Jul without a julefrokost

If I had a krone for every time I heard someone talk about the importance of attending a julefrokost in order to socially integrate in Denmark, well, I might not be rich but I’d probably have enough money to buy a cafe latte in Copenhagen. While I wasn’t fortunate enough to score an invitation to a julefrokost this year (probably because I don’t have a ‘proper job’ yet, as my mom would put it) I still can’t help wondering what it is about this event that makes it so essential in Danish life.

Naturally I’m not referring to the actual Christmas day lunch, but to the traditional Christmas office parties taking place throughout December. One website with information to foreigners on Denmark describes these events as a ‘unique chance to see the native Danes at their most Danish’ – apparently the event consists of the Danish staples of social events, which means long-winded speeches, cheerful (and as mentioned in my last post, somewhat dorky to the foreign eyes) song-singing, and of course – lots of drinking. All of which can probably be summed up as the essence of ‘hygge’ and all of which I’ve experienced before at social and family events in Denmark.

I’ve always felt that social events in Denmark are quite telling about the Danish culture since they appeared to be rather different from social events I had experienced elsewhere, especially in the number and length of speeches and songs (I’m still not quite sure what the deal is with all those songs). The sheer duration of the events themselves is also quite shocking to the initiate. The above-mentioned website describes it well: ‘The Danes have a remarkable ability to sit at a party table for hours on end, practising an extreme, and possibly inherited form of bladder control’.

But it appears that the julefrokost stands out from other Danish social events, especially in two ways: the amount of alcohol consumed (the website calls the event ‘a party where the Danes gather to eat and drink themselves into a frenzy of Christmas cheer’) and the, how shall we put it, ‘friendly’ behavior displayed by employees (referred to as ‘employees are expected to let their hair down’ by the website). Stories from friends mention frequent physical activity among co-workers and sometimes even with bosses. This sounded quite familiar to me – I’ve experienced it before in London.

One of my first shocks in London when I moved there years ago was the somber and unsocial office work environment (anyone who’s experienced the English work tradition of lunch equaling a sandwich eaten hastily at one’s desk in front of one’s computer, would know what I’m talking about). The shock got greater when during my first office Christmas party I witnessed all my colleagues becoming extremely friendly and social under the influence of alcohol, the contrast with the normal day-to-day behavior being so stark that it brought Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde to mind. I’ll never forget coming home that night and telling my partner that I discovered my colleagues did in fact have a social personality and that everything would now be different at the office. Sure enough, the following Monday there was no trace of that night’s behavior and the day-to-day routine went straight back to its depressingly unsocial former self.

The stories I hear of the Danish julefrokost, with its extreme warm and social behavior by co-workers followed by a chilling return to the office code on the following Monday, sound strangely similar to my London experiences. I say strangely, because in London I blamed the typical English reserve and politeness for the change of behavior from ‘everyday distant’ to ‘Christmas party night warm’. In Denmark I always felt people were direct and honest (not to say uninhibited) as a general rule – why then do they also seem to change their behavior drastically under the influence of alcohol at the office Christmas party? Surely in their case there’s not such a great need to ‘let go’ and ‘lose one’s inhibitions’ as in the case of the English?

Perhaps the conclusion is that the Danes are not as much ‘themselves’ in the office environment as I had always thought, and that therefore they do in fact have a need to let their hair down during the Christmas party. Or maybe the Danes, just like the English and so many others, simply enjoy getting drunk and frisky with their colleagues one night a year. I’ll probably only be able to answer the question if and when I ever join a ‘typical’ Danish office environment and attend a typical julefrokost. Meanwhile I can find comfort in the fact that I’m not the only one missing out on a julefrokost experience this year – a Danish friend working for a ‘proper’ company told me their party got cancelled this year due to cutbacks, and apparently they’re one of many companies to do so. It sounds like this year many Danes will have to find another opportunity to let their hair down…

Wanted: readers with a sense of humour

Reading some of the comments to my first couple of blog posts on Politiken got me thinking about a question I often hear discussed among foreigners in Denmark: do the Danes have a sense of humour? At this point you might be thinking that this is a bit of a silly question – every nation or nationality has some sort of humour, they’re just not all of the exact same kind. True. So perhaps a better question is: what kind of humour do the Danes have?

A peek at the thoroughly entertaining book ‘The Xenophobe’s Guide to the Danes’ reveals an interesting take on Danish humour by outsiders. As a side note, I’m a big believer that everyone should read their own country’s Xenophobe’s Guide (somewhat of a counterintuitive thought as the primary audience for those books are foreigners visiting the country discussed and wanting to understand it better). The reason being that one can never truly view one’s own culture with fresh unbiased eyes other than by learning how it’s viewed by objective outsiders (hint hint), and in this book’s case – outsiders with a great sense of humour.

In any case, the book says interesting things like “Danish humour suffers from the handicap of the Danes’ literal-mindedness”, “biting political satire is not widespread”, “sarcasm and self-deprecation are likely to be misunderstood”, and notably – “Danes have a weakness for slapstick”. Is it true that Danes are too literal to understand sarcasm, or too naive to observe humorous nuances?

Many years ago I was speaking to a friend in New York about her favourite nationalities when it comes to finding a boyfriend. “What about Scandinavians?” I asked her, being myself in the midst of a love affair with a Dane and as a result with anything Scandinavian. “Nah, too boring. I need some spice” she said. Funnily enough I felt somewhat offended and rushed to the defence of the Danes, trying to debunk the common preconception that Scandinavians are too cold to be ‘spicy’ or ‘humorous’. Pretty soon though I realized it was a lost cause with that particular friend.

My friend was not the only one who falls victim to this ‘common wisdom’ held by many, who tend to associate humour with warm climates (Mediterranean and Latin American countries), while seeing colder regions (Canada? Scandinavia?) as more sedate and lacking in biting humour, with Britain being an obvious exception. And I have to admit my first few experiences of Danish humour seemed to support this prejudice – having experienced some happy-clappy Danish weddings, with lots of ‘hurrahs’, comic speeches and funny song singing, made me feel that there’s something very naive, and even a little dorky about Danish humour. And watching some commercials, films and TV shows like The Julekalendar did in fact indicate a weakness for the ‘silly’ side of humour. I also often felt my cynicism was interpreted as negativity, and my sarcastic comments were sometimes taken literally.

But with time I realized that even though the Danish humour seems at first rather unsophisticated, reality was more complex than that. Most Danes I met displayed a much ‘healthier’ and more ‘intelligent’ sense of humour than others I’ve come across over the years (Mediterranean or not), with a full appreciation for irony, sarcasm and satire. Classic Danish films like ‘Italian for Beginners’ and ‘Babette’s Feast’, and even the memorable TV show ‘Matador’ (not to mention the iconic Olsen Banden series) showed that subtle and witty humour is very much a Danish staple. The recent TV show ‘Klovn’ is another great example. And I also came to appreciate the naivety in Danish society – a rare collective quality that is so very charming and refreshing after the blasé and jaded feeling of New York and London.

So Danish humour might not be of the dry, deadpan English type, but intelligent it certainly is. And while Danes do suffer from literal-mindedness in general, it doesn’t really seem to impede their sense of humour. And let’s face it – don’t all nations suffer from a weakness for silly humour on occasions? Perhaps my initial impressions of misunderstood sarcasm had more to do with the language barrier – with the different terms, intonation, nuances and everything else that goes with it – than with taking things literally.

As for the long pseudo-academic quasi-sociological comments on my blog that may be completely accurate but seem to me to have absolutely nothing to do with what I write about – well, it might be a lack of humour or simply a refusal to accept a blog that talks about ‘Danishness’ from an anecdotal rather than anthropological perspective (academic texts and scientific publications might be more appropriate than mainstream media for a research-based approach). Be it as it may, I’ll keep hoping there’s a silent majority out there that approaches my blog with sufficient humour to be able to get something out of it.

Are the 'soft' Danish values enough to attract foreign professionals?

An article in Politiken yesterday reported on the results of a recent study among international ‘knowledge workers’ in Denmark, showing that 9 out of 10 respondents emphasized the fact that Danish employers respect their employees’ family lives. The article suggested that Denmark should ‘sell itself’ to foreign professionals using the associated soft values of flexible working hours, welfare and security. Throw in liquorice and Danish design and you really have a perfect society! But jokes aside, I must say I agree. I’m just not sure whether those are strong enough on their own to attract foreign talent.

One of my most enduring memories of business school in New York – and one that shows how far the Danish mentality is from the American mentality – is a story told by my finance professor in class one day. He began explaining to us students how his family managed to avoid paying almost any income and capital gains taxes over the years by constantly borrowing against their assets, and enjoying the associated tax breaks. He was part bragging part ‘teaching’ us how to mange our finances wisely. His comments were at once funny and tasteless, but most importantly gave me a great insight into the American psyche as a foreigner trying to make sense of the land of opportunity – taxes are bad, maximizing profit is key, and in general the individual reigns supreme.

This approach is partly what makes America so driven, productive and successful, but it arguably leads to a work ethic that does not sufficiently consider family and community life. Denmark can be perceived as the other end of the spectrum, where the term ‘community’ far overshadows the concept of ‘the individual’ in many ways, and where individual profit is less important than collective wealth. This makes it a place where values such as family life, work-life balance and support for others are paramount.

Another experience that sharpened this point for me was when I compared the reactions I received from many in London to having my first child (“oh, you’ll now find that you want to work harder and longer to support your family and to have some time off from a crying baby and dirty nappies…”) to those my friends in Denmark received following a similar development (“you should probably switch to ‘flextime’ so that you can spend more time with your family”). That just says it all, doesn’t it?

I personally find this focus on private life attractive and I’m sure there are lots of other foreign professionals who do. But it’s far from certain to me that respect for an employee’s family life, however lovely it is for us parents, is enough to attract foreign professionals in the global competition for talent. Of course there’s the obvious issue of pay and taxes, which is partly addressed by the well-meaning but flawed special tax scheme for foreigners. Then there’s the expectation by international professionals that working in Denmark will contribute to their global career, in case they choose to move on after a while rather than settle down here. That perception doesn’t exist at the moment.

More than anything though, I think Denmark lacks a fundamentally open and international job market, where foreign professionals feel that opportunities are available to them irrespective of their local ‘network’ or their command of Danish and the Danish way (something that international knowledge workers expect and that I don’t feel exists here to a sufficient extent, as I wrote before). Naturally there will always be positions that only native Danish speakers can and should fulfil, but the rest need to be made accessible also to those who haven’t lived their whole lives here. The horrific (and what I consider unconstitutional) Danish holiday pay system – which currently creates a bizarre situation where newcomers get no paid time off in their first 12-16 months of work in Denmark because they don’t have any holiday pay ‘accrued’ from last year – is a small example of how much the job market infrastructure here ignores people who haven’t lived and worked in Denmark their whole lives.

 
As I said before, attracting and retaining foreign talent is not just a matter of politics and policies, but also of mentality and habits. It’s business owners, managers and ordinary people who need to genuinely want to have an international work environment and society before the Danish job market can become truly open, dynamic and welcoming to outsiders. Selling Denmark’s soft values is the relevant and sensible way to go, but it will be much more successful if the legal and mental ‘infrastructures’ take a few leaps forward to that end.

Are Danes nationalist or just weird?

The other day I attended a fascinating lecture titled “why are the Danes weird?” delivered by a Danish anthropologist from the Living Institute. Personally I don’t find the Danes weird by any means – in fact, I can think of several other European nationalities that are much weirder. But I guess the word was chosen for its sensationalist appeal in order to attract a large audience. (I could never possibly resort to such cheap tactics myself…)

The lecture was organized by a wonderful non-profit organization called Expat in Denmark. They organize social events and gatherings for expats and foreign professionals in Denmark for the stated objective of professional and social networking, but with the more obvious purpose of providing chances for commiseration. There’s nothing quite like meeting other foreigners and sharing your horror stories and head-scratching moments to find out others have experienced them before. Having only been here a few months I quickly realized I’m considered a ‘rookie’ in their midst, and was even scorned as being “still in my honeymoon period”. Yes, I’m much too green here to be nearly as bitter as the some of the veterans there.

In any case the lecture provided the expected entertainment value and occasional anecdotes like the display of a world map with Denmark disproportionately magnified and placed in the center (“this is how most Danes view the world” said the lecturer), and the analogy between Denmark and the proverbial bumble bee (there is a myth that the bee is not supposed to be able to fly due to its ratio of wing size to body weight, just as the Danish economy is not supposed to work considering the extreme welfare system – the similarity being that clearly in both cases the assumptions have proven wrong and both the bumble bee and the Danish economy seem to be flying quite nicely).

The lecture also attempted to explain some of the ‘strangeness’ of the Danes – apparently strangeness is measurable and it seems Denmark measures quite high on the scale. So the cold and reserved demeanour (on which I commented myself in this blog) is really just the flip side of an ‘arms-length’ society respecting others’ privacy. And the homogeneous nature, stemming from biological and cultural similarity, also leads to an abundance of trust, often referred to as Denmark’s social capital. The talk also touched on the unique Danish mixed sense of superiority and inferiority, which led me to ponder upon something I always wondered about – can Danes be considered a nationalist bunch? Is that why they use any excuse to fly the flag?

OK, I realize I’m not the first person to say this, but I honestly don’t get the flag thing. Years ago, when I received my first birthday card from my svigermor, I asked my partner why there were Danish flag stickers on the envelope (those were the early days – before I became familiar with the Danish flag fetish). “Because a birthday is a celebration” he answered casually, puzzled at my strange question. “And what’s the connection between celebration and flags? Or more accurately – what’s the connection between me and the Danish flag?” I asked. “The flag has nothing to do with the state or nation – it’s just a mark of celebration” was his stern response.

Call me crazy, but having grown up in one hyper-nationalist country and spent several years in another, I tend to get quite sensitive to public displays of flag-affection. I usually call it nationalism. But every Dane I’ve ever met (including my partner) takes that as an offence and vehemently denies any connection between the ubiquity of the Danish flag and any sort of cultural nationalism (putting aside recent politics and a certain parliamentary party).

The more time I spend in Denmark the more I tend to agree that Danes never think about their nation or nationalism when they fly, hang, raise or attach the flag in their day-to-day lives (and let me be clear about that – the frequency with which the Danish flag is used puts to shame any other country I’ve ever visited). But what I’m sensing is a different kind of ‘nationalism’ – a certain conviction that Denmark is ‘the best country on earth’. I don’t think that’s the reason Danes love and display their flag, but it’s perhaps the reason why the flag and the letters ‘DAN’ or ‘DANSK’ find their way to so many brand names, logos and terms (think Dankort, Danfoss, Danica, Danish Crown and countless others, including my all-time favourite term ‘danskvand’). Less like American patriotism, more like Swiss pride. Maybe that’s just another manifestation of the ethnocentric world map shown in the lecture.

So my own conclusion is that I don’t believe the Danes are particularly nationalist (in the cultural rather than the political sense) or particularly weird. Why they’re so in love with their flag I still don’t understand. Perhaps it’s a little bit of both.

Culture shock, Danish style

As everyone knows, a culture shock is a complex phenomenon that can take a long time to grapple with. But for some reason my first culture shock in life was relatively easy to deal with: when I moved from Israel, my home country, to the US in the mid 90’s, things somehow felt very familiar. Perhaps it’s the fact that I came from what’s often referred to as “the 51st state”, but the mentality in New York didn’t seem that much different from Tel Aviv. Everything was bigger, bolder and more sophisticated, but within days I felt like a native New Yorker.

In 2001 I moved to London and things were a bit different. People seemed to talk a little differently, behave a little differently and interpret what I said a little differently. It was hard. Then again the language was still English and the mentality not that far off from the US. And London was as big, international and central as New York, so being a foreigner in that diverse medley of a megalopolis still felt comfortable. Strangely though, when I left London 9 years later to move to Copenhagen, I still didn’t dare call myself a Londoner.

Soon after arriving in Denmark earlier this year, I started experiencing a culture shock of a different kind. This time I decided to share my experiences in this blog. To be sure, the first few months were a real honeymoon period: late spring and summer in Copenhagen proved to be a beautiful time (well, maybe just summer – spring didn’t really seem to materialize this year. I’m hoping it’s a one off!), with lots of street vibe, cultural activities, great weather and good energy. I discovered a pedestrian-friendly cosmopolitan city that is manageable in size and beautiful in its urban landscape. I liked it. But soon reality set in and I began to realize that this time around the culture shock may be a trickier affair than in the past.

Was it the fact that this time around I had to learn a foreign language? Perhaps. And the fact that this foreign language sounded like an underwater mumble that made everyone around me seem completely drunk didn’t help. But after starting an intensive Danish language course it proved learnable after all, and besides – this is the only non English speaking country I know where flawless English is spoken by almost everyone, making it extremely easy to negotiate as a foreigner, without speaking a word of the local language. So surely that wasn’t the problem. Was it the cold Nordic demeanour, making people seem somewhat distant and standoffish? That sure didn’t make one feel warm and fuzzy about Denmark, but it wasn’t too different from London and the typical English behaviour, so that couldn’t be it either. There were a lot of other things I could think of – the shockingly high prices and shockingly high taxes, the small and homogeneous quality of the city and country, the unusually central role the state plays in people’s lives, and of course the much talked about tribal nature of Denmark which makes all foreigners feel they stick out like a sore thumb. All of which I wrote about extensively in this blog, and all of which undoubtedly played a role in my overall sense of bemusement and estrangement.

But what I think made it feel different this time around was the interesting tension between the extreme curiosity by the locals around my immigration and integration journey on the one hand, and on the other hand – the clear signal from society that foreigners are expected to fully integrate in Denmark, and that full integration means nothing less than becoming Danish, plain and simple. This polarized tension, making Denmark feel both incredibly welcoming and incredibly unwelcoming at the same time, was different from anything I felt in the US or the UK, where ‘cultural integration’ is less of interest as long as one simply ‘plays by the rules’. And this tension is in fact what got me to start sharing my experiences through a blog to begin with. (That, and the uncontrollable urge to tell Danes about the things in their culture that seem really funny or strange to outsiders…)

Having been here for about 7 months now, I know for sure that the honeymoon period is over, but the integration process has only just begun. As opposed to my previous ‘migrations’ for study or career purposes, this time I moved to my partner’s homeland with a clear intention to settle down. This makes the ‘integration question’ much more relevant to me this time: Can I become truly Danish with time? Do I even want to? To what extent will I be able to hold on to my own identity in such a close-knit tribal society? Will I be truly accepted without adopting Danishness through and through? These are some of the questions I’m struggling with these days. Only time will tell what the answers will be, and whether or when I will be able to call myself a Københavner. Meanwhile I’d like to take you with me on this journey. But be warned – it’s going be a bumpy ride.

Job hunting in Denmark

The funny thing about job interviews in Denmark (at least the ones conducted in English) is how quickly 4-letter-words make their appearance. When I went to my first interview, I was shocked to hear the F word and S word pretty much within the first 15 minutes. I’m not sure the Danes realize how frowned upon this would be in the UK or US – there’s very little tolerance for that in business meetings, let alone job interviews (unless you represent the side that’s about to buy a product or service for a lot of money, in which case you can get away with anything).

But the informality of job interviews in Denmark is the last thing that bothers me about the Danish job market. In fact I quite like it. Let me tell you what does bother me about the job market here – that it’s not really a market. You see, a market (in my book) is a place where you have buyers and sellers, supply and demand, with near-perfect information flowing between both sides and plenty of opportunities (public marketplaces) with equal access to all, allowing the buyers and sellers to transact freely and efficiently, using relevant considerations for achieving the best deals. Yes, I realize this is not the Macro-economics textbook definition, but I’m pretty sure it’s not that far off.

The problem in Denmark, in my opinion, is that there’s no good information flow, no efficient marketplaces with equal access, and no relevant considerations for achieving the best deals. And I’m not just talking about the job market – I’m also talking about the real estate market (at least the one I know – for rentals). In both these markets I find that you can’t just go to an online marketplace (job-site or property-site), or an agent (recruiter or real-estate agent). They exist, but are not effective. No, in this country you need to know someone who knows someone who knows about an available job/flat.

What I expected to find in Copenhagen was what I had in New York and London: a job market that’s open to all, irrespective of how your name sounds, where you come from, or who you know, where the only thing that matters is whether you have the skills to do the job well. And that’s not because of any law in England or America about equal opportunity for newcomers – it’s because of a widespread mentality that getting the best skills is good for business.

Of course Denmark is not alone in being a ‘network economy’ – who you know counts for a lot in all countries when it comes to business and employment opportunities, and it’s well known that smaller countries tend to be more network-orientated than market-orientated. But Denmark sometimes feels to me like it’s bordering on nepotism. Of course I don’t mean it in the third-world corruption kind of way: those who are hired are generally skilled for the job. But it’s not the best skilled people that get the jobs – it’s the closest skilled people.

Let me explain: I’ve met quite a lot of Danes over the last few months here, and I’ve yet to come across one who got their current job through a recruiter or a job site. Without exception they all seem to have gotten their jobs by hearing about openings ‘through the grapevine’. It’s common wisdom that less than half of the jobs in Denmark get advertised, whereas the majority of jobs get filled internally or through personal referrals. While I don’t have the statistics to back it up, my anecdotal experience in NY and London would suggest that an overwhelming proportion of available jobs get either advertised or given to recruiters in order to find the best person for the job. Certainly that was the only way I used to hire people when I ran a firm in London.

This necessity to have a strong network in Denmark in order to get to the right opportunities (I call it the dark side of the much celebrated ‘social capital’ – people trust one another alright, just as long as they know them and feel they’re sufficiently similar to them!) is probably the reason why the vast majority of my classmates at the Danish language school (most of them with academic background and work experience) are either jobless or over-qualified for the jobs they’re in. They simply haven’t had the time to build the Danish network they need in order to identify and secure the most relevant opportunities. But it doesn’t only affect foreigners – it also affects Danes who have been away from Denmark for many years, and who find – upon their return – that their diverse international experience is overshadowed by their lack of a local network.

Of course there are some good things about the “who you know” culture: once you build a critical mass of people you know, you start hearing of opportunities and the system starts working in your favour. But at the end of the day, an environment without an effective marketplace is not a real dynamic market-driven environment. It’s a place where who you knows determines what you get. It’s bad for business and bad for society. And it makes Denmark less dynamic, less efficient, and even – dare I say it – less equal…

Good night Denmark

I started dreading winter about a month after I moved to Denmark. It was June. I was just starting to enjoy the first sunny days (“very late this year” everyone kept reassuring me, “we normally have a lovely spring” – well, apparently not this year!), the streets were starting to fill up with people and energy, more and more outdoor activities seemed to be taking place. I could feel myself falling in love with Copenhagen, with its beautiful urban landscape coupled with a dynamic street vibe, all glimmering in a lovely early summer sun. And then I got my first buzzkill – “wait until winter time, see what you think of Denmark then…” said one foreigner I met.

There would be many more buzzkills to come in the following weeks, from Danes and foreigners alike. The range of comments I got included things like “You think you’ve experienced a Northern European winter in London? It’s nothing compared to a Danish winter!” or the more sombre “Yes it’s nice to see Copenhagen alive in the summer, but it’s only for a short period – the city goes dead around October and doesn’t wake up until the following June”. Then there was the obvious one: “See how you deal with it being totally dark when you get up and go to work, and totally dark when you leave work to go home. It’s depressing.” And my favourite one: “Wait until winter. I hope you like candles.” I actually do like candles, so at least the last comment had something positive in it, for me anyway. But the question remained – can I survive a Danish winter?

Having grown up in a Mediterranean city, it was never easy getting used to winters in places like New York and London. In the case of the former, my main comfort was the fact that no matter how cold it got, on most days I still got a sunny clear blue sky, which was a huge advantage. In the case of the latter, well, there wasn’t much comfort. London was darker, wetter and more overcast than New York, not just in winter but pretty much throughout the year. It was much harder to get used to, and I was constantly craving the sun, physically and emotionally. But there were two ‘bright’ spots: it didn’t actually get that cold (definitely not as cold as NY), and the city always offered plenty of evening activities. While it got dark early in winter time, people kept going out and socializing, so you never got the feeling that London was asleep. It feels like I’m in for a much tougher challenge this time around.

There’s a lot to be said for a ‘tough winter’ culture. The Danish axiom that “there’s no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing” shows a national character that has a strong, unspoiled attitude to life, and enjoys nature and the outdoor undeterred by something as trivial as bad weather. I like that. The fact that of all places in the world, it’s cold Scandinavia that developed a culture of cycling and babies sleeping outdoors (still trying to get used to the latter…) shows that if anything, the bad weather only made people here look for ways to spend more time outside. And then of course there are those hyggelige candles and soft incandescent lights – having long dark evenings created a culture that values warm and cosy indoor environments, another great plus in Denmark, especially for a homebody like me. So even though I can already see that winters here are longer, darker and colder than London, I think there’s a chance I might survive them if I just focus on the positives.

But one thing still worries me. The ‘city going to sleep’ thing. I laughed in summertime that the Danish business world seemed to have gone to sleep for two months – everybody was away, no companies seemed to be functioning. This would never happen in either New York or London. But a commercial market asleep for two months is nothing compared to a whole society asleep for the better part of the year! Is it really true that throughout winter people go straight home from work and never leave again until the following morning? What’s the value of living in a metropolitan center if nine months out of twelve it’s got no street life or evening-time social activities, other than visiting or hosting friends at home? Is it even possible to meet new people as a newcomer when everyone’s at home behind closed doors for such a long period?

Whenever I think about my transition from the warm, sunny winters of my youth to the colder, harsher winters of New York and London, I also remember that I gained something significant – the discovery of a new and beautiful season called autumn, a season that simply doesn’t exist in my home country. And that reminds me that a loss can often be seen as a gain. Perhaps this coming winter will teach me a new way to enjoy cosy evenings at home. So will I survive it? Ask me in May next year, if I’m still around…

I want my PH lamp

In his book ‘The Human Stain’ American novelist Philip Roth takes a dig at the Danes when one of his characters – an American with Icelandic and Danish origins – says: “Danes are this way… they’re interested in objects. Objects. Tablecloths. Dishes. Vases. … Everything is made up of objects…” I have to say – to a certain degree I concur. But it’s not just the adoration of objects that’s interesting in Danish society. It’s the fact that it seems to be the same objects.

I always found it a bit funny that whenever we visited friends and family in Denmark, I would keep running into the same items in people’s homes. And those items were always ‘design pieces’. A PH lamp, a Vipp dustbin or a Fritz Hansen chair, to name a few. There were several things I found curious about this phenomenon (other than my total incomprehension of the much loved low-hanging dinner-table lamps, that always seem to obstruct the face of the person sitting across from you, and which I always seem to bang my head against, time and time again). First of all, I found it odd that some of our student friends who barely had enough money to buy coffee (of course now I know one actually has to be quite affluent to afford a cup of coffee in Copenhagen…) would shell out hundreds if not thousands of dollars on a Danish ‘design item’, even if that item was a dustbin placed in the toilet, far from most visitors’ view. This suggested a prioritization in expenditure that was very different from what I’ve seen in New York and London, where people spent most of their money on rent, food and travel rather than on design furniture.

Another thing that intrigued me was the almost compulsive need to have beautiful, well-designed objects in the household, in something that felt like an attempt to create a perfect, immaculate Tom Ford-like home. But most of all what struck me was the uniformity of it. In all households I seemed to encounter the same dustbin, same lamps, same chairs and same kitchenware. Yes, all very aesthetic and classic Danish design items, but all the same. I came to think that this was just a different, more visually pleasing form of a good old herd mentality. How can a nation place such a premium on beauty and creativity on one hand, and on the other hand follow such an extreme form of uniformity, resulting in all houses looking pretty much the same?

Of course there’s more to the Danish obsession with design objects. There’s the long winter months causing families to spend a lot of time indoors and making people want to create cosy, pleasing environments at home (yes, I’m talking about ‘hygge’). There’s the wonderful aspect of a deeply-engrained appreciation for beauty and quality, making Danes want to own aesthetic objects that last a lifetime. There’s the celebration of a domestic design industry that was always streets ahead of the rest of the world. And then there’s the general wish to conform – a typical tribal quality.

So what does it all mean to a foreigner? Well, you can’t fault a culture for creating beautiful and pleasing interiors made up of good quality pieces of furniture and homeware, tastefully designed and visually appealing. It makes for a much more attractive country than places like England and America, not exactly known for their modern interior design of an average home. In fact, it’s rather contagious – within a few weeks of being here I found myself getting that PH lamp, Fritz Hansen chairs and BO Concept sofa myself, in an attempt to create a beautiful ‘hyggelig’ home. But the homogeneity of it can be a touch overwhelming to an outsider’s eyes (some even say ‘eerie’). To most foreigners in Denmark it’s the first and most tangible sign of a culture of conformism.

The price is not right

The first thing that struck me (not to say shocked me) when I arrived in Denmark wasn’t the weather, or how good-looking people were, or the strange ubiquity of the flag (all of which I promise to address more thoroughly in due course). No, it was how much things cost. All things.

If I could chart the progression of my life by the average cost of living in the cities I live in, it would be pretty much a straight upward curve. When I moved from Tel Aviv to New York in the 90’s, I quickly found out that everything cost more, but it made absolute sense – it was, after all, New York. A far cry from the remote ‘village’ of Tel Aviv. A few years later I moved to London and was surprised to find that everything in London was roughly 50% more expensive than New York, and as the Pound got stronger it became twice more expensive (for those poor souls like me who kept translating prices to US Dollars in their minds). At that point I started missing New York, where things were more readily available, at a greater variety and much much cheaper. But after a while I got used to London, with its ‘limited’ availability of products, and its ‘high’ prices.

And now I arrive in Denmark, and the curve takes a dramatic swing upwards. I’m in total shock. By now I translate all prices to GB Pounds, which obviously doesn’t help with today’s unfavourable GBP/EUR exchange rate, but still – everything feels so expensive. Can I get used to this, too? Can I get used to most things being half the size and double the price compared to London (from deodorants and toothpaste, to coffee and chocolate, and all the way up to cars…)? Not to mention the extremely limited assortment and variety of products, compared to London and New York.

And the thing I’m finding even more shocking, is that Danes don’t seem to mind too much. “Don’t you find prices quite high?” I kept asking all our friends here. “I guess so, never really thought about it much,” the typical answer would be. Never really thought about it? It’s probably the most expensive city in the world and you haven’t really thought about it? “It’s more expensive in Oslo, isn’t it?” some would reply. “Maybe”, I’d say “but they pay half the taxes you do, so I’d say they’re a bit better off…”

You see, the comfort I had all those years, as I moved to New York and then to London, was that my salary kept rising at a greater pace than the cost of living, and so I was still better off despite the higher prices. Not so here – senior level salaries are significantly lower than both New York and London, and the taxes are roughly double! I’m not a math genius, but something just doesn’t add up here: lower salaries, higher taxes, significantly higher prices, and the happiest people in the world! In my book people should be demonstrating in the streets, conducting consumer boycotts of the brands or companies that really go too far (am I the only one who thinks it’s crazy for restaurants to charge for tap water??), and voting for some sort of price regulation. None of this is happening. What am I missing?

“You don’t get it,” said one friend. “Prices were always high here, so we’re used to it. And starting salaries are quite high compared to the rest of Europe, so people feel they can afford what they need, and they understand that high staff costs translate into higher product and service prices. The VAT is also higher here but everyone knows it pays for valuable public services. Plus, people don’t feel the need to save money here as much as elsewhere because the state is there to help out in cases of unemployment, sickness, retirement and so on. In addition to all that, it’s always nice to feel the rest of the world is cheap when you travel abroad!”

Maybe. To me, a place that has a combination of the highest taxes and the highest prices in the world is one where people are squeezed from both ends. Then again, perhaps that’s the beauty of the Danes – the ability to see the glass half full. It’s not Denmark that’s expensive; it’s the rest of the world that’s cheap…

Where's that Latin spirit?

I once met a funny Dane who told me “the Danes are the Latins of Scandinavia”. My first reaction was to laugh of course. Then last year I saw the new worldwide advertising campaign for Denmark with the (horrible, I think) slogan “free the Dane in you” next to a big heart-shaped Danish flag, and realized this Latin myth might be shared by more Danes than one. It’s common to think of the Danes as a tribe, but are they really a ‘Latin Nordic tribe’?

Well. You don’t exactly get a warm, Latin feeling in the streets of Copenhagen, not even in summertime. People tend to avoid locking eyes with others, and if it does accidentally happen, you can forget about seeing a smile. This is in sharp contrast to New York, where strangers would look, smile and even nod at you when they pass you by on the street. And if you happen to be somewhere stationary (a bus-stop, café, bar, park bench and pretty much anywhere else outside your home), you’re most likely to strike a conversation with the person standing or sitting next to you. And I love that! So why the cold, stand-offish attitude by the Danes?

Another area where Copenhagen fails on the ‘Latin’ scale is service. A little while ago I was sitting next to an Englishwoman on the bus, and both of us being the token Anglo-Saxons on the bus (if my British passport confers the right to use that title…) we immediately engaged in a lively discussion of Denmark and the Danes. “If you’re looking for work as a consultant, I’m sure you can do a lot in teaching Danish companies how to provide good customer service – they have a lot to learn!” she said. Sure enough, after spending a few days in Copenhagen I noticed that in many places I got a bit of a sour face, short attitude, and sometimes no eye contact at all, which in my book is pretty poor.  So where are the big smiles, energetic body language, and warm personal interaction one associates with the Latin spirit? And is customer service and people’s behaviour in the streets of Copenhagen the right way to measure Latin-ness anyway?

As a branding specialist in London I often needed to capture the essence of a national character and incorporate it in the definition of clients’ brands. So I attempted to ‘define’ the essence of Norway, the Czech Republic and Lebanon for the branding of Norsk Hydro, Czech Airlines and Beirut (to mention a few). The purpose of this is not to boast about my capabilities (though let’s face it – don’t bloggers love having the opportunity to do that?), but to say that even though I’ve built a competence in identifying national traits, I find it hard to pin down the true Danish nature. It appears one has to dig deeper to detect whether Latin qualities exist in the Danish culture.

But tribal it most certainly is – the uniformity I see everywhere (from what people eat to how they dress, talk, behave, furnish their homes etc.), and the insularity of Danes (the first complaint I hear from every single foreigner I meet here, and something that really stands out against the background of my American and British adventures) – both of these justify the use of the word ‘tribe’. And having a good familiarity with Swedes and Norwegians, I would probably agree that the Danes are a bit more relaxed and blunt in their behaviour – ‘Latin’ qualities perhaps – though secretly I still think Scandinavia is really one big country with three different ‘regions’…

And the customer service problem? Well, perhaps it’s not so much being impolite, as most foreigners think, but rather being informal, which is another Danish quality. It’s a bit like how Brits always think Germans are impolite, but they just confuse their directness with rudeness. Myself, I always use English when interacting with service providers, and at some point invariably they get stuck on a word they’re not sure about – and then the giggles appear and the Latin spirit shows.

So the jury’s still out on whether a country as cold as Denmark can have anything Latin about it, but my experiences so far are mixed enough to warrant further examination.

Danish for beginners

The memorable Swedish bookshop scene from the classic comedy film Top Secret (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AC8MYNWfTDg&feature=related) is played backwards, including the soundtrack, in an attempt to imitate the peculiar sound of the Swedish language. Well, in my opinion, if it had been a Danish bookshop, the entire scene would have been shot underwater.

The swallowed syllables, forgotten word-endings, lazy pronunciation, soft D’s and T’s, silent V’s, G’s, D’s, L’s, E’s, H’s and R’s (you begin to wonder why all these letter are still there), constant slur – all this adds up to a muffled mumble that resembles an underwater dialogue between two divers comparing notes on fish. At least that’s how it sounds to the Anglicised ear (and apparently to Norwegians as well, as this wonderful clip from Norwegian TV suggests: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s-mOy8VUEBk).

But as unintelligible and incomprehensible a language this is – learn it I must, if I’m ever to integrate myself in this brave new society. And so I signed myself up for an intensive language course in Denmark’s largest language school in Copenhagen. “You’re lucky enough to be learning at the same school that taught both Princess Alexandra and Princess Mary Danish” said the teacher on one of the first classes. “So as you can see,” she continued, “we get it right at least half of the times”. I’m gonna like this school.

The first good thing about the Danish language program was that it was free! Big thumbs up to Socialist Denmark, which clearly cares enough about the integration of newly arrived, that it offers them free language education. The second best thing about it was an obvious bonus – the opportunity to meet other professional migrants and share our thoughts about our new home country. “You know what they say about how the modern Danish language evolved,” said one of my classmates in the first week of school. “It was during the time when the water in Copenhagen was too polluted to drink, and everyone was drunk on beer!” Now there’s an urban legend I can buy into – it surely explains why the first few times I heard my partner speak Danish I thought he was sick and about to throw up (now I know it was just those awful bløde D’s).

“The fact that Danish has no word for ‘please’ just shows how impolite Danes are,” said another classmate. I actually like the fact that Danish doesn’t have a word for ‘please’ and thus avoids the ridiculously exaggerated English politeness (I had a strange hobby in London of counting the number of please’s and thank-you’s uttered by shoppers and service-givers in as simple a transaction as buying a sandwich – suffice it to say that it’s more than a dozen). Besides you have so many other words instead – ‘lige’, ‘gerne’ and even ‘tak’!

I have to admit there are a lot of things I like about the Danish language: the ubiquity of the word ‘det’ and the endearing Shakespearean way in which it’s used (only in Danish can you hear on a regular basis a Yoda-sounding sentence like “this I shall”); the melodic intonation that makes you think there’s a question mark at the end of each sentence (the first time my partner said “I love you” I thought he was asking a question…); and my all-time favourite – the ability to say ‘yes’ or express affirmation by a short and quick intake of breath (where I come from, a short and loud breath intake suggests alarm, and so the first time I visited Denmark and spoke to people – especially women, who seem to do the breath intake more frequently – I kept looking around worryingly and asking “what happened?!”)

But the question remains – am I actually capable of learning this weird-sounding language? Is it possible for a foreigner to master the 40-odd vowels and sound (almost) like a local after several years here? Because truth be told the Danes expect nothing less – as opposed to England and America, a foreign-sounding but otherwise correct local language simply won’t do in this country. I’m gonna have to give it my best.

Feeling like Kafka...

Those who liked the book ‘Catch 22’ by Joseph Heller will appreciate the following story: as I was preparing for our move to Denmark, I did some online research to find out what I needed to do as a European citizen immigrating to Denmark. Let me just digress for one small moment to say how great it is that Denmark has so many official websites in English that explain how things work to all those newly-arrived. I mean, is that a country that welcomes immigration or what!

But back to our story. Having immigrated twice before, I knew there must be some bureaucratic stuff to be done, and my online research confirmed that I needed to register and get a CPR number. I wasn’t quite sure what a CPR number was for at the time, but boy do I know it now. Simply put, one does not exist in Denmark without a CPR number. Want to get a mobile phone? Need your CPR number. Open a bank account? CPR number. Get medical care? OK, that one actually makes sense. Get free Danish classes? Get a credit card? Shop online? Sign your child up for nursery? We’re talking way beyond the American social security number, not to mention the British National Insurance number (both of which I got but was rarely asked for).

Anyway, as soon as we arrived here I went, as instructed, to Statsforvaltningen (could they come up with a more difficult word for non-Danish-speaking foreigners?) to get my registration certificate, so I could then get my CPR number. Allow me one last digression – I just can’t get over how great it is that everyone – and I mean everyone – speaks such good English here! Politicians and policemen, shop assistants and street cleaners, train conductors and post-office clerks – and apparently civil servants, too. In what other non-Anglo-Saxon country could you get all these formalities done without needing one word of the local language? Well, maybe in The Netherlands and other Scandinavian countries, but nowhere else. I think.

OK, so here comes the promised catch: I go to Statsforvaltningen to register (and thank God for my British passport – apparently they treat non-EU citizens very differently…) and they tell me that I’m perfectly entitled to settle down in Denmark, only I need to show I have enough money to be here for a year without needing state support, since I don’t have a job here yet. Fair enough, they don’t want people to come here and leech on the system, I accept that. So how do I show I have enough money? I need to open a bank account and transfer money to it. Cool. So I go to the bank to open an account. Ahh – but they want a CPR number in order to open the account. But I can’t get one without getting the registration certificate, which I can’t get without showing I have enough money, which I can’t do without opening a bank account! And there’s a perfectly formed Catch-22 for you.

Fortunately, this being Denmark, you can actually talk to institutions, and so I convinced my bank to open a temporary account without a CPR number, and the rest was easy. So yes, rules are rules, but people are people and are willing to show flexibility. I could forget about doing something like that in the US, where a bank teller behind a glass partition 2 inches thick once told me 5 times “sorry Sir, that’s our policy and I can’t do anything about it” when I needed to complete a transaction requiring two forms of ID, and my passport and student ID weren’t good enough because the latter was missing the current semester sticker, making it ‘invalid’.

So it’s true that Denmark is a bureaucratic monster, with more and larger government institutions than anywhere else I’ve ever lived, a police-state-like approach to address registration and an annoying identity numbering system that reveals to any person giving me any kind of service exactly how old I am! But with the flexibility, directness and efficiency it shows – it’s the kind of bureaucracy I can live with. I think.

Welcome to Denmark, where rules are rules

I always liked Copenhagen airport: the large open spaces, warm wood, classic Danish-designed chairs and lamp shades, upmarket shopping – a proper introduction to the modern kingdom of Denmark. This time however we entered the kingdom through another port – Billund. If Copenhagen airport is a good introduction to Denmark, Billund airport is a good introduction to Jutland – the same Danish aesthetics and visually pleasing spaces, only on a smaller scale, and with a simpler and less pretentious feel. And the smell of manure.

We flew from London to Billund so that we can visit my partner’s parents in Jutland before heading off to the capital. A small town in Jutland such as the one they live in is undoubtedly the best introduction to Denmark for anyone wishing to immigrate here. The industrious heartland, if you will. The English equivalent is perhaps the Midlands. The US equivalent – the Midwest? I guess some form of the word ‘middle’ needs to be in there.

In any case, my partner and I have been visiting Jutland regularly over the years, and this is where I learnt most about Danish life. I’ll never forget my introduction to Danish cuisine, and my realization that the English term ‘meat-and-two-veg’ – representing a typical English main course consisting of some sort of meet and two sorts of vegetables – can actually be replaced in Denmark with the term ‘meat-and-two-kinds-of-potatoes’. Yes, potatoes will always be served. And mostly in two different kinds (except in Christmas and other special occasions, when they’re actually served in three different varieties!) I always wondered how the Danes handled this carb-rich diet – is that the reason behind their (much debated) obesity problem? Or their relatively low life expectancy in Europe? Or is it the unbelievable amounts of bacon and beer?

But the real first culture shock in the parents’ place in Jutland came on my first visit there years ago, when I made my first faux-pas at the lunch table, which caused roaring laughter around the table. We were having a typical Danish lunch. Franskbrød, rugbrød, marinerede sild, leverpostej, rullepølse – the works. And then, silly me, I went ahead and put some marinerede sild on a slice of franskbrød. I was a bit baffled by the reaction, and it took some cultural interpretation by my partner for me to learn that marinerede sild goes on rugbrød, and only rugbrød. “Why?” I asked. “Because it tastes better that way” the answer came. Aha.

I soon learned that the rules of the typical Danish lunch are not to be questioned or debated – they are simply to be followed. Like an axiom. In fact, as it turns out, the sanctity of Danish lunch serves as a good introduction to a concept I would be hearing of a lot in the following weeks – “in Denmark, rules are rules”. Whether it’s crossing the street only at a pedestrian crossing and when the light’s green (even if it’s the middle of the night and there’s no car in sight within a hundred miles), or avoiding exchanging a gift because the return policy says 30 days and it’s already been 31 days – the principle is the same: rules cannot be argued with, and should be followed. Perhaps this is how you achieve such extreme order and cleanliness everywhere (which I must admit I like) – but can it go too far? I think I might just have an issue with this one…

But back to reality – we have just arrived and I had a thousand things on my to-do list: get a CPR number, open a bank account, get a local mobile phone, sign up with a GP, start learning Danish, find a flat, find a nursery, find a job… I better get started.

Denmark here I come!

“Denmark?” Or more accurately “Denmark!?” followed by “why on earth would you want to move to Denmark? You don’t even speak Dutch!” Those were the typical responses I got from our friends in London when I announced to them our intention to move to Denmark. “It’s Danish, not Dutch,” I would respond. “And I do have a Danish partner you know, so the idea isn’t that crazy, is it?” Typically the next comment from my friend-turned-opponent at this point would be “isn’t it like freezing cold, dark and depressing most of the year there?” The answer to this one was obvious: “London isn’t exactly tropical…”

And so began our long journey of immigration to, and hopeful integration in the liquorice-eating, design-furniture-obsessed sky-high-taxes nation of Denmark. And why did we decide to suddenly leave our lives in London and head east (and slightly north…)? It wasn’t for career prospects, that’s for sure. No, ours was a decision driven by the old cliché: “it’s a great place to raise children”. And with a burst of boldness we decided to quit our jobs, pack our stuff and say goodbye to our life of almost a decade in London. Then again, we did the same thing about a decade ago when we left New York and moved to London, so it wasn’t completely outrageous. Only then we didn’t have a one-year-old daughter in tow…

So how does one prepare for such a move? Learn a little bit of the language in advance so that I can introduce myself and say where I’m from using the native language? Check. Read a little about the country to get a minimum level of understanding of their culture, history and peculiarities? Check. Visit the country enough times to get a good feel for it? BIG check (at least 15 times in the last 12 years, if you count Jutland…). Yes, I felt ready. And hopefully the experience of already living in three big cities around the world (OK, two and a half – Tel Aviv is admittedly not that big) and working in more than 15 other countries would prepare me for the culture shock that surely awaited me. But is Denmark ready for me?

A quick browse through expat websites conducted by yours truly revealed some doubts: “The Danes know only two kinds of foreigners – tourists and refugees. Anything in between they don’t quite know how to handle” read one posting by an international professional in Denmark. “If you’re considering moving to Denmark – don’t!” read another. “Denmark is a great place” started one promising comment, “if you like the Jante law…” (a lovely concept I was introduced to shortly after meeting my Danish partner, that I always considered an entertaining topsy-turvy view of the world, but which I thought was long gone from Danish society)

Some scary stuff there. Is it really that bad? After spending the last decade and a half as an ‘international urban dweller’ in cities like New York and London, am I in for a shock in Copenhagen? And this time it’s different – I’m not moving for studies or for a career. I’m not trying out yet another world city for the experience. I am actually immigrating, moving with an intention to settle down. Not a tourist, nor an expat, and definitely not a refugee, but a willing newcomer. Is there a place for me in Denmark as such?

Sounds like I have my work cut out for me. Oh well, I can’t let a few spoiled disgruntled expats detract from my resolve and enthusiasm about my potential future home – I am determined to give Denmark a shot, and I promise to share my experiences with you, warts and all.