No. 103 - Danes know how to live

My husband David and I are on a house exchange, spending two months in Copenhagen. By the time this posts, we’ll have been here just over a month. He claims that I made the exchange happen—manifested it, if you will. Maybe I did, but let it be known that anyone out there could do the same.

When David and I were in Amsterdam in 2018 I made a newsletter post with photos I’d taken that didn’t say much of anything important but was kind of fun and flowed. I didn’t not like it. I thought maybe I could pull something like that out of my ass for Copenhagen. But I’ve been very slow to take photos during this trip, though David is snapping away like a madman. I’ve been focused on getting to know the city better, ticking things off my list of must-see’s and must-do’s, and attempting to consciously take it all in. I’ve been writing everything down most days, lest I forget the bulk of the trip.

It’s clean (for the most part). Everything is very civilized and thoughtfully designed and simply stated in the most beautiful way. It’s common to see wild roses or other flowers growing beside the doors to apartment buildings. There’s cobblestones a’plenty and other forms of uneven ground: if you’re not perfectly mobile you’re going to have a hard time. I’ve had a hard time: during our second week here I stumbled over an unexpected curb, went careening forward, and smashed my face into a pole. How embarrassing. People move more slowly on the sidewalk and don’t seem too concerned if you’re stuck behind them. Likewise, you don’t see as many irate drivers. As you may know, a lot of people ride bikes. A lot.

Public transportation is a dream: there’s an app that covers the bus, metro, train, and even canal boats. You enter the trip you want to make and pay for it. Then you make your trip using whichever mode(s) of transportation deemed necessary—no need to get transfers, or different tickets for different modes of transportation. Whether or not you get checked by a ticket inspector is completely random: it’s only happened to me once since being here.

Everything is fabulously expensive. EVERYTHING. It’s the only major downside I’ve found to this city: I would gladly live here, if I had another life to live. People are happy to speak English—you needn’t feel bad that you can’t speak their funky and bizzare language. Since being here, I’ve never felt unsafe, and I’ve never felt unwelcome. Danes are hilarious. At least, the ones I’m related to are.

I keep saying, “people here really know how to live,” if that tells you anything. I’ve only just realized that it largely comes down to the Danish concept of hygge, which I’ve experienced each time I’ve visited family here without understanding what it was. On one level, hygge is akin to coziness: think fluffy duvets and candles, or taking the time to set a really nice table—though to be clear, it’s not about the material things as much as it is the atmosphere they create. More than that, hygge is about being unrushed and present with people you love, or at least feel comfortable and safe with. It’s slowing down and spending time with no agenda attached. It’s the joy of simple pleasures and moments.

As an example, my second cousin Lise invited us for dinner, but said to come at 2:00 in the afternoon “for some nice hygge”: to hang out, talk, have a coffee and play games. Later would come the beer and wine and dinner. There’s a great deal of value placed on spending “aimless” quality time this way, and it shows: Denmark consistently ranks in the top three of happiest countries in the world. These people really do know how to live.

I’ve seen it countless times with my Danish family, but I see it everywhere: people taking the time to enjoy themselves. It’s in their DNA.

Another important factor in the way Danes live is trust. For one big example, people routinely leave their babies in strollers outside of restaurants or cafes they’re in. I’ve also been in several small stores in which I’ve ended up in a far-off room or nook with no security cameras and no-one’s eyes on me, where I can’t help but think I could be stuffing my pockets with goods. One such store had a window open to a populated courtyard, with product sitting on the windowsill. Amazing. People also leave used clothes or goods for sale outside their home unattended, trusting that if anything is taken, payment will be left. I’ve just read that this intrinsic trust extends to business, government, and indeed all levels of their society. I’m learning so much about why I’ve always loved it here.

I WANT to be from Denmark, but I’m not. I want to speak Danish and run a gallery and also be a working artist and take the entire month of July off every year and go south to Italy where I have a small place by the sea. Too much to ask?

I’m Canadian. And that’s okay. Things could be much worse.

I find I have far less romantic feelings about Europe in general nowadays, compared to when I was a younger, more beautiful specimen with loads of time ahead of me to have fanciful dreams about. Back then it was: look at me, I’m so worldly and continental. I’ve traveled to different places… aren’t I special. Now it feels more like: I’m getting old, I love it here and feel comfortable here, therefore I need to soak this in while I have the opportunity. I don’t belong here, but neither do I stand out. I look like an old Dane. Which is fine, because I don’t feel like a wizened old hag as I often do at home. There’s nothing wrong with being an older woman here.

HUZZAH!

LOTS of things, but I’ll just mention a few.

1). We saw a site-specific Marina Abramović installation called Seven Deaths at Cisternerne, an underground art gallery. Seven beautiful short films where Abramović dies a different way each time. Willem Dafoe was in several of the films, which—though I love him—may have worked against the work as a whole. He’s a freak, but he’s also a movie star, which is distracting. I dunno. Everyone’s a critic.

I felt overcome with emotion during the first couple of films, perhaps aided by the fact that I was underground in a cold, dark, wet cistern. With each subsequent film, I felt a little more removed—whether due to Willem Dafoe or not, I couldn’t say. It was still an exceptional show, all things considered.

2). We went to the Design Museum Danmark and saw, among other things, displays of Japanese posters and a display of Danish-designed chairs. Christ. That was quite enough. I get so overwhelmed at galleries and museums. David will spend way more time with each exhibit and end up getting absorbed in some interactive room where you can build things with sticks, while I sit outside like a zombie waiting for my inflamed brain cells to subside.

3). We rented a car and drove three and a half hours to Marbæk on the west coast of Denmark to visit my family for a week. We stayed in their summer house, which is a one-room cottage beside a man-made lake and a five-minute walk to the sea. I learned that my 81-year old cousin Claus is the man who made the lake—he was the forester and keeper of Marbæk (A 1300-hectare nature reserve) for decades, before retiring eleven years ago. In fact I learned that Claus was known for making lakes… it was kind of his thing. I’m learning so much this trip. Was I not listening, on previous trips? Or did Claus simply not mention it. He’s not exactly a braggart, that guy.

We drove from Copenhagen to Marbæk without jackets, assuming that the weather would be vacation-like and we’d be swimming every day. Not so. It was rainy and windy and cold, and damp in the summerhouse every goddamned day until the last when we were finally able to swim in the north sea. It was worth the wait! I don’t think I’ve felt that unabashadly happy in a long, long time. The sand is exceptionaly soft. The waves are rolling. Claus was in the water with us. I could not have asked for more.

I’m very fortunate to have warm-hearted, sympatico and hilarious family in Denmark. “I can’t even”, as they say.

That’s it for the time being. I’ve done very little artwork, while David has drawn obsessively, designed a book cover for his upcoming sing-along book Dear Bottle, and worked on transcribing his travel journal from our Europe trip in 2007, which he’s emailing to me and our daughter Chloe in installments. Way to make me look bad!

TILL NEXT TIME!

Thank you for reading—it’s a beautiful mystery that you do.

Love from B.A. xo

🪞WORKSHOPS! Downloads AND in-person workshops!

🪞Check out my resource page where I’ve started compiling things related to journaling, note-taking, and more.

🪞Visit balampman.com

🪞There’s always Instagram