marked

Okay, so I got here.

And I’ve started school. The first week was an introduction to the University –Aarhus University pronounced “oar hoose”. “University” pronounced “university”. Those first few days were a blur of information about Danish study habits and Danish culture.

Concerning Danish study habits: You may or may not show up to class. You may or may not be marked on any of the work you do. Your final exam will be Judgement Day when you will be marked, but not by the person who taught you. I’m still not sure if this is incredibly fair, or incredibly scary. Maybe both.

The lecture on Danish culture was presented by a Danish woman that had clearly never seen any living Danish people in her life. She told us that Danish people like a “a zone of personal space around them” but considering how enthusiastically they pack themselves onto busses I find this hard to believe. She explained this particular nuance by telling us about a Mexican that was talking to her too closely. She said she kept backing away, but not matter how much she backed away the Mexican —and I’m not kidding here, “continued to cross her border.”

This “personal space” thing actually raises all sorts of interesting questions about how the Danes propagate their own species. Unless they’ve found some other way, shagging does involve a certain amount of touching.

She said that Dane’s are serious about eye-contact. Which is true, unless you look them in the eye.

She did say one thing that was accurate; the Danes are extremely punctual. This has been stressed to me by so many people that I’m starting to think it’s pathological. It leaves me wondering about my classmates, many of whom come from places where it’s common to show up days late to one’s own birthday party.

The course in the Danish language was taught by way of some traditional songs. One of which was developed when the Danes won the UEFA cup in 1986. For anybody that pays attention to these types of things, the Danes, in fact, won in 1992. This error she made is pretty unforgiveable, and would normally necessitate a lynching, except fellow Danes can’t get close enough without invading her personal space. Isn’t this why we have Mexicans?

The latter half of the lesson involved a humiliating 600 person conga line with her in the lead. At this point she was the only one singing as nobody else in the room cold wrap their tongues around the peanut-butter-filled-mouth language. Also, logistically speaking, a conga line of that size cannot work in a small room without serious injury. Particularly if the leader is flapping her body around like a fish on a dock.

I fled.

The main campus itself is very nice with all the buildings surrounding a picturesque lake in which there is floating the picturesque bloated body of a dead duck. The buildings themselves are all yellow because —and this is true— Aarhus is the leading European manufacturer of yellow bricks. The effect is that of being in a massive outdoor sanatorium designed by people with a Wizard of Oz fetish.

The journalism building is a squat concrete bunker of the type that Hitler used to hide from the Allies and take cyanide. The auditoriums inside continue this theme with dim lighting, stale air, and no windows. If there is a nuclear attack it seems the post-apocalyptic world will be briefly populated by Danish journalists who won’t breed because nobody will get inside each other’s personal spaces.

I’m taking busses a lot again. I really despise the things. However, they’re all on time. The busses in Aarhus have machines on them where you can buy a ticket. Here’s the thing though —and this was pointed out to me by my flatmate— if the machine is not operating there is a sign saying that you absolutely must report this to the bus driver. Above the bus driver there is a sign that says, DO NOT TALK TO THE BUS DRIVER.

You board Danish busses in the rear and exit through front. The two busses that I can take to where I live arrive at the stops at the same time and don’t arrive again for another half-hour. This is during peak time, so riding a bus in Denmark is like trying to cram yourself into a can of tuna. I suspect that this is when the Danes conceive because their personal space issues provide no other alternative.

The busses, by the way, come more frequently at times when nobody needs them.

The town of Aarhus itself is —like the Danes— really nice. It sits on the Eastern Coast of the mainland and is the recipient of weather that could only be called “Schizoid”. I’ve heard that in New Zealand, if you go out for the day, you dress for all weather conditions. . . Including an airbag lately. In Aarhus you need to find a balance between an arctic expedition and a day at the beach. In most places of the world you look at the sky and you say, “I think it’s going to rain today.” In Aarhus you look at the sky and say, “It’s going to rain in 17 seconds.” In one day I’ve been basking in the sun, been drenched by a torrential downpour, been buffeted with the kinds of winds used to test airplanes, seen snow, and basked in the sun again. All before noon.

The buildings of the city are more Prague than Delft. Curiously I think they used up all their yellow bricks to build the University. And yes, there is a concentration of the types of buildings you associate with Vikings; stucco and wood-beamed structures leaning at precarious angles.

It’s brutally expensive to go pubbing in the city. The Danes get around this by buying their booze cheaply at the 7-11 —a slightly incongruous North American import— and drinking it wherever they please.

It’s this and other things that remind me that I’m in a civilized country after three-odd years in bewildered, anxious, North America. The people are friendly and charming. A traditional history of biking has made them fit-looking. The place is clean, the produce is fresh, the smiles are warm.

I’m beginning to understand how Denmark ranked number one on the list of happiest places on earth:

http://www.forbes.com/2010/07/14/world-happiest-countries-lifestyle-realestate-gallup-table.html

Then again, with no shagging, how happy could they be?