I'm not sure whether this post belongs on my normal blog, or here as it is as much about my weekend as it is about the quirks of Denmark. Thought I'd jazz it up a bit for here so as not to bore anyone who happens upon both!
Well, would you believe it? There's a new monarch in town.
So, picture this: it's New Year's Eve, and I find myself sprawled on the couch. Why, you ask? Well, some nasty flu bug decided to crash my Christmas party, and I'd barely set foot outside. Now, normally, I'd give the Queen's speech a hard pass, but there I was, a captive audience. Quite the compliment, considering I've never once watched the UK monarch's Christmas speech. Being a good Scottish republican, you know, the kind that doesn't sit down to watch Lizzie – or probably Charlie these days – address the nation.
Now, the first year I landed in Denmark, I did my homework for Danish class by tuning in to the Danish Queen's speech. Old Queen Magrethe, unlike most Danes, speaks at a pace even a sloth would find leisurely. A foreigner's dream, really – comprehension-wise, at least. Fast forward to the end of a rather lengthy and not exactly riveting speech, and she casually drops the bombshell that she's stepping down in a fortnight. Mind you, no one's abdicated in Denmark for 878 years. Cue Denmark going into meltdown.
First, there's a good half-hour of stunned silence, as if she'd actually dropped dead mid-speech. But hey, they love their Queen Daisy like bees love their queen, so within 30 minutes, the hive mind decides it's the best thing ever. Monarchy support skyrockets to 80%, with only one in five Danes thinking twice about splurging tax money on royal luxuries – oops, I mean service to the nation. Equality, anyone? Apparently, some are just more equal than others...
Fast forward to last Sunday, coronation day. Feeling all Danish, I decided to grab a cake to celebrate. Unfortunately, this entire island had the same idea, and my go-to award-winning bakery had sold out before I'd even got dressed.
But I'm not one to be defeated by a cake shortage, so off I went to the big Coop bakery. Ghost town. Almost sold out. While the rest of Denmark glued themselves to the telly or, better yet, camped out in front of Parliament for the royal show, I was on a cake mission.
The bowing and curtsying? King Frederik bowing to his own mother? My kids don't pull that stunt with me! As she exits, she declares 'Gud bevare Kongen!' (God save the King). Not exactly how my mother used to take her leave of us after Sunday dinner back when we lived in Scotland! It's all a bit unrelatable. Maybe it's monarchy in general, not just this one, that's the issue.
This little country feels more like a clan than a nation. As a foreigner, I could see the vibes, but I couldn't feel them. I didn't know how to. Why is this family different? The new King's my age, has four kids instead of five – are we really that different? Apparently so, but I'm not sure how or why! I felt like an outsider watching a national family party I hadn't been invited to mentally. I secretly wonder if the new Queen, also a foreigner, felt a bit on the outside, or maybe it's easier when the crowd's going wild for you, the state's filling your bank account, and you get citizenship as a wedding gift, instead of perpetually climbing Everest to a citizenship that at my age is all but unattainable.
Come Monday, kids at school were gushing like a family member threw the party of the century. Except for my youngest – 'No one mentioned it, Mum. They weren't interested.' Rebellion at 14, back in the fold by 20, maybe?
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