The Arrival

Well, for starters, I'm alive. I've finally made it. After months of preparation, long mirror-filled pep-talks, and repetitive explanations of the Rotary Exchange Program, I've finally taken the leap into a foreign country for a year. My online presence has been mostly silent except for the occasional unflattering Snapchats and daily emails from my mother (shout out to Jayne Harding for her eternal love and commitment to finally agree to make a Skype account).

Copenhagen!

I've tried to let the Danish experience fully permeate my wellbeing before I took to the ol' blog. At first I promised myself I would write something a week after I arrived here. That turned into two weeks and then three. . . . and now I have buckled down for my one month anniversary in Denmark. Cheers.

I left the airport in Green Bay at 5:30 pm, waving goodbye to the tiny monopoly houses and even tinier Packer flags down below as I ascended into the sky. I was feeling both excitement and sadness for saying goodbye to my family but also for having my two sacred jars of peanut butter confiscated at security. I guess peanut butter is a clear red flag for plane hijackers. My first connection was at the Minneapolis airport where I met with the other Midwestern students headed for Denmark. The actual 8 hour flight to Europe sent my legs into a painful solidified state only compensated by the wide selection of movies and TV shows available on the six inch screen one foot away from my face (shout-out to Ryan Gosling for making the flight bearable in The Place Beyond the Pines. Also shout-out to Bradley Cooper for making me fall asleep for the second half of the movie).

Once I finally arrived and realized I would not have to recreate the first season of Lost through a deadly plane crash, I was overjoyed to arrive in the Copenhagen airport. Immediately I was overtaken by the sea of blonde. I made my way through the crowd of beautiful Scandinavians to find my luggage and meet the wonderful strangers who would be giving me food and shelter for the next three months. Fueled by four hours of sleep over the thirty hour span I had been traveling, my first host family greeted me with flowers and warm Danish smiles.

When people ask me the most drastic difference between Denmark and the United States, it is easily the swarms of the attractiveness that make up the majority of the population here. I think it has something to do with the drinking water. At first I would do constant double takes while walking down the street as I passed
another tall, thin, blonde, trendy, attractive Dane. Now I've grown used to it. Just another Alexander Skarsgård look-alike will pass me on a bicycle like its the norm'.

But that's another thing: BIKES.

Biking is huge here. Everyone bikes. You cannot be Danish if you don't bike. I swear that children come out of the womb on tiny infant tricycles, ready to make their first few peddles into the scenic Danish landscape. At the moment I am still trying to navigate the biking laws here- as well as getting used to the fact that pedestrians do NOT have the right of way, rather they should watch out for bikes. I am almost sure there are more bikes than people here.

As I babble on, perhaps I should cover the essential information on my exchange before I go in depth on the science of salty licorice (hint, that's big here).

I will be staying with three families; the first one living in the town of Dragør, an absolutely beautiful coastal fisherman village 10 minutes south of Copenhagen. Its beauty and European appeal is enough to make any non-local break into song as they walk down the cobblestone steps and through the tiny alleys of 17th century houses. The surrounding landscape is made up of humble farmland and suburban stretch. At times my bus route will evoke memories of the many fields and farms in Wisconsin but then I pass a church or village that transcends America's earliest buildings by 200 years. The history is abundant and I'm loving it. 

Dragør!

If you haven't caught on yet, the language they speak here is Danish (no, not Dutch, Dad). The best description of its linguistic beauty would be to imagine the Swedish Chef gargling a potato. Oh the sweet guttering symphonies of the Danish language. Luckily, almost everyone speaks English here which makes communication much more easier for me. Unfortunately but realistically, I will have to learn Danish. I did not move to a foreign country for a year to be cushioned by the English language. I wanted to challenge myself and make an effort in learning a new language. At the moment I am at a toddler level of communication, but even that is an overstatement. I have a few phrases and swear words up my sleeve but for some reason the moment never arises to use the Danish word for "potato" and various cutlery in conversation. Thankfully, smiling and nodding can get you a surprisingly far.

I am currently enrolled and attending Tårnby Gymnasium which is about 800 students more than Gibraltar. The biggest difference between the school systems in Denmark and the United States would be the greater overall freedom and consequently responsibility given to students here. If you want to leave class you can leave class, no questions asked. Students are responsible for their own learning and participation rather than having a teacher breathing down their back, making sure they are off Facebook. The classes are divided into "tracks" where you can choose between more interest-based classes. I am currently in the "Politics, History, and Media" track where I've mastered the art of pretending I can easily understand the lecture on Denmark's foreign policy methods in Danish while secretly crying on the inside. I'm still waiting for the morning I wake up totally fluent. Maybe I should put more Danish dictionaries under my pillow in hopes the knowledge seeps through my brain during my REM cycle.

One could liken me to a black bear during hibernation. I've never slept so much in my life or bumbled around clueless in public. In conclusion, this first month was a whirlwind of new experiences that have already changed my outlook on the world. I long for my sweet, sweet, American peanut butter (and the obligatory friends and family) but the licorice is almost as good. Until next time. 

Rainbow Panorama Magic in Aarhus