While I was in the States, I picked up a book called Culture Shock! Denmark to learn about Danish culture and etiquette. I was warned repeatedly that although the Danes are reserved and quiet, they are unabashedly honest people that enjoy dry, ironic humor. When I read this, I became even more excited about Denmark — the Danes seemed like my kind of crowd.
Throughout orientation week, DIS would reiterate the fact that the Danes are really quite honest.
“You’re just going to have to accept the fact that they’re going to be pretty un-PC,” one of the DIS orientation leaders said. “I still tell my Danish friends that they probably should never open their mouths in America.”
“Is it okay to hug them?” a student asked, as if we were talking about a petting zoo.
The orientation blinked and said, “Probably not…unless you know them really well. I mean, some of them don’t really like over-friendliness.”
That seemed a little ridiculous to me. I’m friends with some pretty forward and un-PC people, so it can’t be that bad. Plus, all the Danes seem pretty friendly on the train when I stupidly ask, “Is this going to Copenhagen?” every morning (even though it’s been the same train for a week now). And I was always taught to steer clear of stereotypes.
Either way, I was excited about meeting my new Danish friend that I had signed up for through the DIS Buddy System. The DIS program does everything to get Americans to culturally immerse themselves once in Denmark. In fact, if you’re in a housing situation with all DIS students, you are required to sign up for at least one cultural immersion opportunity.
“You don’t study abroad to just hang out with Americans,” one of the orientation leaders said. “You might as well just go home.”
Since I lived in an international højskole, I thought this would be a great way to meet Danes. After sending a few texts, my buddy and I agreed to meet at the Nørreport Station in Copenhagen at 3:00PM. I made sure I was there at exactly 3:00 sharp because the Danes are very, very punctual. And it is incredibly impolite to be either late or too early.
“You’re Sandie?” I heard a slightly accented voice say.
I immediately extended my hand and said, “Yes! Hello! Nicetomeetyou! How are you?!”
She smirked a little and said, “Hey, I’m [M.]”
Strike one. Too enthusiastic. I’m that American that is too enthusiastic and friendly. But hey, at least I was on time!
“So, why Denmark?” she asked with a raised brow, as we were walking toward cafe. “I mean, I love it here…but, I never would think that people actually want to come here.”
“Well, I study psychology,” I began my almost-rehearsed speech of why I chose Denmark over all the other wonderful European countries.
“Smoking or non-smoking?” [M] abruptly asked, when we walked in front of a black and white cafe with music posters all over the front entrance.
“N-non-smoking,” I said, uncertainly. Strike two, the Danes like to smoke. “But you can smoke if you want.”
She shrugged and said, “It’s cozy there.”
We ended up sitting in the non-smoking area because apparently, everyone else thought it was cozy in the smoking area as well.
“A lot of the DIS people said it’s hard to talk to Danes because they’re a little reserved,” I said. “So I’m glad we got to meet.”
“My advice?” she said, with a coy smile. “If you get ‘em drunk enough, they’ll be talking to you like you’re their best friend.”
M then ordered us chai lattes and a cookie. When we finally settled down, I began answering her initial question: Why Denmark?
“I’m a psychology major, and I thought it’d be cool to study positive psychology in the happiest country in the world,” I said.
M laughed and said, “I think it’s because Danes do whatever the fuck they want and don’t care. Remember the whole thing about the political cartoonist?”
“Yeah, you guys love freedom of speech more than the U.S.” I said.
M laughed and said, “Maybe we’re happy because of all the alcohol! Which reminds me, I need to draw you a map of all the good bars — do you have a pen and paper?”
I tried to steer the conversation away from alcohol, but she kept going back to it. At first I figured it was because she’s a bit younger than me, and most teenagers are always enthusiastic about alcohol. But for some reason, the conversation kept going back to the fact that the Danes are quite the alcohol enthusiasts. But… I’m here for a cultural experience! And maybe friendship bracelets! Not frat parties!
“Do you like beer?” she asked.
“I prefer vodka,” I answered honestly, since I didn’t see a point in the conversation where we wouldn’t talk about alcohol.
“Danes like their beer,” she said bluntly. “Only fourteen year old girls drink vodka!” She let out a small laugh.
I finally handed her a piece of paper, which ironically had my class schedule on the back. She roughly sketched out Copenhagen and pointed out all the good bars, in particular the bar she always goes to.
“You’re very mature for 17,” I commented.
“I’ve been told that,” she said coolly. “I mean I do try not to be like a blonde bimbo, who are like ‘OH MY GAWD, LOOK AT MY NEW SIDEKICK! HEEHEE’ Do you get that a lot in America?”
I burst into fits of giggles because of how forward she was — maybe most people would have found it rude to talk like this on a first meeting, but I found it incredibly refreshing. I loved that she wasn’t beating around the bush and painting the conversation with exhausting “small talk.”
I nodded and said, “It’s common for teenage girls to act that way, yeah.”
She laughed and said, “Denmark is just better, I guess.”
M went on to explain that her mother is actually American and she used to go to the States for camp every summer. When we left the cafe, she gave me a small tour of Copenhagen. We only walked through a couple of blocks around the city. But once we left the center of Copenhagen where I had memorized all the landmarks, I was lost. She began pointing all the good places to eat and drink, and she described everything as “cozy.” When I asked about the culture of “hygge,” M said that it basically meant “super duper cozy.”
“I noticed a lot of Americans don’t really have a sense of style,” she commented, when we walked through a strip of small shops. “You guys really like wearing sweats…why?”
“Erm — I think it’s because Americans like being comfortable?” I said.
“You wear that at the gym,” she asserted as she lit up a cigarette. “I don’t get it.”
We then passed by a square in front of the Hotel D’Angleterre, or as M liked to call it “the hotel for rich people.” She said that every year after high school graduation, people rent out a van, drive around Copenhagen, drink all day, and dance around the square at night.
“If you ask me,” M said. “I think we’re just very relaxed here… Americans are so serious and uptight! But who knows, maybe the alcohol really does make us happy.”
I laughed and shook my head. She was such a character — a little on the absurd end — but still a character. I’m almost certain that not all the Danes were like her, but I still loved and appreciated her unabashed honesty and quick wit. Her humor had a tinge of dark irony that made me laugh each time.
“So you thought I was a prude, didn’t you?” I asked.
She smirked.
“Yes, I was worried you’d be a prude,” she said honestly. “Because you’re American…and Americans don’t seem to like doing anything fun! It’s just so…cozy and relaxed in Denmark.”
After an hour or so of walking and talking in Copenhagen, we called it a day. I had to catch a train back to Helsingør for dinner, and she had to go home as well. When we were about to part ways, I extended my arm to her for a handshake.
But to my surprise, she pulled me into a hug.