I have a strong memory of gazing over Copenhagen the first time I returned after moving away. We weren’t quite settled in our new country and the familiar landmarks of Bella Center, CopenHill, and Amalienborg conjured up home as the flight descended. I visited Copenhagen at least annually during the six years we lived elsewhere and approaching from the air generally felt like coming back to somewhere I belonged.
Returning to Denmark last month after a few weeks in Canada (my country of origin), I’d hoped for the same experience. But it didn’t come.
The flight arrived from the north, over unfamiliar swaths of forest, coastline, and lakes. Catching sight of the Øresund Bridge just before we touched down caught me off guard. The airport felt familiar, though. And I exchanged a few words in Danish with the border guard who reminded me to keep my residence permit with me at all times. (Anyone else wonder why that hasn’t been turned into an app like Danish drivers’ licences or health cards? Apparently the digital-ness only goes so far!)
Perhaps knowing (or at least hoping) this stint in Denmark will be longer than our first three-year tour has raised the bar for what feels like home. Or maybe I haven’t quite dropped back into Danish culture. And that cultural bit could be a big part of the equation.
Part of the relocation support for this move includes career counselling for me. The intake questionnaire started out with some basic stuff (name, nationality, etc.) and I was unprepared for a question about cultural identification — with a drop-down list of countries and no option for ‘Other’. Being able to choose only one, what culture would I identify with most?
Despite having lived in the UK most recently and being able to vote there, I’m not substantively connected to British culture (even if my last name is of Scottish origin). I’ve lived in Switzerland longest in the last decade and a half, but I am 100% not Swiss and definitely cannot participate in the country’s direct democracy (they vote every few months on all kinds of things). I can (and do) vote in Canadian federal elections, but having left Vancouver (where I was born and raised) in 2013, Canada doesn’t feel like a cultural fit either.
The distinctions are subtle. I write the number seven with a slash in the European style and prefer the 24-hour clock (20:00 is much clearer than 8pm!). I’m baffled by North American-style attention from restaurant staff and store clerks asking if they can help. I find making spontaneous plans slightly baffling. I mark Eurovision in the calendar as soon as it’s announced. I consider gender neutral toilets the norm and don’t blink an eye at babies tucked into strollers and left outside while their parents sit in cafés.
But, despite all the things that delight me here, I’m not fully immersed in Danish culture. I have yet to attend a Sankt Hans event, a confirmation party or Lucia celebrations (although I am hopeful that kayaking lessons this summer will allow me to take part in the kayak parade). I have absolutely no knowledge of handball and don’t know the words to either of the national anthems. I’m not able to vote in federal elections and have just under four years to go until I can vote in local ones (apparently being able to cast a ballot is a key cultural component for me!). But, as my command of the language returns and I spend more time exploring my new-again home, I feel certain that landing at CPH will start to feel like coming home.
For now, I’ll do my best to cling to the most resonant components from all the cultures I’ve been part of. To know that home is a mindset, not a set place — and to not-so-secretly wish that Canada took part in Eurovision so I could cheer on all the countries I’ve called home!
