r o s k i l d e fr a ct io n s

day 9. kl. 4.00

to the left of the path boys are joyfully stacking dark blue air mattresses and diving into them. to the right a small group huddles around a makeshift table, fully stocked with scavenged bottles, a choir of amber, green, and crystal. music from someone's cell phone is playing. a couple nuzzles in the corner. spotting me, a girl motions to me with her hand - 'what will you have?' she asks me in what sounds like icelandic-danish. 'beer, wine, vodka, rum, or maybe bailey's?' i should have taken the night cap. i think back to my freshman year of college when paul from the room next door let me steal some of his bailey's every so often to sip it, on ice, before bed. 

in another world i take mouthfuls of the syrupy booze and dance with them on the air mattresses until dawn. in this world she is the bookend of my first festival, beckoning to me with her long hair, calling out to the whole grounds that it's last call, and i take nothing.

day 9, kl. 00.15

the power of the beatles is that it's 2015 and young girls still cry, overcome with emotion, when they get to go on stage and hug paul mccartney. i'm at the thai place overlooking the whole thing and we're wondering who will be the 70-year old of our generation who plays a three hour concert and still unites everyone in soft, singing tones to all of the old favorites.

we all wait for hey jude and our voices are timid at first but rise, waves, to match a familiar sea of lighters. the night is deliciously cold now. there's the couple in front of me kissing, young, and eager. there's the couple in front of me kissing, two men with hands in each other's pockets. there's the couple in front of me, kissing, gray hair and familiar smiles. there's the couple in front of me, kissing, reunited after the last few hours spent apart. there's the couple in front of me, kissing, both wearing shirts from the burger place. 

day 8, kl. 14.52

the drunk dane with tangled, beachy hair and sunburnt body rises from his towel every few minutes to ask us in horribly gutteral english what time you have and we negotiate with the fractions of an hour for a few minutes before he understands the concept of 14.45. we're curled up on one towel, three heads resting on one another, and you tell us that last night you and roar (oh, what a name) were sitting in one of the dream catchers when a drunk belgian decided to marry you because you looked so in love. he took out a lighter and melted his shoelaces together into rings, performed a short ceremony, and urged you to consummate your evening before declaring he would be the guardian of the dream catcher and be sure that no one would come in during the act. he passes out in front of the entrance for you.

day 8, kl. 3.29

this section of camp is destroyed, flattered 

the sky is light blue and

the party's somewhere because everyone's amped after kygo and the murmur of people is a background buzz, but here it's quiet, and only zombies roam the camp area, slowly sinking in the earth's floor. there are circles of boys passed out in chairs surrounding a spooning couple, a loving gesture frozen in time, not unlike pompeii bodies. most tents sing a choir of soft snores, each leading into the next, but sometimes the tents flap and wave and slap as couples moan softly inside. living with so many humans has never felt so incredible. the things we do at night, in private, are grouped together, stacked on top of each other, gathered, amassed, until you have thousands and thousands of individuals sleeping and drooling and snoring and fucking and cuddling under the stars. and you can tour this all and smile to yourself. 

admist the destruction a lone 16 year old, slumped in a chair, is guardian of this hour. he plays the slowest, saddest, and most off-key version of 'wrecking ball' you've ever heard on a recorder. i suppose it's the love song of his generation. it's sorrowful notes echo throughout the camp. one more day left.

day 6, 19.52

'my friend says he has something in my teeth, do i?' and then a trio of men that clearly have their act down introduce each other to us so smoothly we almost laugh. and they're really into shoulders, lending them to any girl around that has a desire to see the crowd. i'm up on one and smile at the girl next to me who is atop his friend. it's amazing to be above the crowd in the sunlight while kendrick performs. sea of arms in the air. the sheer massiveness of it all. 

day 6, 13.25

we only catch glimpses of the nøgenløb through the crowd, which has filled the hill above the track and has everyone craning their necks for some shot of bouncing skin that means it's started. it's a flash of flesh and over quickly. an old man with a sizable penis runs by and garners an 'ohhh' from the crowd for every lap. later on you'll hear that an old man with a sizable penis walked by the Tour de France camp drinking event, and everyone went a little quiet, and another time still you'll hear that an old man with a sizable penis was by the lakes and everyone was commenting, so you begin to wonder if he's the same guy, this pseudo-camp character.

10.30

Accidental mermaids line up in the sunlight, pour silvery water from buckets and bottles / bright tangles, scalp-sudsed fingers. They're not yet awake: toothpaste in a sandal. They swing at the waist: head diving, earthbound, hair crescendoing up and over, droplets flying. 

Or: they duck, and squat, and twist (these morning-eyed sirens) under a faucet. Soap bubbles on grass blades, it's well-practiced - hasty - fingers in crotches and armpits, between toes - 

/rinse once more for good measure

day 5, 2.30

goosebumps because it's finally cold. zipped up and slipped out of the tent. pot because you're finally alone. a glimpse of a naked figure surrounded by tendrils of smoke. eyes bright with happiness.

day 5, 11.30

jungle is good, jungle is so good. some camp held up a large, leafy plant as their flag and you followed them into the pit of the crowd, and you're both standing there next to an older, bearded hipster who keeps shooting you looks and offering swigs of shitty vodka from a plastic bottle. the look of a stranger with a knowing smile, the kind you can only find with music. and dancing, and dancing.

day 2, kl. 11.40

there are strong fingers on your waist and you're leading him through crowds with an assured smile. you kept smiling at him as the Norwegian rolled joints, and kept smiling at him as you lost your friends, and it's fire when you turn around and kiss him, and it's a beer by the lake and a last call with an old bartender who bids you good evening, beautiful, and a walk back to a tent and a crawl into a tight, cold, space where you're barely awake but there will be time to recollect thoughts in the morning. mouths breathing fog into the air. you're sure you end up talking about things too, but you can't remember. only how his hands roughly twisted the sides of your jeans and how every time you looked up at him he was smiling.

in new york, i realized:

I crave collision. I want to collide. I want to cross borders. I want to inhabit strange spaces. How to do this? First, take a plane to a foreign country. Land. Declare yourself an inhabitant. Begin under cover. Pretend. Scowl when your cover is blown. Shrink, adapt, mold. Wear a lot of black. Do not speak so much, or smile. Dissolve. Despair.

Second act. Declare yourself an immigrant. Not visitor. Not stranger. Dissolve the cover. Smile. Laugh. Talk loudly - sometimes. Make connections. Make yourself uncomfortable. Make others uncomfortable. Relish this feeling. Relish the feeling that others will other you, because you are easier to swallow as an other, sexier, more interesting. It's when they begin to realize that you might be just like them that you lose your sheen. It's when you begin to realize some people will sap you of your stories and your humor and your otherness and feed off of it until they're full, that you move on

Louisiana in wintertime

In summertime, Louisiana is sprawling green and sparkling blue / the sound a moat / an ivy-covered wall / glass mirrors, sharp angles, strange stones, tangles of leaves

In wintertime, Louisiana is a fortress / Slippery stairs to angry, battered shore / foamy white waves and wind eager for a chance to slap you in the face.

You might catch a man, all pale and trembling nude, slip into the water, and turn away in disbelief.

'We're a tiny, unimportant, insignificant place. And that's what makes us so great.'

Our Cross-Cultural Communication class recently had a guest speaker who is a fairly well-known anthropologist here in Denmark. He is a Dane that studies other Danes. He published a book recently aimed at discussing cultural communication in the business world and personal world. Originally directed towards Danes on interacting with different cultures, a version has since come out in English that is directed towards different cultures that may interact with Danes in the professional world or even while abroad.

A fairly large portion of the book talks about Danish values and other cultures in the context of Geert Hofsteede's dimensions of culture.

The tribal context is a dangerous one, I feel, because Danes are quick to apply certain values that clearly do not apply to anyone outside of the tribe. They can be incredibly open and yet incredibly closed, depending on the situation.

Here are two important points that stood out to me:

1. Don't ask why, but rather...

-What will happen if I do this? What will happen if I don't do this?

-Have you noticed me doing anything you find strange?

-What are you doing? When do you do it?

2. Don't approach another culture with your own culture's frames.

Generally, Danes don't talk in public unless very much promoted to. The levels of small talk and general 'neighbor-ness' are quite low. I've observed even in situations of trouble (someone dropping a grocery bag, or falling off of a bike) Danes are a lot less likely to sustain prolonged, engaged contact with others.

The first four months I spent in Denmark I observed these cultural values through the lens of my own culture, and my conclusions were thus: Danes are rude, they are cold, they don't care about others, they are only concerned with themselves and their direct acquaintances.

However, as I began living here for longer, I learned about the Danish cultural values that inspire these behaviors.

Mainly: whereas Americans think it respectful and friendly to engage with others in public, Danes find it respectful and friendly to leave people alone in public. Therefore, they are happy to talk if engaged with ('I need help!' 'I have a question!' 'I love your dog!') but they will not go out of their way to engage, unsolicited. It's just...not as respectful. People want to be left alone! They need their personal space and time! A Dane even described to me the feeling of public embarrassment when they drop a grocery bag or fall off a bike, saying, 'I'd really rather no one make a big deal out of it and rush to help me with other people. Unless I'm extremely injured, it's more embarrassing to draw attention to what I've done - I can manage on my own, thanks.' 

So there you go. The 'why' should always come early on in contemplating behavior and cultural norms.

A final note on cultural values - through language

When I studied abroad in Denmark, I began to notice an interesting little shift in language, especially as it was used in print ads. Two of my favorite things in Denmark – beer and cake -had something in common: they were each touted as “probably the best” of their kind. There was a huge Carlsberg billboard located in the middle of Copenhagen that was dark green and said simply, “Probably the best beer in the world.” My favorite up-scale Danish bakery, La Glace, notes on its rather formal website that it is the “oldest and probably best confectionary in Denmark”.

Probably the best? Huh?

I found the International Advertising class that I took in Denmark fascinating, because it was as much about anthropology, humor, and culture as it was about business proposals and international brand mergers. I thought I might be an Anthropology major in college. I loved learning about communication, values, and difference.

In IA we learned about Geert Hofstede, a Dutch researcher renowned in his studies of cultural organization, management, and economics. In the 60′s and ’70′s he conducted a global survey that resulted in his famous cultural dimensions theory. There are five dimensions that make up the theory, and they are: power distance, masculine/feminine, uncertainty avoidance, individualism, and long term orientation. Each country is ranked according to the five dimensions, and the resulting data has become very important for cross-cultural communication and business. It’s also very interesting when used to study ads. Granted, these models are cultural generalizations, so take them as such.

An example of how a country might do on some rankings is as follows:

Nordic countries score low for masculinity: A culture that scores low on masculinity places more emphasis on relationships & quality of life and less on competition. Gender roles are more fluid.

Nordic countries score low on power distance: A culture that scores low feels more “equal” with those in power and does not shy away from engaging or critiquing those in power

Nordic countries score low on power distance: They are okay with ambiguous situations, more open to change, do not depend on excessive rules and laws for stability

Danish interaction as a whole is known for being very humble and low-key. Definitely not overly competitive. I remember my Danish professor telling me that there is a joke that most famous Danes have had to leave Denmark to become famous elsewhere before they can become popular at home, because the culture de-emphasizes the singling out of individual successes.

Therefore, the Carlsberg & bakery language made sense. To this American it was funny, quirky, and sounded a bit valley girl “Oh yeah, that’s like probably the best thing I’ve ever had,” or even a product that second-guesses itself, but I realized that it was a humorous yet culturally appropriate take on asserting one’s product is good while not claiming best.

Stumbled out of bed, ran a sweaty hand across my face, stood in front of the fridge door in my underwear and decided it was time to make soup this Sunday morning. The first onion I sliced quickly turned to acid in the air. I was lazy. I hacked haphazardly at a few onions with one hand, occasionally using the other to rub my eyes, but mainly let myself cry. Scooped up the peices, threw them into the pan. Washed my knife. Tears subsided. Added spices, let it sweat. Pumpkin came next. Coconut milk. Carrots. Swirls of steam. A patient 45 minutes. Whirled together with a hand blender, a red stain sprinkle of paprika on top. Bliss.

Head to the mirror 1.5 hours later and I've been a walking Clockwork Orange figure for most of the morning. Oops.

norway

And at once I knew I was not magnificent
Strayed above the highway aisle
(Jagged vacance, thick with ice)
And I could see for miles, miles, miles

the sky dips into the tornedalen as easily as a paddle

and the fields weren't just fields - there were stalks, too, individual plants, woven and shining, curlicues, branches, colors, and the whole thing was a pattern and the whole thing spoke to me, telling me of a wealth that cannot be measured and is often overlooked.

shedding skin where ever i step, it seems. it prickles. rapidly multiplying angles poking up. a sheaf of myself, copies are floating to the floor and dissolving in the rain. or swept up by the wind and carried out - to sea, to sand, to sky. tremble at the thought of my own potential but still find it beautiful to cower with gratitude. bow and be free. 

there are three things you can count on in the kitchen of the yellow house at the end of the road in overtornea. one, that she'll be at the stove, stirring gluey grød or salty chunks of dark moose meat. elsewise she'll shuffle to the fridge to take out the tin box and slowly run her thickened fingers over the wax paper that's carefully tucked over and under moist slices of cake, kept like treasure. two, that he'll be sitting near the window, hand tucked just above the slight curve of his belly, with eyes that are impeccably bright for ninety-five years of age. he'll ask time and time again if you survived the night, if you survived the cold, the mosquitos, the rain. he'll pepper his swedish with a finnish twist, though you can't understand either, you'll respond with blushes, smiles, the occasional danish, and he'll chuckle heartily at you in the same way he does with news of visitors, the feminist party on tv, and an ipad. ninety-five and the world's a bemusing thing. three, the old metal percolator's on the counter, hot to the touch and ever-filled with bitter black kaffe. it fills little white cups and you find your tongue flowing with words, spirits perked. if you drink it like an american, which you do, you'll be repaid for emptying the percolator with black sludge. here they tuck white lumps of sugar behind the teeth, and you do the same, rasping the roof of your mouth as you suck them dry as bone, to crumble.

silvery skin drips from the knife's edge as they prepare pink, salty slices of home-cured lax, or scoop white tubs of frozen purple blueberries from the freezer. cloudberry preserves to top your bread, tart and orange, like fish eggs. prized halvtorn, puckery day-glo orange jam. buttery swirls of cinnamon and yeasted dough crowned with white pearls of sugar. stalks of rhubarb melt into cream. spring potatoes, yellow and soft. eggs with roe paste.

everyone is restless here, for work sweetens the sleep. the mosquitos too, their whining crescendos straining in the air. intermittent slapping and black dot corpses fall to the ground, but are easily replaced by second, third, infinite waves of lazily dancing yet persistent brethren. wherever they land, welts spring from shoulders, toes, knee caps. you can cover yourself in a poison cloud of deet, rub tar on your skin, scream, sweat - you'll still bear the mark of brutal love, kisses swelling on eyebrows, cheeks, shins.

northern sweden, five years later.

the importance of vacation

Hi. Can I come stay at your summer cabin? There's no running water. There are walls to paint and weeds to mow and lots of sleep to be had. And this is okay, because now I understand that re-setting is essential.

The general US structure assumes that aestheticism is useless. It believes that workplaces should be little boxes of misery, that workers don't need natural light and open space and creative urging, that putting time, money, or effort into these is a waste. And why would we need a break, then, either?

I didn't have running water, we barely had electricity, and I certainly didn't have internet. I was lucky enough to have some semblance of an outhouse (really just a fancy little wooden hut with a wooden toilet seat built over the ground, with composting birch chips to pour over when you were done). We lived close to a town on the mainland and had a fridge, and a garden with some rhubarb, so this was certainly not an Into the Wild type setting, but it was just enough to force me to remove my normal daily motions.  I slipped into a more normal sleeping pattern, growing tired in the early evening, and rising early. There would be conversation when there needed to be and silence when everyone just needed silence. You could slip away to nap or be by yourself, and we decided whenever we grew hungry or tired or too sweaty, soothing our needs with communal meals, saunas, and nighttime conversations next to wood-burning stoves.

I helped scrape the summer house and paint it - that was our big job. One day we took a boat out and explored the river Tornedalen. Many times we spent at the grandparent's house, with a collection of family members and neighbors that would stop by for impromptu coffee, lunch or dinner. We'd watch some World Cup and relish their television for an hour or two. We'd take long saunas and I read more books than I've read combined in the past year.

We let impulse take control. We ate simply when we lacked energy. More often than not we cooked slowly and deliciously, lots of little bites and tastes from leftovers combined with newly cooked dishes. Cloudberry jam, a pink sliver of salmon, half of a tired avocado, grilled halloumi cheese, skewers of vegetables, creamy cooked buckwheat dotted with the purple stains of blueberries, a salty chunk of moose meat on the side of a simple salad. Water tinged with the taste of window-grown mint, or currant leaves.

raw strawberry almond squares

raw strawberry almond squares

crust: 3/4 cup dried unsweetened coconut flakes, 1 & 1/2 cups almond flour, 1/8 cup tahini, 1/2 cup pitted soft dates, 1/4 cup water, 1/2 tbsp cinnamon

(combine with a food processor until you get a crumbly ball of dough. press into baking tray (8x8 max)

topping: 1 cup strawberries, 3/4 cup soft pitted dates, 1/3 cup water

(combine with a food processor and spread over the crust. freeze. top with sliced figs!)

tahini cups

September with its rush is here. The energy of all things new and things beginning. The bike lane is full again - almost dangerously so. People are once again urgent, whizzing past with less patience, headfirst into the slanted sunlight. The sunlight's still here, sometimes. Yet the water-side spaces where merely a few weeks ago citizens and tourists alike packed themselves onto blankets and benches to sweat in tandem are now empty. There's a chill, and the beginning signs of fall coats, and brown, dark blue, and black - always black, more black. The rain has come and stayed a little bit too long. The streets flooded in parts of Copenhagen this past weekend. Sunday was 24 hours of dark clouds and rain-soaked windowsills. 

raw tahini cups with coffee cream 

ingredients:

shell: equal parts tahini and coconut oil

filling: 1 part strong brewed coffee, cooled & 2 parts raw pitted dates (the super soft kind)

make:

stir tahini and melted coconut oil together. pour half into the bottom of muffin tins, or tiny cup tins - whatever you have lying around that will give you the vague 'classic peanut butter cup' shape. place in refrigerator for 10 minutes, or until hardened.

use a blender, food processor, or hand blender to combine the coffee and dates into a uniform paste with no chunks. remove tins from fridge, spoon a dollop of filling onto each cup bottom. spread out but do not go all the way to the edge, otherwise your cups will end up more like little sandwiches as mine did.

use the remaining shell mixture to cover each cup. return to the refrigerator for 15 minutes. enjoy but remember: they will melt quickly if exposed to heat, so store in the freezer and enjoy pretty immediately after removing.

lately

my sister's favorite spot when she came to visit in july - this multi-space in inner nørrebro developed out of an un-used street corner and contains a sunken basketball court as well as skateboard surfaces. it can be turned into an auditorium with side seating, and on a nearby building they've painted a white screen for cinema-showings.

sohn came to vega and he was amazing. his voice was even better live - crystalline, pure, reverberating, trickling up and down the scale, and the sound behind him was so full, completely overtaking everything. the lights were just as much a part of it, and the smoke, and the whole thing made me want to close my eyes and be alone in the space.

brunch with friends is always a component of a perfect weekend.

one of my favorite cafes made this for me when i began to come down with a cold the other week. matcha and a ginger and apple shot. paired with wired, which i didn't really end up reading as i realized i had gotten to the cafe early to sit down and witness what was the first day of school for many kids in copenhagen. a flurry of bikes, parents with children, and grandparents walking their grandchildren to school. kids skipped by me and said hello to some of the other regulars on the bench, who were starting their morning with coffee and a cigarette. i eavesdropped in on this moment. it was delicious.

some eatin' in stockholm

8t8 swedenborgsgatan 1

this cozy health food grocery store slash cafe has organic fruits & vegetables, condiments, chocolate, spices, teas, grains, alternative proteins - the list goes on and on. they offer a large collection of raw snacks, including chocolate, snack bars, and crackers.  slices of raw carrot cake and raw energy balls, tropical mango chia seed pudding. a rotation of noodle & salad bowls five ways, tried the rice noodle salad with curried tofu cubes. it was topped with seaweed, sprouts, and came with a wonderful dressing. the best part was that they accommodated my love of spice and brought out a basket with oils, red pepper flakes, and other asian condiments. do not miss out on the freezer full of lily & hanna's rawfood ice cream. 

hermans vegetariska restaurang fjällgatan 23b

a vegetarian stockholm classic. they offer discounts for students so you'll see a lot of young people eating at this all-you-can-eat vegetarian buffet. sit outside and you're treated to one of the best views of stockholm, overlooking the harbor area. (should normal seating prove not relaxing enough, they have hammocks, too.)  well-seasoned dishes that span a variety of cuisines - mediterranean, indian, italian, etc. they have a variety of vegetarian and raw desserts including cakes, cheesecake, muffins, energy balls, cookies, and bars. visited the fotografiska museum afterwards: it's open late and is located just down the stairs from hermans. 

drop coffee wollmar yxkullsgatan 10

delicious small batch roasted coffee (micro-roast?) near mariatorget. you can get a tasting flight and sample several of their bean varieties. there are a few choice seats outside for people watching and maximizing summer sun, if you can manage to snag one amongst all of the strollers. inside is light, airy, and open - the perfect place to do some reading and watch the talented staff - it is an art form here. light sandwiches and food available as well.

ecobaren @ centralbadet drottninggatan 88

you'll find ecobaren tucked into a leafy green courtyard alongside centralbadet, one of stockholm's oldest bathing houses. take a seat outside or in, and you'll probably be surrounded by relaxed spa-goers in white robes sucking down smoothies. organic drinks and homemade juices as well as a variety of salads, classic scandinavian plates, raw entrees, and warm dishes for those that want more substance. 

i know places

There's so much to say. I've seen a lot recently. I accompanied a class to an open prison, prepared for a student drag and burlesque show, co-led an outdoor tour to southern Sweden, and will be attending Eurovision this coming week.

For right now, the best moments lately have been the quiet ones, where I'm surrounded by stillness and natural colors and subdued beauty. I went to Dyrehaven (the royal deer park) and the Kullaberg peninsula and marveled at how my body and self seemed to welcome this different environment.

meatballs?

before

one week i'll watch food, inc, and get really grossed out by the thought of meat, and won't touch it for two weeks or so. then i'll get really hungry, and start to crave it. another week i'll get lazy and cheap and won't buy it for a week or so. then i'll start to get excited about cooking with it. never-endingly complicated relationship with meat, partially forged from the remnants of my misguided attempt at vegetarianism for a few years, followed by the health realization that i couldn't really eat red meat, followed by moving to a country where pork and fried pork fat and pork meatballs and beef tenderloin are what's up.

rolled out

best meatballs i made recently contain:

800 g ground chicken/turkey/beef/whatever you will, 150 g of tomato paste, generous pinch of salt and pepper, two large eggs, 3 small onions and 2 stalks celery, chopped, curry powder, paprika, a bit of cayenne to taste, 4 diced cloves garlic, 1 tbsp olive oil, 1 tsp white vinegar. 

done

directions: 

mix with hands, roll the size of golf balls, and either fry or bake in the oven, 230 degrees celsius, for about 20-25 minutes.

i even made these in my microwave oven. tiny kitchen pride.

meatballs are quite flexible. traditional danish frikkadeller are made a certain way, but it's fun to experiment with different flavors: tomato and curry, lime, chili and red onion, green apple and maple, etc.

eating, reading - easter

danes are what I would call 'culturally religious' rather than 'religiously religious'. True, Denmark has a state-sponsored church, but there is very little overlap between church and state compared to the types of conversations we have in the US. In terms of daily life, the very religious seem to be a minority here. We do get a lot of official days off, however, as a result of this cultural religiousness. Thursday, Friday, and Monday were all official calendar days off, so most of the shops have been closed this whole time.

I love the types of conversations you get in to when you don't break the moment for yourself or others. There's a real art to conversation. A few of us from my language class chatted after dinner yesterday about the concept of hygge when examined in an anthropological setting and we were discussing some of the 'features' if you will, of hygge. some had to do with conversation. what comes to mind is organicism and balance. no agenda. no set desire or end goal. no overtly political or religious or pointed topics. every has an open mind to what the conversation is and can be - and is flexible. people can let go. everyone is able to speak and no one dominates the conversation, but at the same time everyone is invested and supportive of the environment. my host family and i lived together for four months and you can bet there were times where no one knew what to say or had something to say all of the time, but eventually we settled into this place where silence wasn't something to fear. we even talked about how silence is seems as something to be avoided when interacting with people (cue the american concepts: awkward silence, awkward turtle hand gestures, breaking the silence) but it can be a natural pause or reflection point in a conversation without someone rushing to fill the space. Technology use is starting to scare me and perhaps I'm a total old lady on this but I get slightly frustrated every time I see someone taking out their phone during a good conversation. it does break what everyone is trying to create.

writing, reading

i was watching family guy - we only get three tv channels here in the apartment and french news is not my thing - and there was a conversation along the lines of 'in the future you don't take vacations to places in the world in the present. you time-travel.' how ripe for a short story is that?!

graywolf press (where i spent some time as an intern last year) published the empathy exams by leslie jamison and i can't wait to read it. her writing excites me in a way i haven't experienced recently. there are two pieces of hers that can be found here, the first a short story and the second an essay:

quiet men and grand unified theory of female pain

how can i lose my sense of wonder?

today was:

the fragile, split-second feel of yet another bike encounter that left me shaken and smiling

it's windy out, the cliche but familiar and comforting smell of freshly cut grass is a new addition to my commute, and the wind blows my skirt across my knees, i reach down with my left hand to smooth it, the guy next to me has his headphones on and - maybe he wasn't paying attention, maybe the wind gave him a gentle nudge, probably a bit of both - his handlebars lock into mine - i gasp, but my left hand's stuck in my lap and i feel myself begin to swerve but my split-second reflexes (where did these come from?!) mean that my right hand pulls my bike back and i grab onto the guy's arm for dear life with my left. i don't let go until i'm good. 'shit!' he says, removing the headphones. 'sorry!' in english. we meet again at the red light 30 feet down the road, my heart-rate is practically tripping over itself, trying to process. 'shit,' he says again, shaking his head. 'i'm sorry.' english - the language of apologies. i smile and shrug. it'd be a different ending if it had ended differently, but, you know, this morning it turned out alright. 

an email from the faculty whom I went abroad with in the spring of 2011, written in his short, measured style, and it felt like a warm hug, happiness that will spread through my being slowly and last with me for at least a day or two

and in part it felt like a call to arms, as i pored over some of the photography done both in his classes at carleton and while abroad. at times i hated going abroad with a camera. to me it signaled Tourist, Student, someone who Did Not Live Here. i tried to conceal myself and my camera when i was out, tried to become invisible. most days, i believe i lacked the energy and confidence to achieve full potential.

and yet, when i took the damn thing out, i invariably almost always got a great shot, and the resulting endorphins made me feel like a lion on the hunt. and yet, when i took the damn thing out, what resulted was greater contact with my environment. conversations with strangers, foreigners, locals. smiles. a feeling of belonging. most times it's a door, not a wall.

oh, we vacillate between photography capturing the only true moment and photography completely obscuring the true experience of the moment, and i did too. what if i don't remember the place, and can only construct my memories in photographs? but what if i don't push myself to capture my space in the world in the way that only i can?

i need the camera right now. i live here. i've saved 9 months of memories, anyway. copenhagen is both going nowhere right now and over in a second.  and i have 9 months to go. i can give in to photography. it's scary when you begin to pick it up again, after sliding into a cozy, black-clad existence where the slight language understanding and attention to dress means you don't stand out as much, and you wear it as a little badge, but how favorably i look upon those three months when everything was processed through a lens, and i both hid behind it and brandished it.

old favorites

From top left, starting with the first row: sea buckthorn & hazelnut grød (porridge) at GRØD, soy latte at Cafe Cortado, which overlooks a busy intersection and makes for great people-watching in the summer, beautiful Cafe Agnez is just across the water in Malmo and offers homemade vegan & vegetarian fare (including these delicious desserts), Lakagehuset never fails to come through with cakes & pastries, Cafe Gammel Torv has classic, well-presented Danish smørrebrød, and Next Door Cafe - juice, coffee, sandwiches, & the best vibe.

some things to keep in mind when learning a language/danish

1. stand your ground when using said language in the real world

it's becoming more and more of a (langauge-learning) privilege to go to a place where absolutely no one speaks even a little english. danes speak english very well. therefore, they'll want to default to english when you mess up while practicing danish. don't back down. be polite, perhaps explain you are trying your danish out, add a smile, and keep on keepin' on.

2. ...and this is easier when you start with the local language right off the bat.

trying out a new language involves confidence and a bit of acting. i have to resist the temptation to preface my conversation with, 'okay, i'm going to try this in danish' because in some twisted way it seems more polite to me to warn others of the struggle bus that is about to go down. but the fact that i even view this as 'struggling' when i in fact should have the confidence to speak a language i do know a little of is telling. jump into it. if you mess up, avoid the urge to abandon ship.

3. when it comes to danish, speaking really quickly and slurring your words slightly will work in your favor.

danish is a weird mouth gurgle language. you'll hear even danes asking other danes 'hvad siger du?' (what are you saying?) when you do speak danish, it helps if you speak it quickly and mumble a little bit. chances are they'll understand you better than if you took the time to carefully pronounce every word correctly. simply throw your best jumble at the barista, stand back, and smile with a patient but expectant look as you wait for the chicken sandwich you just ordered (or was it a kitten?)*

4. it's better to ask 'what do you say in this scenario?' than 'how do you say ____?'

I hit a breakthrough in my mental language learning process when i realized that it is pretty much worthless to try to translate your culture's sayings and phrases into another language. for a while i asked my language teacher, 'but when someone does this in the US, we say &&&, for example. so how do you say &&& in danish?' he would try to translate it, but ultimately told me 'well, in denmark you wouldn't say that, you would actually just say ###.' avoid the mindset of translating everything from your language and culture so literally. throw that out the window. just take the time to learn what you do or say in scenarios within the new language and culture.

5. be ridiculous.

the only way you'll get better and feel comfortable saying everything in practice is to practice out loud. practice with whatever you got. in my language class we have different vocabulary and phrase themes. sometimes this is great, such as when we learned how to order food. sometimes it is random, such as when we learned all these medical/sick terms that i'm not sure i would feel comfortable admitting to someone in english, much less danish.** i still tried to use these phrases with my roommate and some of my co-workers. pretend you have a stomach ache and talk about it. comment on someone's shoes. make up a conversation about a blizzard in march for no reason. just keep talking.

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*chicken is kylling. kitten is killing. to the untrained ear, these sound very familiar.

**with every module you learn, however, more aspects of danish life open up to you. thanks to my newly-learned medical terms, i was able to understand when the man on the regional train went into graphic detail about his drunk friend's session with the toilet the past Saturday!

cross-cultural humor

a British joke concerning Germans

(must be told in the most ridiculous German accent you can muster)

a german couple had a baby and became worried because, as time passed, the baby did not say a single thing. it didn't utter a first word. it would not speak. four years passed, and one morning, at breakfast, the toddler pronounced:

'deez egg tastes like shit!'

the parents were elated. they called family and threw a celebration. finally they asked, 'son, why did it take so long for you to speak?' and the child said:

'everything else so far has been perfectly satisfactory.'

a real Danish story that illustrates Danish sense of time

recently i went over to the apartment of a brazilian woman in my danish class, who has a danish husband. we got on the subject of cultural sense of time. she told me that about a year ago she was having trouble with something in her life and wanted to talk about it, so she called her husband's sister on a sunday. 'i'm really struggling with this,' she said to her sister-in-law, 'and i'd like to talk to someone.' 'you know,' said the sister-in-law, 'i don't have anything planned two wednesdays from now! why don't you come over in the evening?' 

not rude at all, just danish.

most - not all - Danes are sticklers for both timeliness and planning. don't be late to a danish gathering. set your watch early. take the early train. don't arrive too early, either. just arrive on time.

when i was a student my danish host family had a relative that had married a woman from south america. they always joked that it was funny because her culture's sense of time had rubbed off on him, even though they live in denmark, instead of vice versa. 'and now,' they lamented, half-jokingly, 'he NEVER comes on time to anything!'