Found in Translation – Issue Nr 7

Jeg lærer dansk (I’m learning Danish)

I say this phrase a lot and always like an apology. Not that I’m actually sorry I’m learning Danish. Well, sometimes I am, when it’s 9am and raining and I have a three hour class ahead of me during which I will definitely feel stupid a number of times. 

But I’m always making an apology out of it anyway. “Undskyld, jeg lærer dansk!” In other words, Please forgive me native Dane, in this situation where I can’t understand you or make myself understood. I am trying!

Nine times out of ten, the poor Danish person locked in this awkward conversation with me will be very nice about it and say something like “It’s a really hard language to learn”. I’ll laugh and agree, but is Danish actually really hard, objectively speaking? Yes, the pronunciation is wild. There’s the swallowed “d” sound in words that sounds like an “l” in English but isn’t, the four additional vowels that all sound identical to my ear and so many other words that sound absolutely nothing like their written form. But is the pronunciation really more difficult than English? I still remember the university lecture years ago when we were told the word “fish” in English could also be written as “goti” if some of the bizarre rules English has were applied to it. Over a billion people around the world have managed to master speaking English. Danish doesn’t even feature in the top 25 of many world ranking tables for language difficulty.

Don’t think I’m boasting about my abilities though. Of course I find Danish hard. I’ve just been promoted to the next level of class, but if I’m honest I think this is mostly because the beginner class is now so over-subscribed that there’s no room to swing a baby hamster, let alone a cat, and someone had to go. Since I’d been in the class since April (with a lot of missed lessons), it was my time to leave. So I waved goodbye to the teacher I looked forward to seeing twice a week, who brought humour to tough grammar sessions and led us in enthusiastic choruses of the Danish version of “Happy Birthday”, “Tillykke med fødselsdagen” (Hurra! Hurra! Hurra!) and my lovely classmates. I left behind the limited confidence I’d developed in following basic scripts saying my name, age and birthday and went to my new class, where I found myself immediately thrown into a detailed reading task and discussion on Danish attitudes to smoking and drinking, compared to our home countries. Answer: I’m from Scotland. The enthusiasm for drinking in particular is similar. I couldn’t actually say this in Danish, though. I immediately discovered that when taken out of those familiar, scripted, basic conversations, I’m drowning. I can manage the predictable: paying in a supermarket, ordering a coffee, collecting a parcel. After months of finding Danish numbers impossible, I am fine with numbers. Numbers are good! I even feel a bit smug with numbers. Ask me to converse in any spontaneous situation and I’m lost in translation. 

I understand, given all of this, why some internationals give up after passing the first basic module, or don’t even get started. There are so many other unfamiliar situations to navigate and so many easier ways to feel like you’re drowning when you’re settling into a new country. I get why Danish lessons can feel like a bridge too far, even with the government funding that grants free classes for everyone. In truth, I started going to Danish lessons soon after we arrived for something to do in the depths of winter. It was April but to all intents and purposes still winter, and the classes were in a warm place where people were kind to me and there was very cheap coffee. Now I have a lot more to do and the six hours a week of lessons (effectively a part-time job) can often feel like a real struggle. 

Another thing I’ve realised about learning a language as an adult is it makes you face your own insecurities head on. It forces you to confront how at ease you feel about feeling ignorant. In one Danish class we all spoke about the languages we knew. Everyone else (I was the only one from the UK) could speak two, sometimes three, even four different languages. “Jeg taler engelsk,” I said. “Og lit fransk og lit, lit dansk”. Language learning is poor in the UK. We don’t have to try. Everyone speaks English. In most situations in Denmark, I know if I act like I’m struggling and apologise a bit, the other person will quickly switch to English, especially if it’s a public place and an impatient queue of people is forming behind me. Many people in my OG Danish class didn’t have this option and it made me feel really bad. “You don’t have to apologise for colonialism!” my Danish teacher said, laughing. But I often feel like I do! Especially now, when I have to join the non-EU queue at Passport Control. 

I think the other really difficult thing that learning, or not learning, Danish brings into sharp focus as an international is how long you’re likely to be staying in the country. Five million people in Denmark speak Danish. Outside of the Nordics, you’re unlikely to find another person to converse in Danish with. So what’s the point in learning, unless you’re going to be staying? When you move abroad, this is the question everyone wants to know the answer to. How long are you here for? It can be a difficult question for a number of reasons. Perhaps you’re here as an accompanying partner and you really don’t want to stay. Perhaps you love Denmark and you would love to stay forever but you don’t know if you’ll ever manage to get a job. Perhaps you just don’t know. As a family, we’ve always been in the last group. We’ve always said, “We’ll see how things work out”. In the circumstances, learning Danish seems only sensible. 

When I think about the eight months I’ve spent learning Danish, I know I’ve benefited from it, besides being able to successfully order coffee and use the bathroom in Espresso House, or collect parcels from the local garage/post office. The day I learned how to navigate the Danish Vinted app wasn’t a good day for my bank account, though it has helped me with the language in its own way. I think I’m more willing to embrace new and uncomfortable situations. Earlier this week I went to a class called Dance Fitness with a friend, in an effort to embrace the Danish love of hobbies. I am probably dyspraxic, definitely one of the clumsiest people you will ever meet and I can’t make my hands and feet move in unison, so the class was a brave move. A year ago, I just wouldn’t have tried it but I did, I only thought about running away once during the hour and I actually did enjoy it. 

I also think learning Danish has made me more aware of aspects of the culture that the language of a country always reflects. There’s the value Denmark places on family, so much so that there are precise words to specify relationships such as whether your aunt is your father’s sister or your mother’s sister, or which side of the family your grandparents are from. Since our children have two mums, I wasn’t sure how this would work for us but my Danish teacher said the word “bedstemor/far” can also be used. This literally translates as “best mother” or “best father”, which I think is a pretty adorable way to honour your senior relatives. I see this as well in the question “Hvor gammel er du?/How old are you?” which threw me a bit at first as in the UK people tend not to ask adults’ ages. It’s seen as rude. It took me a while to realise: Oh, it doesn’t matter to them. Age isn’t intrinsically bound up with your value as a human in Denmark, or at least not being young has status!

Danish also has some great idioms that I really appreciate. In my first lesson, my teacher taught us Der er ingen ko på isen, or There is no cow on the ice. I think about that whenever I’m dealing with some translation-related issue that feels very much like I’m a large, horned mammal plunging into freezing waters and I try to breathe. Today, at least, the ice has not cracked. My wife’s kindly Danish colleagues also shared with me some of their favourites:

• 7-9-13. This is similar to the English expression “touch wood” when you tempt fate by saying something never happens to you. As in, “I never get sick! 7-9-13!” Accompanied by knocking on the table.
• Man må ikke sælge skindet før bjørnen er skudt. Translates as “You must not sell the skin before the bear has been shot”, or don’t take an outcome for granted. Hunting is still a beloved sport in many parts of Denmark: I was still recovering from the Giant Clitoris in Aarhus’s Gender Museum when I walked into a graphic photography exhibition devoted to feminism and hunting! It was definitely one to remember.
• Skyder Papegøjen, or Shoot the parrot, which means things are going well for you. Not a phrase to apply to me and Danish.
• Alting har en ende—uden pölsen, den har to. Everything has an end, except a sausage, which has two. A reminder of the deep emotional attachment Danes have to sausages, and one to remember during my next three-hour language class. 
• Slå til Søren – Hit a Guy Named Søren. This means “Don’t overdo it”, a nice reminder of the Danish focus on wellbeing and work-life balance and also one of the country’s most common male names! I’ve only been here since January and my son is taught drums by a Soren. I’ve interviewed a Soren, we paid a Soren too much kroner to paint a bedroom because I was too lazy to, which is not very Danish at all. Here, putting  a request on a local Facebook group for a tradesperson is likely to be met with an offer to lend you a tool so you can have the joy of doing the job yourself.
• Håret i postkassen. This is my favourite, translating as “Having your hair in the mailbox”, or being stuck in an uncomfortable situation that you cannot escape from. The word “hair” can also be replaced with “beard”. The Danish love their mailboxes: one of the first rules we discovered about life in Denmark is that your mailbox, located outside your house somewhere, must display the full names of everyone who lives in the house if you want your post to be delivered. This would strike horror into the hearts of crime-fearing British people: Why would you openly advertise who lives in your house?! Think of what a criminal could do with that information! So post goes in your mailbox, and a lot of advertising flyers for local supermarkets. Hair doesn’t. 

Metaphorically speaking, I have my hair in the mailbox a lot in Denmark. But it’s ok. I’m learning. Jeg lærer dansk. And I’m not sorry, usually!