The Wandering Association

When I met Asgar on the Camino, he was lamenting the fact that he joined The Wandering Association AFTER purchasing all his outdoor gear, which would have saved him ten percent.

All I heard was, "I joined The Wandering Association". WHAT.  Denmark has an association for people who flan about?!?  I want to be that. In that. On that.

So, I've been wandering alot lately, around my new town, discovering nooks and crannies and falling in love with Aarhus more everyday.  Here's what we have.

Hos Sofie's Foraeldre-a badass tea house with lemon cake and comfy chairs and Danish ladies who knit and ostemsibly gossip up a storm. So far, I know for a fact that they are talking about cream, what people are called, and the number fourteen. My Danish is THAT good.

If I were a spy, this information could be the secret location of an underground nuclear plant, so I am paying close attention whilst stuffing my face with delicious pasteries.

The Mohammed Drawings cartoonist and newspaper that printed them-Jyllands-Posten.  Because of this, Aarhus gets several terrorist threats every year and people hear about it on the radio. This is hardcore.

And they make bombs in the ghetto. Apparently the police are pretty good and figuring out who's doing what before they do it, so nothing ever really blows up.








The Rainbow Panorama-I haven't been yet, but I'm obsessed now, thanks to Rodney, my friend from New Zealand, who casually brought it up in a chat today. It's a huge rainbow circle on top of the Kunstmuseum  that you can walk around and just feel complete in. It's a rainbow hamster wheel for PEOPLE!!!  LOOK AT IT.

Also a place that sells THESE. I have no idea what they are, but they have horses on them and are painted. They are probably a traditional Danish accessory that grace the doorways of every old house and ward off the evil power of trolls.


I love not knowing stuff about why and what things are...

Smorgasboard

Today we explore the glories of new potatoes from a magical island in Sweden and how you can make them look like cake.  We also will look at what the doctor gave me and what I bought afterwards to celebrate.  Finally, I will tell you some of the Danish words I learned today, in no particular order.

Let's begin.

It turns out that there is a Brigadoon for potatoes.  Peter, our merchant navy boat neighbor, brought a sack of them back from the sailclub's annual dancefest, boozeathon they have on this island every year...and gave some to us! They were dug that VERY DAY from the earth and this makes them like starchy carb gold.

I, however, did not know this until I was scrubbing them in a bucket the NEXT day, fantasizing about making potato salmon pancakes garnished with basil grown in our own greenhouse.  Tobias confided in me in hushed tones that my idea was sort of sacreligious, but we are grown ups, so we continued dumping cream and salt and pepper and garlic and onions and salmon into the mashed goodness.  This is what we came up with.  Tobi's colleagues said it looked like cake. Strawberry cake.  All I know is that I ate three helpings and licked the bowl out.

Then there was the visit to the doctor, which is suprisingly complicated if you are not a CPR card carrying member of the Danish medical borg.  I won't tell why I went to the doctor but I will promise a free signed copy of my book if anyone can figure out why I went based on the photo of the product you see here.

Let me just say, Danish doctors are remarkably efficient and do not waste time dirtying laundry that they are just going to pull off in short order. The take-away line from the visit, "Ok, I'm just going to insert this instrument and look around."  Alright. Sure. Go ahead. Let me know how it goes.

After this, I had an epiphany that really, nigger baller is actually now being called flode baller. Cream balls. That's not quite as racist as the old name, but it's still good, don't you think?

Apparently I have been unconsciously obsessing over ebelskivver, or however you spell this Danish treat, because the second I saw something written in the bakery that visually resembled what my ears hear everytime someone says ebelskivver, I pounced and purchased.   Sadly, Ebel and Aeble are not the same thing. The latter is apple, which is ok because I am also fond of apples.  For a minute I thought, "How fabulous that ebelskivver has apples in it!"  I quickly realized my folly.  Apple cinnamon pound cake is not the same.

That said, I decided that today was also the day I begin to take Danish super seriously. I'm going to LEARN this language and so, I began furiously googling classes in Aarhus.  I ended up on a website with links to free online Danish courses.  Very serious courses that teach you how to say things like "beard" and "fetus". Also, "bridegroom".

It is possible that I randomly chose the "How To Get Your Danish Citizenship Through Shotgun Weddings" website, but I'm positive that it will come in handy somehow.

I think that's about enough Danish excitement for one afternoon, but the evening is young and I can hear the call of young potatoes singing out over the wind....

8.50 to wash, 5 to dry....just buy a new shirt

I promise that this obsession with the cost of things in Denmark is purely for educational purposes and not to lionize the affordability of third world countries. Also The U.S.A.

It's obvious that 13 dollar loads of laundry give Danes things like awesome tans and the ability to make air softer, so it's worth it.

In fact, I barely even thought about the relative cost until I sat down to write today.  Rather, I blithely plugged the machine with euros, kroner, and whatever else it would accept, so I could bask in clean clothes.  I did three washes and 6 dries because it takes longer than 15 minutes to make wet clothes not wet.

Now that I reflect however, it puzzles me how you could get drunk in Spain for less than the amount it costs to launder your essentials in Denmark.  In fact, a plane ticket from Spain to Copehagen is within 20 dollars of the cost to stay un-stinky.   What does this say about the relative value of travel and personal hygiene?  Did I spell hygiene right?

I recall having a similar shock when arriving in England and seeing that petrol was sold by the litre, not gallon, for more than we were paying for a good democratic gallon of gasoline.  It seemed sacriligeous somehow, and at the same time, vaguely exotic.

Regardless, sometimes caution and ROI's must be thrown to the wind for the sake of good smells.   This does make a compelling case for hand washing however.  Especially since I now know that these tricky card operated machines provide their OWN soap and have no need of mine.

Maybe that is why they charge the price of a small unicorn to agitate my delicates.

Holy Spirit Day and Danish Adventists

After my last Skype conversation with mom and being asked if I'd seen any Adventist churches in Denmark, I realized that I had been remiss in honoring a family tradition.

It was a miracle when, on the way to a very cozy bar with my Danish friends after hearing a folk concert in the Roskilde cathedral, a huge Adventist church loomed out of the night and called me to be photographed. 

You will also be happy to know that Danes love Jesus.   The whole country loves him because he gives them holidays off of work to celebrate things like his ascension, his death, and the Holy Spirit.   We  happen to be celebrating the Holy Spirit today. This is awesome because we can just wish everyone 'Happy Holy Spirit.'  Who doesn't like that.

We honored the Holy Spirit today by sailing across the Aarhus bay.  I pretended to be a wind spirit on top of the boat.  The sunburn is incidental because I figure, it just keeps me closer to the warmth of the Lord. 

Vi sejler...Oh we do.

How that is pronounced is nothing like how it is spelled. So don't try to say it in American or else be prepared for embarrassment similar to Villy Søvndal's talking about Syria....I mean, serious. 

We went sailing today! Yes. After living on the boat for almost two weeks, we took The Sheriff out and I got to be the DRIVER. Sailor. Skipper.  Anyhow I got to steer. And I learned the Danish words for Starboard and Port. Port is nothing like it is in English, but I think that mystery shall remain for now.

You will notice in the photos that we are adoring our greenhouse that grows basil and sage and something else I  can't remember. Tobi says it is Thyme and I believe him because he grew them from seeds.  I'm basically the step mother here and sometimes feel a little jealous of the attention he gives them, but what the hell. I got to drive the boat.  He pacifies me well.

The day was perfect, right down to the shots of Sambucca we knocked back before sailing back into the harbor. Half a bottle to be exact...ish. 

So the detail that is important and therefore left to the end is that we did all of this WITHOUT A STUPID MOTOR.  None of this phaffing about with sails down and motor humming away in and out of the marina. No. We were pirates.  Really.

I have the head scarves to prove it.  Tobi says that I'm the best girl out of the host of them that he has taken out sailing and I'm pretty content with that. 

Of course I'm writing all of this with champagne and sambucca coursing through my veins, but that's fine too. I'm 33 and never too old to explore the fascinating possibilities of literary regret under the influence of Danish culture. 

Peace.

Up and over-Day 1, The Pyrenees

They call it the Trial By Fire in the english translation of the St Jean to Rocesvalles guide at the office of pilgrims.  The elevation gain is more or less like climbing Mt. Hood from Timberline.  There are wild Basque horses grazing all over the moutnnain hills.   I have pain avec raisons (bread with raisins) in my pocket and my stomach still feels slightly dodgy. Onward. 

By now it is clear that 'ultreya' is not a well known Spanish word but all of my Catalan friends are hopeful that it is a Gallego word.  This amuses me more than I can say. 

Today I have 20 miles and a mountain under my belt and I can feel all sorts of body parts I never knew I had.  

All up, this is not the trip I expected but it is the path I am on and I am continuing with alegria, JOY.

Denmark's National Obsession-Tights

Danes LOVE tights.  Mind you, this is not the colorful legwear that fashionable women of all ages like to sport.  This is much more serious.  We're talking athletic tights, or as Americans might know them, Spandex. (Pardon the lack of copyright symbol, my Danish keyboard does not believe in such type options)

The thing is, everyone has a pair. Or five.  Tobi and I spent a great deal of time on the Camino discussing proper tight ethics...who should wear them, who should not, the grave realities of how tights behave in the mirror vs. when in full flight.  I thought he was extremely well versed in Tightology and now I know why. No one is immune to the power of Lycra.

Along with a cultural predisposition to beer, happiness, and bicycles, Danes are not complete without their supportive athletic trousers. The young wear them, the old wear them.  People who have no business walking NEAR figure hugging material wear them.   Obviously this is a newer phenomena, and one can only wonder if it will last.  The fact that most Danes tend to be health conscious, tall, and scandalously attractive, makes me somewhat hope that it will, despite the occasional transgression.

Still, I'm going to be keeping track here, like I did in Jerez around Flamenco dresses. Not all tights or the under-garments they are worn with, are created equal.

I am determined to find the best and the worst of this national costume.
It's going to be awesome.

The World's Most Expensive Sunscreen and other useful lessons...

Yesterday I went for a pleasant bike ride to become acquainted with my new country.  On my bicycle and in a skirt, I sailed over the roads, merrily clicking through my three gears, praising the gently rolling Danish countryside with smiles and rings of my bell. 

And then the wanderlust kicked in.  It whispered in my ear seductive things like, "You could TOTALLY ride another 21 kilometers and still make it home in time to meet Tobi."  I knew this was untrue in my brain, but my camino legs had other ideas.  They pumped the pedals furiously and joyously...I was being hijacked by my explorer's ambition.

Thank goodness I remembered I had not put on sunscreen at the same time I saw a giant windmill on the near horizon.  Suddenly I was seized by the need to TAKE A PHOTO OF THAT WINDMILL UP CLOSE RIGHT NOW NOW NOW.  Touristmania had me in its clutches, so I rode towards the mill, stopping at a shop that seemed to spell a word resembling Apothecary.  They had sunscreen. Hooray!

The current conversion rate of Danish Kroner to American dollars is about 5 or 6 to 1....The cheapest price I found for sunscreen was oh....109 kroner...I knew this was alot, but my brain was obsessed with windmills and I couldn't do the quick math until I walked out of the store with my sunscreen, a small bottle of hand lotion, and a receipt proving that I spent 200 Kroner on two items smaller than a bottle of shampoo.

Do the math like I should have.

This is going to be the best sunscreen I have ever met.

Less than an hour later, I had a bag of fresh vegetables for about 70DKK and knew that it is possible to purchase sunscreen for about 85DKK.

Lesson learned.

 Oh yes, and the wind mill was for sale.

The telephone number is: 86 10 28 28

Want.

There is a thing to life...

When life hands you lemons, you can make lemonade...or move to Denmark to live on a sailboat with your hot Danish Prince....and drink it there.

This is my new plan.  Also, the new reality.  See the picture for proof.  Here we are on the boat.

Our life is simple and uncluttered. We eat steak for dinner and drink champagne.  We shower in coin operated bathrooms at the Marina.  We bike into Aarhus for coffee and beers, while commenting on the state of people who wear tights well and poorly.

The greencard scheme, as they call their tricky password for letting foreigners stay in Denmark is getting schemed by US.  Yes.  We have a miniature greenhouse. Nothing can stop us now.