I welcomed my second child just a week before the lockdown commenced in Los Angeles. In July 2020, amidst the peak of the Covid hotspot summer, we made the decision to visit my husband’s family in Denmark with our two young daughters. Little did we know that this seemingly ordinary trip, packed with two weeks’ worth of clothing, would mark the beginning of a significant life transformation. Upon our arrival at Billund airport, I braced myself for intense scrutiny from immigration officials due to the widespread closure of country borders during that period. To my surprise, a uniformed woman straightforwardly questioned my husband, “Are you Danish or something?” Upon his confirmation, we were swiftly granted entry without any complications.
The initial impression upon arriving in town was surreal, as if the shadow of Covid had never loomed over the world. Everything seemed to be in its right place—businesses open, a sense of order, and an overall atmosphere of tranquility. The Danish summer unfolded in vibrant technicolor, with ripe fruits hanging from trees, wildflowers adorning the landscape, and serene forests and lakes dotting the countryside. It was a picturesque idyll, almost too perfect, reminiscent of a scene from the movie “Midsommar.” After a few weeks, we enrolled our two-year-old in daycare to accommodate our remote work schedules. Despite the physical distance from my friends back in LA, who were nine hours behind, I found solace in the company of my newborn, working through the nights on my LA-based job.
However, a week into Danish daycare, my eldest daughter underwent a remarkable linguistic transformation, shifting her primary language from English to Danish. This transition posed a significant challenge in my role as a parent, as she grew increasingly frustrated when I struggled to comprehend her. In a hilariously awkward incident at a local grocery store, she persistently mentioned “pølse,” which translates to “hot dog” in Danish. Misinterpreting her request, I kept dismissing her pleas, insisting that she didn’t need more food right after we had eaten. It took my husband’s intervention to clarify that she actually needed to use the restroom, as “pølse” also connotes “poop” in Danish—a moment that left me feeling like a clueless parent.
The realization dawned on me that not everyone in Denmark is entirely comfortable conversing in English. Despite having neighbors with children of similar ages, our interactions remained superficial, limited to casual greetings like “hej.” I struggled to form deeper connections with the locals, attributing the distance to their existing social circles. One particular incident highlighted my cultural misinterpretation when a neighbor casually mentioned quitting her job during a walk, a detail I completely missed, responding with a cheerful wave instead of a more appropriate reaction. These cultural nuances and language barriers led to several instances of feeling like the stereotypical “ignorant American” during my initial months in Denmark.
While there were moments of embracing the Danish concept of “hygge,” such as berry-picking adventures in the forest reminiscent of Red Riding Hood, these experiences were often accompanied by awkward encounters with strangers whose comments or gestures left me perplexed. The challenge of deciphering the tone and intent behind Danish English speakers’ words, often sounding blunt or sarcastic, added to my sense of social unease. This linguistic barrier occasionally led to comical misunderstandings, where I found myself trailing individuals, seeking clarification on their ambiguous remarks.
As our decision to settle in Denmark solidified, driven by the country’s renowned attributes like trust, healthcare, education, and safety, we seized the opportunity when a suitable house became available. The excitement of this new chapter was tinged with a sense of loss for my former life, prompting difficult conversations with my closest friends about my prolonged absence. Adapting to Denmark’s currency system, where the kroner is converted at a ratio of 7 to 1 dollar, presented its own set of challenges, leaving me grappling with financial calculations. From tax obligations to parking fines due to misinterpretations of local regulations, I navigated a steep learning curve, relinquishing my financial independence and placing immense trust in my husband’s guidance.
Over the years, our family has evolved into a bilingual unit, with my husband and children effortlessly conversing in Danish while I strive to keep pace. Despite the joy of mutual learning experiences, there are poignant moments where I find myself excluded from shared laughter or, in more distressing instances, facing ridicule from my eldest daughter for my linguistic shortcomings. As I reflect on nearly four years in Denmark, I am grateful for the enriching journey this relocation has offered. The picturesque surroundings and the sense of community align perfectly with my vision of raising children. While the assimilation process continues, I remind myself to find humor in the challenging moments and embrace the learning curve with resilience. Despite the challenges I’m facing as an expat, I’m not closing the door on the chance to make friends and feel at home in this strange nation.
Brooke Black, a graduate of Boston University’s College of Communication, has contributed to various news and lifestyle publications. Originally from Chicago with extensive stints in New York, London, and Los Angeles, she embarked on a new chapter in the tranquil Danish countryside in 2020. Residing in a historic 1722 farmhouse amidst a close-knit community surrounded by Scottish Highland cows, Brooke currently resides and works in Copenhagen with her Danish spouse and two young daughters. On Instagram and TikTok, she goes by the name BrookeBlackJust, and she documents her experiences as a Danish parent and expat on her excursions.