A Momentary Panic

Today, I missed my bus. Really, the bus missed me, but nevertheless, I was not on the bus when it left Radhuspladsen at 5:20. And, consequently, I had to take the train instead out to my host family's house. Now, this shouldn't be a chore for me, as I so bluntly stated in my last blog, about being a so-called expert on navigating the ways of Danishness, right? Well, first, I narrowly missed getting on the wrong train. Literally, I jumped off about .5 seconds before the doors shut and the train departed. Then, once I got on the correct train, I had to figure out where I was going and how I was going to make the approximately 25 minute trip from the train station to my house. Would I walk? Or, take a bus (the much, much faster option)? Would there even be a bus?

See, this situation is the kind of thing I like to plan ahead for. I have gotten used to not having to plan out these things as I lived last semester in an extremely accessible area at all hours of the day. But, now, in my new housing situation, the options are not as plentiful. Additionally, the train station is in a somewhat "sketchy" area, and the walk home is one I'm not entirely comfortable with. Had there not been a bus (which, thankfully there was) I probably would have waited for one, no matter how long it was until it came. It isn't that I'm necessarily afraid of the walk home, rather I'm more worried about getting lost or turned around in a legitimately bad area.

As I was standing there, reflecting on all of this, I started thinking about the issue of safety. I could not imagine myself being comfortable in the States, waiting for a bus stop in the pitch black dark in an area that I perceived as being "sketchy". It just wouldn't happen. I'd be, well, panicking. But, in this situation, as uncomfortable as I was with not knowing exactly how I was getting home, I never felt unsafe. At any time. Right as this thought crossed my mind, two girls wearing headscarves approached the bus stop. It was like the entire atmosphere of the people waiting for the bus changed. There was a negative, palpable energy flowing all around. The best way I can describe it is if you were, say, in a dark alley and knew someone was following you. And I had no idea why. Then, I began to glance around. Each Dane waiting for the bus discreetly (or not so discreetly) casted sideways, suspicious glances in the direction of the two girls. Two harmless, probably fourteen-ish year old girls. Now, why did it feel like there was a threat in the environment?

And then it occurred to me. I feel safe in Denmark because I am not the type of person who would be targeted for an act of violence, or at least not a typical one directed against foreigners. I am not the kind of person who gets eyed suspiciously, or looked down upon. I, a little blond haired, blue-eyed, fair-skinned American look Danish enough to pass muster without a second glance. And, therefore, that gives me a boost in Danish society. Since I look like them, they assume I am one of them, and I feel enveloped in and protected by the Danish 'tribe' as easily as if I had been born here. Nevermind that when I open my mouth, my glaring American-accented Danish instantly gives me away. So long as I keep my mouth shut, most Danes would consider me more Danish than the Muslim immigrant girls speaking perfect Danish standing beside me.

Random Danish Fact of the Day: Copenhagen is the largest city in Denmark, with about a third of the population of the country living in the metropolitan area. That would be like having one big city of 100 million people in the US, (if you compare ratios).