Today’s my 12th day in Denmark now, and there is one thing that followed me since day one…
For as long as I have souvenirs about travelling, I remember my parents telling me that being a Canadian was a good thing, travel wise. I couldn’t quite understand why, but I accepted it for what it was, a positive thing to come from where I came from.
Growing up, I learned (or was it an urban legend? Possible, I never really questionned it) that some American travelers were sewing Canadian flag tags to their backpack when going abroad, to be better welcome… It seemed natural to me, and I didn’t give it much more of a thought.
I traveled quite a bit as a young adult, but never alone, and always with someone waiting for me at the end of the road. So where I came from didn’t really matter, because the people I was to meet already knew me.
But when I got to Denmark, I understood that my parents were right indeed, even after all these years… Because, every now and then, when I try to do this or that, using my basic Danish skills, and that Danes recognize the fraud in me and switch to English, the big question inevitably pops up!
- Where are you from?
Canada! The magic word… Jeg er fra Canada. I come from Canada. *Eyes sparkling up* (barely exagerating)
- Oh! Canada….
I always expect them to start singing our National Anthem… But they just pause and then, having caught their whole attention, I get all the help I need, plus a little extra on the side.
I don’t really feel special being a Canadian, until the person in front of me makes me feel like it is a priviledge to be one… Danes making me feel happy to be Canadian, what an irony 😉
Yeah, it is good to be a Canadian, after all… Until Queen Margreth accepts to adopt me, of course!!