Jeg taler ikke dansk

Well, that was a whirlwind tour of lower Scandinavia. Turns out you can visit a country with no knowlege of the language, history, culture or transit system and still manage to have a pretty good time. Yay for cultural imperialism!

I kid.

I got back yesterday from my weekend in Copenhagen, the capital of Denmark, where my family and I put out about 25 miles of sight-seeing walking and took in about 40,000 calories of Danish beer and pastries. I'd call that about even, wouldn't you? (You will if you know what's good for you.) We didn't make it much out of the city center while I was there, but even that allowed me to see the Little Mermaid statue, the Neuhaben area ("New Harbor" and actually one of the older parts of the city), the amusement park Tivoli (where I ate ice cream twice in one afternoon...god I hope my metabolism sticks around a few more years), and the main shopping drag, which is named something I can't pronounce, like everything else in Danish.

Beautiful Neuhaben...now sailor-free!

Walking around town, looking at crane fountains

I love her.

The plan after I left was for the rest of my family to go to the town where they lived forty-odd years ago, relive the glory days of knee-socks, pigtails and bicycles, then take a ferry over to Norway for a few days.  

A FERRY?????? Jealoussssss.

It was really cool to see some of the places my mother has always talked about with such fondness, especially Tivoli, which may be the most unique amusement park on the planet*.

*the most unique amusement park with a positive vibe, where you don't feel like you are going to be molested or squashed by a runaway rollercoaster car at any moment. I'm looking at you, Enchanted Forest and Thrillville.

Unfortunately, I didn't get any pictures of the park at night, when all of the lights come on, because my camera is doing this fun thing where the memory card is corrupted. It's really too bad, because the lights are amazing, these giant colored bulbs that look like they are straight out of the 1940s. At night they come on and light up the building outlines, a hodgepodge of iconic around the world structures mixed with a dozen different cafes, plus all the traditional take-the-money-and-run carnival games. There is a lagoon, and in it a pirate ship restaurant. I don't go on rides because I'm convinced I will die, but it was tons of fun to walk around, watch non-neurotics screaming on the tilt-a-whirl, and listen to all the Danish.

Speaking of Danish, it felt really weird being in a country where I couldn't even attempt the basic consideration of using key words and phrases. In France this last time, I could pretty much make myself understood, and when I was in Spain, I could at least approximate "please," "thank you," etc. But Danish is HARD. That whole language comes from a part of the throat that I cannot for the life of me locate; I think maybe it's like learning to lift one eyebrow, because once I discovered that muscle it was so obvious that it had been there all the time, but I still can't do it on the left one.

The only phrase that I kinda sorta managed was "undskyld," or "excuse me/sorry," which I used OBSESSIVELY everywhere I went. I think it must have seemed a bit like I was apologizing for existing which, as an extremely self-conscious American travelling in a long-idolized Europe, I suppose I was. I envied my mother and her sisters, who were able to tap into their decades-old Danish and get by, at least enough so that they didn't look like a bunch of spongers. I just think it's ugly to show up in a country and expect them to understand what you say.

But aside from that (and of all the countries to be offensive in, Denmark may be the one where it's most forgiven. They are a very polite people) it was a great trip. Now I'm done travelling for the summer, and THANK GOODNESS, because I am completely out of funds. Unfortunately, I have several guests slated for the rest of my time here, who are going to be expecting a good time. I wonder if I can pawn my souvenir Denmark snowglobe...

Danske

This just in...I interrupt our regularly scheduled non-posting to bring you a post about how I won't be posting for a few days (is your head spinning? This is very meta), as I am traveling to Denmark to meet up with a large contingent of the west coast Lees.

 
My mom, grandmother, two aunts and a cousin are all flying into Copenhagen this morning, as part of a grant my mom received in the fall. I would like to know what grant organization she is working with, as I think it would be beneficial for me to go to Ibiza.

Anyway, I'm headed to the airport in a few minutes, and pretty soon I will be in the land of Hans Christian Anderson and...um...danish and....ahhhhh....

Ok, you know what? That is for me to know and you to find out, when I get back and after I know what there is to find out (META). Wish me luck; hopefully I won't end up murdering my uncle/step-father/mother/father figure butler (Shakespeare humor = lolz).

Cheers!

Power jam

Right, so the last couple weeks kiiinda got away from me, with my research taking up a fair bit of time and my starvation budget taking a fair bit of my motivation to do anything other than lie in bed and wail. And I didn't think anyone would want to hear about that. At least, not in any detail.

But today I was offered an opportunity that I couldn't refuse. Can you tell me what combines lycra, obscenities, lace, ball-bearings, kneepads and black leather, all for a fiver? Actually, I hope none of you can, so I'll just tell you...ROLLER DERBY!

Yes, Edinburgh's very own league, the Auld Reekie Roller Girls (ARRG) had a bout against London today in a stadium that was 100 miles and a torrential downpour away from everything else in the city. So that was fun. When we finally got to the gym where they were playing, we were soaked, hungry and looking to see some elbows fly. Roller derby is one of those sports where everyone is there to see a nose get broken. It's a lot like if you put hockey and cheerleading in a barrel, threw in some angry bees and a lot of black eyeliner, and shook everything together. And then wrapped it in torn fishnet stockings.

Unfortunately, the lovely anarchic toughness that is so much a part of the game didn't make it off the ARRG bench, as we were absolutely slaughtered by London, who skated faster, cleaner and much more aggressively than our lassies. The final score was something like 150-47, which is bad even by England-Scotland standards (burn).

Still, it was a fun time...no blood but a lot of wipeouts, including one player who took out a referee on her way into the front row of the spectators. Now that, my friends, is falling with style.  Also, and I am not looking to get myself into any Tracy Morgan-type trouble here, but the stereotypes are true. I'm not saying there were a lot of lesbians there or anything, but the bleachers were pretty much an illustrated guide to buzzcuts.

The only thing I like more than watching athletes in peak physical condition perform at the top of their game, is sitting on my ass eating junk food afterward. And so what better way to end a day of observed exertion than with CAKE?! (Rhetorical question, by the way...if you are dumb enough to think the answer is anything other than cake, you should not be reading this blog). And so we had cake and talked shit about the ARRG players who could probably have ripped our arms off and used them for toothpicks, had they been so inclined. Ah, connoisseurship.

All in all, a good day, though it has left me wondering whether I should give up on this crazy academic pipe dream and devote myself full-time to become a derby skater. Step one: learn to skate.