Due to unverified but still concerning enough information, there has been a slight change of program regarding my upcoming trip.

After thinking it over, I decided that Denmark wasn’t all that fascinating after all. The language is hellish to speak and/or understand, and there was really so little to visit anyway!

No, I have set my mind on a much more interesting itinerary, keeping me far from people that might see red at the sight of the blue and white flag sewn to my backpack. I figured over time, and several warnings, that Danes, or some of them at least, are very territorial people, and not that inclined to sharing THEIR Denmark with strange foreigners.

It seems it has something to do with the fact that I am not an old-enough-to-be-trusted woman traveling alone. In order to go to Denmark anyway, I figured I would have to rent an all-time-while-in-DK chaperon and one that could shoot some gun if possible. Then I might escape any attempt of luring me into a basement “because-we-have-some-Viking-stuff-to-show-you” after which I’d never be seen again. Not living, that is.

You might wonder where I got the impression I wasn’t as welcome as I thought?

I hesitate between two events in particular, that stood out a little among the rest of the creepy things happening and the coincidences (or were they?)

There was that smelly dead grubby gerbil, with “BLIV UDE” carved on its tummy, that was left on my porch one morning at the beginning of spring… And that day when I came home and found my voicemail filled with impossible to understand shouted messages, almost growls, which I couldn’t tell what they were really about, but I did feel it wasn’t quite friendly. The last message ended with one phrase, in a perfectly spoken English, but with an accent that betrays a lot of Danes… “STAY OUT OF DANMARK!!”

I thought about fighting my way to DK anyway, ignoring the fear in me, and braving the odds. I thought I’d leave my usual jeans and T-Shirts at home, and bring only girly-girl stuff like bikinis. That way, I could confront the Danish League of Angry Wives, and watch them hold their breath as I’d walk passed their husbands, one by one, threatening to open my mouth at any given time to say something really sexy in French, a field of seduction they’d never get to master in their life! But that would have been just mean, leaving a lot of collateral victims, since the swooning husbands would have to go back to live with their now-even-angrier-wives. And I wouldn’t stand to be the cause of that kind of trouble.

I thought about claiming high and loud to be a lesbian… But that can bring its share of trouble too. What if that just reversed the situation, and I suddenly had to face the Danish League of Angry Husbands?? Or worst, what if I brought trouble by confusing otherwise alright couples (“Hey Honey Bunch, why don’t you two girls get to know each other a little bit… *wink wink* She could come over to eat, and we’ll see how things go… What do you say?”)

Nahh… Not interested in creating a wave of disapproval and possibly have all my Canadian fellows banned from Denmark just because I am stubborn.

A, B and C perhaps not being in the final order I’ll visit them…

So…. I will arrive in Copenhagen as planned on May the 5^th, but instead of touring Denmark, I’ll proceed (during my 1rst night in Europe) to cross the border as fast as possible, reach Malmö and find myself safe from any life-threatening situation. Nobody knows me in Sweden. Me and Sweden barely know each other… Yet!

And I think I’ll go see a little of Norway and Finland, finishing my trip walking on the west coast of Sweden, sighing for my true love, on the other side of the Kattegat sea…