Gabbro B-Sides

When I’m walking around the touristy bits of Copenhagen, most people will take one look at me, say ‘Aha! An American!’ and start speaking English before I’ve even opened my mouth. Of course, no tourist in his/her right mind would be wandering around my neighborhood, so occasionally *real* tourists will stop and ask me directions to the airport. I’m almost flattered at the attention, and would be genuinely pleased if my super-Dane-o-matic camoflauge worked around Rådhuspladsen as well. Instead, I just admit that I’ve only been here a week myself and can barely find the grocery store, let alone a quick route to the Øresund bridge, and feel a bit silly.

An old man stopped me on the street on my way home yesterday, and said something in Danish. He was probably just asking why I didn’t have an umbrella (because, like, I’m from California, and, like, what’s this stuff coming out of the sky?) but he sounded amazingly like some crazy old pervert named Morris. I can’t decide if it’s the nature of the Danish language, or just my own paranoia.