Keri Bloomfield - Nothing Like a Dane

Copyright Keri Bloomfield 2022

First published 2022

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher.

978-87-973674-0-7 Paperback

978-87-973674-1-4 E book

Published by Pembar Press, Denmark

Cover and interior design by Design for Writers, England

A disclaimer

Some of the names of individuals within this book have been changed. Similarly, characteristics of some individuals (and events) within this book have been combined to ensure the author is still invited to family and other social gatherings in the future.

For Dad & Ida

Contents

Hygge is about an atmosphere and an experience, rather than about things. It is about being with the people we love. A feeling of home. A feeling that we are safe, that we are shielded from the world and allow ourselves to let our guard down.

Meik Wiking , author of The Little Book of Hygge

Introduction

I walked naked across the changing room pretending it was the most natural thing in the world. It wasnt, of course: in 36 years, my New Zealand birthday suit had never been seen in public. I was completely out of my depth and hadnt even made it to the swimming pool yet.

As I reached the showers, I froze like a deer in the headlights. I was aware my own headlights were on full-beam too, though I didnt look down to check. In front of me lay a sea of bums and boobs. A communal shower full of women evidently more liberated with their bodies than me, were scrubbing their underarms and groins with remarkable vigour. Meanwhile my own DNA from another land recoiled in horror. Im the first to admit that growing up on a remote South Pacific island has left me, paradoxically, a little sheltered in my views to nudity.

My significant other The Dane as I liked to refer to him, partly because it was easier to pronounce than his Danish name had told me Id need a shower before swimming. An innocuous suggestion Id dismissed until I was staring straight down an aisle of bare-skinned butts of every shape, with mine about to join them. I was every inch a stunned prude.

We have the same logic in New Zealand, of course: one should be clean before swimming. But our execution of this theory is worlds apart. Showers in New Zealand have curtains and are rarely communal. Always, there are individual changing cubicles available for those whove not yet mastered yanking off a wet swimsuit beneath an oversized towel before pulling their undies up over damp legs. Showering is also, in most cases, done in togs (swimsuit to the rest of the world). Groins are not heartily scrubbed in public.

Staring at my showering companions I was thankful of having a minute social circle in Denmark. The odds were in my favour that I was unlikely to run into someone I knew while starkers.

Those 20 minutes became the longest of my Danish life. To reach the showers, I first had to navigate a terrifying one-way maze in a bare-arsed state. My shoes came off first (and to be fair, that bit was quite easy) before I found a locker to hover in front of while calculating my escape through the overwhelming nakedness around me. Women were blow drying their hair au naturel while making casual chit chat. A swimming attendant circled, wearing a bright red and yellow shirt and shorts combo (grossly overdressed given the environment). She patrolled the changing rooms ensuring everyone was appropriately cleaning themselves I watched in horror as she sent another woman back for not washing her hair. After many moments of indecision, I had no choice but to drop my pants and stuff them in my locker. Clutching my swimsuit and towel hard, I strode disrobed towards the showers.

If there was an illustration to sum up my vulnerability and awkwardness in this new land among Danes, this was it. Standing without a stitch on, 18,000km from New Zealand, in a room full of equally bare-arsed women, I knew I was different to the Danes. Even if they werent giving my four white cheeks a second glance.

If youve lived with anyone from another culture, youll understand. Square pegs dont fit in round holes.

When I first moved to Denmark, the differences were jarring. It was easy to make sweeping statements about another culture based on the most noticeable behaviours. Part fiction, part fact, it was something both locals and foreigners liked to play. Locals do this foreigners do that locals are crazy because they do this foreigners are crazy because they do that Its an easy habit to slip into. After all, bad eggs float to the surface and are the ones you notice first. Theyre also the ones that make the best stories.

I used to have a life in New Zealand. An ordinary life, speaking my mother tongue, English; surrounded by friends and family; and a career. A life that was easy to navigate, and one where I wasnt a foreigner.

But then a sliding doors moment happened. A split-second decision to look right instead of left one night at a crowded bar in my hometown of Wellington. That was all it took to begin my journey towards life in Denmark. A similar scenario to the one that lured Tasmanian Mary just a few years earlier from Australia to Denmark, where she became Princess Mary.

After one of the worlds longest flights (17.5 hours plus another eight for good measure) I arrived in Denmark in 2016 with a four-month-old baby, two suitcases and no friends. You can liken the feeling to being placed in a tumble dryer with the lights out: youll go around and around, occasionally hitting the wall with no idea really where you are. Geographically or mentally.

To make sense of my new life, I began sharing some of the cultural challenges. Most of these ramblings were shared in my Bilingual Backpack Baby blog and gave me purpose in my new life. It also led to other opportunities, including writing for the Danish newspaper, The International . This book is the story of what happened in between those cultural learnings.

In an attempt to not create an undue number of awkward encounters in my life, some names have been changed and my portrayal of some characters are a combination of various people that have crossed my path. I have also purposefully chosen to keep my family in the background throughout the book to ensure awkward moments around the family dinner table are minimised.

Lastly, to help you navigate any unknown Danish or New Zealand words and phrases, you can find a glossary at the back of the book.

I hope it entertains.

One, Meeting The Dane

The Pizza

I saw his pizza first.

It lured me in with its crispy crust, as all thought of my friends waiting for me to return with the next round of drinks flew out of my head.

Unable to find a seat in the popular Malthouse brewery, hed been standing at the bar with a beer in one hand and a pizza perched in front of him. Approaching from behind, Id done my best impersonation of a salmon swimming upstream as I tried to push my way through the crowd towards the bar in the hope of ordering another round. On either side of us, the after-work crowd was in high spirits, becoming louder and drunker by the minute.

Are you going to eat all of that? I asked, barely registering what he looked like as I waited for my drinks, my eyes fixed on the remaining slices of pizza that lay on a trendy longhandled wooden platter. I stared so hard I noticed the dusting of flour under the pizza that stopped it sticking. A clear sign of hunger, I thought.