Swans in the Sea

On March 3, 2015May 20, 2015 By oregongirlaroundtheworldIn American Expat, Copenhagen, Denmark, Expat, København2 Comments

One of the primary reasons in any pro column when processing an expatriation would have to be a perceived potential for expanding of horizons. Think of all the new things we’ll see, learn, experience and feel. (More on that.)

I have never seen Swans in such great quantity as I have come to know here in Denmark. Swans fill the lakes that separate the old city from the Copenhagen neighborhoods of Østerbro, Nørrebro, Fredericksburg and Vesterbro. Their graceful posturing and elegant cruising makes the shallow (and somewhat trash-filled) bodies of water near our hood somehow charming, even with giant construction cranes in the background. I am told that in the summer, swan-shaped paddle boats puddle up and down along side the birds. I am positive that my wee lass will enjoy partaking on some future warmer weathered afternoon.

The prevalence of swans pervades popular culture as well inspiring location naming here. Both our most utilized S-tog train station and the nearest beach use the Danish word for swan (svane) in their namesake – respectively Svanemøllen Station and Svanemølle Strand honor the majestic white birds. Do you know the story of the Ugly Duckling? Who doesn’t? Oh – you don’t? Oh. Ok – go read it, it’s a classic. Read it to your kids – lovely message. It’s kind of the “Rocky” story of fairy tales right? Do you know who wrote it? The Ugly Duckling, not Rocky. None other than Danmark’s own – H.C. Andersen. Yep and as it turns out – he tells people later in life – that the story was a metaphor for his own life experience. Spoiler alert – the little ugly duckling, awkward and ostracized, grows up to be the beautiful swan. Junior High anyone?

But Swans as I know them belong on a lake. Being balletic in background, with 15 years of my youth spent stretching, pointing, plié-ing, extending, port de bras’ing, rehearsing and performing ballet, I believe that swans belong on a lake. I was an avid attender and supporter of Oregon Ballet Theater while there and enjoyed their production of Swan Lake and will admit that I miss the regularity of that set date night every other month. (They are currently performing Cinderella, which I can both recommend and relate to.) If you are unfamiliar with Swan Lake, the iconic Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky classic, put it on your bucket list, preferably performed by a Russian company like the Kirov or Bolshoi that has a corps de ballet by the thousands – or… 24-32 is good too. Thirty-two perfectly synchronized, mesmerizing, white tutu’d and feather-crowned swans that float and dip and fly across the stage. For a tiny teaser – please enjoy my all-time favorite two minutes of ballet and you might see why. Brings tears to my eyes and chills to my skin every time. You too? No? Ok. Thanks for playing. As it turns out, similar to old Hans from Denmark, Peter’s work was not originally received as the masterpiece it is now considered. Criticized for being much too complicated musically, it wasn’t until later that it grew into its current and sustained popularity. Second only to the Nutcracker in performances and attendence, there are surely many many many more years of challenging musicians and dancers as well as delighting audiences to be found in Swan Lake.

Swans are supposed to be on a lake. In a lake. Around a LAKE. My bias may also stem from the fact that I have spent the last seven years of my life living in a town called LAKE Oswego. Maybe. But here in Denmark (and other places I can now suppose) there are swans in the SEA. Swans on the beach. Swans in the ocean, people. Wha? Without having seen them – I may not have believed, but lovely and serene on the calm tide they seem. Until that is, they come ashore expecting the food they think they should receive, moving towards your children, my daughter only half again as tall as their menacing waddle. These birds are enormous. Beautiful. But ENORMOUS. Carefully, we allow them their space and haven’t gotten the courage to feed them as of yet.

Svanemølle Strand Svanes - these birds are big. — Svanemølle Strand Svanes – these birds are big.

But courageous, constantly, we are all required and attempting to be. On a daily basis. Trying to understand where we can be ourselves, but fit into the flock here in Denmark. It isn’t always easy. Our feathers may be changing, ever-slowly. The sun will come out. Tomorrow. (Sorry, the wee lass is practicing for the International School spring performances of Annie, the tunes of which pervade our sphere.) But, I will admit that we as a family – individually and together – are still feeling a wee bit more like the large, loud, grey-feathered, clumsy and awkward ducks still trying to fit into the barnyard flock. Waiting to emerge into our beautiful full-feathered culturally immersed elegance. Does that happen? I have a feeling we will lose a few more feathers in the evolution. Paddling along, we will continue and let the water roll off us. Spring is coming. Little blooms popping up in parks and around trees and under winter’s dead exhale. I can feel the days lengthening. We are literally gaining 4+ minutes of light every day. It’s palpable. Our spirits lengthen with it and in the words of my teenage son, “I have high hopes for summer.” So do I son, so do I. Breathing. In. Out. Repeat.

Swan lake – Copenhagen

Hello tiny harbinger of spring – wee bitty blooms at the Rosenborg Palace garden. Jeg elsker du.

Culturally acceptable to feed the fowl here in Copenhagen

Swans on the Sotterdams Sø when it was somewhat frozen last month

Trying. Courageously.

How can you not be impressed with these. Or intimidated. Or both.

Swan Beach

Svanemølle Strand

In. Out. Repeat.

Fastelenten

On February 20, 2015May 20, 2015 By oregongirlaroundtheworldIn American Expat, Copenhagen, Danish, Denmark, Expat, København1 Comment

It’s Lent. The Lenten season. How you believe and what you believe and how you exercise those beliefs is between you and yours – not for me to question – unless it impacts my family. Please refrain from using weapons to share your faith, speaking from experience it converts few. But as far as modern celebrations, public holidays and personal traditions evolve, I have always been interested in the why and the how from their basis they form. All the more so now in my newly expatriated version of self, how those resonate within different cultures is especially remarkable – and now I’ll remark on it. (You knew that right?) As it turns out, very little investigation required, determined that the origins of the English word Lent emerge from the German, Dutch and Old English words for spring or the coming of spring, a lengthening of days. (I can seriously feel them changing daily here in Denmark. Lengthening. Hver dage a little bit more sun in the morning and a little bit more sun in the afternoon – every day. For this I am faithful, sommer in Denmark will be amazing.) The word Lent as it translates from Latin into our modern romance languages relates more to its respected historical and modern timing – 40 days. In its most generic distillation, Lent is the 40 days before Easter and starts with Ash Wednesday and is generally marked by a personal sacrifice – giving something up. Did you give something up this year for Lent? Sugar? Wine? Watch this and get back to me how that went….but as I said before – to each his own.

To me, what is almost as interesting as the cultural significance in your Lenten practices are the events that precede the penitenten Lenten days. WOOT WOOT! It’s Mardi Gras y’all! Laissez les bons temps roullez! Oh sorry. I’m not sure where that escaped from – maybe watching too many friends celebrate in multi-faceted bedecked and bejeweled style on Bourbon Street via my Facebook. I’ve never actually been there – but it looks amazing in its own right. Carnavale pops up in many cultures – scantily clad and costumed, bedazzled and parading – let it all hang out before we have to rein it all in. Personally I’m not quite ready in Februar to let it all hang out. Ask me again midsommer and I may feel differently. Too much good Danish brød and smør this vinter for me perhaps.

In Denmark at this time of year – like all of the holidays I have experienced here so far – there is a melding of modern Christian and medieval Viking culture. You will here the words God Jul wishing you a merry Christmas in December, but Jul was celebrated long before the heathens were converted, evidence of the cultural consolidation. At this time of year – Danes celebrate Fastelavn. Occuring this year during our strange Vinterferie, we really didn’t get a good grasp of all that is Danish about Fastelavn. But as I understand it, costumed children (not unsimilar to Halloween, which has only recently in the past decade taken on in Scandinavia) sing songs and go door to door for treats or money. Local bageris make their own version of the Fastelavn bolle – a yummy Danish version of fried dough. I have a theory that all cultures have a version of their own traditional fried dough and it is especially heightened at this time of year. (ie; Pączki, pancakes, donuts, churros, King Cake, fastelavn bolle, etc. etc.)

My favorite part of Fastelavn is the somewhat strange medieval corruption of the game “beat the cat out of the barrel.” (slå katten af tønden) Yes, you heard me. Something about knocking bad spirits, embodied by the cat (preferably black) out of a wooden barrel. They literally shoved a live cat in a wooden barrel, strung it up, sang songs and whacked the crap out of the barrel until the cat escaped or didn’t. If it escaped alive it was chased out of town to preserve the village from evil doings the coming year.

Essentially similar to whacking a piñata – the wooden barrel is full of candy and children take turns hitting it with their best shot one by one with a wooden bat of sorts. The first child to break the barrel open releasing the treats (which will be equally shared of course, this is a socialist country) is crowned the Kattedronning. The “Cat Queen.” Special, for sure, but not as coveted an award as the next, as evidenced by the sheer size of the faux crowns. The highly prized and generously faux-crowned title goes to the Kattekonge aka the “Cat King.” To earn this challenging and luckily-timed award, one must be up and have the last whack per se. For it is the one who knocks off the very last board of the barrel who can only be crowned the Kattekonge.

Call it beginner’s luck, but my wee lass came home with this penultimate crown. I met her off her train/bus commute home festooned in her gold and red crown and adorned in the widest grin. I will admit at first that I found it quite charming, but had no idea what she had accomplished. Not until our Danish contacts kept commenting how special and amazing and special and cool and special it was that she achieved said Kattekonge crowning. Children apparently go their whole lives hoping and striving for said title, but alas my wee lass got it on her first go. Now – just to be clear – she waited her turn and not until her 5^th whack in the line did she lay into that last board and win her major award. Those who know her can only imagine her fierce determination to knock that thing off. Even the boys were impressed. Hugs and cheers from classmates, alongside more than a few covetous glances to be sure.

So this year, maybe we missed the costumes, didn’t even really sample all the fastelavn bolles, didn’t get to earn the candy or monies (we didn’t know the songs), but my kids will have forever memories of the season, especially my Kattekonge. Will we give something up for Lent? No. We have given much up to be here. Besides a disposal (I still really miss that), a comfy couch, a car that comfortably fits us all – we have given up the regularity of seeing good friends. Given up holidays and events with families. Passed on leading committees, making sports teams, dancing on stages. We have given up to be here. We have made our sacrifices, be it Lenten in determination or not. But what have we gained. It is still being clarified. But so far, I know it will have to include; experience, culture, empathy, people, adventure, tradition. Will they all be experiences and adventures that we choose. Maybe not. But part of us, they will be. And as Lent is a time of internal perspective, I can appreciate the introspection and inward turn in anticipation for longer days and the rebirth of the explorer inside of us all. Just wait. I am.

Something Strange This Way

On February 18, 2015February 18, 2018 By oregongirlaroundtheworldIn Aarhus, American Expat, Denmark, Travel3 Comments

WHEN VINTERFERIE TURNS WEIRD

This past week was vinterferie here in Danmark. Vinterferie is a beautiful word that conjures up magical sparkly winter wonderland-y kind of images. At least in my head it does. Maybe too much Hans Christian Andersen on the brain. Vinterferie really just means Winter Break (or winter holiday or winter vacation – you get the gist.) The littles had 10 days off of school. Our plans may not have been grand, but they seemed easily achievable from a geographical, financial and emotional vantage point. But, as we were to find out Something Strange This Way comes. Our vinterferie also included Danish influenza, macabre modern art, Friday the 13^th, a terrorist attack and a Nissan Leaf.

MISGUIDED CROSS-COUNTRY ROAD TRIP IN AN ELECTRIC CAR

We started in Aarhus – Denmark’s 2^nd city and the world headquarters to Vestas – the reason that we are here in Scandiland. Piggy-backing on my husband’s work visit to headquarters, the rest of us took the high-speed ferry from the tip of Sjælland (the island that Copenhagen adorns) to meet him in Aarhus which sits on the east coast of the continental hand of Denmark known as Jutland. Look on a map – you’ll understand. What should be about a four-hour trip can’t be concluded in one straight shot when you’ve taken a mini-lease of an electric Nissan Leaf. Nope. No siree. Why – why would we do this? Try to road trip in an electric vehicle? Well – here was the basis of our misguided and underestimated decision:

Mini-leases on electric cars are half the price with heavy government subsidies.
There are fixed and almost always OPEN local parking places specifically for electric cars. NOT true for other cars in our hood.
Duh. It’s good for the environment peeps.
Other than that? I honestly don’t know – I hate this car.

DON’T TURN ON THE HEAT IN FEBRUARY

To make it from our home in the Østerbro neighborhood of Copenhagen – you must carefully drive with efficiency. Read – don’t turn on the heat, even though it is February in Denmark. Keep your coat on kids. Let all the cars zoom past you as you turtle along in the slow lane. And don’t plug in anything to charge that might suck any extra life out of the car. But my phone is dying mom. Tough titty! Even with all of these energy-saving measures, we still have to carefully plan a charging stop about halfway to Aarhus. And the further from metro centers you move, the fewer options there be. We can only use specific charging spots that our lease is registered with. Seriously? After a two hour break in Holbæk for hot chocolate and sweets, the car is charged enough to make it on the ferry and off in Aarhus. All the way there, we finally make it with only 4 km and 3% battery life left to spare. Sigh. Stress averted – til tomorrow anyway. Bring on the exploring. So we thought.

MAKE OURS MACABRE | MODERN ART AT AROS

Like the bizarre and somewhat macabre modern art exhibit we experienced at ARoS Museum in Aarhus called Something Strange This Way, our weekend brought many strange and macabre images and events into our world to round out our Vinterferie. Maybe because we were all at the tail end of an intense bout of the meanest Danish influenza, our frames of reference were clouded, but the dark and twisty emotional space purveyed on all layers of the circular ARoS Museum did not give my children warm fuzzy feelings about modern art or life in general. Exhibits with names like The Killing Machine and Carnie (a quickly spinning carousel with LOUD creepy music and floating figures) – and you can probably understand why.

FOOLS by artist Michael Kvium, ARoS Museum, Aarhus Denmark

Michael Kvium’s omnipresent winding Fools exhibit and Ron Mueck’s giant 4.5 m tall crouching Boy added to the sense of twisted and noir perversity. Hard-pressed I will be to elicit their interest in ANY modern art for a good long while.

Thankfully Olafur Eliasson’s Your Rainbow Panorama sits above ARoS with 360-degree views of the city through multi-colored window panes. As our last stop, it thankfully washed off a bit of the dark and twisty we’d experienced downstairs with brilliant and beautiful color.

Your Rainbow Panorama - Olafur Eliasson, Aros

Your Rainbow Panorama – Olafur Eliasson, ARoS

LET’S DO DJURSLAND INSTEAD

My culture pushing tactics almost always require ameliorating activities to balance the family accommodation scales. Something active outdoors or involving a fishing line or two usually does the trick. We decided to push the limits of our (patience… oh I mean) newly rented and soon-to-be-returned Nissan Leaf and continued our Jutland exploration out to the “nose” of Denmark – Djursland. A nose the likes that could adorn one of the Kvium Fools we just met at Aros. Djursland is normally a summertime destination with its prevalence of shallow watered protected cove beaches and ice-cream shopped cobblestone towns. But it is also home to Mols Bjerge National Park, which has… wait for it… HILLS. Yes, hills. Not mountains people. I said hills. I was seeking out some topography as I am often wont to do. Call me crazy, but I crave it. Ok so the Mols hills only reach 137 meters (449 feet) above sea level, but it’ll do. Yes Mols, that’ll do.

FRIDAY THE 13TH IN AN ISOLATED BNB

I found a wee BnB out near the park and confirmed that yes, we can plug our car in there to charge. What time will we be arriving from Aarhus? Between 18:00 and 19:00 (that’s between 6-7pm if you don’t automatically work in military or European time.) Ok – we won’t be here at that time, so let yourself in and you’ll see which is your room – we’ll be back late and check in in the morning. Super, thanks. Winding through little roads along the sea from Aarhus in a Nissan Leaf is lovely and scenic, but the stress of watching the battery life tick tick tick off knowing that there is nary a charging station before you reach your destination confounds any charm in the journey. We arrive in good stead, and find our room with ease. Fed, wined and watered – we snuggled in for a replaying of the Grammies on local television – all was well.

But wait. Did you realize that it was Friday the 13^th? As I tuck littles in – all three to one tiny bunk room – it dawns on me. Here we are in an unknown BnB out in BFD (Djursland) with nary a light on around us. Wasn’t it charming that they just let us come in on our own? How trusting and provincial. I didn’t even enter a credit card for the booking – they don’t know us from boo. Wait a minute. This is exactly the recipe for a horror movie. Cue creepy inn-keeper stage left. I hear a car stop on the gravel outside, so peek through the window and witness a figure not unlike the shape and likeness of Kathy Bates in Misery. My minds starts reeling, fear rising and thoughts churning. Who knows we are here? The pizza restaurant across the street? I look up the reviews – how did I find this place again? 2 old reviews –the latest from 2011, I am not appeased but finally succumb to a fitfull and restless sleep.

SAFE FROM AXE-MURDERERS AND TERRORISTS

Were they axe-murderers? Of course not. Awaiting the birth of their first grandchild to their daughter in Aarhus – they were commuting back and forth. Sweet, lovely and possibly provincial – we extend our stay through the weekend. I think we were supposed to be there. Alone and cozy, away from dreadful happenings taking place in our neighborhood back home in Copenhagen. Being an American expat in Denmark is a strange thing when terrorism strikes way too near your new home. I believe that we were supposed to be across Denmark exploring little Jutland summer towns in the middle of vinter while learning that a man with a machine gun had opened fire less than a kilometer from our flat. Killing one, injuring more around the corner from where you buy groceries, from where the kids jump on trampolines and kick balls on courts and swing on giant swings. Across the street from the public swimhall and on the plaza where you have shared a date drink with your husband. All of this is hard to correlate. Thankful the kids weren’t privy. We are safe. But I have lost a sense of safety. Copenhagen is safer than many American big towns and we have given our children an extended freedom to explore it. Will I change that? I’ll let you know. For now – I am thankful they are safe.

Speaking out freely should not be the privilege of few.
Though when death comes for trying, what should we do?
Raise our fists, rail and wrest?
Suppressing fear will be our test.
Necessity needs love until the unspeakable is through.

VALENTINE’S DAY LOVE IN COPENHAGEN

Love is how Copenhagen responded. 30000 people turned out on the same plaza and the same street where the shooting had occurred only two days before.

People hold candles as they attend a memorial service held for those killed on Saturday(REUTERS/Leonhard Foeger)

Valentine’s Day, when the shootings occurred, is not a big holiday here in Denmark, but on this day – two days later – there was so much more love and support than roses and chocolates and cards could show. Vi ere Danskere. We are Danish. When something like this happens in your neighborhood, it is hard to know how to respond. Hugging my family is the easiest thing right now. Sending you love fra Danmark.

Your Rainbow Panorama atop Aros in Aarhus

Ron Mueck’s Boy – Aros Kunstmuseum

Uncomfortable muted color space disorients

Navigating the minefield of this crazy weekend

Sletterhage Fyr, Djursland

Love fra Danmark

From

On February 6, 2015September 19, 2018 By oregongirlaroundtheworldIn American Expat, Copenhagen, Expat36 Comments

When the Answer to Where are you From is Complicated

Lessons In Living Abroad with Third Culture Kids

I met a fellow left-coaster today. Hailing from the beautiful Pacific Northwest and Portland’s sister city (sometimes rival) Seattle. Like sliding on your favorite jeans that have been broken in and fit just so, it was nice to have the same accent. Not be the only one who speaks ‘Merican round here. And it was nice to know exactly where she was from. Oh yes – I know that neighborhood. I know that place. I know where you are FROM. Ah. From. I’m FROM there. From.

But, as it turns out… “from” is relative. It’s not always so simple the answer to “where are you from?” You find this out quite quickly after arriving in a foreign country and enrolling your children in an international school of British standards with a Danish department. Me? I am from the United States. I’m American. I’m FROM Oregon. Having lived there a cumulative 17 years – it’s the FROM that I claim. I identify with it, adore it, pine for it, it is HOME to me. And it is the easy answer for my kids. They are from Oregon.

But here, from is not quite as clear-cut or easy to define. Of course, I have met Danes who have lived in Copenhagen their whole life and their from answer can be a simple personal identifier as well. I’m Danish (swelling with pride). From Copenhagen. (more pride, especially because they aren’t from Jutland. Sorry Jutland – I haven’t really met you yet – just mostly Copenhageners and well – you know – they like it here.) At the international school, the question, “where are you from” instantly gets more complicated.

More often than not, children we have encountered in the expat community here have lived in many places. So even though their parents are British, and their accents are as such, they have never actually lived in the U.K. – the children that is. I have stopped asking my kids’ new friends “where are you from?” as many look at me puzzled, incredulous, confused. You mean – where did I live last? Where are my parents from? Where do I live? I live here. Like you.

For example – my daughter’s new friend moved here from an international school in Switzerland, but her mother is Indian and they have lived in Germany as well. What is her FROM? She didn’t know. Or rather, it wasn’t so simple and to be honest, it didn’t really matter to her. It didn’t define her. Do you want to go play? Of course, my daughter responds. That’s where they’re both from right now.

I should know better. Being raised a “military brat,” I was moved from base to base until my dad ended active service with the U.S. Army. We landed in Eugene, Oregon, where he had attended one year of university as a freshman and always felt a tug to return. And so we did. From 3^rd grade on, my formative years through high school were spent being raised in a mid-sized community in western Oregon. This gives me cause to call myself an “Oregon Girl.” You may have your definition. But Oregon seeps into your skin damp and mossy and green and mountainous and wonderful.

Meeting my husband at the end of my college career in (gasp) Washington, I again went through a round of moving from state to state to state, the likes of which exceeded even the U.S. Military. Thanks to my husband’s job with Ford Motor Company. And when our third child was born in the third state and American big automotive was precipitously near a face dive into the economic pavement, we took a severance package, sold our home in Texas (after time in Michigan (twice), Ohio, Philadelphia before Texas) and moved our family back out the Oregon Trail to Portland. My husband always saw our triumphant west coast return in a sort of ticker-tape parade under the Space Needle in Seattle. I always saw us in Portland. It took some convincing but is soon became our home. And we both loved it.

So meeting someone here in Denmark whose children attend your children’s school, who is FROM your FROM – or the nearest proximity that you have encountered in your new now – there is an instant comfort level. And guess what? She is newer than my new here. Shocking. I have more experience than her here in Denmark? That’s crazy talk. But each day is more experiences. And more learning. And more new.

She asked me what I miss most about America. Hunh. I haven’t really thought about it that way to be honest. Knee-jerk response? A garbage disposal in my sink. Ha! No seriously – I do miss it. Seems silly, but scooping up the bits of food that can’t go down the drain all soggy and mushy is seriously eeeeeeuw. But other than that? Friends. I miss my friends and my family and my dog. Don’t worry, I am making friends here. Slowly, but making them. Thanks for suggesting coffee this morning – friend who may be reading this! My new friend who has had three children in three different countries by the way – makes my 3 kids in 3 states gig look a little less impressive I have to admit. Their family’s FROM story is so very interesting. But you’ll have to meet her and she can tell you herself.

So, more than American super chunk peanut butter and good affordable Mexican food or NFL games broadcast in English, (my husband would add an Oregon craft-brewed hoppy IPA), I miss my network. It’s something you know that going in. Moving abroad. Missing people would be a given. Calculated into the decision before entering. Knowing that those ties were strong enough to hold fast over the miles and distance, made the calculation bearable. Thankful for social media connectivity that keeps me in touch with family and friends on a somewhat regular basis. And thankful now for a new and growing network that will probably lay indelible markings on my ever-evolving “FROM.” It’s all relative. Right? Sending love FROM DENMARK. That is still somewhat surreal to write. Where ever you are reading from – happy Fredag and a godt weekend! Enjoy the gallery of images from my new FROM. Skål!

Our bus stop – iconic B.T. at Trianglen

#happywall

Friends, meet Irma. Irma – meet my friends.

Always trying.

Splash

Color me happy

For my PDX IG friends!

So dramatic we all can be sometimes

CPH Street Light Love.

When bikes match walls

So you want to move to Denmark…

Still crazy that we LIVE in Denmark

Glamour cargo

Beautiful murals

‘Merica in DK?

Safety in the same, amidst the ny and different

On February 4, 2015May 20, 2015 By oregongirlaroundtheworldIn American Expat, Expat, Travel5 Comments

During an expatriation – having a respite from the ny (definition and pronunciation the same as our new), a break from the different, a harbor of hospitable homogeneity is sometimes welcome, therapeutic and wholly necessary. Somewhere, where a shared language, common experiences and a duplicitous feeling of home allows one a place for letting down your guard, a determined safety, a place to exhale. In. Out. In. Out. Repeat. In. Out. In. Out. Sigh. Whether this craving for same amidst the different is positive for the procession of phases within an expatriation or not … it IS strong, powerful and real. And we accommodated it. Fed it. Stoked it. Fulfilled it. (The craving that is, people.)

And I can relate that experiencing a peer’s different and ny, with them, in their new, is a glorious thing. Suddenly, you become tourist to their guide as they share with you what they have gleaned, learned, found, cherished. And with no pressure, or judgment, or fear of alienating oneself for expressing those little annoyances, confusions, conundrums that can be caused by the differences in cultures. Because we get it. We are doing the same thing. THAT. Is a glorious thing.

We recently shared all of the above and more – including but not limited to – excellent food lovingly prepared, beautiful community, boxed wine, unbridled play, sledding adventures, hearty belly laughs, impromptu dance parties in medieval fortresses, up-late sleepovers with finger nail painting, old school video-gaming, brown cheese and temporary tattoos. Traveling to Bergen, Norway for a long weekend with a family from our home-town in Oregon was gloriously bucket-filling. And whilst there, sighing and laughing and replenishing – we learned. We experienced. We grew.

Norway is not Denmark. I know. Gross over-generalization. But as aliens having landed here in Scandi-land from a galaxy far, far away, I will admit sheepishly that we (at home) not knowing any better may or may not lump all the northern European inhabitants into a characterization of similar ilk. We don’t know yet the distinguishing characteristics and differences. But I am learning. So I will share. As Copenhagen may not = all of Denmark, nor Bergen = all of Norway, my clarification rather than Norway is not Denmark… BUT Bergen is not Copenhagen. (Duh says those of you who know.) Maybe it is an unfair comparison. Oslo may be better able to hold up for direct assessment being Norway’s Capitol replete with culture, architecture and scenery not to be missed, more akin in population, attitudes and offerings to Copenhagen. But I haven’t been to Oslo yet. I’ll revisit the comparison when I do. You can hold me to it. I have been to Bergen. In the winter.

I was told that the wintery wonderland that we landed in late Thursday night was not normal for the city streets of Bergen. The mountains that surround the fairy-tale town on all sides have frozen precipitation that paints the landscape in a broad white-stroked backdrop. Norway is the backdrop for the Disney hit Frozen you know. And Frozen’s Elsa is loosely based on (Danish) H.C. Andersen’s Snow Queen – which is chock full of trolls and magic and ICE. Norway. The sheer prevalence of references to magical creatures here makes it distinguishable from Copenhagen. Tivoli aside, they are very into fantasy here. And why not, it is fantastic here. For instance, trolls are everywhere. Peeking out windows. Hiding behind trees. Little ones in every shop for the tourists to buy. Huge ones that greet you on the mountain-top. Witches are apparently to be wary of as well. The myriad of signage regarding such atop Mount Fløyen, looming large above Bergen, was amusing if not confusing. Castles, tall-ships in the harbor, pointy little leaning brightly colored row houses of Bryggen, all add to the fairy-tale character of Bergen. But don’t get me wrong, don’t think that it is all sparkly rainbows and unicorns here (evidence in gallery below). The Norsk are the warriors. They are the hunters. They are the Vikings from tales of yore.

I have shared with you before how I think the Danes are hardy with their biking in the driving rain, the snain, the sleet, the snow. Naked Danish dips in the frigid Øresund only reinforce first impressions. But. Heels and furs and cocktails and Noma and the cultured cosmopolitan tendencies carried by most Copenhageners is for want here in Bergen. But, Norwegians. Wauw. Within three days my esteem for the Norsk was definitively etched. This is strong stock. Through soupy and continually precipitating ankle deep slush, troops of Norsk run in packs like wolves. They run through town and then UP mountains with skis on their backs, pulling children, carrying multiple packs or sleds.

They charge full-speed down icy cobblestoned streets and passages staring at maps in a world-class orienteering challenge that was like nothing I have ever witnessed. Our hosts’ home affording a perfect vantage point for the crazy zig-zagging, looping, map-reading-while-running, barely watching where they are going, crashing down hills, nearly impaling selves on broken railings Norwegian street race. And we were able to experience it all in the safety of our own familiar. Without retribution or misunderstanding of our amusement. With a communal sense of awe at these Norwegians. Impressive. All of it.

As an Oregonian, I have often held fast to the mantra that “there is no bad weather, only inappropriate clothing.” Turns out – it’s Norwegian in origin. Makes sense now. The Norsk hold true to the sentiment that there is “no problem that can not be solved by going outside.” I would conclude this is also a very Oregonian sentiment that I can whole-heartedly get behind. With a landscape and rugged sensibility that surrounds one in Bergen, there is a gravitational pull to experience outside. Thank you for sharing it with us friends. It is certifiable. And worthy. And fulfilling.

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