Nature and the Body

First off, Danish parks are incredibly beautiful.

Really, really beautiful.

Stop-and-smell-the-flowers beautiful.

You get the point. These photos are from my trip to Ørstedsparken* last week during the hottest day thus far. And I wasn't alone. Danes had flocked to the park to enjoy the weather the only way they seem to know how: sunbathing. 

Those who weren't sunbathing were under the age of 10 and congregated to a field to run around furiously/ climb trees/ yell/ be kids. It was a pleasure to watch them enjoy life so readily and actively, and I was sad to leave them and have to pretend to be an adult again. As I was passing by the last of the playing children, I noticed that something different about one of the sunbathers. Less than 20 feet away (or about 6.1 meters), one of the women was only wearing one article of clothing - a thong.

I did a double take. And then a triple take. Yes, that's definitely a thong... no, she's definitely not wearing anything else. Immediately I felt slightly awkward and couldn't shake my surprise. I chuckled out loud, but then realized that I in fact was the weird one. None of the children's yelling of ceased, none of the other park visitors stared. The only uncomfortable person was me.

Stepping through the iron gate of the park, I began to dissect my awkwardness. Why was it funny? Why didn't anyone else find it funny? Why did she need to be 99% naked?

... Why shouldn't she be 99% naked?

The answer is: no reason at all. No one cared or was disturbed, and she achieves an even tan. I projected my insecurities with the female body onto her and everyone else. Even as a self-proclaimed feminist, I felt a form of shame for exposing the female figure. Seemingly, Danes are able to live in their bodies with a level of comfort that isn't allowed in the U.S. Her topless body wasn't sexualized or scandalized, or even acknowledged. She was just one of a slew of Danes enjoying the weather, and I felt myself relax, my muscles becoming ever so slightly less tense. I felt a small slice of freedom that I haven't experienced since prepubescence. 

So Danish parks are beautiful. And Danish people are beautiful. And that's it. We can just bask in the sunlight.

*Just for reference, this park apparently does not even crack the list of top ten parks in Copenhagen according to Copenhagen's tourism website. Also, my friend just told me this is a good location to find prostitutes and cocaine at night. The more you know.

The Danes - Stereotypes, Death, and Sandwiches.

The Danes are a vastly different people than Americans. So far as stereotypes go, they are reserved, quiet, and content to be by themselves. So far as my experience goes, that is seldom true.

The Danes I have encountered are extremely friendly, engaged individuals that enjoy chatting and never mind helping a lost and confused foreigner (guilty as charged). Most everyone speaks english quite well, and isn't offended by my butchering of their language. Certain things about the stereotype are true, and I notice this mostly when walking around the streets of Copenhagen. Strangers don't smile at you when you walk by, nor will they engage you without reason (unlike my American mother, who enjoys chatting up most everyone she meets).

The Danes, of course, are more complicated than their stereotype. Their views on many things are interesting to me, especially since they are so different from the ones I grew up around. Take death for example. I find cemeteries solemn, somewhat depressing places to be. They remind me of family and friends that are no longer with me, and take me back to painful memories of past funerals. The Danes seemingly do not associate these feelings with cemeteries whatsoever.

The Danes, when the weather warms and the sun shines, picnic and sunbathe in their cemeteries. Instead of feeling sorrow for lives ended, they celebrate life itself. When ordering smørrebrød for the first time (danish open-faced sandwich), the man behind me in line recommended that I take it around the corner to the "charming cemetery with great benches." By this time, I had already realized this was a common practice, but I still found myself smiling to the man.

Maybe this comfort with death arises from the famous danish happiness and content. Maybe it's a healthier practice than my more American views of death. Maybe this is why danish cemeteries seem so much happier and beautiful. Maybe I'm writing this entry in a cemetery.

If you find yourself in Denmark, grab some smørrebrød and head to the nearest cemetery. You'll find yourself in good company.

Jeg taler ikke dansk

Summary of week 1: Oh. Everything is in Danish.

Of course I knew that this was the case before I left. I knew that signs, instructions, and directions would all be in the official language of Denmark. It's a no-brainer. You see it all when you get off the plane, arrive at your dorm (called kollegium here), and settle in.

But then you get lost for the first time.

I wandered with my roommate for about an hour suppressing this subtle urge to panic in my stomach. The local danes didn't understand our butchered pronunciations of their streets and neighborhoods, and we didn't understand the signs and maps posted at the sole bus stop we encountered. Neither of us had any cellular data to call our friends, nor google where in the expansive city of Copenhagen we were.

This is when it really hit me. I wasn't just lost - I was lost in Denmark. And everything was in DANISH.

While somewhat hopelessly walking in a straight line waiting to recognize a street name or landmark, a sign caught my eye. In the middle of somewhere, we found Café Miao, a cat café. We peered into the windows and admired the cats strewn across the floor and furniture, calmly existing amongst the patrons. The cats didn't so much care about the café goers, nor my excitement of actually finding a cat café. They just inhaled, exhaled, and flicked their tails.

Inhale. Exhale. We're okay. "Let's take a right."

We ended up finding our way back to Nørreport station, one of the three metro stops we knew, and took the metro back to our kollegium (which we still can't pronounce). We survived being lost, and found a new place to eat a cheap meal and make a furry friend. Maybe everything is in a language I will probably never speak, but hey - neither will the cats.