On Friday, like I mentioned before, I was privy to a delectable Italian feast prepared by two Italian classmates. They live quite a bit north of the city so we had to train.... for me a bus, a train, and another train - so worth it! Very cosy evening. Without even planning I hopped on the train in the very same car as Lota, Hege, Laura, and Nash.... then when we got off at the station three other friends popped up. WOAH.
Over lasagna and pizza Laura and I somehow started talking about family histories.... She is from Belgium, the Dutch/Flemish speaking area. I was telling her that I had been to Belgium with my grandfather in the areas where he fought in WWII when I was 12. Her grandpa was also in the war. Comparing stories of how they've reflected and formed their identities around the world was eerily similar. As more joined in the conversation we became acutely aware of the meandering and unpredictable ways the world can shake up and rearrange human beings. Our two Italian hosts both had grandfathers who had fought for the fascist Italian army - everyone had to. One of my Italian friends is actually half Swiss - she's from the north of Italy - so that grandfather had been exempted from fighting simply due to his Swiss passport. Lotta from Finland told of her grandfather's traumatic experiences in the Finnish-Russian war. Irene from Spain grew up hearing mostly about the trauma of the Spanish civil war just before and around WWII. It was a sobering conversation to be had over such luscious food. The historian in me was going wild.
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Lately I have been contemplating how this blog feels different these days. I'm not "traveling" like I was when I had my fun 'gap year travels' blog (http://aliceminor.blogspot.dk/ if you're interested). With that blog there was always something ABSURD or extreme happening. A giant Indian moth that I mistook for a rat with enough conviction to inspire the local guards to come in with a machete, the time we got caught up in Ganesha's birthday festival on the Ganges, learning what the hell they meant by "shame, auntie, shame!!!" in relation to my dupatta. And frankly, I was so young then. I'm so young now, but I was SO young then, and had no sense of wanting to build permanency around me. Now I find myself trying to settle into routines, make stable and close friends, get to know this place. The way I make friends here is very different form when I was traveling after high school. Then I wanted to meet and hear from everyone almost just for the sake of hearing anything anyone had to say. I still believe that I can learn a great deal from anyone I meet.... but I'm much more prone to seeking commonalities and people that truly make sense in my life. In many ways I think I exoticized the friends I made in India, Thailand, and elsewhere. They were "experiences". My friends here.... are friends. Which makes me feel weird about blogging about them and our more personal connections.
All this, I've come to believe, is a reflection of the fact not just that I'm a bit more mature, but also that I want to LIVE here. It's less fun to go on and on about how crazy and different things are when you want to be a part of it. In that vein, I had a fantastic conversation with a friend of mine from my graduate program who has been reading my blog who related to much of the feelings of being out of place or different in Copenhagen that I have discussed. She's Danish! But from a very small town in Jutland, which truly is a different world from Copenhagen.... one that I have yet to really explore. As much as I know that Jutland is a different world from CPH it was wonderful to be reminded, and also to talk to someone with an unexpectedly similar experience.
It's tiresome to be constantly reminded of my nationality in some of my young friendships with people here. I don't want to interact with people as representatives of Spain, Belgium, Ghana, Denmark, Romania, Finland -whatever. As evidenced by my earlier story about WWII legacies sometimes that's the best language we have to talk about our selves and histories but there is that fine line between discussing place-based divergences in experience and assigning inherent or defining value to those divergences. Trying to walk that line in my friendships.
Over lasagna and pizza Laura and I somehow started talking about family histories.... She is from Belgium, the Dutch/Flemish speaking area. I was telling her that I had been to Belgium with my grandfather in the areas where he fought in WWII when I was 12. Her grandpa was also in the war. Comparing stories of how they've reflected and formed their identities around the world was eerily similar. As more joined in the conversation we became acutely aware of the meandering and unpredictable ways the world can shake up and rearrange human beings. Our two Italian hosts both had grandfathers who had fought for the fascist Italian army - everyone had to. One of my Italian friends is actually half Swiss - she's from the north of Italy - so that grandfather had been exempted from fighting simply due to his Swiss passport. Lotta from Finland told of her grandfather's traumatic experiences in the Finnish-Russian war. Irene from Spain grew up hearing mostly about the trauma of the Spanish civil war just before and around WWII. It was a sobering conversation to be had over such luscious food. The historian in me was going wild.
- - - - - - - -
Lately I have been contemplating how this blog feels different these days. I'm not "traveling" like I was when I had my fun 'gap year travels' blog (http://aliceminor.blogspot.dk/ if you're interested). With that blog there was always something ABSURD or extreme happening. A giant Indian moth that I mistook for a rat with enough conviction to inspire the local guards to come in with a machete, the time we got caught up in Ganesha's birthday festival on the Ganges, learning what the hell they meant by "shame, auntie, shame!!!" in relation to my dupatta. And frankly, I was so young then. I'm so young now, but I was SO young then, and had no sense of wanting to build permanency around me. Now I find myself trying to settle into routines, make stable and close friends, get to know this place. The way I make friends here is very different form when I was traveling after high school. Then I wanted to meet and hear from everyone almost just for the sake of hearing anything anyone had to say. I still believe that I can learn a great deal from anyone I meet.... but I'm much more prone to seeking commonalities and people that truly make sense in my life. In many ways I think I exoticized the friends I made in India, Thailand, and elsewhere. They were "experiences". My friends here.... are friends. Which makes me feel weird about blogging about them and our more personal connections.
All this, I've come to believe, is a reflection of the fact not just that I'm a bit more mature, but also that I want to LIVE here. It's less fun to go on and on about how crazy and different things are when you want to be a part of it. In that vein, I had a fantastic conversation with a friend of mine from my graduate program who has been reading my blog who related to much of the feelings of being out of place or different in Copenhagen that I have discussed. She's Danish! But from a very small town in Jutland, which truly is a different world from Copenhagen.... one that I have yet to really explore. As much as I know that Jutland is a different world from CPH it was wonderful to be reminded, and also to talk to someone with an unexpectedly similar experience.
It's tiresome to be constantly reminded of my nationality in some of my young friendships with people here. I don't want to interact with people as representatives of Spain, Belgium, Ghana, Denmark, Romania, Finland -whatever. As evidenced by my earlier story about WWII legacies sometimes that's the best language we have to talk about our selves and histories but there is that fine line between discussing place-based divergences in experience and assigning inherent or defining value to those divergences. Trying to walk that line in my friendships.
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