Traveling the inner byways

As of the last four months, all my traveling has been of the internal nature, relying on memory and imagination to color the miniscule gaps of time that appear and disappear like worm-holes in the state of being called New Motherhood.

Between the feedings and the changings, the entertaining and the nurturing, people around me are starting to get their wander on, and several, my baby sister included, are taking off for the Camino and Peregrinations Into The World.


Vicarious travel has never seemed so exciting until now.  Remembering the places I have been and the people I have met whilst being on the road evokes a sense of gratitude and excitement on behalf of those going into New Frontiers.  I do not feel the need to go now, but am quite content to wait, germinate and bide my time until the next leg of the journey through the world is fully developed and ready to embark upon.  It may be years before this happens and that is right and fine.  

I am on an adventure of the most human kind at this moment.  Watching and witnessing the unfolding of a spirit coming to land in a body that I helped form and bring into being.  It is its own form of world travel, only this is a stone that will ripple the surface of life's pond with stories and adventures of its own one day...imagine.

The Darkness of Denmark

I'm sitting here at 4.18pm watching the sun go down.  Yesterday, Tobias and I hosted a huge family gathering out here at our summer house and I wondered aloud, "What do you Danes DO with yourselves for the three months out of the year when the light shines little to never?"

I was hoping for answers like, "We spend our time telling tall tales of northern trolls and Viking heroes of yore."  or "Carving toys for village children."

What I got was a range from, "It's the opposite in my soul, as in, it comes awake in the winter." to "I don't remember."

The leaves have all mostly fallen from the trees and I have the fire burning pretty much constantly and I have to admit, it's pretty cozy.  It reminds me also, that the Seasonal Affective Disorder that plagues a large majority of Pacific Northwesterners, is probably childs' play compared to the deepening dark of Scandinavia.

In response to this, I have several photos of the early Fall which demonstrate both light and color. And castles, because let's face it. Castles should be hunted down and photographed with all the glee that a foreigner can muster. Behold. Glee.

We also discovered Hamlet's Grave, which, the sign was kind enough to inform us, was likely not where Hamlet was burried, but WAS an important burial mound for some kind of Danish royalty, so we should be satisfied with that. Talk about marketing genius.

Another Fall highlight has been meeting a very nice and frisky Icelandic pony named "something Icelandic".  Here she is in all her shaggy glory. 

Volunteering, Fall Food, and Pooping In The Woods

It has now been four months since I landed in Copenhagen without a clue as to what I was doing in Denmark besides following a hot Dane I'd met on the Camino, home. 

In that time, I have lived on a sailboat, walked the length of the country dressed as a Medieval Pilgrim, learned enough Danish to get arrested, and become engaged.  I have also applied for a greencard to stay, which, contrary to the Danish Immigration website, is taking decidedly longer than 1-3 months to process. 

All of this adds up to the topics for today's post.  Namely, what to do when you can't legally work, live in a summer house in the Field of Thor and are watching the days get shorter by 3 minutes every day. That's 21 minutes less day light every week.  Only counting sunset.  Count sunrise getting later and it's almost 40 minutes less daylight every week.

So volunteering instead of getting a job.  It's good for the soul, bad for the pocketbook, but potentially a lifesaver if you aren't a Facebook addict or have already watched through every episode of Glee, Revenge and Once Upon A Time.  This explains why I am torn, as I have done all of the latter but am totally Facebook Happy.  

Needless to say, I did some research after a conversation with Tobias about how Denmark doesn't seem to be much of a volunteering country...and found out that we were both wrong.  According to THE website on Denmark, 43% of Danes volunteer at least once a year. This is chalked up to the fact that they have a socialist minded society and this involves great social trust, so they are therefore more inclined to give their time to organizations that facilitate a smooth and harmonious society.

Americans on the otherhand, apparently have a 26% percent volunteer rate.  In these stormy election times, many news commentators in the States have made it clear that our current president is suspect for having socialist sympathies...and also for wanting to raise taxes to help build a stronger infrastucture for social services.  Just a random thought, but volunteering might be a good option for unemployed Americans to both help themselves and help their country.  But of course, we're not socialist, so that should make up for the missing 18% percent.

I'm riding on that philosophy as justification for not having found a suitable volunteering position yet, along with the fact that we live in Thorsager, which is so far out in the country that we have a septic tank instead of city sewer. 





This means, that when it becomes full and the Septic Wizards are preparing for their sojourn to the country, we get to poop in the woods.

Our current reality is comprised of such wilderness exoduses and the bathroom slowly starting to smell like a Rest Stop Loo despite my liberal use of cleaning products and air sanitizers.  We just happened to luck out because we can't see any of our neighbors from our house/woods.  Civilized as Denmark is, there are still fantastic opportunities to rough it and then make a nice martini from the contents of your refridgerator.

Or, in this case, to embark on a processional of curries and soups for the fall, which make it more likely than ever that you'll get to experience the joys of a nice Vindaloo and then a quick trot into the trees. 







Fall is obviously a wetter and drearier time of year which stubbornly clings to an optimism that trickles through falling leaves in the form of magical sunlight.

Hence, Tobias and I decided that we should have food which highlights the magical sunlight.  We've spiced our way through Vindaloo, Korma, Tom Kha Gai, Chicken Noodle, Chili, and Vegetable Glory.  We've made it a priority to include rice in every meal. It has been delicious. 








The toilet is coughing and gasping now. Apparently the Toilet Man has shown up like an angel of goodwill, summoned by the power of this blog.  I will have a look outside.

Yes, there he is, with the word Kloakservice emblazoned on the side of his truck.  I I seem to remember a part of the colon called the cloaca from high school biology.  Tobias, via Skype has assured me that it means sewer which I guess makes sense. 

The toilet has now turned into a vaccuum nexus to another world, spewing forth its wroth on unsuspecting spectators.  I now understand why some children are totally freaked out by the thought of getting sucked into drains.  Or their country loo.  The house also smells like something died a looong time ago.

So you see, life in Denmark is both cultured and primal, in hole and out hole, summer and winter.  You should all visit and be as entralled as I have been.

North, to Vendsyssel!

Alright. It's been 21 days since the last installment of Danish Diversions.
Fear not, I have been busy building fires, writing stories and watching the weather change from sunny to decidedly more precipitous. 

Also, I have started ballroom dancing and taking trips to the northern white sandy beaches of Denmark in the region known as Vendsyssel.  Fifty cookies for anyone who can pronounce this, who is NOT from Denmark.



Now, as you can see, the beach was blustery and full of concrete structures, which it turns out, were built by the Germans in WWII.  Conveniently, after the war, the sand bluffs that they had been built into decided to molt.  Now the western beaches are filled with these beached concrete whales of war that people grafitti and paint gold. 





I think they'd make great stages for little performance art peices.  The empty spaces left by the huge guns, like where the mural is painted behind me, have plenty of space for prancing about.




















 On our way along the beach, I also had a chance to heroically carry Tobias across a RAGING RIVER OF DEATH (twice), as he had not thought to purchase red rain boots like I had. 



















I would also like to note that this is the land of Tobi's childhood so we hunted down his forrest and magical lake that he used to play Robin Hood and Pioneers in.  (Though not necessarily at the same time.)

To celebrate our very successful day of Northing, we ate seafood and I found a salt water prince masquerading in the form of a crayfish.  He did not escape transformation. Lucky me.

Stay tuned for stories about the soups and curries of fall, which are not remotely Danish, but happen here, so are therefore, relevant.

The Barking Deer of Denmark

The morning started off calm and serene...me with my cup of tea, a nice long meditation, then gazing out my window into the lush Danish foliage.  Everything was tranquil as the sun came filtering gently through the beech leaves. 

A deer came bounding from left to right, graceful and lithe as it leapt in front of the porch ...and began to bark like an angry Rottweiler.

It did not stop to chat or explain itself, merely kept barking alarmingly as it sailed past the deck and crashed into the woods, yarking at the top of its lungs.

Yes, I said the deer barked.  Like this guy at around 1.17

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9EWzg4eiJnM

Everything in my brain was on hyper alert.

Stimulus recorder:  Deer! Barking!

Command Central: Deer do not bark.  Repeat, recalculate input.

Stimulus recorder: Deer! Still! Barking! Bark! Bark!

Command Central: Impossible. Deer are mute.

Stimulus recorder:  Negative.  Sounds emerge from deer. Bark. 

Command Central: WTF.

So there I was, tranquility shattered, furiously searching the interwebs with queries to the following:

deer+barking
deer+sounds+Denmark
deer+wounded+bark
DEER+BARKED+WHAT!

Nothing useful was coming up.  Deer grunt, they sigh, they cry, but apparently, they do not bark. 



So I went to youtube and found our above fearlessly barking deer.  But my deer had no horns.  My deer was just your average run of the mill, unpronged deer.  I decided to consult the expert searchers and immediately Skyped Tobi at work.

Jaime: Whatever you are doing now, drop it.  I have an emergency
Tobias: What is it baby!
Jaime: A deer just ran by the window barking and I have no idea what it means.
Tobias: ?
Jaime: Yes.
Tobias: The deer BARKED?
Jaime: That's what I'm saying, but none of my searches are coming up with anything GOOD.
Tobias. Woah.

In his wisdom and years of interwebery magic, and Danish fluency, he was back in five. 

Tobias: Deer bark when they are afraid or excited.
Jaime:  Excited?
Tobias: Yeah. You know.
Jaime: Oh. I don't think it was excited.
Tobias: Is it still barking?

The thing had continued to sound like it was ralphing up its guts in canine fashion for a good five minutes after flashing through my yard. Then it stopped.   Five minutes after that, as I was catching my breath and wits, a bird came flying as fast as it could right into the huge picture window and bounced off in a cloud of feathers.

There was no body to be found.  I'm pretty sure the Danish wildlife may be insane. Or excited.  Either way, watch out.  Deer have been holding out on us.

Danish Stomach Flu and other fun summer activities

I have been remarkably healthy these last five months.  No coughs, no runny noses, nothing even remotely exciting from the Stay-Home-Sick pantheon.  So I'll admit, I got a little cocky.

When Tobias came home on Friday feeling 'real tired', I stepped up and nursed that sick man and his man flu the whole dang weekend, confident in the knowledge that I would not contract his affliction.

It seemed fairly terrible as he vascillated between no appetite (the man usually eats half a cow without blinking), dizzyness that made him break into cold sweats, and mind crushing headaches...to say nothing of the distress happening down under. 

Never mind that, I felt strong and immune ready to field any bugs he might throw at me. 

He left on Sunday for business and I felt fine.  Monday I staggered a bit and decided to lay low, just to err on the side of avoiding the worst of it. Tuesday was pristine and seemed to be proof that I had mastered time, space and the man flu without feeling like warmed death.

And then Wednesday struck.  I awoke feeling like a burbling brook.  In my guts.  Strange.  But oh Nelly.

As the day progressed, the hours grew longer and more agonizing as my lust for food disappeared and even water started looking suspicious.  Still, I knew I had to eat and drink to replace lost fluids so I alternated between moaning on the couch, shuffling to the loo, trying to watch films, and refilling my water glass.

After a very, very long night which included me sitting in the hot shower for at least half an hour...around 3 am trying to cure my headache, I decided to try some more water, and a grapefruit.  I have since discovered why appetite is one of the first things to go.

Anytime I eat something, it makes my guts start howling again. We're talking three part harmony.  It's unstoppable.  So, here I am, in bed, at noon thirty on Thursday, writing this epistle and contemplating another stumble to the bathroom before I attempt to sleep still more.  All the same, I might kill for some chicken soup right now, but the store is far away, I'm on foot, and it's likely my bum would explode if I attempted such a pilgrimage.  This is a good and worthy challenge around being present and not judging myself or the situation. Let's hear it for soul growth opportunities.

In the meantime, I can recommend some fantastic summer films if anyone is similarly inclined.   

Guess WHAT!

Yes, that's a unicorn. On that finger.

I had jokingly said to Tobias that if I were to ever get married, I wanted a unicorn engagement ring. 

When Tobias took a knee in front of his father's commune, I of course said yes. He put a curled chili pepper on my finger that he had grown from a seed.  Unicorns are apparently very difficult to locate in ring form and must be imported which takes more time than he felt he had. He didn't want me to beat him to the punch, being a liberated and outspoken woman as I am ;)  Unbeknownst to him, I was quite prepared to wait :)

I asked if we could get a simple silver something instead of a huge unicorn rock and give the rest to Make A Wish so the 5,000 dollar goal would be reached and we could let our adventure be yet another catalyst for making magic in the world.  He of course, said yes.

What a beautiful man.  What a magical ring!