Megan Green • Denmark
Hyggeligt. It’s a Danish adjective that has no direct translation to English—and since, at least to me, it describes Denmark and Danish culture so succinctly, that’s kind of a frustrating thing. Hyggeligt (or, in its noun form, hygge) is an atmosphere, really. You know it when you see it—it’s eating Christmas dinner with family over candlelight, surrounded by people you love and so filled with warmth and contentment; it’s cuddling up while it’s snowing outside with a good book and a fuzzy blanket and sighing happily; it’s the cozy nights at the café-bar my friends and I go to where everyone sits on beds or couches and the only light is the candles that line the walls and tables, where we talk about everything and anything and just happily enjoy each other’s company and great drinks. Hyggeligt is coziness, warmth, comfort, contentment, tranquility; it’s the absence of stress or pressure or negativity. It is such a pervasive part of Danish culture that it is used to describe or comment on most anything—a review of a café would be useless without referencing whether or not it is properly hyggeligt, a day with family or friends could not be properly conveyed without it. Danes live for hygge, and it pervades the Danish culture in such a visible and powerful way that it is impossible to ignore. Also, did I mention it’s pronounced hoo-guh-lee? Threw you for a loop there, didn’t I? Welcome to the Danish language.
Hygge is undeniably most visible around Christmastime. Let me try to even begin to explain. You see, the Danes really, really, really love Christmas. From the release of the Christmas beer in early November (oh yes, all the breweries release a special holiday beer; it is darker and stronger and its release warrants a national holiday, naturally) the whole country goes into Christmas-mode. Decorations line every street downtown and Christmas lights go up in cafés, signs everywhere merrily proclaim “GOD JUL” (Merry Christmas), Christmas markets selling ornaments, candies, trinkets, hot wine, and other amazing goods are erected in literally every nook and cranny of the city, and Christmas lunches and Christmas parties are frequent drunken affairs. The Danes have a variety of deeply-rooted Christmas traditions—singing Christmas songs and dancing around the Christmas tree, eating a rice pudding-type dish with a whole almond hidden inside (whoever gets the mandelgave in their serving gets a present), playing Christmas present-opening games filled with dice and screaming and fun. The actual celebration lasts days—December 24th -26th, at least, with many families celebrating longer. Christmas here is not about religion, interestingly, it’s about family and warmth and hygge.
Participating in the Christmas culture here has undeniably been my favorite thing about Denmark. Visiting Christmas markets with my friends while clutching steaming cups of hot chocolate, dancing around the Christmas tree at a Christmas party with my Danish mom, getting the mandelgave during my hall’s good-bye dinner, making traditional Danish Christmas food with my roommate in our questionable kitchen—all of these things have made me feel so warm and happy, and have truly inundated me with a sense of actual belonging here. The hyggeligt culture is something I absolutely adore about Denmark, and the myriad ways it manifests itself around the holidays remind me every day how I have fallen in love with Copenhagen and the lifestyle here—and, more recently, how I have come to embody it myself and feel truly Danish in that sense.
So in a few days, when I return home, I know I’ll be in my hyggeligt place for Christmastime. I’ll be surrounded by the people I love most in the world, at my absolute favorite time of the year, in my own big, cozy bed, partaking in the traditions I’ve loved and developed with my family my whole life. But I’ll always have Denmark to thank for showing me how to appreciate the hygge in life, for reminding me that life is all about being cozy, comfortable, and purely happy with family and friends. And with that in mind, I know I’ll never be too far from this country and this culture I’ve come to love so much.
When exploring a new place, some people flip for taking beautiful pictures of heart-stopping sights, others absolutely love rushing from one museum or cultural attraction to another, and still others just want to sleep all day and explore a place via its nightlife. I, however, find myself in a different category altogether: the people who, quite simply, find that the best way to get to know a city is through its food. Don’t get me wrong, I love museums and sightseeing and all that good stuff as much as the next person—but, to be perfectly honest, no wonder of the modern world will ever make my heart swell like some damn good food. There’s a good reason why I have referred to my travels over the past 2 and a half weeks consistently as my very own “food tour of Europe”; my days have focused more around gastronomic endeavors than anything else, really. So in the spirit of exploring Europe my way, I’d like to dedicate this entire post shamelessly and wholeheartedly to the enlightening, enjoyable, and—I maintain—extremely cultural experience of eating.
In my experience, there’s nothing quite like returning to a place to realize how much you love it. It happens every time I fly home to Los Angeles—I can go months at a time without thinking too much about the city, but then the instant I look out the window of the descending plane and see those miles and miles of bright, shiny city lights in all their urbanized glory, my heart swells and I feel that same smushy feeling of knowing you’re home. Lately, I’ve felt the same thing flying into Chicago—the family I’ve formed at school has, in every way, made the city feel like home to me. But in all my naïveté, I never thought I could say the same about Copenhagen.
But, of course, it happened. It took awhile, but it’s unmistakably there. It happened when I traveled to Estonia and Finland, even when I traveled to nearby western Denmark. I found myself saying, “I can’t wait to go home,” before realizing the home I was picturing was the winding, confusing, unpronounceable streets of this cozy city. I missed waking up and looking out my window at the hordes of people biking to work, their children gliding along happily in cabooses attached to their back wheels. I missed my Denmark food, the pastries and cappuccinos and smoking hot falafels; I longed for my daily ritual of painstakingly translating Danish menus to English and crossing my fingers that whatever showed up would not, indeed, have meat on it. I realized then that, in a city where I still have to ask for directions pretty much every time I want to go somewhere new, I sound like an idiot when I try to speak the native language, and I often find myself still so struck by its beauty I take pictures like a brand-new tourist, I have managed to truly come to feel at home here. Somehow, over the past few months, I have found the familiar in a state of ceaseless unfamiliarity.
So when I depart tomorrow for my 18 days of travel throughout Europe, I now know what to expect upon my return. I know full well that even as I have the time of my life sipping afternoon tea in London, pretending to be cultured while drinking wine and visiting the Louvre in Paris, exploring the beautiful canals of Amsterdam, engrossing myself in the rich and troubled history of Europe in Berlin, and enjoying some serious European nightlife in Prague, I will be so glad to see my Copenhagen when I get back. I will be eagerly anticipating my usual afternoon pastry, my long, wonderful dinners with my visiting mom, the warm, cozy vibe of my favorite Danish café. In Copenhagen, I have found a home, and—despite unbelievable amounts of excitement for my travel break—I already can’t wait to be back.
From the moment I arrived here, I could tell something was different. Life is just lived differently here—slower, simpler, and calmer, filled with hours-long cozy meals with family and friends and casual bike rides to work. In Denmark, a low-key, low-stress vibe is not only a way of life, it’s a cultural foundation. Here, people eat slower, walk slower, and just quite simply take the time to enjoy life. And every day, I feel it affecting me, making me friendlier, more forgiving, more charitable—in essence, more the person I want to be. Without even realizing I was missing it previously, this is exactly what I needed.
I love Northwestern more than anything in the world, but I, along with most of my friends, work far too hard. I get sick all the time, regularly find myself getting 4 hours of sleep a night, and, I am embarrassed to admit, have definitely cried over an ill-fated midterm or two. I believe it stems from the intense culture American high schools have developed, ridden with immense and ceaseless pressure to get into the best colleges, take the most AP’s, get the best SAT scores. The culture is “you’re never enough” and thus the implication is you can always do more and be better. While I have relaxed thoroughly since coming to Northwestern—something about not being in the same classes as all of your peers has a definite calming-down effect—I still often find myself so overloaded with work I neglect to participate in things I genuinely love, things that would actually probably benefit me more as a person: volunteer work, spending time just laughing with my friends, writing, or reading for pleasure. And that, in my mind, is a sad thing indeed. And something the Danes would definitely have a thing or two to say about.
Of course, part of the laid-back, anti-stress Danish culture has to do with the luxury of living under a very substantial welfare state—for example, students are encouraged to spend years figuring out what they want to do with their lives, and the Danish government literally pays young adults (over 5000 kroner a month!) to study at the university. Working takes on a different nature when you know you have the freedom to not worry so much about money, when you know that you and your family will be covered by excellent healthcare, and you will be taken care of in old age or times of hardship. However, it’s the attitudes I’ve observed that I believe we as high-stress Americans stand the most to learn from. I am taking a class with all Danish and international students at the University of Copenhagen, and I saw right away that university students here display a level of commitment and engagement in their studies that I have rarely, if ever, seen at Northwestern. Students here are given the freedom to both figure out exactly what makes them tick before committing, and maintain a manageable workload that allows for full immersion and engagement. They are expected to be self-motivated; there are no mundane reading quizzes or homework assignments, merely a written paper or oral interview at the end of the semester that allows students to display their acquired knowledge on aspects of the course that are most interesting to them. At first, it blew my mind that people actually did the reading. But without fail, even without recognition or assessment, every single person in the class not only does the reading, but has an opinion on it and wants to talk about it. There is just, quite simply, an aura of mutual respect in education—the professor respects the student, and the students respect the class material—and it breeds an intellectual stimulation I’ve never seen before. I hesitate to use this word to describe school, but I can’t deny it—it’s beautiful.
In short, Denmark has showed me the myriad benefits of taking a step back. Every person I’ve met here knows how to do it, and I think it’s something pretty much every person I know can benefit from. There is a certain freedom and sense of humble gratefulness that comes from finally realizing, clear as day, that as long as you are surrounded by people you love, amazing food and drink, and a respect for yourself and your happiness, that’s all you need. The only word I really know how to pronounce and use frequently in Danish (besides the words for “bitch” and “beer”, also important) is the word for thank you—tak—and I can’t help but think there’s a reason for that. So tak, Denmark, for taking me down a notch. I needed it.
I have a surprise for you: Finland is pretty much the coolest country ever.
Perhaps due to its unassuming role in global politics, or its tendency to at first glance blend in with the other Nordic countries in terms of politics and culture, I have never exactly thought of Finland when considering must-see destinations in Europe. Finland has always screamed more “reindeer sausage” than “hip and modern” in my mind. And while there are plenty of reindeer sausages (and reindeer hats, and reindeer scarves, and reindeer antler motifs) decorating this charming country, Finland brings a hell of a lot more to the table.
Helsinki, Finland’s capital city and where we spent most of our time on our week-long academic study tour, is absolutely incredible. Seemingly torn between picturesque, quaint, old-world European buildings and edgy high-end boutiques, clubs, and bars, the city is alluring and comforting all at once; it is quite similar to Copenhagen in this way. Within a few blocks, you can sample rich, sweet Finnish dark bread and juicy lingonberries at the farmer’s market along the wharf, then turn around and find yourself dropping a cool thousand euro on a Prada bag, sipping a cappuccino at a trendy café, or strolling the 240 stores of Itäkeskus, the largest mall in the Nordic countries. While this is a common feature of many European cities, the sense of traditional Finnish warmth, hospitality, and fiercely proud down-home vibe make it an incredibly unique city, a sassy tribute to both the unindustrialized, simple country Finland always has been and the little diva it knows it can be, just a little.
Although my severely depleted bank account will indicate that I enjoyed modern Finland quite a bit—two words for you: Ice Bar—I can’t lie, it was the traditional Finnish sauna that had me falling in love with this quirky little country. Let me explain. The Finns freakin’ love saunas. They are a crucial element of Finnish culture, considered by the Finns to be both a place to slow down and socialize and a vehicle for physical and mental relaxation—an entity with genuine, holistic medical benefits. In Finnish culture, the sauna is not a place to go when you want to treat yourself, but a vital part of everyday life and personal well-being.
As a girl who, yes, thoroughly enjoys a trip to the sauna at the gym after a tough workout, but who also enjoys a steady supply of Nyquil and a general love for solving all problems with my army of over-the-counter drugs, I wasn’t sure the whole “holistic healing” thing was quite for me. In the spirit of “do as the (insert native people’s name here) do” that I try to carry with me in all of my travels, I was excited but pretty skeptical. So you get into a hot room and get really sweaty? Whatever, I thought. At least maybe I’ll sweat out some of the vodka hot chocolates that I had pretty much been consuming via IV throughout the week. No harm in that.
As we all stripped down to our bikinis and towels and headed into the sauna, I was at first simply taken aback by how beautiful it was. This was no Evanston Athletic Club locker room sauna. Perfectly sanded wooden stairs led up to a platform with two levels of similarly perfect wooden benches, giving off almost a tree-house vibe—if a tree house was located in a small, dark, indescribably hot room. In the corner was a giant box of fiery stones atop a stove-like contraption that emits a warm yet intimidating blood-orange glow and makes the room incredibly hot—about 80 degrees Celsius, without the addition of 35 girls studying abroad in public health. You spend about a half hour (or however long “your body wants to”) in the sauna and then—here’s the kicker—run outside, in the freezing cold Finnish air, and jump into the icy (I mean this literally) lake outside. The shock of hot to cold is supposed to be extremely restorative, refreshing, and extremely therapeutic. Then you do the whole thing over again, hot to cold and back again until you have had your fill.
After initial feelings of claustrophobia and a slight panic until I realized I couldn’t really breathe through my nose and had to utilize a decidedly sexy mouth-breathing technique, I settled in, sat down on my towel, and let the sweating begin. And sweat, I did. To provide you with an extremely attractive and ladylike description, I was dripping. It was uncomfortable in the way that doing sit-ups is uncomfortable—the “good hurt” that evokes a special kind of love/hate relationship. Yet unlike a workout, it was strangely relaxing in its overwhelming heat: you just had to breathe, relax, and sit with it. After about 5 minutes, love decidedly won out.
When I began to feel overwhelmingly like an oven-roasted delicacy, a few of my friends and I decided it was time for the dip. I was so hot at this point, it wasn’t even intimidating at first. I made my way out to the pier in my towel, stared down the icy black water, and expected Pacific Ocean cold. Thankfully close to the ladder, I took a breath and jumped in. Immediately I realized that this wasn’t Pacific Ocean cold. It was Arctic/penguin/polar bear cold. I think my body must have gone into shock from the drastic temperature change because I literally couldn’t breathe, it was like my chest seized up and said, “Ain’t no way I’m working after what you just did to me.” Sputtering, I made a beeline for the ladder and dragged myself up faster than I knew my upper body strength was capable of, without an instant of thought or consideration. My friend Ali described my face afterwards: “You looked like you had literally just died. You were also grabbing your boobs.” Good thing I always have my priorities in order, I suppose.
After panting loudly, resorting to my usual coping mechanism of screaming various expletives repeatedly, and sprinting away from that evil cold water back to the sauna, I sat back down and, quite suddenly, it hit me. That crazy, rejuvenated, almost reborn feeling the Finns go on about. It was almost a thrill (from jumping in the lake, I imagine) but tempered by a warmth that seemed to still radiate from my time in the sauna earlier. My body felt both calm and hypersensitive all at once, a tranquil alertness that can’t be simply explained. I had almost entirely forgotten why I was doing this, why I had made the decision to make myself both uncomfortably hot and unbearably cold within the span of a few minutes—because for some reason, it works. I don’t know how, or why, or if it was mental or physical or something more, but I felt amazing. I breathed the calmest breath I had taken for awhile and suddenly it just all made sense. And after all my screaming and cursing, I couldn’t wait to do it all over again.
Over the past month or so of my time in Denmark, I’ve developed a curious fondness for a little, walled-off (or, as the proud citizens like to see it, walled-in) area of Copenhagen called Christiania. Founded on an ex-military base as a “social experiment” by hippies in 1971, Christiania is pretty much a hippie heaven: against the backdrop of brightly-covered graffiti flaunting anti-conformist and liberal ideals lie sculptures crafted from bottle caps and tires, amazing organic and vegetarian food, artisan crafts for sale, and live guitar music. Oh, and a free hash market.
Yep, these characteristics—particularly the latter—definitely make Christiania both a popular destination for liberal-minded Copenhageners and curious tourists. I like to consider myself somewhat in both categories at this point, but the reason I love Christiania is because I simply find the fact that it even exists to be a bit unreal—it just has a truly unique, what-the-hell-is-this-place kind of vibe that I can’t get enough of. Christiania is definitely a controversial place, a community that has been perpetually at odds with the government and yet is so crucial to Danish culture that my professor dedicated an entire lesson to discussing its history in my Danish Language and Culture class. Christiania serves as a symbol of the youth and the rebellious counterculture of Copenhagen, and has been a haven for liberal Danes for 39 years now. The self-governing community has stood strong against various attempts of the Danish government to shut down its free hash market and make residents pay property taxes—an issue currently being debated by the Danish Supreme Court. However, the truly fascinating thing about Christiania is that the government needs it, as much as it tries to deny its existence. (Photo-taking is not illegal, but definitely gets you a good scolding. Good thing I’m such a badass.) In 2004, when the government first tried to shut down the hash market in Christiania, criminal circles jumped at their chance to take over the now-unmonopolized market, and drug lords and gangs entered the cannabis trade and spread it all over the country—resulting in death, destruction, and a complete police nightmare. Back went the marijuana to Christiania. I guess the government saw that keeping its drugs in one place had the dual benefit of keeping the liberal, weed-smoking Danes satisfied and helping themselves out a little, too. Also, Christiania’s citizens make it clear they mean no harm. Their motto is, after all, “NO HARD DRUGS.” All they want is their hash, man.
This Sunday marked the 39th birthday of Christiania, and my friends and I decided to go check out the festivities, which we had heard were supposed to be pretty amazing. It was exactly what you would imagine a hippie birthday party to be—lots of drunk swaying to music and stoned people eating Thai food. But, you know, even better, because it’s legal. As we strolled around, taking in the sights (who says graffiti-covered trailers aren’t sights?) and the very eclectic crowd, I couldn’t help but notice how happy, how simply and purely joyful, everyone seemed. Yes, many of them had probably indulged in some hash-based activities that afternoon, which might have helped a little. And the incredible smells wafting from the many food carts probably didn’t hurt—Christiania merchants definitely know their clientele, and keep the food delicious and readily available: made-to-order Nutella crepes, fresh corn on the cob dripping with melted butter, and the best empanadas I’ve ever had (and I come from Los Angeles). But I realized by the end of the day that the real reason people seemed so contented and full of life is because this was, quite simply, a celebration. Not just a celebration of Christiania’s birthday, but of the right of the people who live in and frequent that eclectic little place to live the lifestyle they want to live. And—no matter which way your political views may lean—I don’t think anyone can deny that that is truly something worth celebrating.
Note to self: Do not attempt anything athletic with the adjective “killer” in the title. Especially when said adjective is used to describe a self-guided bike tour in a country where people bike everywhere, all the time, in horrific weather conditions. You will get lost, almost cry, scream curse words you really didn’t even know you knew, and have to stop for ice cream a lot. It’s rough.
Yep, it was an interesting Saturday. This past weekend, I went on a weekend-long biking trip to a picturesque (read: hilly) Danish island called Bornholm. After not sleeping all night—I would like to kick whoever decided an overnight ferry with no beds and bright fluorescent lights was an excellent way to transport students to a weekend of intense biking—we got to the island at 6 a.m. I was cranky, to say the least. However, after being cheered up considerably by chocolate for breakfast, my friends and I decided “the killer tour,” a 65 km (or, if you get lost a billion times, at least 80 km) ride around the island, would be an excellent idea for our first day of biking.
I should have known, given my lack of coordination and inability to put my helmet on the correct way, that I was about to be pretty damn miserable. But at first, it wasn’t too bad. Hilly, yes, but at least my helmet was finally on the right way due to the sympathetic guidance of my friends. Also, the island was absolutely gorgeous. Around every single turn and peak awaited another breathtaking view: the long stretch of white-sand coast dotted with Danish towns giving way to a shockingly blue sea to the left, and rolling hills of greenery, farms, and fornicating sheep to the right. I looked like a 5-year-old boy in my helmet and rain gear, but I was having a fabulous time and already dreaming of how beautiful my booty was going to look after all that biking.
I can pinpoint exactly the first moment (of many) when I seriously considered “accidentally” injuring myself and thus justifying calling my sore ass a taxi. It was about 25 km in, and we were going up a demon hill when it started to absolutely downpour. Add that to the gale force winds that had started to pick up, and I was just not moving up that hill. After uttering a variety of words that would get a show kicked off primetime television, I walked my wet bike up the muddy road and swore to myself I would never touch another bike ever again.
Unfortunately, I still had 55 km and the rest of what ended up being a 10-hour biking “adventure” to go. Still in semi-optimistic spirits at the halfway point, we took a wonderful and much-needed ice cream and sightseeing break in a town called Dueodde where apparently they have the most beautiful sand in the world. In fact, they export their sand to put in hour glasses in gift shops. How useful! Who says Denmark isn’t integral to world trade? It was pretty damn cool sand, I have to say. Motivated by sugar and epic sand photos (plus the fact that we still had 30 km to go to a nap) we took off again.
This would be a good opportunity to mention that aforementioned gale force winds did not stop, and in fact only continued to pick up, for the rest of the trip. The next leg was awful—once, when going downhill on a pretty steep incline, I was literally pedaling as hard as I could and absolutely not moving due to the wind. This made me and my potty mouth very upset. At the next stop, we ate horrifying amounts of chocolate and contemplated death. One girl we were biking with even asked a nice Danish couple for a ride home. Being Danish and thus, extremely kind, they obliged and spent 20 minutes jamming her bike into their tiny European car as we all watched longingly. I judged, but I wanted it.
Finally, the last leg was an absolute joke. It was getting dark, and images of The Human Centipede (never under any circumstances watch this movie and then travel down lonely roads in Europe) were running through my head. We got shockingly lost in the forest and were perpetually “12 km away” from our hostel for about an hour, according to the occasional cruel path signs. I still believe that this path is a giant joke the Danes play on silly Americans who are arrogant enough to think they can follow a simple map. After luring many sympathetic elderly Danes out of their cars to help us navigate with our adorable puppy-dog faces (and by this I mean we probably looked so psychotic with rage and helmet hair they felt bad for us) we finally, FINALLY made it back. Dinner was a silent affair, interrupted by the occasional, “My ass hurts” or, “Did that really happen?” I chased dinner with approximately 3 times the recommended dose of Advil and fell asleep.
But don’t feel too bad for me or anything. The next day was absolutely perfect. After a quick breakfast, we strolled around town and, when the painkillers kicked in, took a gorgeous (read: flat) 10 km bike ride to see “the highest waterfall in Denmark.” I am highly suspicious that this is because it is the only waterfall in Denmark, but still, it was pretty and, more importantly, a mere 5 km away from the best tomato soup, homemade Danish chocolate, and ice cream I’ve ever had. Unless you haven’t noticed, by this point ice cream had officially taken over as the bottom “six to eleven daily servings” food group of the food pyramid of my Danish diet. It was exactly the chill day I needed after the ass-kicking I was dealt the day before, and I could already feel myself looking back and thinking, “Wow, what a silly adventure we had yesterday!” instead of involuntarily flinching every time I saw a bike. Dinner that night was a far less somber (and sober) affair. And really, what could be a better way to end a weekend of grueling physical activity than drinking on the rocks of the Baltic Sea and, with the help of my 5 friends, demolishing a 2 foot tall, 30 dollar ice cream cone—complete with a Danish flag on top for whatever horrifying tourists can physically consume that much sugar? Denmark, I think we did you proud this weekend. I’m just going to leave it at that.
The German fest: it’s a cultural institution, a centuries-old celebration of friends, family, and excellent food and drink. It’s also a big party. You see, the Germans, quite simply, have it all figured out. Towns of all sizes, no matter how large or small, host amazing festivals during summer weekends. Children get off school, people take off work, and the entire community (or in the case of the larger fests, hundreds of thousands of people from all over the world) come to indulge, imbibe, and just celebrate how fun life can be. Of course everyone knows Oktoberfest, the Big Daddy of the German wine and beer fests, but I had no idea how extensively the fest factors into German pride and culture everywhere.
The week I spent in Germany with my boyfriend and his family was nothing short of incredible—every day was another adventure, and every day I fell more in love with that gorgeous, lovable country. There are a million instances I could document here. But as my gushing intro may indicate, my favorite night was without a doubt the night we went to the Weinfest der Mittelmosel in Bernkastel, Germany—the biggest wine fest in the Mosel wine-growing region of Germany. It consist of about 200,000 people who, over the course of 5 days, gather to come drink some amazing local wine (the venders can literally point to the hill where the grapes were grown), listen to some live music, watch beautiful fireworks shoot out of an ancient castle, and schmooze with family and friends in the streets of a town that is absolutely bursting with rich history and pride. I’m pretty sure if I could craft my perfect day, it would involve wine, food, Germans in costume playing percussion, and castles, so I was pretty much the happiest girl in the world.
I knew things were off to an excellent start when they offered wine both in the parking lot and on the 5-minute boat shuttle from the parking lot to the festival; obviously we decided to take advantage of this option. The very elderly German woman walking by me drinking straight out of her own bottle of wine (hey, no one likes sharing) was another indication of a fine night ahead. Strolling through the streets, I was in awe to the point of utter uselessness; my boyfriend had to steer me around the crowds so I could take pictures without focusing on important things like not trampling young children. I had just never seen anything quite like it. The buildings there are so old they physically lean, and many display the date they were built proudly on their faces. The picturesque image of cobblestone streets suddenly giving way to acres upon acres of gorgeous vineyards was absolutely breathtaking. But I can’t lie—as a girl who seriously loves her food, I was pretty damn preoccupied by the culinary “sights” as well. Everywhere you looked there was, quite frankly, real live food porn: thick, gorgeous red tomatoes gleaming against cheesy margherita pizzas, decadent fried mushrooms as big as tennis balls lined up on kebabs, and, perhaps most epically, 6-foot wide hanging grills covered every inch with pure, unadulterated meat. Yes, even though as a longtime vegetarian I couldn’t fully appreciate German cuisine in its entirety, Germany has taught me to wholeheartedly respect the bratwurst. I speak in particular of the ½ meter long bratwursts that pervaded the fest, crammed into an entire baguette and slathered with sauerkraut, designed for families to share….or, as it turned out, for my boyfriend to consume by himself. (I was so proud.)
The night ended with the aforementioned castle fireworks; the gorgeous reenactment of the historic burning of the castle pretty much put every 4th of July I’ve ever had to shame. Maybe it was just the wine talking, but as we strolled to the car (stopping, of course, for one last drink in the parking lot) I couldn’t help but think: I don’t remember the last time I was quite this happy. And with that, I promptly fell asleep. Because what better way to end a trip to Germany than with an alcohol and pretzel-induced nap? I’m sure the elderly women clutching their solo bottles of wine would agree.
Imagine my surprise: strolling down the streets of downtown Copenhagen, surrounded by all the hustle and bustle of a modern city, I suddenly hear whistles, music, perfectly coordinated drumming, and flawlessly executed marching steps. My friends and I ask an older Danish woman on the street – what’s going on? Oh, just the Danish royal guards taking their daily march through Copenhagen, she explains, unfazed.
We peer over the crowds. Marching in a huge pack down the street in front of us, these soldiers are truly a storybook image, decked out in big tall black hats and brass-buttoned jackets. They exude pride and regalness, strength and power. And as tradition holds every day at 11:30 am, they are marching through the city, passing by (on this block alone) a 7-11, an H&M, and countless other manifestations of 21st century life. This prominent display of Danish history and culture is shockingly out of place in the modern world as I know it, and I am once again taken aback by this wonderful city.
Now that I think about it, I probably shouldn’t have been too surprised by this. It is quintessential Copenhagen. From the instant I saw this city, I knew I had fallen in love. Copenhagen is truly more layered and beautiful than any place I have ever experienced; it is a city that never ceases to surprise and excite. Here, castles chill next to coffee shops; a Burger King nonchalantly sits on the bottom floor of a centuries-old architectural knockout. I can’t get over how strikingly beautiful everything is, from the people to the buildings to the scenery – and how perfectly the modern world nestles into Copenhagen’s old soul and its rich, deep history.
But besides its poetic or intellectual beauty, let’s be honest: Copenhagen is just awesome. The city thrives on two of the greatest verbs in the world: biking and drinking. What’s not to love? Danes literally bike everywhere—the bike lanes are often more crowded than the roads, emanating from the entire city a sense of well-being and healthiness that I absolutely love. Also, it is socially acceptable – and budget-friendly! – to buy shots in quantities of 10 at a time (“10 shots for 100 kroner!” scream the windows of countless downtown bars). Overall, there’s a carefree, friendly spirit that pervades the entire country. As my Danish orientation leader explained, “In most countries, people live to work. In Denmark, people work to live.” I guess that explains the whole happiness thing, huh?
Next stop: Germany for a week with my boyfriend and his family. What more could a girl want?
All my life, I’ve been perpetually regaled with stories of my parents’ less-than-relaxing memories of good old Midwestern family vacations—loading up the family van with salami sandwiches, beer, and sleeping bags, cramming a family of 6 in there, and driving off to whatever mosquito-infested campsite my grandpa decided to stop. After moving to Los Angeles and beginning to embark upon their own family vacations, it’s no wonder that my parents’ main priorities in selecting a travel destination were always proximity to a beach (the closer the better), amount of time spent sleeping (the more the better), and the availability of cheap tropical drinks (again…the more the better). Thus, unlike my more “cultured” friends, I have never before eaten fresh crepes under the Eiffel Tower of Paris, or taken an idle gondola ride along the Venetian canals in Italy, or… anything, really. But that’s all about to change.
I’m going to Copenhagen, Denmark for the fall of 2010, and studying Public Health — a perfect fit for my Social Policy and Economics double-major. I am so excited to both live in Copenhagen — named the happiest city in the world — and travel around Denmark and Europe as a whole. My time in Europe, for me, is about truly soaking it all in, taking every opportunity, making every connection, and — let’s be honest — eating everything. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
