The first night he was here, Sunday night, he invited over his son and his son's girlfriend. I was enjoying the evening well enough, having a hyggelig time and great food. Now, first let me say, that it is highly emphasized to newly-arrived Americans that Danes are not interested in superficial conversations, but would rather talk about interesting, deep topics. Armed with this knowledge, I decide to show my mastery of the Danish culture by asking the table a question about immigration (which highly pertains to my core course at DIS about migration and identity) The son, who is of a political persuasion that is rather unfriendly to immigrants decided to make a long speech about why Danes shouldn't have to pay for immigrants social services if they don't want to. Eventually, an argument ensued between he and his father, and I all I could think was "Oh my gosh, I started this mess!" In time things settled down, but I felt really bad and awkward about the whole thing.
Later on in the week, Neils invited his his daughter over for dinner. Luckily, this night was far less controversial! We were sitting around the dinner table, feasting on a traditional Danish food that I can't pronounce or spell that includes veal and some other sort of meat fried in a pan with tons of butter and breadcrumbs and potatoes (which was awesome, by the way, heart attack optional)! We had a great time. All of the sudden, deciding to avoid political, religious or moral questions after my last bad experience, I ask the daughter what she does for a living. She replies that she is a nanny. Great! I think. We have something in common. I share some of the crazy stories and anecdotes from my nannying experiences in Dallas. The conversation progresses, and I eventually ask her what the names of the kids are that she nannies for. She replies that their names are Christian and Isabella. At this point, any Dane would tell you that something was up (and indeed, Neils had a suspicious glint in his eye), but I failed to notice it. Then, I go on to ask what their parents do.
Get ready for this. She replies oh-so non-chalantly that, oh, they're the crown prince and princess. I immediately (like an idiot) ask "Of What?" And she replies, "Denmark". Ha. Fortunately, she was gracious enough not to embarrass me too much about it, and a very interesting conversation ensued about her life as a nanny and some of the ins and outs of working with royalty. She couldn't say a lot because of her contract, but I gathered that in any case, it was an interesting job. Crazy! I'm sure that most weeks won't be able to top the excitement of this one!
