I went to an Italian restaurant in Denmark and spoke Swedish. I could somehow understand the free flow of syllables and dipthongs that came out of the waitress’ mouth and when I replied in Swedish she could understand me. We weren’t discussing Nietchse or world politics, but I got my table for four and plate of Spag Bol.
Denmark is odd like that. It’s very different to Sweden, but strangely familiar. It’s as if the country is inhabited by dyslexic Swedes with speech impediments. Everything is painted in red and white as opposed to the obligatory blue and yellow of Sweden – road signs, flags, post boxes…
We stayed at a youth hostel in Helsingør, or Elsinore as Shakespeare called it. The town was full of Swedish bikers and had a fine view of Helsingborg. They have a supermarket chain called ‘Kvickly’ and ‘bookshop’ is ‘Boghandel’.
No wonder Hamlet went a bit potty.
