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By Ashlyn

When you study abroad, you're asked to register your trip through the State Department. After registering, you begin to get emails regarding travel safety and security in your host country. These emails mostly end up in my trash folder, forgotten. Shortly after I arrived in Denmark I began to realize that it is a very safe and secure country. Crime is low here. The Danes are, for the most part, kind and friendly and trustworthy. Though I am living in the large city of Copenhagen, the streets are quiet and there is no constant sound of sirens and cars like there is in D.C. Copenhagen, and Denmark as a whole, is very peaceful.

That doesn't mean, though, that there is always peace here. Yesterday, shortly after I returned from my study tour in Sweden, news broke that there had been a shooting at a cafe in Østerbro, one of Copenhagen's neighborhoods. One man died and two were injured. The cafe was hosting a free speech debate and Lars Vilks, a Swedish man who has created cartoons of the prophet Mohammed, was in attendance.

Later in the night, at a synagogue in the center of town, another man was shot and killed. The man was working as a guard for a bar mitzvah. The suspect for both shootings was killed a few hours later by the police in a shootout.

We, as students, are being encouraged to stay safe but also to not allow these incidents to frighten us. "We encourage you to continue your lives in Copenhagen in the same way that you did before these events," reads an email from my program's director. But it is difficult to return to normal so quickly after something so terrible and unexpected happens. I don't feel scared -- I know that the attacks were targeted and that security is now high in the city. But I do feel sad. That acts of terror are possible even in a country as small and peaceful as Denmark is unsettling. Especially when those attacks are in response to the freedoms of speech and expression.

As a journalism student, I believe in the supreme power of freedom of speech. Over my travel break I had the pleasure of meeting with an editor of a newspaper in Malmø, whose name I will not reveal as a safety precaution. Her response to a student's question about freedom of speech was poignant. "We are a newspaper," she said. "To us, religions don't have rights. People have rights." She went on to say that she would not hesitate to print an "offensive" cartoon or article on the grounds that it might offend the wrong person.

We don't often think of these people - journalists, editors, cartoonists, etc. - as having dangerous jobs. To most, a journalist or cartoonist is just a person who sits at a desk and turns out content for others to read. But there are times when decisions must be made. Difficult decisions about whether writing, drawing, or publishing something is important enough to put lives and safety on the line. What price are you willing to pay for the freedom of speech? Or the freedom to worship the religion of your choice?

I still feel safe in Denmark. I still feel confident about my decision to study here. The Danes are so welcoming and kind - one month into my stay here, I already feel a part of the Danish community. I may be just an American student studying in Copenhagen for a short time, but for the next three months Denmark is my country as well. I still believe in the safety and peace that has comforted me since I landed here four weeks ago today.

My thoughts go out to the families of the victims. We are all thinking of you.

By Ashlyn

The Danish word of the day is mister.

The definition of the word is to lose.

On Sunday the sun managed to struggle out from behind the clouds for longer than a 20 minute clip. My friends and I felt optimistic about the weather, so we left the house in search of the magical land of Christiania.

Christiania is a not-so-secret secret “alternative living community” nestled in the heart of Copenhagen. A relic from the early 70s, the town has been built up almost by hand by its inhabitants, who live free (almost) from the rules and laws that govern the rest of Denmark. Imagine, if you will, walking into a huge abandoned theme park that is full of trash, graffiti, and weird-looking structures that are partially covered in uncut grass and moss. Now picture huge, psychedelic murals wrapping around almost everything in sight. Now add the persistent scent of smoke and garbage that hasn’t been taking out. That’s Christiania, in a nutshell.

The walk we took was fascinating. We strolled down muddy sidewalks, viewing the homes of the inhabitants of the “free town.” Many were built up from scratch from scrap materials. Some were made from abandoned warehouses and buildings. We saw makeshift children’s playgrounds, organic food restaurants, and plenty of flowers growing everywhere. There was even a stable deep inside the neighborhood, filled with horses and one sweet looking donkey.

Just outside there was a bakery called Lagkagehuset (a chain popular in Denmark) so we popped in to get a quick dessert. I ordered a pastry with custard in the center. As we stood huddled around a table, munching, a family suddenly came in with a sick child. The child was coughing abnormally, and not wanting to get sick in a foreign country (even though Denmark’s healthcare system is excellent), we decided to eat the rest of our pastries on the go. It was a 20 minute walk back to our dorm.

Climbing up the steps to my room was when I realized – I had lost my wallet. Now, losing your wallet in a foreign country isn’t like losing it at home. It sucks either way, but losing your wallet abroad is like losing your lifeline. I immediately panicked. All of my ID cards, plus my debit card and some cash was in there. My first instinct was to contact my parents and ask them what to do. But… when you’re thousands of miles away from home, you have to figure things out on your own. You can’t rely on mom and dad to help you because they physically can’t. Luckily, my roommates are sweet girls and helped me figure out the phone number of the bakery we had visited (the last place the wallet had been seen.)

Luckily, and due in large part to the kindness and honesty of the Danes, my wallet was still at the bakery. I’ve never run a mile so quickly in all my life. As I approached the counter the women behind it laughed a bit and told me to be more careful next time. When they gave it over to me, not a single item had been touched or moved. Back home in D.C. I doubt I would have been as lucky. I might have gotten the wallet back, but the cash and card would likely have been lost.

So what I learned this week was this - keep your belongings close when you’re away from home. Remember that you have to rely on yourself (and your good friends) to tackle tough situations. This can seem like a bad thing, but it’s actually a good thing. It’s a chance to test yourself, to grow a little in terms of maturity and learn how to handle situations more calmly. You need to be flexible and independent to travel abroad – and, even if you’re neither of those things (like me), you’ll learn quickly on the job.

…And one last word: thank you to whomever found my wallet at Lagkagehuset and turned it in without stealing from it. You’re a life saver!

By Ashlyn

The Danish word of the day is hygge.

The definition of the word is ???

If you haven’t been to Denmark then it’s likely that you have never encountered the fascinating concept of “hygge.” Pronounced HOO-geh, hygge is a word that defies description for many Danes. We Americans may approximate its meaning as “cozy,” but there is no real authentic English word that encapsulates all of the subtle nuances that hygge implies.

Hygge, unlike coziness, is not just a state of being but a mindset. It is an emotion of sorts. It is coming in from the cold and warming up next to the fire with a drink and a blanket wrapped around you. It’s a rich homemade dinner with your closest friends, with little candles decorating the table and your favorite mix tape playing in the background. It’s snuggling up on the couch watching Netflix with your boyfriend until you fall asleep.

But hygge does not only exist in wintertime. Eating ice cream in summer with your little sister could be hygge. Or building a sandcastle on the beach and then having a picnic. Or going berry-picking. Or baking a big pie and then sharing a slice with friends. The feeling comes over you and you’re hit with it suddenly (or it creeps up over you before you know what’s happening) and when it does, you know you’ve caught the hygge.

Interestingly, though, the Danes are just as ready to forcefully create a sense of hygge as to allow it to happen naturally. Many cafes, restaurants and bars have signs outside advertising a “hyggelig” (HOO-ga-lee) atmosphere. Whole shop sections are dedicated to objects meant to evoke hygge in the home. Danes string lights, light candles, burn incense, cover areas with plush blankets and cushions – anything to increase the hygge-osity of the space. Hygge is something to continually strive for.

Hygge came upon me for the first time in Denmark exactly one week from the day I touched down in Copenhagen. It had been a long, cold afternoon, with plenty of rain outside. I was buried under about six layers of blankets, slowly working my way through a mound of homework with a few other girls from our dorm. Eventually, someone brought up the idea to make a communal dinner. None of us were too invested in our work, so we put off our readings and papers in favor of raiding our cabinets in search of ingredients.

Eventually we had a pot of chicken stew going on the stove, with fresh biscuits baking away in the oven below. Stir, season, chop, mix – each of us seated with her own task to help the assembly of the meal go smoothly. A suggestion here, a sprinkle of salt there. The meal finished, we lit candles and dimmed the kitchen lights, folded our napkins fancily and laid out the “good” bowls and silverware. “To us!” we cheered, raising our glasses full of lemon water or milk. “Skål!” And then we tucked in to the food – maybe a bit under-seasoned, maybe a bit sloppily presented, but undoubtedly the most filling and satisfying dish I’ve eaten during my time abroad thus far.

Perhaps that was due to the stick and a half of butter we used to make the biscuits. Me, I’d like to think it was the hygge.

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My groceries from my first grocery trip - buttermilk included!

The Danish word of the day is karnemelk.

The definition of the word is buttermilk.

One hundred and five people (or somewhere close to that number) told me, before I left the United States to study abroad, that I was going to experience some sort of culture shock when I got there. That I was going to be confused and, inevitably, would do a lot of things to embarrass myself. “Don’t worry if you make a lot of social faux-pas during your first few weeks!” they all said. “It’s normal! Don’t get upset about it!”

Foolishly I thought that I could escape this issue by just being as observant as possible. Just follow the Danes, I thought to myself as I scurried about my first week in Copenhagen. I mimicked their walk, their talk, the way they ordered their coffee. I wore dark colors and attempted to copy that stereotypical, stoic Danish resting face that many wear as they go about their business. I learned a few Danish words like tak (thank you) and undskyld (sorry). I attempted to blend in as much as possible.

All was going according to plan until my first trip to the grocery store. I sauntered in, feeling sure of myself – then realized, with a sinking feeling, that I was about to be in for a challenge. Everything, and I mean everything, was in Danish. I don’t know what I was expecting. Shaking in my boots, I looked from one product to the other, attempting to figure out what boxes and cartons contained just by looking at the little pictures on the label. A picture of bread – flour, maybe? Meat with a pig on it – must be pork, right? The mysterious items that had no images on their packaging were ignored altogether.

Eventually I managed to sneak up behind some unsuspecting shopper who looked like they knew what they were doing. I followed at their heels, glancing at their purchases and putting similar items in my basket. I felt pretty confident that their choices of eggs, milk, bread and cheese would be good enough for me, at least for the first week. Can’t go wrong with some good Danish dairy products.

I went to the checkout counter, smiling as I told the woman behind the register “Hej!” She was firm-lipped, not even looking up from her work as she furiously scanned items. Small talk, as I would come to learn, is not very popular in Denmark. The woman then shot her head up and said a quick string of Danish words that I didn’t understand. “Excuse me?” I stammered, already flustered.

“135 krone,” she repeated slowly, staring at me. I laughed way too loud and handed her my food stipend card to swipe. Then I rushed out the door with my head down, groceries swinging from my side.

Later, putting my purchases away in the kitchen, I decided to sample some of the things I had bought. I made a sandwich and poured myself a glass of milk. As soon as I took a sip from the glass, though, I knew that something was wrong. The taste was extremely sour, as though the product was far past its expiration date. But on the top of the carton, the date provided was still half a week away.

Then I noticed – the label said “karnemelk.” A quick Google search and I found out I had bought a big old carton of Danish buttermilk Sighing, I choked down the rest of the glass. I wasn’t about to let 15 krone go to waste. Plus, according to a few of my teachers, the Danes often drink their buttermilk straight.

When in København, I suppose!

By Ashlyn

It’s 9:23 pm the night before I’m supposed to depart for Copenhagen. I board the plane at 7 pm tomorrow. T-minus 21 hours and 37 minutes to go. Tick tock. Tick tock. The clock is crawling from minute to minute and I’m stuck between wanting it to slow down and wanting it to speed up. It’s a strange feeling.

It’s funny, because I’ve known I was going to be studying in Denmark this semester since September. And yet the gravity of what I’m about to do hadn’t hit me until, oh… probably about 10 minutes ago. But now, as I print out my boarding pass and shove as many jars of peanut butter into my luggage as can possibly fit, it’s smashing down on me like I just removed the wrong block from a Jenga tower. I’m going out of the country for the first time in my life. The furthest I’ve ever been from my quaint little home of Reading, Pennsylvania was when I took a band trip to Disney World. I am completely out of my comfort zone here.

And now I’m going to Copenhagen. A city I chose for its cleanliness and easygoing vibe. And because the program I’m enrolled in seems like a good fit for a journalism major. And maybe, just maybe, because it’ll put me only a short bike ride away from noma, one of the best restaurants in the world. Just maybe.

Every once in a while, I’ll think to myself, “Wait. Ashlyn. What are you doing, going to Denmark for a semester? You don’t even like to leave the couch!” It’s true that I’m not the most social of animals. I love people, and I love having friends, but as an introvert I find it difficult to interact with people for long periods of time. And now I’m off to a country that I’ve only read about in travel books, full of people who speak a different language than my own. And I’ll be living in a dorm with not one but two roommates. Yikes!

Am I nervous? Yes. Am I freaking out? Sort of. But at this point there’s no turning back. I knew I was going to have these reservations from day one, but I just keep telling myself that I’m going to thank myself for it later in life. After all, how many times in your life do you get an opportunity to study in another country? To visit not just one or two but four different countries in one trip? (Denmark, Sweden, Ireland and France are all on the horizon.) I figure it’s like a mother bird and her fledglings in the nest – the baby bird is probably scared as heck as its mom callously thwacks it out of a huge tree, sending it plummeting down towards the ground. But at the last second instinct takes over and the bird starts flapping its little wings and tweeting and flying like it was born to do, and if it had never been pushed from the nest it never would have learned how to fly. Right?

Hopefully instinct will take over for me too. I want to fly!