Two-year Update: We Still Live In Denmark, and I Finish Language School

I've always wanted to learn a language other than English. After four successful years of high school Spanish with Señora Skagerberg, I thought Spanish would be the language. I dreamed of visiting Spain and of continuing the mastery of Spanish, but then I went to university--and took Japanese. Then I moved to Asia. My marriage to a Dane was the final seal on the fate of learning Spanish. 

DU-3, June 2016

Now after two years of classes, two location moves, six different teachers, countless hours of study (including quite a bit of talking aloud to myself), and numerous tests, I have a piece of paper that proves I can speak Danish, reality notwithstanding. I started knowing everything and finished knowing nothing. I started as a stranger here and finished with six lovely friends from Hungary, Ukraine, Romania, and Israel. DU-3, class of June 2016, we did it. 

Two years ago, I wrote the following: 

We moved to Denmark [...]. It's windy and cold. People are nice but reserved. I ride a bike and am still trying to figure out what life here is all about. 

Two years on, nothing has changed. Nothing. It's almost July, and I'm wearing a sweater. My feet are freezing. I'm about to put on rain gear to get Monkey from the kindergarten on my bike. I will smile at people who may or may not make eye contact with me. Tonight I will contemplate what life after sprogskole is all about. Check back in June 2018 to see if I've cracked the code. 

Reminiscing: School field trip, June 2014

Blog Spring Cleaning: Dansk Progress, Monkey is Two, Fashion Fails, Irondad Prevails

TV/Midt-Vest visit

In January, my classmates and I passed the test to move to Module 3. Now in addition to our regular classes, we have a group project element in which we make presentations on a central theme. This is a combined effort with Module 4, and we have just begun our second project--Media in Holstebro. My team chose TV, so I arranged for us to visit TV/Midt-Vest, the regional TV station, last week. We were all pleasantly surprised by how enjoyable and interesting it was. We got a personal tour by the redaktionschef through the news rooms and studios, and she graciously sat with us for a short interview. We will give our presentations in a couple of weeks. 

In February, I took the first Dansk Prøve, a test which is required for those on 'Family Reunification' visas. There is only one testing location for the entire country, so it was a very convenient 3 1/2 hour drive for us. I'm still waiting for the results, but the test was easy. 

Monkey Baby turned two in March, so she's not really a baby anymore. But she's definitely still a monkey. She's funny and frustrating and totally charming. Her English and Danish are both developing quickly which is completely fascinating to me as one raised mono-lingually. Currently trending is 'ikke' (not) with everything: 

'Daddy henne?' (Where's Daddy?)

'Daddy's in the living room opening the curtains.'

'Nej, mama, ikke curtains.'

'Well, he is opening the curtains.'

'Ikke curtains!'

'Take it up with Daddy.'

'Time to get ready for bed, Monkey.' 

'Nej, ikke bed.' 

'Yes, and then we'll read some books.' 

'Nej, mama, ikke read books!' 

'But you love books!' 

(pause) 'Yaaaay books!'

So that's fun.

Påske is everywhere right now. Easter. There are familiar themes of eggs and chocolate bunnies, and the ad magazines are full of offers on legs of lamb and pickled herring. 

Easter dresses, c. 1987

This morning my choir sang for the Palm Sunday service out at Mejrup Kirke. Even though I've been to church here before--and to this church in particular--I still decided to wear high heels, dress slacks, and a dry-clean-only top. It must be something ingrained. Growing up, we always dressed up for church. But today, I felt a little out of place in a sea of sensible shoes and no-nonsense attire. 

This is not the first time I've felt inappropriately dressed at an event in Denmark, so I'm considering generating a chart which details occasions and clothing options that can be cross-referenced with times of day.

• Evening birthday in a garden tent: casual with sweater
• Afternoon birthday: nice casual, take along practical shoes for a forest/beach walk
• Confirmation with a nursing infant: squeeze into that one black dress and hope for the best
• Confirmation at a golf resort: GO SHOPPING
• Church: freely choose any of the frumpy clothes in your closet

It's a work in progress.

To finish my spring cleaning, I need to mention my dad. He pops up in my writing now and then, often in conjunction with athletic achievements, and his latest accomplishment is the Melbourne Ironman. 

As with his first Coeur d'Alene Ironman, there was a bit of drama. There was a trip to the ER to deal with recurring gut blockage caused by the radiation several years ago. There was morphine and an IV drip. There was a mad dash to the airport directly from the VA hospital. There was a recurrence of bronchitis. There was dehydration. Ultimately, there was an Ironman, and his name is Dwight Schuh. 

He finished sixth out of seven in the 70-74 age group, sticking it out to the end with fellow American Richard Weinbrandt who came in seventh with 1 1/2 lungs following a lung infection and surgery in December 2014. To quote my sister, 'Sounds like the old guy division isn't for wimps.' You can say that again.

Sorry you didn't get your Kona qualifier, dad. We still think you're alright.

Day of Tests and Police Stations

When I got to school last Monday, my teacher popped into the hallway to ask if I wanted to take the modultest at noon that day. I had planned to take it by the end of October, but I did not feel particularly prepared at that exact moment. After my heart rate returned to normal, I decided that I could probably stumble through it, and why not just get it over with?

It was actually a bit anti-climactic, the test. Out of five pre-prepared topics, I randomly selected to speak about just one. Next, I looked at a picture and asked questions about it for one minute. Both segments went well, so just like that, I moved to module two, no panic necessary.

After class, I had to go to the police station to apply for a re-entry permit for our upcoming trip to New York as I had not yet received my residence card. While I waited for my number to be called, I absently read the declaration of consent on the form I had filled out. The warm feelings from having just passed my modultest cooled slightly on reading that I had consented to 'letting the relevant authorities make enquiries about my entirely private affairs'. Private affairs, sure, but the entirely private ones? Anyway, my residence card came in the post yesterday, so now it's irrelevant.

Then after that, I went to another branch of the police to take my driving theory test. Out of seven students, four of us were taking it for the first time, one for the second, and two for the third. All of us were nervous. The test evaluator called us up one by one to take our forms and check our ID. I also had to give him my temporary driving permit.

'I have to keep this if you don't pass, you know,' he said pointedly. I nodded solemnly. 'But never mind, you'll pass.'

The knot in my stomach persisted through all twenty-five questions. Afterwards in the waiting area, we discussed some of the ambiguities of the test. The more I thought about it, the worse I felt. I needed twenty correct answers to pass.

The evaluator returned with our tests. He winked as he delivered mine, my little paper driving permit sticking out of the top. Yes! Those of us who passed exchanged oddly enthusiastic hugs of relief for people who hardly knew each other. We commiserated with those who had not passed. One sweet little woman had failed for the third time. 'I think I'm getting worse,' she said, looking crestfallen.

Next on my to-do list: pass the practical driving test, and get through module two.

Learning to Drive in Denmark

Around 15 years old, driving on a family camping trip

I took my first driving license when I was fourteen. My mom took me over to Nampa High very early in the mornings before school, and I sat in a class with other fourteen to sixteen year olds to learn the theory of driving. Some mornings I would drive with an instructor in a car with two other kids I didn't know. They swore a lot, but that's beside the point, which is that I got my license.

If I want to drive here in Denmark, which I do, I am required to exchange my US license for a Danish one by way of passing a driving test. I could simply take the test and hope for the best, but a failure and consequent retaking is expensive. Therefore, I have signed up for some theory classes to improve my chances of passing the test the first time.

Once again, then, I find myself sitting in a class with other students, non-Danish speakers of all nationalities, to learn the theory of driving in Denmark. We sit at narrow wooden tables that are covered in doodles and swear words in a third-floor room above the pedestrian street. There is a small fridge full of Coke. A few students are only exchanging licenses from their home countries, but the majority are taking licenses and learning to drive for the first time. A high percentage of the students, including previous license holders, have already taken and failed the test at least once. 

Our instructor is a kind man and true advocate for foreigners trying to pass the test. As the test is visual with audio, it used to be that you had to bring your own translator. Now they actually provide the audio in English, but those who are not proficient enough still struggle with the speed and terminology. The instructor is not allowed to preview the actual tests, so he does his best to anticipate and prepare us accordingly. 

I've attended several classes now, and I don't think I could have passed without any study. The different signage and rules combined with the British terminology make it just confusing enough to invite failure. Terms such as 'shark's teeth', 'give way right', 'standard of the carriageway', and 'built-up area' were all missing from my lexicon. I hope that knowing I have 'absolute give way duty' when I cross a 'pavement' or 'cobbles' will help me pass my test. 

Now I'm off to ride my bike. 

The Weather Is My Nemesis and Cashew Cheese

Monkey Baby and Viking Man walk in the rain

I just lived through the coldest August I've ever experienced. My fight with the weather is a big sign that Integration is still struggling to gain a point against Denmark. I do not see myself EVER accepting that wearing a down jacket and gloves in the middle of August is normal. On the up side, I can cycle into town wearing full rain gear and rubber boots and not feel like a complete loon. The Monkey obviously has not lived long enough to know any better, for she actually seems to like the cold and rain.

Fortunately for my sanity, September has been kind with blue skies and lovely warm afternoons.

Language class is finally falling into a routine, and my relationship with the Danish language is turning into one of alternating love and hate. I love studying. I love discussing points of grammar. I love being part of this little group in which we are all fighting for the same thing. But I hate speaking. I hate being misunderstood, hate having to repeat myself, hate not yet knowing how to say what I want to say. I hate the feeling that people are just waiting for me to 'become Danish'.

I went into a Middle Eastern grocery the other day. It was packed floor to high ceiling with spices, specialities, and imported goods of a great variety. Every spare surface and corner had been utilized. It was cramped and colorful and chaotic, and I was surprised by how comforting I found it. It was so--not Danish. It was the feeling of Asia, which I will admit to missing on occasion.

So it then felt very surreal to interact with the Middle Eastern employees in Danish. Talk about worlds colliding. But I successfully found out the price per/kg of sweet potatoes, that lemons were three for something, and that I should purchase cashews from the bulk boxes at the register.

Speaking of cashews, I fail to see how anyone can convince themselves that they are in any way a passable replacement for cheese. Just google 'cashews as cheese' and you will see it's actually quite a thing.

Anyway, the other night I decided to make raw 'alfredo' sauce served over zucchini noodles. 'I can honestly say that I like this alfredo sauce more than standard alfredo sauce. HONEST!' gushed the recipe author. My feelings about it were not quite as effusive. I failed to pick up on the cheesy, creamy, 'oh so alfredoey' aspect of it that was being sold to me. It was more like cashew hummus, which is actually how I think I'll use the leftovers. But we did like the zucchini noodles.

Now I need to get out and enjoy the sun while I can.

We move to Denmark, and I start Language School

I still have a monkey eating my brain. I've asked her to stop, but she just laughs and throws a handful of squashed brains on the floor. Darn you, Monkey Baby.

I originally started this blog so family and friends could keep up with what I was doing when I moved to Korea. To date, my years in Korea have been my best blogging years. China's disapproval of free speech slowed me down, and I've never really recovered.  Whether or not to continue is always a question, but I'm going to give it a go. We've moved yet again, so I have decided to continue documenting my life as it goes 'here, there, and everywhere'.

We moved to Denmark, by the way. It's windy and cold. People are nice but reserved. I ride a bike and am still trying to figure out what life here is all about. Eight years in Asia did nothing to prepare me for life in Scandinavia.

In May, my application for social registration was finally approved. I am now under obligation to 'integrate'. I have a case worker who is in charge of my integration program, and I have to check in with her now and then to assess how things are going.

In order to retain permission to stay, I have to pass several language tests. They are not hard, but I've enrolled at the language school all the same. It's a good way to meet people, it gives me something to do, I'll acquire a skill, and it's free. Good deal all around.

The school has more than 500 students from more than 60 countries. Study is broken down into three different education levels, each with six modules. I have started in module one of the third and highest education level. As of now, I have four classmates who come from Syria, Ukraine, Hungary, and Ghana.

Last Thursday, all the education three modules went on a field trip to Himmelbjerget (Sky Mountain) and the Asger Jorn Museum in Silkeborg. At 482 feet, Himmelbjerget is one of the highest points in Denmark. We 'hiked' to the top and enjoyed the view in spite of a biting wind. The museum was interesting though slightly tedious as I maybe understood 5% of what the docent was saying. Thanks to one of my classmates for the photos. Some blockhead forgot to put the memory card back in my camera.