international intersubjectivity and the other as other (aka I don't understand Europeans)

I dropped my Danish class today.

I am trying to study for my GRE so that I can get into Stony Brook, study philosophy for God knows how much longer, and have the life that I dream of. In other words, the GRE is kinda important. So the shock is not that I dropped the course, but that I had deluded myself into thinking that Danish class was a good idea for so long. When someone finally asked me why I was taking Danish, I realized that, despite all my belief in immersion, loving languages, and being genuinely curious, I was really taking Danish because I feel guilty.

Why guilty? Well, aside from feeling like I contribute to the stereotype about Americans going around expecting the world to conform to their English-speaking view of it, I feel like a failure in the school of multiculturalism. I feel like I have lost some kind of initial curiosity about the world that I once had. I had beers with a visiting faculty from Whittier College last night. He will only be here for 4 months, he already specializes in Welsh literature, and therefore has no real reason to learn Danish. Still, this guy (who has spent a total of one month here) already knows way more Danish than me. He asks waiters and sales people how to say things in Danish, he marvels at little tidbits of cultural trivia (like Danes always look one another in the eye while toasting, are pretty passive-aggressive when it comes to interpersonal interaction, but strangely confrontational on issues of politics and religion).

When I was watching him stumble through ordering a beer in Danish, something I gave up trying long ago, I remembered myself when I was 17 and in Ukraine for the first time. I couldn't stop asking questions, trying to pronounce new words, and with each new tidbit, I was delighted all over again.

I haven't felt that way in Denmark this time around. Perhaps it is because I am no longer a visitor, but a semi-permanent resident. Either way, I wanted to take Danish to prove to myself that I still have that curiosity or spark that David the Welsh literature professor has.

My concern runs deeper, however. I listen to speeches about what the study abroad experience is supposed to be: immersion in a new culture, "getting to know the Danes" (good fucking luck on that one), preparing for an even more globalized future. Yet, I find myself wondering what the real purpose is. Beyond learning those fun facts that end up irritating everyone you know ("In Denmark, they..."), what is it that I am supposed to be doing here? What is it that my students are supposed to be doing?

I don't really know. I do know that coming to Denmark shook me up enough the first time that I was able to radically change my life, being really happy for the first time in my short adult life. I know that coming back here is hard but rewarding. Despite all this emphasis on culture and internationality, I think there is something about the mere physicality of living in a new country that makes you grow and be more flexible. John Dewey talks about how habits help us live our lives, but at the same time confine us. His solution is that we should build habits that are themselves habit-breaking. That is what Denmark does for me. I am forced everyday to negotiate situations that are completely new. (Example: How do you operate a work out machine in Danish? Push a lot of buttons until it works. Now, instead of ever having to learn a new language, I can merely operate a variety of machines, kitchen utensils, atms, and websites without knowing a word of the language they operate in.)

What is even more interesting is that in the experience of blundering my way through life (and the gym), I find out what works for me and what doesn't. When everything around me is new, I dare to imagine that I could be new as well. Last time I was here, I realized that I could study philosophy myself instead of merely admiring those who were smart enough to do so. I am not sure if that discovery had anything to do with Danish culture, immersion, or Copenhagen at all.

In the end, I am not sure if immersion is really it. The goal isn't to walk around Copenhagen and make everyone think you are a Dane. The goal is to walk around knowing everyone knows you are different, and to not give a damn

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Home

I am pretty familiar with most of the city of Copenhagen now. I know the main thoroughfares and landmarks. I can bike home without thinking about the directions too much. Familiarity, however, is not tantamount to homeyness.

About 5 nights ago, I was back into the city after taking 18 students to rural western Denmark for 3 days with my work, DIS. I was walking from my office in the city center to my apartment just barely into Østerbro. I walked home with a different perspective, the kind that only raw exhaustion can give you. Since I was walking instead of biking for the first time in a month, I saw the streets a bit differently. I had time to notice the way the street lights catch all the beautiful little details on the neo-classical buildings and the eerie feeling of the bushes on the edges of the botanical gardens.

My reflection was interrupted two young Danish men. It always takes me a second to realize when someone addresses me in Danish. It still sounds like white noise.

"Sorry?" I said, which is how I simultaneously demonstrate that 1. I don't speak Danish, 2. I feel pretty bad about it, and 3. I might be British.

"We just bought some beers, but we don't have time to drink them all, and we are supposed to meet some friends at a bar. Here, take one, it hasn't been opened." (There are no open container laws in DK, you can drink pretty much ANYWHERE.)

"Oh, no thanks, I am really tired, and I am just heading home."

"Where are you from?" they ask (clearly having fallen for my non-American parlance). I answer with some hesitation that I am from the States, but that I live in Copenhagen now. The words sound funny to me, and I almost don't believe myself.

"Where are you coming from," one asks, gesturing toward my giant hiking backpack.

"I just got back from a trip into Jylland," (Jutland, or the peninsula of western Denmark).

"Oh, then you really need a beer!" He pops the bottle open and hands me the beer. If this were the first time that I had been offered beer by complete strangers in Copenhagen, I might not have taken it, but I must say, this is somewhat of a common occurrence.

After a quick cheers, I continued home, sipping my badly tasting Danish beer. I live near the Statens Museum for Kunst, an imposing but beautiful state art museum with a huge grounds complete with lilly-padded ponds and rolling green hills. As I was walking past, I realized the insanity of my life. I live here, in Denmark, in a city that most people from my hometown know virtually nothing about, a city that three years ago I myself knew little about. But it is this charming little city full of quirky Danish people and imposing buildings older than my own nation that I now call home, at least outloud.

Copenhagen felt very foreign for a few minutes, staring at this giant European museum, but as I started to think about my room, with its Danish looking light fixtures and western european electrical outlets (which I still do not always understand), my shoulders relaxed. In my room, no one addresses me in Danish, and I sleep in the bed each night. Though no one would mistake it for an American apartment, at the same time, when I am in my room, I could be in any city anywhere in the world.

I felt a little guilty that I still imagine my home to be a place where I don't have to think about Danish or deal with anything super unfamiliar (damn electrical outlets), but I think we all need somewhere to go that feels that way. The more homey the rest of Copenhagen becomes, the less time I spend at home in my apartment, but for now, I need some time here.