Because a large contingent of American scientists, journalists and ordinary citizens will be attending the UN Climate Change Conference in Copenhagen in December, it occurred to me, as an American who travels frequently to that agreeable city, that an introduction from a kind of "Dane By Adoption" might come in handy. My point of departure is my former home state of Massachusetts, an indulgence that seems to me appropriate because I have always been struck by the similarities between Denmark and the Bay State.
First of all, the two states are agreeably similar in population and size. Massachusetts has 6.4 million people; Denmark has 5.5; Mass has 27,000 square km of land and the Danes have 42,000. That means that Massachusetts is a little more urban and a little more densely populated than Denmark, and a visitor from New England will immediately feel that difference. Copenhagen feels like a cheerful, rather watery Midwestern American city and not at all like an old, dense European capitol.
I say "Midwestern" because almost all of the streets are arrow-straight, multi-laned and as flat as a Kansas cornfield. I say "watery" because Copenhagen is not only located on the sea; it is also criss-crossed by a network of canals and opened up by several artificial "lakes" that have been scooped out of the landscape right in the center of town. All of this water makes the city feel airy and spacious; it also makes it feel romantic and poetic, because the lakes host a fluttering of swans who float majestically back and forth on the shimmering surface of the waters, inspiring foreign tourists –or at least this foreign tourist --to want to sing Shubert, to re-read Hans Christian Anderson and to fall passionately in love with one of the beautiful blonds pedaling by on the ubiquitous bicycles.
Speaking of bicycles, more or less everyone in Copenhagen bikes. Copenhagen has wide, comfortable bike lanes on nearly every street, and the lanes are crowded with old ladies in high heels, young men with backpacks, moms and dads with enclosed baby carriages (it rains a lot in Copenhagen) and everyone else you might care to imagine, young and old, reputable and not-too, sporty and decrepit. The National Highway Director goes to work on his bicycle, and his wife, an elegantly turned-out femme du monde, attends her gallery openings, cocktail parties and other social functions, just like everyone else in Copenhagen, on a bicycle.
Bay Staters and other Americans will also be pleased to discover that they have a language in common with the Danes. If you stop anyone on any street and ask directions in English, you will be greeted with a warm smile and clear instructions; indeed if you should be so inclined, you could launch a conversation in English at a dinner party about the origins of psychoanalysis or the nature of Pure Reason, or anything else that might suit your fancy -- including global warming -- and your fellow guests would almost certainly understand every word of your peroration. Of course they might find you tedious to a degree, but that’s another question.
Massachusetts and Denmark also share a progressive political tradition. That is, Denmark in the context of Europe, like Massachusetts in the context of the USA, is rather (but not wildly) more progressive, more forward-thinking, and more open-minded than most of its neighbors. (But Denmark does have in place right now a right-wing government that makes traditional Danish Social Democrats roll their eyes in embarrassment. Think Ed King, the conservative blue-collar Democrat who served as Massachusetts Governor between Dukakis I and Dukakis II.)
So I have persuaded you that you will feel perfectly at home when you arrive in Copenhagen, right?
Wrong!
First of all, there is the local language. Danish, as a Copenhagen friend said to me, is not a language, it is a throat disease. For a non-Dane, it is almost impossible to master, first, because the written and the spoken languages appear to be totally unrelated (the word "havde," as just one example, is pronounced something like "health"); and secondly because Danish contains a series of sounds which are quite unpronounceable for a person whose first language is English.
Thus the main pedestrian street in Copenhagen, which is written Stroget, with one of those funny diagonal lines through the "O", is pronounced something like the sound of gagging. When I pronounced the name more or less as it is written, I was met with blank stares; when I acted as if I was about to become sick, people smiled politely and pointed me in the right direction.
Then there is the history. Massachusetts, in the American context, has, as the expression goes, "a lot of history," which means it goes back three centuries and a little more.
As a recognized entity distinct from its neighbors, Denmark goes back more-or-less 1200 years, to about the year 871. That means that for more than a millennium it has had a Royal Family, a history, a government, a culture and a literature that is entirely different from the Royal Family, etc, of its neighbors. (Americans and other non-Danes appreciate "Danish Pastry" and "Danish Modern Furniture;" we do not go to the deli for "Norwegian Pasty" or to the mall for "Finnish Modern Furniture.")
Of course it is true that all of the Scandinavian languages (except Finnish) are closely related. But Germany also shares a border with Denmark -- indeed Hamburg is just as close to Copenhagen as New York City is to Boston-- and you could talk to a thousand Danes before finding one who would admit to speaking German or to having ever set foot in Hamburg. The Danes regard Germany as "them, not us," and "they" are as foreign to the Danes as the Heathen Chinee.—and probably a great deal more disagreeable.
All of this seems weird to a Bay Stater. I kept thinking, how strange it would be if the people in New Hampshire spoke a foreign language, if the people in Vermont had their own king and queen and the people in Rhode Island had been our blood enemy for a thousand years – and spoke a language that no one in Massachusetts would admit to understanding!
And then there’s the question of food. At a recent invitation-only opening at the country’s largest and most distinguished museum, the "refreshments" consisted of a huge platter of apples, accompanied by tumblers of water or beer. That’s all: there were no little snackies, no white wine, no scotch or gin: just large, fresh apples and beer.
Danes eat a lot of smorbrod, which is a kind of open sandwich (very yummy), and they sometimes eat wonderful pastries. But mostly they eat a lot of herring (curried; in dill sauce; in cream sauce; pickled, etc.) accompanied by a pleasantly chewy, tasteless cardboard product called Black Bread. With their herring --that is, as an accompaniment to the meal --they conventionally drink one of the many excellent Danish beers AND a lot of "schnapps." Schnapps is a colorless eau-de-vie similar to, but less potent than, vodka. It is not a beverage that is consumed for the subtlety of its taste.
Sometimes the Danes treat themselves to Olerbrot, the national dish. Olebrot is a mixture of stale Black Bread and dark beer that is boiled for many hours and then eaten as a main course. (No, I am not making this up.) I confess that I have not yet gotten up my courage to try Olebrot.
I do enjoy eating in Copenhagen. I note, however, that food in Denmark is phenomenally expensive: I paid about $100 for dinner for two in a Chinese restaurant, and about $40 for a lonely sandwich and tea at lunch. Both of these meals were excellent, no complaints. But $40 for a sandwich and tea? I was, as one of my young friends would say, like wow!
No one would claim that a cuisine based on herring, Olebrot and Black Bread is a "refined" cuisine. That having been said, I have to note that I have never, not once, had a bad meal in Copenhagen, either in a restaurant or a private home. (I could most assuredly not say the same for Massachusetts.) Food in Denmark tends to be simple; but it is dependably tasty, well-prepared and nourishing.
I suppose I ought to mention The Little Mermaid. She is indeed "little;" that is, about life-size. She is not located far out in the harbor, a kind of welcome for incoming travelers, a Danish version of the Statue of Liberty. She is plunked down in the water three or four feet off shore, in a little backwater far from the center of town, in a location that is convenient for tourist photographs but irrelevant to the life of the city. She has a treacley, sickly-sweet personality and no more life than the belly-up fish that I saw floating beside her.
In short, The Little Mermaid is a commercial tourist attraction. (But a different Danish artist has constructed a bronze sculpture called "The Merman and His 7 Sons" that has been installed underwater in one of the canals. Now that is an interesting art object!)
I cannot close without mentioning the outstanding attribute of the Danes, which is their friendliness, kindness and generosity. From helpful directions in the streets to open-handed invitations to luncheons of beer and herring, the Danes are unfailingly generous, cheerful and friendly; they invariably impress foreigners with their smiles, their cordiality and their openness.
Various surveys periodically rate the "happiness" of people in different countries. It comes as no surprise to me that Denmark almost always comes out first; that is, that the Danes appear to be the happiest people in the world. (Sweden, clearly visible just a few kilometers across the Sound, is far down the list. Apparently the Swedes are gravely inflicted with Ingmar Bergman Disease, which means they can’t do anything but stare gloomily across the water and wonder why the goddam Danes are having such a great time.)
I love Copenhagen and the Danes, and I hope that this little orientation will make it easier for first-time visitors to navigate the modest complexities of this pleasant, good-humored little place.
One suggestion. Before you leave, practice your gag reflex. You’ll never need it for the food -- but it will do wonders for your Danish.
Have a great trip!