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…
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Friday, October 22, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, October 18, 2010
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…
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
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.
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.
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