Copenhagen

At last, the final chapter of our Scandinavia trip in June, following Helsinki, Tallinn, and Stockholm...

We arrived in Copenhagen tired from the six hour train ride, hot in the muggy weather, and confused about why we even left Sweden. Since this was the 6th day of a hectic pace, we decided to skip the museums and just absorb the city. If we go back, we still have a lot to see.

Our hotel was bare-bones but wonderfully located, right on the colorful Nyhavn (New Harbor), a sailors' quarter dating from the 1670's.
Surprisingly, sitting sounded good (probably the heat), so we took a one-hour canal and harbor cruise departing from Nyhavn. Easy peasy.

Our serene tour guide gave every spiel in Danish, English, and German. She told us that we should have come the next day when she was doing kids' cruises while dressed as a pirate, and apparently speaking Pirate as her 4th language? Or, maybe her Danish, English, and German all carry pirate inflections? We'll never know. From the boat, we saw:

The 2005 opera house, much of which is built under water. I blame the angle on a wave.

Amalienborg Palace, home to Queen Margrethe II and her husband.

...and no Little Mermaid statue. She is at the Beijing Expo. Wah.

After, we wandered through the university district- 30,000 students, free tuition - and feasted on Riz-Raz's vegetarian buffet. We also found the bust of Niels Bohr, who won the 1922 Nobel Prize for theoretical physics as professor here in Copenhagen before moving to the US in 1943, where he helped develop the atomic bomb.

After dinner, I managed to talk Chris into visiting Christiania, the alternative squatters' colony. I was too embarrassed to take out my guide book (not like I fit in anyway!), so we learned the details back at our hotel. There are huge, graffiti "no photography" murals, so this is the only one we have, taken at the entrance. On the flip side of this sign, it reads, "You are now entering the EU."
Just a few of the fascinating things I learned about Christiania: It was established in 1971 with 700 squatters, of which 180 remain (of the present total of 600 adults and 200 kids). It's built on a former military base still owned by the ministry of defense. There's no buying or selling of property - when someone moves, the residents decide who will be invited in. Rick Steves reports that a third of the residents work outside the community, a third work inside, and a third don't work much at all. The community pays $1 million per year to the city for utilities and another $1 million to run its local affairs. Apparently, they don't use the standard police force much and settle things internally. That was one thing that made me not want to stay long. Or take pictures. Sadly, the soil is poisoned from its military days so nothing is grown here. Maybe they should move.

It's nice to room in a central location - we returned to our little Nyhavn for the last of the evening's glow, with a Carlsberg, of course. Our hotel is the brick building on the far left, and the red building two houses over is where Hans Christian Anderson lived and wrote his first stories.

The next day was rainy the whole day long. We stepped into the city hall, which was modeled on Siena's in Italy.

I posed with H.C.'s statue outside the city hall. Then, we ran to a bookstore to find a collection of his stories. Along with that, we bought "The Wonderful Adventures of Nils," by Selma Lagerlöf. She was the first woman to receive the Nobel Prize in Literature, and we were excited to read her masterful weaving of Swedish folklore and nature. We both devoured the book and are poised to buy "The Further Adventures of Nils" online. Anyway, sorry, this post is about Denmark.

More rain: We decided to brave Tivoli Gardens, the 2nd oldest amusement park in the world (the oldest is also in Denmark). Walt Disney came here and was obviously inspired. Daisy fell asleep in the buggy once inside the park, so we were able to have some tea and crack open our new books.

The park is very pretty and filled with rides and outdoor performance venues. I read that there is ice skating and a Christmas market here in the winter. Because it was a Monday, a quiet day in the city, there were no pantomimes or concerts for us, which was fine. It was fun to teach Daisy what a ride was. The first one involved sitting in a flying treasure chest and soaring through scenes from Anderson fairy tales. The next one was a carousel.

The third and final ride was an airplane. She eventually got the hang of it! I love how her hood makes her look like a serious pilot.

And that was it! Soaking wet and facing our flight home that night, we decided on a coffee and "danish" finale. It's typical that "danishes" are actually called "Vienna bread" here. They were delicious, yum!

The 7 Hurdles of the Language Barrier

I used to dismiss the Language Barrier. I was sure that with an apologetic smile and a few gestures linking new vocabulary words, the Barrier would vanish. I was in denial.

After a year and half of making mistakes in German, I have pooled my embarrassing diary entries and cataloged the seven obstacles that are always in my way.

1) The plurals is different.
I know that eyeglasses are "die Brille" and that hair is "die Haare." However, in German, glasses are singular and hair is plural. I can sometimes remember to spit the equivalent of "Is that a new glasses?" and "Your hairs look nice," but I can never get my eyes to stop laughing at my words.

2) I avoid certain words because they make me giggle.
Could I ever say, "I feel like swimming?" The answer is no, because it requires me to say, "Ich habe Lust zu schwimmen," which involves me saying "I have Lust" with a capital L, which makes my face turn pink and my pulse quicken confessionally. I also do not like to talk about the "Fahrt" button on the elevator or the Malzbier bottles labeled "Tut gut."

3) Unnaturally comes Old English sentence structure to me.
I can still hear little Lis plaintively sighing, "Mehr hast du nicht!" (More have you not!) Or Sarah, with her charming "Regenbogen finde ich toll" (Rainbows find I cool.) I love them when I hear them, but I need to personally try more of these quaint, flip-flopped sentence structures on for size.

4) "There is an old German saying..."
In stilted German, I once explained to my friend Trixi about how Chris and I like Europe but would like to live close to our families. Trixi started talking about lilies-of-the-valley. What? She took a minute to explain - in English, thankfully - that it was an old adage about how you can't have both lilies-of-the-valley and plaid. Which, upon reflection, I agreed with. (These German sayings can really be very insightful.) I was happy to share the English saying with a similar message: "You can't have your cake and eat it too." This didn't really impress Trixi, since it's hard to understand why someone would want a cake to remain uneaten. If the Germans win this Proverb Competition, it's because they have such a huge pot of proverbs choose from. It seems like every time Chris and I go out in public, we come home with a new wise saying. Someday, maybe we'll be able to sprinkle conversations with them, too.

5) Please, if you can remember, maybe try to be a little less polite.
It is a well-known fact that Americans say thank-you too frequently and say excuse-me when they don't need to. If I just zipped my lips, I could blend right in. But no, I have an overpowering urge to look people in the eye and say a red, white and blue apology when I almost run into them with the buggy, and I draw some attention when the nice bakery ladies give Daisy a cookie and I smile a bit too brightly.


6) "I speak English."
When Kathrin, who speaks very good "school" English, asked if I'd like anything to drink from her kitchen, I said "I'll have a water, thanks!" After she nodded and walked back to the play room to supervise the girls, I realized that she thought I meant, "I have a water, thanks for offering." I should have spoken more clearly for my non-native-English-speaking friend. (Also, referring back to #5 on my list, I should have signaled "please" instead of a preemptive and misleading "thanks.") At doctor's offices and elsewhere, we are learning to support teetering English misunderstandings with emergency German phrases, resulting in awkward, meandering Germish dialogues.

7) I don't speak English.
Germans here have learned Englishy-English. They walk, not on sidewalks, but on pavement. Which has a kerb, by the way. They shall tell you to bring your diary because they fancy scheduling future playdates. They have never heard the word "diaper" and I surprise myself by changing Daisy's nappy. Of course, you all know that Daisy has a buggy and not a stroller. The word "vacation" gets a vacant stare, but saying holiday clears it up. At every parting, I stiffly accept the formal, "Greetings to Chris!" They are trying to speak my language, but it is not mine. It's just another part of the - very real - Language Barrier.

Tallinn, Estonia

This is a continuation of my Scandinavia story in June. Stockholm and Copenhagen will follow, eventually.

From Helsinki, we day-tripped to Tallinn via a 2-hour cruise ship. With a play area like this, we happily breezed across the Baltic. Why can't airplanes be like this?


Tallinn's medieval wall and watchtowers greeted us. This city's flag is the same as Denmark's red and white cross, since Denmark ruled Tallinn in the 13th century. Since then, ownership has passed to Germany during the Hanseatic Golden Age, who lost it to Sweden, who then lost it to Russia, after a brief independence and Nazi occupation. It was a very long road to Estonia's independence in 1991. The layers of history are evident all throughout this city. How the unique Estonian language, cuisine, and traditions survived the centuries is beyond me.

One of Tallinn's many small surprises. I have a thing for doors.

The medieval German-merchant street leading up from the harbor. Old KGB headquarters are just down this street.

Pulpit of the 14th-century "Church of the Holy Ghost"

We soaked it up: Tallinn's bustling Town Hall Square on a crisp day in early June. Lots of handknits, but we weren't really in the mood for mittens or sweaters. (Plus, I didn't really believe half of the women who said they were handknit.)

We slipped into a quiet inner courtyard for lunch at Von Krahli Baar. It felt like we had arrived in Eastern Europe.

Cold potato pancakes stuffed with shrimp. Sounds funny, but they were delicious! We also tried borsch for the first time and really liked it (a soup made with beets and tomatoes). After paying for our (cheap!) meal with our bank card to avoid needing Estonian krooni for the day, we wanted to leave a tip and decided to ask our server if she took Euros. We thought that this was reasonable, since Estonia is switching to the Euro on January 1. Little did we expect her to grasp our coins excitedly, examining them as if they contained the answers to all of her questions about the future. As we left, she was still huddled over them with her coworker.

In the 18th century, Russia built this pink palace which now serves as Estonia's parliament building, topped by the Estonian flag and seal.

Perched on a hilltop is the beautiful Russian cathedral, strategically built in 1900 over the grave of an Estonian hero. Rick Steves aptly calls it "muscle-flexing."

Something I love about world history is the peaceful end of the Cold War. It's thrilling to imagine the optimistic momentum that was necessary to produce the Baltic Chain in 1989. From here to Lithuania, hopeful nationalists clasped hands to form a 360 mile human chain symbolizing their solidarity against the USSR. Recently, Estonia has chosen to join the EU and further distance itself from its Russian/Soviet past. However, Estonia remains 25% Russian; a seemingly difficult line for the government to walk.
Because prices are so much lower in Estonia than Finland, our ship back was packed with Finns with packed suitcases. All. full of. beer.

Lessons from a 2-year-old

I can learn a lot from Daisy.

Characteristic of children everywhere, her language is exploding. This middle-class, 21st century girl knows that "C" is for "computer" and "coffee." A toy is starting to be "mine" instead of "Daisy's." When I ask her to pull the plug in the bathtub, she responds with an off-the-cuff, "Oh yeah, sure, I can pull the plug!"

I've noticed little teleological tags that she adds to nouns. For example, she will note that a ladder is for climbing, smack her lips while explaining that a cup of milk is for drinking, and gesture excitedly to a bird that is, always, for chasing.

I smile at this simple 2-year-old worldview, one in which an object has a single purpose. She will outgrow this. By now, we adults can brainstorm a variety of verbs to attach to birds: watching, feeding, imitating, photographing... If pressed, I'm sure I could list 100 bird-verbs.

But sometimes, I like to silence the Creative Brainstorm-er and try to see my surroundings Daisy's way. Let's see, the piano is for playing (but when is the last time I did that?), the crumbs are for cleaning up (oh, don't remind me), and the bills are for paying. If I saw everything this way, I would be as energetic as a toddler, jumping from task to task as my eye wanders. When I take this mindset a step further, I can decide that tantrums are for patience building, rude service people are for forgiving, and homeless people are for helping.

And voila! I am on my way to sainthood and satisfaction; not by reading "The Purpose-Driven Life," but by copying my daughter. A bird is for chasing, after all.

Time for Ballet

Sometimes I think about enrolling Daisy in a kindergarten, which is actually a state-funded preschool for over-3's. Attending a kindergarten would be the best way for Daisy to learn German. I recently looked into a very nice kindergarten in our neighborhood. I had a tour and was impressed by how orderly the materials were arranged and how many rooms the children rotate between.
However, the hours of kindergarten run from 7:00-2:00 every day. Of course, I could consistently be late and early, but it just does not seem like the ideal scenario. First of all, I don't have a job, and day-care, however educational, is not necessary. What would I do during that time? Grocery shop? Blog!?
Another concern is that, though Daisy would learn German, she would struggle to communicate. For example, Daisy is in an wildly possessive stage right now. Yesterday, another toddler touched her buggy and she screamed in outrage, "No, girl, this is Daisy's!" Fascinatingly, this conviction also applies in reverse. Today, she trailed her friend Berenike all around the park, arms outstretched with B's sand toy, reminding - scolding? - "Here's your toy, this is Berenike's..." It's sad to imagine Daisy in a frantic situation like this without an English-speaking moderator to understand her. But it's tragic to imagine Daisy getting used to it, to having this way of life for a year, to imagine inflicting that kind of knock to her self-esteem. I believe that there are gentler ways to learn a new language.

Something that has always made sense is local parent-child groups. Daisy has me, I have a social setting with other parents, and we both have German in surround-sound. Besides our Thursday Spielgruppe, we've been enjoying a Monday forest group. Fridays we're in Dusseldorf for a British "Mums" group. But we have some open days!

Yesterday, we tried out a new Tuesday group: "Mami und Ich" dancing! I expected Daisy to take a while to warm up to the new situation, like she usually does. We discussed the first class a lot the night before and morning of, just like we did for her recent amazing doctor appointment. We read one of her favorite books, "Time for Ballet." We got there early. She wore her "tutu dress" with pink bows in her hair. We were ready.

Contrary to my very realistic expectations, Daisy ran in like it was home. Smiling, laughing, spinning. It was everything she -and I - ever dreamed it could be. The teacher is efficient and bubbly, the music selections are great, we have great props like tambourines with flowing ribbons, scarves, and magic wands, and there's times for the moms to get a work-out, for instance, by prancing with our little darlings on our backs. During a peaceful flute melody, we all paired off and waved big colorful banners up and down. Apparently, Daisy was swept away by the beauty of it all and joined in with a lovely falsetto coo. I think I felt my eyes welling up. She kept up her cooing for the rest of the class, though, a little to my chagrin. But who has the heart to make a 2-year-old stop singing along with the music while she dances? Not Miss Katrin, nor I.

Success! Next on the docket: swimming, music, or gymnastic classes? I'll keep you posted.

World Cup Stories

Summer 2002 - Chris and I had just met and were hanging out with mutual friends from church to watch the semi-finals of the World Cup at something like 4:30 AM in California. Germany was playing against South Korea. I came in waving a German flag, bearing some of Granny's German Chocolate Cake, and Chris swears that I had face paint. I'm not so sure. The next game, we were both cheering for Germany!

Summer 2006 - Chris, sporting his Schweinsteiger jersey, and I were cheering on the German team once again, this time in Madison at State Street Brats. The World Cup was actually in Germany this year.

Summer 2010 - Our third World Cup together! It's like an anniversary.

We count it a huge stroke of luck that we are in Europe during a World Cup year. Never before have we seen this level of patriotism in Germany. Flags now hang down out of apartment windows, decals adorn every car, and soccer balls are the theme of every imaginable item at the store (hard boiled eggs that are painted like soccer balls, hamburger buns that are embossed with them...) With the help of vuvuzelas, those extremely loud plastic trumpets, we are reminded of every game by someone heralding it in the neighborhood. I should mention how satisfying it is to blast our vuvuzela every time Germany scores a goal! Do they sell these in the US?

We've jumped into the celebration! Here are some pre-game pictures at home before the big England-Germany game.



Our apartment building lies on a fairly busy street, for our city. After the first Germany win, we could not believe the great "parade" we got to see (and hear) from our windows. Probably 45 minutes of constant honking, blasting, and hollering. Sure, it woke Daisy up, but it was exciting! This time, we had our camera ready (though the video camera needed a good charging!) and we hope we can share a little bit of the excitement.




I'm probably a bad fan to even think this, but I'm worried that this is the last celebration we'll witness. Argentina will be tough to beat on Saturday!

Stockholm

In conversation, I've been struggling to express the pure joy we felt in Stockholm. In two busy days, we fell in love with the beautiful, exciting, welcoming city. In the following (many--sorry) pictures and stories, I hope to unveil the Architectural Gem, the Crown of Scandinavia, the Glory of the North, the Great Nobility of the Human Race...But don't worry, I won't leave out the quirky stories that we always gather while traveling.

It all started with our overnight cruise ship from Helsinki to Stockholm. (By the way, the sun set at 10:30 and was up again at 3:30!) After checking in, we feasted on a traditional smörgåsbord. Because tasting the regional food is a highlight of travel for me, I was thrilled at the sight of the huge buffet. We sampled the varieties of herring and bread, gobbled up Swedish meatballs with lingonberry sauce, I tried caviar for the first time, Chris discovered the Mexican food table, and it all, happily for Daisy, ended with ice cream cones. We retired to our bunks and early the next morning I snapped this view from our window of the Swedish archipelago before sneaking to the sauna:

Once we disembarked, we kept our chins up after the Hilton overbooked and shuttled us to a new hotel, and we tried to find a quick lunch. I don't mean to be dwelling on food, but this food creation both shocked and awed:
It is called a tunnbrodsrulle, which is one or two grilled hot dogs resting on a bed of mashed potatoes, drizzled with ketchup and mustard, covered with a shrimp & beet salad, stuffed with iceberg lettuce, and all rolled up in a Swedish flatbread, cone-style. How could a flimsy plastic fork handle this oozing pocket of random ingredients? Let's just say that we've made it at home a couple times since we've been home!

We squinted in the northern glare and meandered to the center of the city, passing by the imposing riverside Opera House (pictured below) and crossing the bridge into the old town. Practically everything overlooked a crystal-clear sea or a lake or a river...

This lively medieval square is in the heart of Gamla Stan, the old town. I can just imagine the Christmas markets it hosts. A famous Stockholm Bloodbath took place here in 1520; romantically, a young escapee, Gustav Vasa, later returned to become Sweden's first king and leader of the Swedish Renaissance.
One night while sipping yogurt on a bench here, we watched a costumed young man with guitar approach a pair of Asian gals. Although they told him that they didn't really understand English, he only spoke more slowly with simple phrases, insisting on communicating. He gently described himself: "As you can see, I'm dressed [hopeful smile!] as a Swedish poet, and I have some songs to sing, and I want you [point] to hold this lyrics sheet for me and could you [hands her a digital camera] please take some pictures of me?" We smelled a scam and watched the events unfold. The polite young man reclined by the fountain, strummed meaninglessly on his guitar, and mumbled a song in Swedish. [Applause.] An accomplice or two videotaped and took more pictures. Next on the set list: a belting, off-key rendition of "Do you hear the people sing" from Les Miserables. [Laughter.] The giggling Asian girls gave back the camera and left, but then returned because they wanted a picture with the guy. No robberies, no mischief. I wonder where that video ended up and what the point was. Chris and I really enjoyed the show, and you'll often hear us refer to ourselves now as Swedish poets.

Sweden's Parliament (pictured here) is separated from the Royal Palace by a tiny canal. I am beginning to adore constitutional monarchies. With them, the king or queen can attend a World Cup game and lend the event a certain glamor. With the US, Vice President Joe Biden attends. No glamor there.

Well, speaking of royalty - Daisy perched atop Chris' shoulders to enjoy the daily, elaborate Changing of the Guard ceremony at the palace. It begins with two troops parading in from across the city, a group of foot soldiers and a mounted band. They shuffle positions, trumpet merry tunes, march through the crowds, and in general make a royal spectacle. We tried leaving early (after maybe 20 minutes?) but Daisy begged for more horsies.

And now, I can't go any further without sharing the good news of our favorite royal couple: Crown Princess Victoria and the now Prince Daniel (they met because he was her personal trainer!). When we visited, their much-anticipated wedding was only weeks away. It was to be held on the same date as Victoria's parents, in the same church in the old town (2 pictures down). Their engagement picture was plastered in every shop window, special engagement chocolate boxes and china sets were produced, and a separate charity fund was established for all proceeds. Another lovely thing about royalty. After a certain amount of time in the city, it was unavoidable: we needed to purchase something to support the cause. We settled on a magnet which will forever adorn our fridge.

The spectacular 13th century Storkyrkan cathedral, full of strong brick and glistening gold, is obviously perfect for a wedding but it also houses the tomb of the Swedish reformer Olaus Petri. He turned this cathedral from Catholic to Protestant while guiding none other than Gustav Vasa in the Lutheranization of the country.

Fast forwarding to Germany...I camped out on the couch on the day of the wedding from pre-start to ultimate finish. (Poor Chris was at a conference so had to catch up on Youtube when he got back.) Daisy and I, on the other hand, reveled in the number of authentic crowns, a real princess, and people that actually live in all these palaces we've seen across Europe. It was a gorgeous and heartfelt ceremony; Daniel Westling teared up endearingly during the vows. I can't wait until they have kids. Here is a picture I stole off the internet of the united families, a true fairytale wedding:
P.S. We definitely had Prince Daniel's glasses in mind when Chris was shopping for new ones last week. Pretty similar!


Moving on. This building houses the Swedish Academy upstairs, which awards the Nobel Prize for Literature every year, and the Nobel Museum downstairs, which we toured. We learned about Alfred Nobel, the Stockholm-born inventor of dynamite, and his desire to award prizes to people who had made very recent contributions or showed promise. (The staff strongly supports Obama's controversial peace prize.) I was also struck by the creativity of the distributors of the prize and how they successfully handled the off-site introduction of the economics prize.

In the children's wing of the Nobel museum, there were stations devoted to each prize-winning field. I performed a puppet show and Chris took the opportunity to build a carbonic acid molecule with Daisy.

A tiny little statue in the Finnish (yes, not a typo) churchyard legendarily honoring orphans. People knit caps for him in the winter.

After our drinkable yogurt we decided on some Mexican food, which was not noteworthy. I did snap a quick shot of this free appetizer they brought to our table, though: 4 tortilla chips. We each nibbled a single chip and then pretended to be too full for the last one...

Stockholm's Metro is called the T-bana and they are exciting, artistic wonderlands. We honestly bought some tickets one night just to station-hop and admire the color and creativity.

Centuries ago, European artists were commissioned to prepare great works for churches. Today in Scandinavia, these artistic masterpieces are not religious but secular buildings. I have selected a few images from our tour of Stockholm's grand City Hall, built in 1923.

This hall is in the main entryway and serves as the venue for the annual Nobel banquet. Prize winners and their guests process down this stairway. Maybe we will get to participate someday. (Don't tell Chris I said that, it will stress him out!)
This large hall is entirely filled with sparkling gold mosaic depicting Swedish heroes and events. The best thing is that this is the venue for the annual Nobel ball following the banquet. I think that it would be heaven to dance here....hint hint.

This is where the actual city council meetings take place. Breathtaking. 101 members serve on the city council, so they have a built-in tie breaker. As you can see, the detailed ceiling is supposed to be reminiscent of an inverted Viking ship.

Upon exiting the city hall, we were struck again by how water can beautify a city.

In 1628, the famous Vasa (recognize the name?) warship, with a terrifying 2 full decks of cannons, sunk 20 minutes into her maiden voyage and stayed at the bottom of the Baltic until 1961, when first-class marine archaeologists took her up and restored her.
It turns out that the low salt level of the Baltic made it possible for the Vasa to become the best-preserved ship of its age. The restorers' commitment to historical accuracy and to financing such a fringe project ending up impressing us more than the ship itself.

Next, we spent more time in time-travel mode in Skansen, Sweden's open-air folk museum. Since we liked Finland's so much, we reserved plenty of time to wander the grounds.

In comparison, Finland's museum maintained a more rustic feel. Sweden's was almost like a zoo: besides this bellowing cow and other farm animals, we saw northern animals like reindeer and elk, both with new babies.

I herded my family front and center at the folk dance and music show, bearing coffee and sweet rolls. I was ready. As the fiddlers started tuning, my eager eyes met Chris' and I announced, "If they ask for volunteers, I want to go up, OK?" Half an hour later, my wish came true.

We circled back from the museums down a long promenade, hugging a big harbor. You can't see it, but Chris is holding a tough black licorice whip that wound up lasting us a couple days.

We followed our ears - and noses - to Kungstradgarden, the huge public park and meeting place. Tons of food tents and bands were set up because of Restaurant Days, which runs for a week every summer. Good timing for us! It was crowded yet easygoing and relaxed. It was in this moment that it became very easy to imagine happily relocating to Stockholm.

Our hotel was attached to an ice bar. Not just any ice bar, but the first permanent, year-round ice bar in the world. This means that the walls, tables, and dishes are made of ice from a river in the Swedish Lapland.
Mostly out of curiosity, Chris and I took turns at the bar while Daisy got ready for bed. Included in your ticket is the use of a huge furry parka with gloves and an Absolut drink. I ordered one with lingonberries. As I finished it off and took a test bite out of my glass, I wished that I could be sharing the novel experience with Chris.

How is it possible to both sleep and hold up a book? Totally wiped out.