Shirt: Buffalo Exchange
Skirt: Betsy Johnson via Goodwill
Today was my first day of classes! When I woke up this morning, my roof was exploding with a howling rain storm that made me afraid for my prospects of possibly getting to class; I didn't think I had any kroner waiting in my wallet for a bus ride. I just went back to sleep and, when I woke up to leave, it was a perfectly beautiful day-- probably the best of the weekend. Oh, Denmark. I started having brunch with a few friends and then went to Literary Texts and Theory (see, an English major CAN make it by in Denmark) which I kind of sort of slept through. One thing I did catch: it is very strange to hear America referred to in the third person, something that American History, Culture, and Society will surely numb me to. My second class of the day, The Language of Poetry, I almost completely missed because the professor decided on a whim to start an hour early. Since I've been home, the most I've accomplished is making my international phone work (huzzah adulthood!) and making a collage from a Danish music magazine.
(While cutting this magazine out, I discovered two really good Scandinavian bands: Nelson Can and Agnes Obel.)
This weekend was considerably more exciting, however. Yesterday, a midst the windiest weather I have experienced in all my days, save maybe the plains of Texas, my exchange program and I toured the west coast of Denmark. First, we visited Løkken, a small town with an ancient cemetery being eaten by the sea. Nearly all the houses were for sale or simply abandoned.
We played a game with the wind where we stood on this cliff over the ocean and leaned forward, letting the wind hold us up.
The only legible gravestone there.
A for sale sign.
Afterwards, we set onward to Rubjerg Knude, an abandoned lighthouse situated among some awe-inspiring sand dunes. The lighthouse is estimated to be eaten by the sea, like the town, in ten years's time. Here, among the sand dunes, the wind was not so friendly. I never thought my first sand storm would take place in northern Denmark, but alas it did. And it was awful. We were all simply bombarded with sand. My skin burned worse than a thousand sunburns could attempt. The attack on our eyes was so bad, we had to walk up the shifty mountains backwards. I couldn't even look at the lighthouse. I simply took blind pictures hoping to see it secondhand from my camera later. When we got back to the bus, each pair of shoes could have built a beach, a destination my apartment very closely resembles at the moment due to that little excursion.
The day before that, I went to "the street," or the bar and club center of Aalborg with a few friends. The night consisted of a wonderful dance music concert, hilariously drunk strangers, a bouncer at a Seven Eleven, and drinking at a real bar legally for the first time (for me at least).
The band we heard live was called Den Sorte Skole. They were very good.