Tonight there is a special celebration downtown. Three Vikings are “skalling” for the upcoming departure of one of them…

Yeah, you’re leaving tomorrow, trotting back to meet your pack. A week ago I didn’t even know you.

Last sunday, in early afternoon, I was sitting in this Café on Emery street, so nervous my hands were shaking. You came in, spot on on time. We sat for an hour, braking the ice clumsily. There was a strange mix of gladness to talk about anything Danish with someone who actually cares about it, and nervousness of scaring you with my sometimes too intense love for Denmark.

A little more than sixty minutes later, not yet quite comfortable, we parted. Just before walking away, you told me “I hope I am Danish enough for you.” How could it be otherwise? I was leaving with a new tutor, you were heading home having a new student. It felt a little surreal.

I knew you were going home for the holidays. But you found some time to meet me again before your flight out of Canada. You asked what I wanted to learn, to get prepared a little. We met in front of the same Café, you were all smiles, just done with your last exam, a lot more relax.

As we waited for your “sort kaffe” and my hot chocolate, you took off your watch and we practiced giving time. “Kvart i fem, kvart over ti… Halv tre” Soon we put the lesson aside to simply talk… You told me about some of Denmark’s history, culture, industries… We spoke about Christmas, travelling through Denmark, about the Royal Family. You told me about your family…

How many times did you tell me “I talk too much!” Implying I wasn’t learning enough… But we’ll have plenty of time when the holidays are over and you have to come back. I encouraged you to go on, and your grey eyes were sparkling as you continued speaking about famous Danish directors and composers… After an hour and a half, I borrowed your cellphone to call home to say I would be late. When I saw that the settings were in Danish, I repressed a “And you wonder if you are Danish enough to my liking??”

I came back in the Café and we started chatting again… You talked about Sjælland, Jylland, Fyn… You were surprised I knew about Hans Island… Two hours… I forgot how young you are. You have an old soul, just like my Danish girlfriend. If it wasn’t of your nervous zipping, unzipping, zipping back of your wool sweater when you were getting especially excited about a subject, I would have totally forgotten. And there were those silences, when you’d finish a subject. You paused, ponctuating with a few “Yeah… yeah…” never breaking eye contact, as if you were judging if I had had enough. I realized you missed being in touch with your danishness. All was good!

Two or three times we attempted to put our coats on… We had long finished our drinks and the girl working in the Café was brooming around when we finally did. We exchanged a few holiday wishes outside in the cold wind. I stole two pecks on the cheeks from you. Something familiar here when a friend leaves for a while. I honestly thought your French side would make it natural to you. But you reminded me that that was NOT Danish. I knew. Fortunatly, it didn’t seem to look rude to you, you were just surprised. I hope so. And we then we were on our separate ways home.

Tonight you are celebrating with your friends, and I am here writing. This is not a funny post, but I wanted to immortalise this evening. Maybe you’ll read this some day. Maybe I’ll just rate it as “private” not to make you uncomfortable… We’ll see.

God rejse min ven… Komme tilbage snart!