Learning Danish vs. learning Dutch

I'll never forget my first day of Dutch classes, way back in 2003 when I was 20 years old.

I went in for my intake interview at 11AM on a Monday in the first week of September. I knew that there was a new intensive class starting that very afternoon so I was hoping to be placed in that group. I sat through a set of aptitude tests and then had an interview which involved being asked a series of questions in Dutch. I didn't do very well during the interview, but my aptitude tests came out fine. The school was still very hesitant to put me in the class, as it was for people with a lot of higher education and I was only 20. I remember being told that if I could convince the teacher to let me into the group, then I could go. And it just so happened that that teacher had a few minutes to chat with me that morning.

And that was the start of some of the best months of my life. I was let into the class and that class became one of the most defining experiences of my life.

View of a windmill in Leiden, the Netherlands. Author of photo: Den Nation.

That's how I found myself, a few hours after that interview, standing outside a door waiting to be let into a classroom on my first day of Dutch classes. Nobody spoke to me and I certainly didn't know anybody.

We sat around in an L-shape around the teacher. He went around the class asking everyone to introduce themselves. And that's when I realized that I was the one with the lowest level of Dutch. No kidding, I'm not bringing myself down, even the teacher agreed with my opinion when I told him after the final test what I had been thinking on that first day. I tried frantically to follow and pick up some of what people said so I wouldn't look like a fool when it was my turn. It didn't matter because I was terrible. I remember the teacher asking me questions, me just shaking my head and everyone laughing when I was finally able to spit out what my address was (I had been able to figure out this question because it sounds very similar to English).

That day the teacher introduced the course in English. But that day was the last day I heard him speak English for many months. On the second day I walked into the classroom and he was speaking Dutch with everyone including me - he didn't care that I was the weakest student. And this was the best thing he ever did for me.

Windmill and polder in Leiden, the Netherlands. Author of photo: Den Nation.

It was really, really painful. By the fourth day I cracked. We were working on an oral exercise where we had to go around the classroom and interview the others. I remember the other student just staring at me waiting for a response. "Well," he said, "just say something!" That's when I lost it and ended up running outside. I ended up crying outside in the street and having a walk around the block while blowing off steam before going back in there to face the music. No one said anything when I went back into the classroom.

I studied like crazy. I was so motivated, so eager, so willing, so passionate. I have never put as much effort into anything I have ever done in my life. By the end of that first horrible week I could introduce myself in Dutch without any problems.

And so started my Dutch language learning experience. 15 hours of classes a week plus endless hours spent in front of the books.

At the end of my second week of classes I started working as a weekend cleaner in a hotel. That weekend I spoke English with everyone. The next weekend, after my third week of classes, I started speaking Dutch with my colleagues.

It happened by accident. I was paired with a lady at work who didn't speak any English. That's how I got over my fear of speaking Dutch. That and the no-English rule at school.

While I did speak English at home, I took any opportunity to speak Dutch outside of my home. I would lie to people when they asked me if I could speak English just so I could speak Dutch with them. My classmates consisted of people from all over the world - some could speak English and some could not. That meant that when we were on break together in the coffee room we spoke in Dutch. I became so used to speaking Dutch with them that even when I was alone with my English-speaking classmates, it never occured to me to speak English with them.

After 4 months of Dutch classes my cleaning job at the hotel ended. I applied for a bunch of other cleaning jobs, going to interviews conducted completely in Dutch. I worked a series of jobs during my stay in the Netherlands, eventually even working at the centre where I sat my final Dutch exams.

A street in Leiden, the Netherlands. Author of photo: Den Nation.

My teacher was amazing, the best teacher I have ever had in my life. Not only did he know what he was doing, but he often sat with us during the breaks and was so inspiring. He was demanding, especially with the no-English rule, but we became friends. Thanks to his encouragement he made me want to work.

The course lasted 8 months. It not only included grammar lessons, but lessons on Dutch history and culture. A few of my classmates dropped out over the course of the 8 months, but the majority stayed on until the end. A few new people joined the group as well. Everyone got along well. I saw my classmates outside of classes and met their families.

After 8 months of intensive study from scratch, I sat and passed the B2 government language test. I scored over 70% (the minimum pass rate) on all 4 sections of the test, the speaking section surprisingly being my strongest area.

It was one of the most fulfilling times of my life. Every time I think back on my time in the Netherlands, I feel so sentimental. I actually don't like to think about that period in my life that often because I wasn't ready for my life there to end. I went on to live out other great adventures as well, but I have a special soft spot for my Dutch life. I have often thought about what it would be like to go back, but I know that it could never be the same. I broke off my life there, and I can never go back to what it used to be. Anyway, I have a great life now with a wonderful husband!

Stay tuned for my post on learning Danish.

Things that surprise me about Denmark - The pastries and other desserts

I never knew that Denmark had a pastry tradition. Maybe that's because my in-laws lived in Denmark in the early 90s before the "food revolution" and had nothing good to say about the desserts (or anything else, for that matter). So I had no idea the pastries and desserts were so good. But I am here to tell you that they are awesome! For me, this is the best thing about the local cuisine; the Danes really know how to make good pastries. That includes croissants - my Frenchie actually admitted that the croissants are actually quite good!

I've tasted pastries in Norway and Sweden, but I must say that Denmark is the winner in my books for the best pastries of the three countries.

"The Danish" in Canada is more bready and has less cinnamon and often has jam in the middle. "The Danish" in Denmark is more flaky and is usually topped with a dallop of chocolate or icing. The cinnamon is the key ingredient. I really enjoy Denmark's danish because I love cinnamon and I am crazy about its French-style pastry which is loaded with butter and slightly crunchy.

The Danes are amused that foreigners use "the Danish" as the name of this pastry. The Danes themselves call it the Snegle, or Snail. All pastries are called wienerbrød, or Vienna bread, because these type of pastries originated from Vienna. That's why they are called viennoiseries in French as well.

A selection of Danish pastries. Author of photo: Den Nation.

In the above photo "the Danish" is at the top. It is actually quite a flat pastry. To the right is the Tebirkes, which is an airy pastry covered in poppy seeds and filled with a thin layer of marzipan inside. It is quite simple, but you can really taste its buttery flakiness. And the poppy seed taste is so pronounced! Then finally there is the Træstamme, which is not a pastry but totally deserves its place next to the pastries. The filling consists of ground-up old pastries, chocolate, sugar, butter and rum. It is covered with a layer of marzipan. I think it may originate from Sweden, but it is everywhere here in Denmark.

Pastries in a shop window. Author of photo: Den Nation. 

I believe that the pastries on the left in the above picture are variations of the French croissant. I have tried Danish croissants and I guarantee you that they are pretty close to the real thing, confirmed by my own resident frog. Now that I never expected! On the right are pieces of brioche-like bread covered in icing, nuts and cinnamon. There is also some cinnamon baked into the brioche.

Drømmekage. Author of photo: Den Nation. 

I think Drømmekage may come from Sweden as well, but again, it is pretty popular here in Denmark. The cake itself is pretty ordinary - it is the brown suger/coconut topping that takes the biscuit. I was afraid that the coconut taste would be overpowering, but there was a perfect balance between the coconut and the rest of the ingredients.

Then there are flødeboller of course. I believe that flødeboller actually originate from Denmark. Flødeboller and different variations are found in several countries. It is in Denmark, however, that you find the best flødeboller in my opinion. Fløde means cream and boller means balls. The filling consists of whipped egg whites and is mousse-like in appearance. It is very light and airy and not dense and spongy like a marshmallow (some variations around the world are more marshmallow-like). They are covered in chocolate and often sprinkled with coconut flakes or other toppings. 

Flødebolle. Author of photo: Den Nation.

Bon appétit !

Sunday ramblings

As I am writing this I am listening to the noise of people in my building moving out. It is the last day of the month, and the last day of June, so today is a typical moving-out day for students. Outside is a mix of clouds and sunshine which perfectly matches my mood. What is my mood exactly?

I knew before coming to Denmark that I risked coming to the end of my stay here and not wanting to leave. And I think that day has come. The day where my current state of mind matches the weather outside: all mixed up.

With roughly one month left in Denmark, I have mixed feelings about going back to Bordeaux and France. Of course there are some great things in France for me (just as there are some not so great things about Denmark), but I know that I have spent the past few years in Bordeaux having a great time but not really living for me. I feel like I just bobbed along on the surface, just floating down the river.

I know that my feelings today are related to losing a friendship in Bordeaux. I wish that I could give all the details out here on my blog but I cannot. Suffice to say, I really believed that we were really good friends, that we were two peas in a pod, but I guess these were just ideas.

Rocks on a beach near Bordeaux. Author of photo: Den Nation.

So how are things going to be when I get back to Bordeaux? I shudder to think. To be honest, I think I have made more "friends" here in the past 5 months than I did in all the years I spent in Bordeaux. I don't really have true friends here yet, but I get along so well with some of the people from my Danish class that I know that I could be great friends with some of them if I just stayed longer. But do I really want to risk that? Put myself out there, believe that something exists, only to discover that I have only imagined it existed in my mind, and then be disappointed again?

As I approached 30 I felt that I was becoming more and more introverted. Now I am sure that I have a bit of a problem. I am getting TOO introverted, cynical of everything and everyone and not putting myself out there more. Sure I took a chance with my Bordeaux friend, but just because I was disappointed once doesn't mean that the next friendship I seek has to turn out the same way. I am introverted, and I tell myself that I don't need friends, but I know that that is not healthy. I do need friends.

I just feel strange "begging" people for their friendship. I don't want to push people because I feel that friendships should develop naturally, but if I don't push a bit more than I have been I'll just continue floating along like I was doing in Bordeaux. I can't get over my introverted self, though, and get myself out there. I just can't "beg".

This is why my Bordeaux friendship is such a blow for me. It was a friendship that seemed to come naturally and I kind of put all of my hopes onto that friendship. And that's not healthy either.

I do have some true friends, but they are scattered around the world. Such is the life of an expat.

The failed friendship is not, however, the only reason why I am apprehensive about going back to France. I have gotten used to Copenhagen: there is an anything goes attitude here, there are so many rules in France that the easygoing way of life here has really grown on me. I like Copenhagen; it is a capital city without feeling like one, big enough to have everything you need without being overwhelming.

Who knows, maybe when I get back to Bordeaux I will get back into my old life and forget about Copenhagen. But something tells me that I won't forget...

Ebeltoft marina on a party cloudy day. Author of photo: Den Nation.

I do thank you all, my dear readers, for reading my Sunday afternoon ramblings. For anyone who is thinking about becoming an expat, this is the real expat life, not what you read on some Paris blog about picnicking beside the Seine river with all of your new-found friends.

Which leads me to telling you that...

I think that this is the perfect moment to tell you why I picked the name Den Nation.

Den is short for Denmark. As I started this blog shortly before moving to Denmark, this is no surprise. But I also choose the word because it also means a refuge or a hiding place. This blog is my den. I also have a physical den which includes my desk, my computer and my living room. I am an introvert and I hide in my dens. I work from home and sometimes spend days without seeing another person besides my husband. And I choose Nation not only because Denmark is a country but also because this is my nation, my den country. There may be only one person that is physically present at all times in my den, but you, my readers, are regular visitors to my den. And I think we, being immigrants and expats, do share a lot of things in common, one being the difficulty of making and maintaining friendships with people of cultures different for our own. So you are part of my den nation as well. One last tidbit: if you say Den Nation quickly enough you will hear... well, I think you know what word comes out. No, this blog is not an eternal punishment! It's more like my mind I can't get away from, my cynical ways, my lack of self-confidence and self-worth. This is part of my nation, my Den Nation.

Have a good Sunday!

Things that surprise me about Denmark - Where is the ketchup?

You can find ketchup in pretty much any shop in Denmark. Ketchup is certainly not hard to find. So what is this post about? 

I have noticed over the past few months that whenever I order fries/chips, they are served with a remoulade sauce.  Now, remoulade sauce exists in France, but I have only really seen people eat it with a beef fondu. The only remoulade sauce I have seen in France comes in a small glass jar. I tried it once but didn't like it so I never ate it again. Here in Denmark it's everywhere; it seems that some Danes will eat it with anything. The colour of Danish remoulade is lighter than its French counterpart, which tends to be more yellow in colour. The Danish remoulade often tastes like pickles, and they pride themselves in serving you their own homemade remoulade in a glass bowl. 

Fish and chips in Denmark. Author of photo: Den Nation.

I'm not a big mayonnaise fan so I am really hesitant to eat remoulade. I am always eating tomatoes so it's no surprise that I love my ketchup! I don't refuse remoulade when I am served it, but I always ask for ketchup. Imagine my surprise when they tell me that they don't have any ketchup, that they only have remoulade. The first time, I was in such shock that I repeated the question when I was told no because I thought the person helping me didn't understand my question. 

I realise that Danes love eating this sauce with fish. I usually order fries/chips from a place that sells fish and chips. I just can't let go of my North American ideas, though, how can a place that sells fries/chips not have ketchup?! Come to think of it, I don't think I have ever seen a chippy (place where you can buy fish and chips) in the UK that didn't have any ketchup. Even France has always had ketchup for me, haha. 

So no, it doesn't happen very often that there is no ketchup, but whenever it does happen I am surprised because ketchup seems to be so readily available here and fast food is everywhere. I have eaten fries/chips in many European countries and have never been to a European country that physically didn't have ketchup in their café, not in my experience at least!

Danish remoulade. Author of photo: Den Nation.

I'm not shooting down Danish remoulade, though. I had my doubts about it, but actually, much to my surprise I like the stuff. Fries/chips do taste good with remoulade. I like its sweet and sour taste.

For those of you who live in France, do you eat remoulade sauce? Is it more popular in a certain region? Do you like it? And for anyone in Denmark, do you like the Danish remoulade?

Do you need a reason to visit Sicily?

French people like to visit Italy. They also like to eat.

I've had quite a few conversations with French people that go like this:

French person: I went to Italy during the month of August and it was wonderful!

Me: Oh yeah, where did you go?

FP: I rented out a gîte (house in the countryside) in Tuscany. We rented a car and took a few trips around the countryside and also saw Florence and Siena.

Me: So tell me what you liked in particular.

FP: Well, the Italians are so gregarious and sociable. I have a few Italian friends that showed me around a bit.

Inevitably the conversation turns to food...

FP: We ate really well and enjoyed the classic dishes as well as trying the regional specialities. But I have to say, the desserts were terrible!

Me: Really? Why?

FP: They were so dry and tasteless. Our friend's mother made a cake and it was horrible. Everything else she made was delicious, though! The Italians just don't know how to make desserts. They really need some pointers from us. How can a country that prides itself on its great cuisine have such bad desserts?

Well... if this doesn't blow you away, I don't know what will.

I'm here to say that, on the contrary, there are some very good desserts in Italy besides tiramisù and panna cotta (which are ubiquitous in Italian restaurants throughout France).

Sometimes all you have to do it get away and go south...

To Sicily!

(I'm not saying that there are no good desserts in the north because there are, of course!)

Of course the following desserts are found all over Italy as well, but anytime I have tried them outside of Sicily, they haven't tasted as good (I'm not a snob, I promise!).

Sicilian cookies. Author of photo: Den Nation.

There are 2 types of cookies here: those that contain almond paste (some also contain pistachio) and those that are made from nuts and eggs. The first type just melts in your mouth. I like the nut cookies as well, but they are a bit too hard.

Pistacchio di Bronte bars. Author of photo: Den Nation.

The round balls were filled with cream and peaches if I remember correctly. They were good, but the real star of the show are the pistachio bars made from Pistacchio di Bronte. The area around Etna, Europe's largest active volcano, is very fertile and this is where some of Italy's best pistachios are grown. They also produce Pistacchio di Bronte pesto - you'll never forget your first time eating this stuff!

A Sicilian croissant. Author of photo: Den Nation.

Before visiting Sicily, my French husband thought that there could be no croissant on earth that could be as good as the French croissant. Well, really he thought that no croissant outside of France could measure up. Until he went to Sicily! Before I took him to Sicily, I always talked (raved) about how good these croissants are. He would just feign interest in what I was saying, nodding his head up and down saying, "Huh, huh."

This particular croissant is not like the French croissant. It is filled with crema pasticera. Crema pasticera is kind of like custard, but the taste is really so different that you can't compare. Again, I've tried croissants in other parts of Italy, but they just don't compare to these ones. The cream is just that good. So good, that I've convinced my Frenchie that this "foreign" croissant is worthy of his attention. Ha!

Cannoli. Author of photo: Den Nation.

Growing up in Canada, cannoli were a treat for special occasions. I absolutely loved eating these as a child and thought that nothing could ever top these.

Until I tried them in Sicily.

Close-up shot of cannoli. Author of photo: Den Nation.

The taste was much more pronounced - it's all in the cheese I'm afraid. The texture is different, it's more paste-like and the cheese, dare I say, tastes more "animal" and milky and is less sweet than the cheese in the ones I ate in Canada.

I tried one in Canada a few years ago after having lived in Europe a few years. I was so shocked, I couldn't believe that I once thought they were the best cannoli on earth.

I did eat one in London (England), however, that came pretty close to the real thing.

This is only scratching the surface. There is also granita, which I think deserves its own post.

I think I need to go back to Sicily...

On being ginger in England and Wales

I never imagined that there would be such a stigma attached to being ginger in England and Wales. Life can be really difficult for ginger people living in England and Wales.

Sure, redheads are teased in Canada too. But it's nothing like what I've seen in England and Wales.

When I lived in Wales I had a part-time job to put me through university. There was a ginger man working there and he was everyone's scapegoat and the butt of all the jokes. If something went wrong at work, he was often blamed for the problem. 

My supervisor annonced one day that her daughter was pregnant. I'll never forget what she said.

"If he comes out ginger, I don't know what we'll do. There's no one in my family who is ginger, but I think the father's grandmother is ginger. Here, have a look at his picture." I stare at his picture. "Do you see any ginger in him?" she asks in desperation. "We're all praying that he won't come out ginger." 

This conversation was repeated over the next following months. I was really susprised with how she spoke about being ginger, with such scorn in her voice.

One day I went to work and she exclaimed in front of everybody, "My daughter had her baby and he's not ginger!" she exclaimed. I think she was more happy about her grandson not being ginger than the fact that she had a grandson. And all this was within earshot of our ginger colleague. "He's lucky to have a girlfriend," a lot of my colleagues said whenever they spoke about our ginger colleague.

Rhossili, Wales. Author of photo: Den Nation.

I remember watching a programme on the BBC about what life was like for ginger people. They interviewed a few gingers and two interviews stuck out in my mind in particular. These two ginger men talked about how much they wanted to get married and have children. Despite having excellent jobs and being highly-educated, they were unable to find partners. And they weren't bad looking either. So what did they do? One moved to France and the other to the United States where they found partners. Can you believe it? How drastic is that?

In the second part of the programme, the BBC decided to place a couple of dating ads on the internet. Some of the ads specified that the person seeking a partner was ginger while others said nothing. All the people involved in the test were ginger. For the men whose ads stipulated that they were ginger, almost all of the responses were from ginger women. And for the others... 

The men would not reveal that they were ginger. A lot of them really hit it off with the respondents; some of them even shared personal details with each other. When the respondents asked for pictures the ginger men would dye their hair before taking the picture to be sent. When it came time to meet each other...

Over.

I can't believe how hard it is to be a ginger man in England and Wales. Nobody wants to date you. A lot of people think you're daft. I wonder if gingers are discriminated against in the workplace. Well, in my workplace the answer to that was kind of obvious.

Look at this site to learn more. http://beingginger.co.uk/

If you want to be shocked, watch the second video. Don't say I didn't warn you. This girl is serious. "Just try and limit the ginger," she says to the ginger man. And that's not the worst of it. I just can't believe it! 

I don't understand where this scorn comes from. Can somebody explain it?

Edit: Now that I've read the comments, I'm beginning to realise that maybe this scorn is a form of discrimination against Celtic people. Let's face it, when the Irish immigrated to England, there was a lot of discrimination. And since a lot of Irish people have red hair, well, it's not hard to put two and two together. 

Things that bother me about Denmark

I sometimes make it seem like everything is perfect in Denmark and that France is the bad guy. This is not always the case. There are some things that bother me about Denmark. It's not perfect and I want my blog to be honest and reflect MY reality of the place where I live.

My favourite square in Copenhagen. Author of photo: Den Nation.

So without further ado...

1. The drinking culture. It's very similar to the UK, but at least it bothers me less here because it's not as aggressive. I am not the type that likes loud drinking and getting drunk. A lot of student events, like in the UK, revolve around drinking. And I don't want to hang around smoky bars drinking.

2. Which leads me to my second point. Smoking is still allowed in certain bars here. How can that be in such an advanced society? The smaller, pub-like bars allow smoking while in bigger and trendy looking bars smoking is not allowed. That kind of goes against common sense for me, as in a smaller area the smoke would be denser; a bigger bar would disperse the smoke more.

The Danes are the Scandinavian people that smoke the most. Due to high levels of smoking and drinking, they are also the Scandinavian population with the lowest life expectancy. It doesn't really affect me as there are plenty of non-smoking bars, but I can't understand smoking being allowed in small bars.

3. The Danes are hard to get to know. You can break the ice with drinking, but a lot of times it's hard to know what they are thinking. They don't seem to be very expressive. While the French are reserved, once you get them talking about something they are passionate about like politics, they are on fire! Which brings me to my next point...

4. They don't seem to care about politics. They are like Canadians in this way - it's better not to talk about politics. I must admit, though, I miss the fiery political conversations in France. Actually, it seems to me that the Danes don't object to much - they just seem to accept things without much of a fight. While I think that France goes too far with the strikes sometimes, I think it's good and necessary to fight sometimes. Note: Denmark recently had a teachers' strike, but I don't know the outcome of it.

Ebeltoft, Denmark. I love the bright red colour of these summer houses.
Author of photo: Den Nation.

5. I have gotten used to going out in groups of couples in France. While I think it's good that couples have their own friends that they see without their better half, it seems that Denmark has taken it to the other extreme from France. Couples tend to lead separate lives here.

6. They don't really seem to invite you over to their homes. They like to go out to cafés for drinks, but they don't have the long dinner evenings I am used to and love in France. And when you do get an invite, it's quite clear that you are the friends of one half of the couple. The other half often sits there quietly or goes off alone. There's no way that would happen in France.

7. They have a strange sense of humour. I don't know if you remember, but a few years back there was a big scandal with a Danish comic strip that was insulting. Yes, sometimes their jokes can offend. I have not experienced this firsthand, but I know it happens. For the Danes this is normal as they grew up in a culture where it is the norm, so I don't really want to criticise them since I am a guest here, but I know that this is problem for non-Danes.

8. There are certain things I don't want to talk about on this blog. So let's just call this point discrimination. Certain Danes - I am not going to say who - discriminate against certain groups in Denmark. Again, I have not been affected by this, but I know that this is an issue.

Aarhus, Denmark's second largest city. Author of photo: Den Nation.

9. If you want to learn a language, don't pick Danish and don't come here. Pick a country and a language that you can learn more quickly. I'm not saying that Danish is harder to learn than other languages, because although the pronunciation is tricky, it is not especially difficult. It's that the Danes don't want to hear you speak their language. They don't want to hear foreign accents and they don't have the patience to help you struggle through a sentence. I have actually seen some language exchange offers where the Danish person stipulates that they are not willing to accept someone whose level of Danish is too low. So learning Danish takes time and patience. This is not like France, where you can progress relatively quickly and feel like you are getting somewhere.

10. Before somebody jumps down my throat and tells me to go home if I don't like it here (and I really do like it here!), let's just end with my final comment that everyone can agree on - it's sometimes a struggle to cycle because the wind can be really strong. At least the country is flat though!