had I been there without a native. Not only do you get to see the local dives and “live like the locals do,” but you often avoid the not-worthwhile tourist traps and experience the real value that a place has to offer. The interesting thing about my experience with Copenhagen is that I came here as a tourist, or at least as an outsider, and yet I have yet to act as one. Yes, I have done some sightseeing, been to a museum or two, and visited the most popular shopping areas, but I still fall very short of doing the things that every tour book screams are MUST-Dos in Copenhagen.

This being said, I find my way of culturing myself in Copenhagen preferable to lines at ticket counters, landscape paintings, and rooms full of old furniture. My approach has been to toe the line; I can’t exactly say I have been getting the truly local experience seeing as I have been exploring sans locals, but I haven’t been acting as the typical tourist might, either. Last week, for example, was jam packed with Copenhagen culture: a mix of high and low, chic and quirky, upbeat and relaxed. On Monday, Kanika and I attended the test screening “Love at First Hiccup,” a romantic comedy based on a Danish movie produced in the 90’s which turned out to be a Disney Channel movie gone wrong, to put it nicely. Tuesday I opted for the high culture and went to the Royal Ballet Theater with Caroline and Jessie to see the Danish Royal Ballet perform Romeo and Juliet. Although, it is hard to say whether or not the ballet was good; to say the least, if the ballet had a nosebleed section, our noses would have been bleeding heavily, seeing as we were in the last row of the top balcony and our seats resulted in us watching an empty stage for half of the 3 hour long performance. With midterms a-comin’, Wednesday was spent attending to my studies, but by Thursday, we were bringing in the weekend at Kulor Bar, dancing the night away to what seemed to be the same techno-pop song on repeat. Friday was a similar story, except this time the venue was LA bar and the musical genre was American classics. Saturday brought a change of pace with sleeping in until noon and a 3 hour breakfast consisting of eggs, toast, and banana pancakes drowned in Nutella. Stomachs full but hearts light, we had a girls date to see Slumdog Millionaire where we had a lesson in language barriers: Hindi dialog subtitled in Danish epitomizes the phrase “lost in translation.” A dinner of shawarma provided a nice intermission before heading off to a funk show at Christiania, very funky and very Christiania. And of course, no week of culture is complete without a museum visit, but a free visit to the Glyptotec on Sunday afternoon solved that, as well as any need to see sculptures from Mediterranean Empires for a very long time.

Local: not quite, tourist: no…I’m somewhere in the middle, but life couldn’t be better.

Settled in

>Traveling is uncomfortable. There is nothing glamorous about wearing the same thing 5 times before you wash it, eating things you can’t pronounce and feeling sick the rest of the day, using body language as your main means of communicating with the people around you, or taking the wrong public transportation and spending hours finding your way back to the starting point. And yet, these are the things that make traveling exhilarating and liberating by breaking the bounds of the comfortable and routine. So what happens when you unpack the suitcase, stop needing a map, and get comfortable? For the first time in my history of traveling I am able to give some answers to that question.

The other day I was walking back from the gym and as I passed my favorite Shawarma shop, I realized that my days of walking through Copenhagen as a dumbstruck tourist are over. As in any city, there will always be new places to see, new things to learn, and secrets to be discovered. But I can now tell you how to get to the Norreport station (and pronounce it correctly); I know my favorite brand of yogurt in the grocery store; I can tell chicken from turkey just by reading the packages; and I can pick out my favorite street performers on Strøget. I may not know all the ins and outs of Danish transit but I know the rules of buying and using a ticket; I no longer need to convert everything from kroner to dollars; I know not to jay-walk; and I can use military time without my brain cramping up. I bring my own bags to the grocery store; I know where to return my bottles and cans; I no longer have to analyze my coins in order to hand over the correct change; and I am less afraid of getting hit by a bike. Of course, there is still plenty learn and lots to observe, but with 8 weeks behind me and 15 weeks to go I am happy to say that I am rather comfortable.

Skinder-woes

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The initially faulty internet connection, sticking doors, and awkwardly close quarters seemed fair dues to pay for the prime location and great company of living in Skindergade. Even the small ocean that has taken up residence in our bathroom and the frequent untriggered fire alarms seemed (almost) acceptable…and maybe even a touch endearing. But as light bulbs have burned out, black outs have displaced entire floors, and small waterfalls have made their way through our ceilings from the floors above us, our lenience has gone from genial to exasperated rather quickly.

In a way, maybe the trials and tribulations of Skindergade life are serving as a substitute to the obstacles faced by those with host families; while they are struggling with Danish dinner-table etiquette, we are wondering why you have to frequently dump water out of the dryer; or while they are maneuvering the intricacies of Danish environmental consciousness, we are attempting (and learning) to cook sans oven and with only an assortment of mismatched utensils at our disposal.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think anyone here would trade our living situation for anything. If being able to wake up at 8:23 and still make it in time to an 8:30 class isn’t enough, avoiding strikes on the bus lines and hour long commutes, having Copenhagen’s best entertainment at our fingertips, and the undeniably beautiful cityscape right outside our door leave us with little but superficial complaints. And, as I said before, being in good company makes Skinder-life all the better. Well past the stages of the inevitable freshman syndrome that comes from being in a new place with new people (where everyone hangs out with everyone simply because no one has anyone), we are still close as ever, sometimes more like a family than merely a group of friends. Our days are punctuated with early morning doggie piles, family-style dinners, and ongoing card games, movie nights, religiously followed TV shows, and mildly unsuccessful homework sessions.

Of course, along with our family-like bonds come family-like bickering, wrestling, and provoking (it’s not such a rare occurrence for those coming home at 4 in the morning to do whatever they can to wake everyone else up). The girls have done what they can to teach the boys the most basic of domestic skills and yet the ever-present mess in the kitchen has been a cause for verbal abuse (met with excuses that they’re used to living in a frat house) and Cinderella-like Sundays.

Naturally, I say this all in good fun and high spirits and I couldn’t feel more lucky when considering my living situation. These Skinder-woes can’t even be considered bumps in the road, just parts of this fabulous experience.

Everything looks different by sunlight

>After four weeks of cloud cover, yesterday’s sun brought warmth and a new light to the city that I have been getting to know so well. The already pedestrian-saturated streets were full of people slightly less bundled and slightly more cheerful; vendors and street performers seemed to have multiplied over night; and shops and cafes doubled their capacity by putting tables outside for those clearly anxious to shed their winter gear and make an early debut to the sun-bathing season (although it’s still a little early for that.)

And little did we know that this beautiful sun was setting the stage for a beautiful Valentine’s Day because as the sun warmed our skin, the Skindergade boys were setting up to warm our hearts. Us third floor girls had spend the week harassing the boys to plan something for Valentine’s Day, feeling that we had paid our dues in cleaning and cooking (as we have served as stand-in maids, mothers, and wives) and deserved some display of their affections, But, after meeting many protests at every mention of Valentine’s Day and many accusations that we were “ducking them” by not including them in our Friday night girls’ night, we approached Sunday with low expectations…which were soon to be exceeded. Thinking that, at the most, we might each receive a “blomster” (also known as a flower) as a toke of their affections, we were surprised to be to told to be in the kitchen at 3 o’clock sharp, making sure to remember our shoes, socks, coats….and blindfolds? So, sitting with scarves wrapped around our faces, we were informed that we were being sent on a scavenger hung and would shortly be receiving our first clue. We removed our scarves to find that it was not being delivered by the typical Hallmark cupid, but by two of the boys wearing nothing more than bright pink mankinis.

After nearly dying of laughter, here is what we read:
Clue #1:
Here’s a treat for our lovely ladies,
Don’t worry, this won’t lead you to an abandoned baby,
It’s a hunt for our love, you will find
Check your mail, if you don’t mind.

So…down the stairs we went and in our mailbox found:
Clue #2:
Our internet sucks, and that’s not cool,
The place you’ll be heading next is in school,
Take a walk, if you can,
Go to the place where our travel plans for the ‘dam began.

Easy enough…we trekked down the street to the DIS computer lab where we collected:
Clue #3:
Cheap wine is the way to go,
We always have fun and that’s fo’ sho,
Go to the place where our nights begin,
Buy some Vina Morena and dig in.

A little trickier, but we knew just where to go…the wine aisle of Netto, our grovery store of choice…and sure enough, hidden between the wine bottles:
Clue #4:
We all love to dance, we all know that,
The next place you’ll go is classy unlike our frat,
Put on your tutus and dancing shoes, too,
Go to this place and you’ll find your next clue.

Hmmm…this one almost deceived us, but only for a second…and off we went to the Royal Ballet where clue #5 was stuffed into a display case outside:
Clue #5:
Owen plus Vanilla Ice can be found dangling here,
Lace them up, have no fear,
The hunt is almost over, your presents away,
A line of stallions, we are your dates.

And as we skirted the edge of the skating rink that sat across the street from the ballet, we saw our boys sitting outside of a cafe; balloons, flowers, and champagne in hand. After giving hugs and toasts all around, we laced up and slipped and slid across the ice, surrounded by beautiful Copenhagen.

What a perfect Valentine’s Day.

I said brrr…it’s cold in here!

>Sooner or later I will have a post cataloging the top hang outs we have discovered since being here. But for now, I wanted to give a brief shout out to one hot spot, or cold spot, rather, that we visited Friday night; and that would be the Absolute Ice Bar in Hotel 27.

After night after night of going out in a group of about 20 of us, the girls decided to have a night (or at least part of a night) to ourselves. So we made reservations and found our way to the infamous ice bar, a bar made completely out of ice blocks harvested in the arctic. Kept cold 24/7, 365 days a year, the ice bar is a younger sibling to the famous Ice Hotel in northern Sweden, where everything down to the glasses drinks are served in is made out of ice. For a cover charge of 150 DKK, you get to spend 45 minutes in the ice bar, dressed in designer parkas. We had been told it was disappointing, but, being easily fascinated, we thought it was fabulous and had a fabulous time! (Especially after befriending the bartender and getting to spend an extra 45 chilly minutes.)

Of course, the boys were upset that we left them behind, so we met them later in the night to dance until 5 am…but the ice bar was definitely a great warm up, or cool down, rather, for the rest of the night.

It’s Worse than Parallel Parking

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Copenhagen is known to be one of the safest cities in the world. The high standard of living and low crime rate combined with the Danes’ friendly and honest nature gives the city a security that is very rare in today’s world. However, the streets of Copenhagen hold a surprising danger. And that would be bikers. “Look both ways before you cross the street” is a phrase we all had drilled into our heads from a young age, but what we were taught to look for was cars. Here, cars pose less of a threat to pedestrians than bikers who ride as aggressively as if they were driving a pimped out hummer.

Commuting is an integral part of life in Denmark where gas and car prices are outrageous due to high taxes, parking spaces are few and far between, and an environmentally friendly conscious leaves little tolerance for wasting natural resources. Along with a traditional public transportation system, a network of bike paths parallels every main road in the city. For Copenhageners, bikes are the new cars, and in many regards, they act as if is no difference between driving a car to work and riding a bike. Instead of tennis shoes and iPods, bikers are equipped with high heels and cell phones. Traffic rules apply. Bike models range from something like a one person coup to a family sedan, complete with an attached buggy for bringing the kids home from school.

Bikers are no pedestrians here, and just as you would never step in the line of an oncoming vehicle, Copenhagen gives you a heightened awareness of biking traffic. Stepping out into a street unawares of an oncoming biker will, at the least, entice a great storm of bell-dinging and Danish cursing; and, more than once, I have heard the stories of Americans who, slow on the uptake, have been in pedestrian-bicycle collisions.

May I introduce: Denmark.

>Here is my travel record thus far: Kiev, Copenhagen, Amsterdam…Århus? Never heard of it? How about Odense? Probably not…but if you were in Denmark, you would recognize these 2 cities as the second and third largest cities in Denmark; a deceiving statement, seeing as Odense’s population of 150,000 barely exceeds the American standards of a large town. But, after spending the past month traveling some of Europe’s capitals, it was about time to get to know my host country a little bit better.

Therefore, I set out with my fellow CMMers to take on Denmark’s wild west, embarking on a study tour to the peninsula protruding from continental Europe, also known as Jutland, and Copenhagen’s neighboring Island, Funen. We began our trip wet and bedraggled. Dragged out of bed at 7 in the morning to wait in the snow before climbing onto a bus for four hours did not leave us very presentable for our first visit to the the Danish School of Journalism in Århus where we were given a lecture about the academics of journalism in Denmark and the Danish approach to news journalism versus other European and American approaches. And by the time we finished our next lecture at Medietska Medier, a newspaper conglomerate of Danish local papers, where we heard the doomsday tale about print media for the second time that day, we were cramped, cranky, and ready to blow off some steam.

Thus, the thought of visiting the Åros Modern Art museum was not met with too much enthusiasm…until we were given a sneak preview to the not yet opened ‘Enter-Action’ exhibit. To say the least, I have very little knowledge of or appreciation for art, especially so-called ‘modern art’ (how is a canvas of blue paint art?)…and yet this exhibit not only caught my attention but inspired lots of ‘oos and ahhhs’ from my un-artsy mouth. Each ‘piece’ was more a marvel of creative technology than what one might consider art….but if this exhibit was a display of the direction that modern art is going in, then I expect that art museums will have to begin expecting a drastic increase in visitors. We got to meet the artists of all of the pieces, who explained their work to us (a very engaged audience with mouths hanging open and cameras at the ready.) One of the pieces, for example, consisted of 2 robotic wheelchairs who had emotions and were capable of interacting and even communicating with the audience. Another piece was a digitalized wall that flashed phrases taken from internet chatrooms at random (very cool, but at the same time alarming and somewhat creepy.) My favorite piece was a room lit by 300 lightbulbs, each flashing at the rate of a heart-beat taken from an observer.

That night was spent at a hostel in Århus, which we all compared to our experiences at summer camp. And though Århus is no København, we explored the city by night, eating some of the best burgers I’ve ever had and playing cards in a student bar with our trip leaders.

The following day began at Koldinghus, Denmark’s oldest castle and finished with a tour of TV2, Denmark’s prime TV station located in Odense, where we got to see a live broadcast of the 4 o’clock news. That night was also spent in a hostel, which was slightly more hotel-like than the previous one. The real exploration of Odense took place the following day on a 2 hour Hans Christian Andersen tour that walked us through all of the main sights of the town and finished at another museum (where we were much less impressed by the so-called modern ‘art’ on display.)

Needless to say, it was a very full weekend, and we all found that we were a little homesick for our home in Copenhagen. Arriving back at Skindergade and my Skindergade family was, needless to say, a wonderful homecoming and the trip helped me appreciate both Skindergade and Copenhagen even more than before. Nevertheless, it was very nice to meet you Denmark…now on to the next adventure.

Love story

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Right from the start, this semester is becoming a love story…between me and Copenhagen. (And very appropriately, the boys have adopted “Love Story” by Taylor Swift – which they scream at the top of their lungs at all hours of the day – as the theme song of the semester.) It amazes me that people here can walk through the streets as if they were passing nothing more interesting than white washed warehouses and cement parking lots. For me, every corner turned presents a photographic opportunity and I look at every building as if it were a sight to see. Even the nearly permanent ceiling of dreary rainclouds isn’t a purveyor of gloominess, but instead makes the city feel even more European. Already I know that I will never be able to do Copenhagen justice by trying to capture its essence in words or photographs. Living here feels something like a combination between coming home and falling in love. To say the least, I have a bad case of broken record syndrome, saying “I love this city!!!” every time I step outside. The cobblestones, fountains, green copper domes, bicycles, and statues that greet me as walk onto the front step are only a few examples of the many things that say “Todo, we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

Copenhagen is like the goose that lays golden eggs, a somewhat unexpected source of riches. Before I came here, I thought of Copenhagen as a city lacking in the grandeur of the “big” cities of Europe: Paris, Amsterdam, London… but in fact, its more of a well kept secret. Without the big name, Copenhagen has been preserved from the veneer of tourism that so often seems to cheapen travel. That being said, I have been a very successful tourist this past week, getting my fill of sight seeing (which requires no more than wandering with a camera) and shopping.

Of course, like in Kiev, I’ve made sure to get the full Copenhagen experience, nightlife included. Skindergade’s prime location has been a key facilitator in visiting several bars and clubs in the area, which are open and full every night of the week (Danes are big believers in drinking.) Because we’re so close to DIS, a lot of the places we go tend to be packed with Americans, but my roommates have applauded me on my ability to meet the only Danes in bars packed with Americans, which I do by seeking out and befriending the bartenders and club owners (not bad connections to have.)

I was sick this weekend with a cold and fever, which put a damper on my fun, but now my friend Jordan, who I went to high school with, is visiting before she goes back to school at St. Andrew’s in Scotland and luckily I’m healthy again and having a great time. But the highlight of Jordan’s visit is yet to come…we’re going to Amsterdam for the weekend with about 15 other people. (Oh I love Europe….when else can you say that you’re going to another country for a quick weekend trip?) But we have many more fun things planned before Friday, including ice skating in the middle of the city.

I would say, for being only a week in, not too shabby….

Culture shock? Not what you’d expect…

>As I prepared to study abroad, I received countless briefings on the dangers of culture shock. The pre-departure orientation seemed less of an orientation than a chance to scare us out of studying abroad, complete with dire warnings against parasite infested water and men with machetes. Of course, none of that really applies to Copenhagen, seeing as this is a city where people feel safe leaving their babies in their strollers outside as they have a meal in a restaurant and I’m pretty sure I’m safer here than I am in Minnesota. At this point, however, I feel like all of the warnings were for nothing. Maybe its because I’ve traveled a lot, or because I was in Kiev before coming to Copenhagen, or even because Denmark is not exactly exotic, but I seem to have skipped over culture shock completely…well, no, not completely. For me, the shock has not been against my American culture, but my Macalester culture. Because of where I live, I feel almost as if I am getting more of an “American college experience” here than I do at school.

To say the least, life has dealt me a great hand this semester. Other than the ordeal with the internet, I have no complaints. I am living on the fourth floor in Skindergade 40, a quirky building where everything – including the stairs, windows sills, and ceilings – is at a slant and everyone is prepared to have a good time. Only 2 minutes from the best shopping, bars, clubs, and (most importantly, of course) our classrooms, Skindergade is the envy of all unlucky students who have hour commutes. I share my apartment with 9 people officially, 6 girls and 3 boys, and 19 people unofficially (the 10 boys on the floor below us appreciate having nice girls who can cook on the floor above them.) We have very quickly become like a family, the 6 of us ladies serving as wives, mothers, sisters, girlfriends, etc. as we try to maintain some sort of order and provide the useful skills of cooking and cleaning (not without a price of course, we often get free groceries out of the deal.) After the first night when some of the boys from the floor below came up asking us how to boil pasta, we quickly fell into a routine of group dinners every night….which have all turned out delicious. So, here we have shock #1: living with people and eating somewhere other than a cafeteria.

One of the weirdest things to me (or perhaps I should say…most “shocking”?) is the number of “greek” people here. Now, I am not talking about Grecians, we have those at Macalester; I am talking frat boys and sorority girls. Take the floor below me, for example, which has been renamed “the frat shack” because 8 of the 10 guys belong to fraternities at their respective schools…a little bit different than Mac where a greek system would be very passionately rejected. Along with the greek people comes a greek way of life…including lots of parties, almost always on my floor. This of course, has been a great time and a great way to meet people, but I still am having a hard time learning the ins and outs of “greek life” (which comes with a very hefty vocabulary.)

Shock #3? Americans! Coming from a school where being a pure-blood American who speaks only one language is a rarity, finding myself amongst so many Americans is very bizarre. Not only can I pronounce everyone’s names (which are very straightforward…Jessy. Chris. Jeff. Megan.), I can have also have conversations without feeling bad that I don’t speak 12 languages and haven’t lived on every continent (but of course, no hard feelings Macalester…I love my internationals.) This, I should have expected, seeing as one of our pre-departure exercises was to think about all of the international students we knew at our school and then try to get to know some of them so that we would have experience with people from other countries…Well, if you’re at Macalester and don’t know people from other countries, I would have to guess that you have been locked in your dormroom and have really bad social skills.

My classes have thrown me for a completely different kind of loop…they’re huge! And by that, I mean they have 60 people. Yes, state school friends, you’re probably rolling your eyes at this, but the largest class I’ve ever taken had 45 people in it and was a physics lecture class. I have gotten used to classes with 20 people max, sitting in a circle facing each other having a discussion for an hour and a half. That’s another thing…it’s been awhile since I have seen so much of the backs of people’s heads. And not only are the sizes different, but I’m taking classes over completely different subject matter than I have for the past 2 years. Not that I don’t love learning about things like nationalism and genocide, but I it will be nice taking classes on things like advertising and corporations. And, maybe its a bit sad to be saying this, but I am so excited for tests! My brain will appreciate the break from 20 page papers. Shock #4: changing it up.

So am I culture shocked? Yes, maybe a little bit…but the Danes have had very little responsibility in that.

Paka Kiev! Hejsa Denmark!

>Internet at last! I’ve been in Copenhagen all week and and just now we’re being connected to the real world…barely. Every few minutes I hear one of my flat mates groaning as their connection fades out, slows down, or stops completely…so we’ll see if I get lucky.

A year’s worth of adventures have happened in the past week, and there’s no way that I can get it all down here, but I’ll do my best. I guess the best thing to do would be to backtrack and do a continuation of my time in Kiev.

During the last 3 days in Kiev, I had eaten pure lard, had full fledged body language conversations, butchered both Russian and Ukrainian, and destroyed my feet dancing until 6am in 4 inch heels.

If the first half of my time in Kiev was all about the history, then the second half was fully dedicated to experiencing Kiev’s social scene…and by that, I mean the nightlife. Thursday night, Ira took me out to her favorite club, Patipa, for its weekly R&B/Hip Hop night, where I was introduced to the European way of going out, which doesn’t conclude until around 5:00 or 6:00am (very unlike Minnesota where everything is closed by 2:00). Not only did we meet up with some of Ira’s old friends from school, but we managed to befriend an entire group of Nigerian rappers who wanted to make us mixed tapes the next day.

But, instead of taking them up on their offer, Ira and I spent Friday night hanging out at one of her friends’ apartments, which was probably my favorite night in Kiev. There, I was the only American and without any Russian skills, had to make due with gestures and random Russian words I learned over the week to communicate with the ones who didn’t speak English. Either way, everyone got a kick out of initiating me into Ukrainian culture and trying to teach me random Russian phrases, so nevertheless, it was a night full of lots of laughing.

The last day in started not at a church or a club, but at a shooting range. Where Ira showed me up by making about 95% of her shots, while I got laughed at by the Ukrainian instructor in Russian because I only made about 50%. Never having shot a gun before, I spent the whole time terrified that I would miss something between the instruction and Ira’s translation and wind up shooting a person rather than a target…I left the shooting range shaking…

Again, the night was full of dancing. But this time, it began at the ballet, where we saw the one act ballets of Carmen and Sheherezade. Not only was the dancing incredible, but the venue, the Kiev opera house, was breathtaking. Of course, we ended the night dancing at a 3 storied club called Arena with all of Ira’s friends. It was a perfect ending to an incredible trip.

With each day, I grew to love Kiev more . The buildings, the fashion, the night life, the language (every sign posed an alphabetic puzzle)…what’s not to love? I was asked many times “why are you here? Why would you come to Kiev?”…but despite the skepticism behind these questions, I loved every moment and will be returning again. (Plus, I made a promise to Ira’s mom that I would come back after taking some Russian…and I don’t want to break that promise.)