Employment Dane-tervention

I am convinced that a new requirement of foreigners applying for a working holiday visa in Denmark should be introduced, and that is to have a thick skin.

Seriously, when you drop off your passport photos, proof of funds and pay the necessary fees, the Danish consular official should just criticize you from head to toe- because trust me, you're going to need a thick skin when it comes to being a non Danish speaking foreigner seeking employment in Copenhagen. 


I am fairly certain the 37 rejection 'we are only considering fluent Danish speaking applicants' emails in my inbox (delete delete delete delete) support this theory. 

If I delete it, I basically never applied and got shafted, right?

As someone who has worked since the age of 13 (yes, when it was illegal) and at many times in my life worked two or even three jobs and gained employment very easily, six weeks of job hunting was fairly brutal. I'm talking, different person moody irrational I'm going to leave this country motherf*&6ka edgy crazy bitch to my wonderful boyfriend, brutal. Oh yeah, the relaxed Aussie Girl disappears when pressure is applied. 

Just for the reader's information- my visa was actually delayed and didn't come until after my arrival in Denmark due to the huge number of Australians applying for the working holiday visa. This is the time when you begin to ask yourself "Where the **** are all these people even working?!" 

You suddenly recall that solicitor you used to live with that job hunted for four months who you just 'ooh'ed and ahh'ed' to and bought a few drinks for occasionally. Suddenly you can start to relate! This is a time when you start to remember all those people who gasped when you told them you were moving overseas for a man (Whhhaaaat? Girl, you're leaving your awesome job? What if you never get something else as good at your age!) 

It's when you start to consider jobs you would never have considered before- yeah sure, I can be an Au Pair for an Iranian family wanting an eighteen year old tri-lingual native English  speaker. I can work on a pig farm outside of Copenhagen and commute. I can be a hotel maid when I have no real experience. I can work one day a week for a Danish charity. I can work in finance here with purely my attitude and what little experience i possess. I can waitress in the airport lounge of a scandinavian airline. It's when you start to ask friends you aren't necessarily that close to yet to talk to their bosses and get you in! It's when you're about to paper a rich neighbourhood with flyers saying you will clean their apartments. I'm here temporarily, there's no shame in doing anything! 

It's when you begin to reek of desperation. 

And, just when you think life is hopeless, you've spent A LOT of money, you snap at your boyfriend and argue that there's no possible way you can stay outside of another month- three employers actually realise "hey this girl waitressed for over 5 years, she knows a bit of Danish, we can take her" and you get three job offers in the space of two days. 


If I believed in God, I would be building all his people on Earth a high five machine right now. 


After choosing a job at an Irish Bar/Restaurant that I REALLY love working at, and watching 10 people hand in their CV's on your second shift in the space of six hours- you start to realize that a lot of those other guys on your type of visa are probably in the same boat. 


The scary thing is that on a working holiday visa, you can only work for a maximum of six months, and for three months at any given job- so it's very likely this entire cycle could begin all over again in three months time. OR I become super disciplined, regain some savings and work for three months then bum all over western Europe, the UK and Scandinavia. 


I want to end with some more funny Danish literal translations I have discovered (I love learning this language)! - Observe



The hair below a man's navel (snail trail) - dick tie
Child labour - Children work
Centipede - Thousand legs
Puppy - dog puppy


And lastly- the way I discovered a centipede was called 'thousand legs'-


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HmWADzf5NGs

I hope you enjoyed my pictures, I feel they helped to illustrute my frustration. Until next time-


Loz


PS To my family readers, post 'almost-nervous-breakdown' I am still extremely happy and blissful all the way up in this wonderful city/country - L

Life on Mars

I have always considered myself a fairly coordinated person. I played a lot of sport growing up - so connecting golf club to golf ball implies that, doesn't it?

My coordination has obviously never met typical Danish design. That which my title suggests is exactly what I feel here at times - life on another planet!

Apparently my lifestyle of growing up in Australia masked the obvious symptoms of 'klutziness'. Australia - that huge land of sweeping plains, full of vast open spaces and large houses, disguised that I am actually the Bella Swan of Danish klutziness. For those of you who will forgive the Twilight reference, Bella Swan is a fictional character who is completely plagued by mortifying awkwardness and klutziness until it dissolves by association with a somewhat sparkling vampire. Unfortunately my 'sparkling vampire' lives in the form of a Danish boyfriend who, after the thousandth stumble on that same kitchen cabinet, can not cure my klutziness and can only exclaim 'Aww baby. Do you totally hate our place?'

Let me put this simply. A typical Danish apartment is compact. Very compact. Denmark has a style of living which I adore but am still adjusting to as an individual- the apartment style family living with the huge park culture. Although I in no way am complaining about the fantastic place I share with my beloved (which I love!), I would actually be showering over my toilet if not for renovations on the place. The kitchen resembles something Gordon Ramsay may froth at the mouth over, or as I like to think - the green mile of cat proportions (narrow corridor with fridge/cupboards on one side, bench space/stove on the other). Needless to say if I gain any weight in Denmark I will no longer be able to enter my bathroom, kitchen or exit to our courtyard via our spiral staircase.

As I am trying to shorten these posts I would like to conclude these latest observations with an update about my ongoing effort to master the Danish language. I find the following realization extremely funny with regards to my quest. Please see below the following statement from 'The Xenophobe's Guide to the Danes'-

“Danish is not a beautiful language. But it’s economical. Why invent a new word when two old ones are perfectly adequate?"

In the Danish language, words are ALWAYS recycled when possibile.

'Hej' means hello, ‘hej hej’ means goodbye, and ‘gift’ means married or poison (how ironic!).

On that note, I would like to conclude with the following translations which I find to be humourously 'economical'-

vacuum cleaner = dust sucker
cremation= body burning
aeroplane= flying machine
nipple= breast wart
cervix= life mother
fountain= jumping water
fry= fire
cloud= sky
polar bear= ice bear

A glove is directly translated into ‘a foot in boots’.

I'll continue with the learning, I am sure that there are hundreds more out there!

Until next time-

Loz

Copenhagen Arrival Survival Guide

It has come to my attention after moving to Copenhagen that if I was not fortunate enough to have a local guide in my boyfriend, that I may have been a little lost during my first week here, and the perpetrator of quite a few social faux pas upon arrival in this city. 

On that note I am going to relay some observations I have made in the form of a Copenhagen Arrival Survival Guide. 

1. If you cross the road at a pedestrian crossing when there is no right of way, or little green man flashing - YOU DIE!!!

In a gesture of social propriety and social grace that utterly confounds me, the Danes in Copenhagen have no time for serial jaywalkers like myself (they're slightly more relaxed in Sweden). As my boyfriend whispered urgently 'No!' as we stood at a crossing where there was neither a car or bike in sight, it was almost an unsaid knowledge amongst my fellow pedestrians that crossing at incorrect times was a big NO NO! On one occasion I almost forgot myself and stepped onto an empty road, only to step back as the pedestrian light was still red, and was faced by a mother pushing a pram who gave me a large smile and a mental high five. As my days here pass I realize that this is quite smart given the erratic traffic mixture of bicycles and cars all over Copenhagen, but on empty streets I still find it bizarre. 

2. Most of the buildings in Copenhagen appear to have been made from a few distinct designs of the same raw materials. 

As a newcomer in this city it has been extremely difficult to gain any sense of direction whatsoever as there are very few landmarks and a lack of the 'look' of a central business district. This is mostly due to laws forbidding construction over five stories without special permission. The city buildings are mostly brown brick, devoid of colour and all appear to be residential even if they are not - whereas a second design is of houses with triangular prism rooftops. At some point in time the Danes obviously decided to 'get wild' and splash some colour over parts of the city, but for the most part (and my boyfriend will despise me for saying this) it can appear quite drab. 

 3. Taking a Danish class before you move here will save your life!

Although most Danes speak perfect English, simple words and phrases like can you help me, where is, left, right, I understand, will avoid major panic when for instance you get lost jogging (refer to point 2). The 12 week course I engaged in was very cheap and add to it a few language apps on an iPod or iPhone and the Danes will appreciate your effort to speak their language that most outside of their six million-ish population do not bother to learn. I hate to say it but they're a lot more patient than other nationalities when you even attempt to speak at all and will talk very slowly for you. The very first exchange solo I had with them (jeg vil gerne have et klipikort, to zoner - buying a two zone bus ticket) built up my confidence and today I actually interacted solely with a restaurant waitress, ordering, drive refills, getting the bill, the works! Our waitress was extremely sweet and patient, as have been most people I have conversed with and the Danes have dispelled my fear that they would simply roll their eyes and start speaking English as soon as they heard my Australian accent. 

4. Buying a bicycle in Copenhagen is a competitive sport! 

Bikes are the primary form of personal transport in Copenhagen and their investment will save you on otherwise more expensive bus and train fares (Cabs? You're kidding yourself. A cab equivalent to 10-15 dollars in Australia will cost around 40 dollars in Copenhagen). The high demand for second hand bikes also means that buying one is not as simple as you may imagine. Forget even trying to bid online or asking to see a bicycle in Copenhagen city - chances are if you are seeing a picture of something remotely good being advertised, it was already sold twelve hours ago (I'm still trying!). 

5. Beware a typical Danish lunch

As a visitor in a foreign country I am always enthused to absorb everyday food dishes and discover amazing new culinary delights (Poutine Canada? Oh yes thank-you, don't mind if I do!). My first lunch here involved the FAMOUS and unpronounceable rugbrød that any Danish native outside of their homeland is sure to rave about. Unpronouceable for the moment, as I am still trying to train the muscle behind my tonsils to get the 'r' sounds in this language, I will get there. This rye bread itself is good, but beware its pairing with other foods when the open sandwich style of eating is completed. Rugbrød med røget skinke, remoulade og ristede løg (translation: rye with smoked ham, danish mayo and roasted onion) - good! Rugbrød med marinerede krydrede sild (translation: rye with nasty, dirty ass spicy marinated raw herring) - bad! VERY BAD! I will admit I have in the past been a fan of raw herring when it is prepared by a Polish former roommate and paired with shots of vodka, however I could not be swayed into liking this one and seeing it in the supermarket where it holds quite a large market share of the refrigerated section still makes my stomach quiver. Danish lunch - one hit, one miss. 

6. Obese people in Copenhagen are as rare as a Scandinavian low tax bracket. 

Whilst lost on a certain afternoon (I may or may not have been in running attire) and exploring my new neighbourhood I came across what seemed to be a peculiar sight, pictured below. I still wonder how Big Robert, this purveyor of 3XL-8XL clothing stays in business as in my wanderings of this lovely city, I am yet to see a worryingly overweight person. Where are you all hiding?!

7. Goodbye protein. 

By far the most fantastically named supermarket in the entire world lies in my very neighbourhood in Copenhagen. Wait for it - 'SUPER BEST'! Brings a smile to my face every time domestic duty calls. What I have discovered inside (and also at other grocers - I aimed to eliminate any possible outliers in my analysis) is that compared to prices for all proteins including eggs that I would experience in Australia, it is quite possible that living in Denmark will turn me into a lacto ovo vegetarian (look it up). 7-8 AUD for 12 eggs and 22 AUD per kilo for chicken - I kid you not. 

8. Hello beer. 

Once you get past the price of some foods over here, prepare to get excited at the price of beer! Who knows if it is because of those crazy marauding vikings and their horns of ale, or the proximity to European brew houses, but if you like buying a generic six pack of canned beer, you need only pay 4-5 AUD on a regular day. As my first night out in this city involved over 3 litres of European ale in pint form, I can attest that bar prices are fairly similar to Australia (9 AUD per pint). I can also recommend that any Australians out there who fancy themselves as 'drinkers' need to check their urge at the door. Our light styles and those of Europe obviously differ and you may at some point, like me, find yourself getting slightly tipsy whilst the cute, petite Danish girl across from you is taking her 6 or 7th pint of Leffe or Carlsberg Classic in her stride. In summary if you like cheap, good beer from the supermarket - then welcome home! I'm home!

9. Wearing sunglasses past 7pm and pre-drinking in evening sunlight feels so against nature that it is pure awesome. 

Being Australian, and to top it off being from Queensland, I am no stranger to the sun and feeling it all year round. Christmas at the beach was a regular feature growing up. Not only will a summer in a location this far north give you an obscene taste of jetlag when coming from the southern hemisphere, but glancing at the time every evening (Oh, what?! It's 10pm?) and being surprised takes some getting used to. You actually need to realise that it's still sun out, but Super Best closes soon!

10. Danish Television

As a huge fan of reality and trash television (Ice Road Truckers, Toddlers and Tiaras, Real Housewives, if it stars either white trash or a complete sociopath I am undoubtedly going to adore it) I am happy to report that yes, Copenhagen's proximity to the UK (the ultimate producer of trash tv) means that it shows a good supply of guilty pleasure reality shows in English. There are also concepts in Danish language which are not be forgotten such as the Young Mums and Luxury Trap, a show that educates people with terrible financial health. Giving up meat will mean there's no chance of me appearing on that one. 

I hope I have reflected accurately on my introduction to Danish life and am sorry this post lacked any real  or practical advice related to opening a bank account, getting tax information or obtaining a residence card - only the important stuff here, people! 

Till next time

Loz

PS I did end up purchasing a bike meeting my exact criteria (must have cute front basket) after the time of writing most of this post. I succeeded in doing this by stalking craigslist and emailing a vendor vigorously just after they advertised with a message along the times of 'I will pay whatever the hell you want, I will throw cash at your feet!'. I was basically buying my independence anyway, however riding in a lot of traffic has taken some getting used to. 

The journey of thousands of miles begins with one step

As we drove to the Brisbane airport and one of my beautiful friends began telling me how brave and daring I was, a huge presence the size of a grapefruit slowly began forming in my stomach, to be quickly joined by many butterflies fluttering and exploring my tightening abdomen. 

As she kept talking -"I could NEVER do what you're doing, WOW! Even if the love of my life was on the other side of the world! I'm not as brave as you are, I would be thinking of everything and everyone I was leaving behind and everything I had to lose!" - her cacophony was soon joined by my shrill inner voice. As I tried to psyche myself into relaxing all I remember thinking was 'Gosh woman! You would swear you had never been on a plane before!' 

Until this point I had struggled to answer when asked if I was excited to move to Denmark for my boyfriend. I had shrugged and explained calmly that I was too busy to think about it, that I would get excited en route from London to Copenhagen and yes, of course I was missing him. In that car and drawing closer to my departure, the gravity of my decision utterly consumed me- and I felt like a fraud. My relaxed facade was gone and was replaced by questions like, who am I kidding? Did I really think this through? How did I so calmly put this trip together? I might not return to Brisbane to live even when I'm back in Australia. I have so many friends who I adore here. 

As my friend kicked me to the curb and we embraced I just had to hug her twice as the tears started coming. Those little salty devils continued to visit throughout security and the departure lounge until I eventually power napped my way into Sydney arrivals. I spent three nights with a friend who was house sitting a place with Opera House and Harbour Bridge views and remember thinking numerous times that his friend who owned the place really knew how to live. My dream apartment.

The grapefruit returned in time for my Air China check in, accompanied by my usual feeling of dread before an international departure that for whatever reason imaginable, I wouldn't be let on the plane. Reading this back it sounds so irrational, what could they possibly tell me? 'Sorry ma'am, this airline disallows blondes with ugly backpacks making potentially self destructive and financially damaging decisions.' Maybe they should, but in reality- get on the plane, idiot.

After departing Australia the biggest immediate problem I had was pissing off my stunning Chinese flight attendant by accidentally touching the call button one too many times (it turns out I'm really scared of angry Asians). This was exacerbated by telling her I said 'just water please', not 'juice and water please'. Avoid eye contact for the next 10 hours? Check.

Beijing greeted me with skies so grey I felt like I needed sunglasses more badly than in a Queensland summer. The glare of the 'sunshine state' has nothing on Chinese smog. I soon met up with my aisle buddies from the flight, an older couple who bought me breakfast for helping them change their language settings on the in-flight entertainment and were so nice they made me miss my parents. I quit smoking 6 months ago but also couldn't resist the temptation of a carton of duty free Marlboros for about $9 AUD. When you have bought cigarettes on a constant basis previously, you can't NOT buy them at that price. 

My connecting flight to Heathrow started off well as I was sat next to a cute Aussie guy who was a former exchange student like myself. Fun! The fun however was not to last as I began to get violently ill after the meal and spent the next 10 hours accepting sick bags from my fellow passengers, getting lots of attention from staff and slipping in and out of a sleeping pill aided doze. If there was a grapefruit of nerves anywhere remaining in my stomach, it was now officially gone.

Heathrow and I also got off on the wrong foot thanks to the girl at Sydney duty free who failed to seal my vodka properly and well, goodbye vodka. As I memorized how to say stomach ache in Danish (jeg har en mavepine for those of you curious) I could finally focus on the reason I was on a plane from London to Copenhagen with a hell of a lot of classy Danes with rocking accents- my classy Dane. As I walked into arrivals with my baggage I am happy to report that I was greeted with flowers and all those months apart just melted away. As we drove to our new apartment and I walked and puffed my way up four flights of stairs (no elevator, and yes I am somewhat lazy) I swore that I would never be tempted to smoke the glorious cheap cigarettes I had thought were such a steal in China. 

After unloading my hoard of luggage from the other side of the world I was also played a single Bryan Adams song on guitar to pay respect to the other man that had got me through long distance, but then promptly told that 'we don't listen to Bryan and Michael Bolton in our apartment.' I'll miss those guys. 

I wasnt really intending for this post to be all about the journey but frankly I did have a lot of travel time to mull things over. 

Until next time, when many Danish observations await-

Loz

PS have a pretty solid grudge against Air China , was sick for a memorable 24 hours after arrival in Copenhagen.

Take risks! If you win - you'll be happy, if you lose - you'll be wise

I can honestly own up to living every possible emotion before entertaining the idea of moving to another country for a boyfriend.

Who does that?! In the games we all play in modern relationships, who in their right mind signs up for five months of long distance with no physical contact or visits? You can't do that! It's against the rules! Who moves to a country they know next to nothing about, on the other side of the world? I don't speak the language, how will I get a job, we haven't been together for that long, he's from a different hemisphere!

Who does that?!

*Hand straight up* Yes! Right here, that's me.

This journey (I really hate that word, every time I see it I feel like a contestant on Masterchef or So You Think You Can Dance) has so far not been without its ups and downs - by the way I haven't even left yet.

5 MONTHS!!! Anyone who has ever actually had a decent crack at long distance will probably relate to what I'm talking about - respect to all those ladies out there with loved ones in the defence forces. Any of my previous attempts at long distance ended with my own self sabotage and an arrogant "stuff this, I can be happier than this" attitude. How can I be doing this, entertaining this notion again? Is it too late to back out now? Is he as in this as I am? Am I really one of those 'do anything for love' people? Gross.

These are just a few of the thousands of questions that go through your head when taking on such a leap and then begins the process of the separation itself. Upon reflection this time for me and the attitudes and events that have occurred within it can be narrowed down into 5 fairly distinctive phases. (If you shake your head in disgust or disbelief at times whilst reading this, believe me, I used to think I was a pretty confident, relaxed and in control of my emotions type of person. Long distance can just prey on your 'crazy bitch' tendencies, however minimal....doesn't it?).

Phase 1: Initial devastation. He's gone. That corny airport goodbye may be the last time you see eachother. Ever. Is this crazy enough to work? Time to swallow that big old lump in your throat and get used to single life without actually being single. Duration - approximately 2 weeks.

Phase 2: Girly Independence. Girlfriends are those great things that come out in force in a time of crisis such as this, promising coffees, distraction, wine, more wine and movie nights with no romance in sight! You are never short of someone to eat pizza or enjoy cocktails with. A Wednesday night dinner and wine chat with a girlfriend can EASILY turn into a midweek bender. Duration - 2 months.

Phase 3: Insecurity and Overcompensation. OMG I haven't spoken to him for THREE DAYS!! He's forgotten about me. What did that IM comment mean? I know girls are hitting on him, he's told me! No. I trust him without question. Clingy, lovesick messages that your independent persona would definitely shake her head at become regular email banter. Definitely my (and I'm willing to bet, the man in question's) least favourite phase of separation. Duration - 1-2 months.

Phase 4: The Rut. You're most of the way through the time apart, but it's still far enough away that you can't overly think about it. You're saving money constantly. Between work and study you hardly leave the house. Buying groceries becomes an overly enjoyable experience. Your roommates receive an unending stream of 'No Thank-yous' to their invitations. You watch an unhealthy amount of tv series. You stop wearing makeup. You're less worried if you don't communicate with the boy regularly. Skype becomes less of a priority. You simply just, be. Limbo. Duration - 1 month.

Phase 5: The End of the Road. As the Boyz II Men song suggests - it's unnatural. Your leap is almost here. Rather than the butterflies and adrenaline pumping before a skydive or bungee, it's an overload of love sickness, romance and Bryan Adams. Yes, many can attest that Mr. Bryan Adams has almost singlehandedly gotten me through this last phase with his "All for love" attitude and by psyching me up and out of "The Rut" phase for what is to come. You're almost there, your visa is in, insurance paid, flights booked, moved out, furniture stored, have resigned from the job, study is almost over, you've finished the language course. Your friends make comments like "Oh wow. I had actually forgotten what you looked like with makeup on. It's been SO LONG." This is it.

After every possible emotion - I'm not playing it safe anymore. Have I ever played it safe? Some particularly ..not..well thought out...experiences and choices come to mind. Falling asleep on the New York subway uptown to Harlem maybe....

In the end all of my thought processes simply come back to my post title. Be happy or be wise. Either outcome, not really so bad! As hard as everything has been I'm still pretty damn happy. I just HAVE to go out on the proverbial Danish limb, that's where my fruit is! Or maybe I should be saying it's where the rugbrød is....I speak some Danish now after all, I'm all up with this stuff, woohoo!


Next time I'll be able to tell you all about the corny airport reunion - my 40 hour journey to a certain man is calling me. Am hoping this blog can record some of those incredible travel experiences that I have otherwise unrecorded, as well as assuring family and friends that I'm still alive and blissful all the way up there. 


Until next time-


Loz