So I started my Danish language class tonight. Intensive lessons. The pretty blonde woman who interviewed me said that, if I apply myself, I'll be fluent by the end of the year. Fluent. In Danish. A language spoken by like .008 percent of the world population.
(I'm going to stop bitching about that. Really. Would it be nice to learn French or Spanish instead? Sure. Will that help me living in Denmark? Not even a little bit.)
The class is free. And, at the moment, I have nothing better to do. So, tonight I shlepped myself over the icy sidewalks, through the immigrant and working-class neighborhood to my own little culture club. Of the ten students, I am the only native English speaker. This, I think, gives me a leg up as the lessons are initially in English.
But then I realize this means I am also the only monolingual student. That I speak only one language is something that separates me from literally every single person I know in Denmark. How lame.
At home, I know only a tiny handful of people who speak another language. One of these people is my girlfriend. They all grew up somewhere else, of course. Middle class, public school Americans don't do languages.
But I am. I'm going to learn Danish--glottal stops and 87 vowel sounds be damned. I'm going to read Hans Christian Andersen in the original, and when you come to visit, I will wow you with my ability to order from the sausage wagon.
Until the sausage guy realizes I'm not Danish. And immediately switches to English. Because everyone here speaks English. Perfectly.
2 comments:
If you make me try to pronounce even half of those 87 sounds I shall club you with a Danish language dictionary and leave you for dead in Christiana.
But I'm jealous that you're learning ANY language.
I'll be happy just to get you here. Oh, but bring the dictionary. Mine's Danish-to-English. Not really as helpful.
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