Now I know for sure that I'll never enlist. But we'll get to that.
The weekend started with a bus-ride contest about who grew up in the smallest town. Ana actually won. Not because her town was smaller than mine (which I don't believe is physically possible), but just more "homegrown," we'll call it.
"In my town we go road hunting," I explained, "The guys put their guns in the back of the truck and then after school--" "Wait, you can just bring your guns to school?" -- "Yeah, as long as it's in a case and unloaded and you leave it the back of your truck. OK. Continuing ... so they leave school and shoot things they see on the side of the road."
My classmates, all from Connecticut or Hoboken, New Jersey, grimmaced.
Here's how Ana won the contest: "Yeah, but do you know what frog spearing is?"
The rest of the tour was filled with Naval base visits in Korsor, Arhus and Brabrand. I feel like it would be an infringement on Danish security to tell you what I learned, but then again, I'm not sure what constitutes an infringement because we never once went through security. Just drove the bus right through the gates and walked on in. Socialism must play a part in that-- if the Danes are paying 60% of their income toward taxes, they better have full access to everything, including confidential pirate-catching missions.
That's also part of my Danish sarcasm. If you're having a hard time telling if I'm serious, then you'd have a really hard time here.
Digression: I've accomplished a great blank stare and weak smile to hide my confusion over Danish sarcasm.
Example:
Benedicte: I'm so glad you're leaving for the weekend! When you're gone, I'm going to eat all your candy.
Me: Blank stare. Actually, I'd be really mad if you did. You know I can't get Lemonheads here.
Benedicte: Laughs. Too bad for you!
Me: Weak smile. No, but actually.
Back on subject: But good thing for us, our newfound knowledge didn't go to waste. Yesterday we went to an oxymoron museum. The Trapholt museum of modern art. Specializes in modern Danish designer furniture, specifically chairs. To paraphrase the Rime of the Ancient Mariner, "Chairs, chairs, everywhere, nor any place to sit." I'll never think of chairs the same way again.
Last night we went bowling and I bowled a 37, 40, 41 and 50, respectively. Practice makes perfect.
Today (and yes, I did just gloss over the last three days of travel and emit most of the activities and information) we did a super fun activity called "monkey trail." The name implies exactly what it is, but for some reason I thought it would be happy campy activities including: "OK everyone, let's all stand in a circle and hold hands and try to undo the knot!" or "Here's a log! Let's hand it over this other log and through the tire with teamwork! Go team!"
But no.
We get on the bus, which takes us to the edge of a field which leads into the forest. Our teacher, on the intercom, says, "Now, class, would be a good time to introduce you to human trafficking." We laugh politely, but on the inside we're not sure about the actual level of seriousness here. As I mentioned before, you never really know.
We trek through the woods and find what we've actually been brought to: an obstacle course in the trees, suspended by zip-lines, in the sky.
We are dazed, confused and looking around for a bathroom. Our Danish monkey trail instructor says, "So we're just going to give you these harnesses and you can go climb around for an hour or so."
Again, confusion on the seriousness of this statement.
So we did go climb around for an hour or so. Most of the time the Danish instructors walked around underneath us with ropes that they threw to us when we got stuck in the middle of the zip-line or climbed up ladders really fast when someone got hooked to a tree and had started yelling. But mostly they walked around a lot shaking their heads and thinking, "Idiots."
Caitlin said it best: "I don't think we're cut out for this. I think they should have just given us books and asked us to play chess against each other."
In your next smallest-town contest you could try, "we drive snomobiles to school." "Sometimes tractors."
ReplyDeleteSo far, "here" is the only place I've found where plyer holders are a common accessory.
I was laughing the whole time I was reading this. Especially while I was trying to imagine you swinging from a wire between trees.
I can't help but wonder if your Lemonheads were safe and sound. Mom
Swinging from trees reminded me of the time when I was dangling from the kitchen cupboard my shorts. Then I called for help and you yelled at me because I might break the cupboard.
ReplyDeleteLemonheads status: Appear to be missing a few, but that was probably from me stress-eating.