Les Hannah, day 10, part 1



This morning I was on my own getting from the house to school, so after I awoke and showered, dressed and readied myself I walked to the bus stop. I was given a temporary bus pass by one of the administrators of the school; she said it had four or five more trips left. Well, now less one I made it to school within fifteen minutes of boarding.

The bus ride made me a bit nervous at first; I thought I had gotten on the wrong bus in spite of confirming the number twenty-plus times as the bus approached. It did not take the route I expected it to and I was worried that I might have to walk a long distance after all. However, all was well again when I finally recognized where I was as the bus pulled back onto the strand, the road that runs parallel to the beach. I saw the four large yonegs, the Man Meets the Sea statues, and using that as the most distinguishable landmark in Esbjerg I knew right where I was.



my office



The short walk from where the bus dropped me to the school was brisk; it is always windy here, but certain parts of the city seemingly are more so than others. Perhaps it is just the way the wind winds its way through the building and tree-lined streets.

I took a moment to snap a few photos of the buildings as I entered. I had not yet taken any photos of the school, so I thought this would be as good of a time as any. Entering the building through the one doorway I was familiar with I found my way to my office and settled in for a brief few minutes before I was again met by several people eager to make my acquaintance. Some I had not yet met; others were reminders from yesterday.

I met Pia, the lady with whom I have had the most contact prior to my arrival. She is, I think, my counterpart here: the department head. I went to her class, which was another first year group, and gave them basically the same discussions I gave the other first year classes yesterday. It went well; the students asked questions and were engaged with the dialogue. I think enough moccasin telegraph – Danish-style – has happened in the last twenty-four hours to melt away some of the apprehension many of the students were perhaps feeling about me being here.

It is clear to me that these people know little to nothing of American Indians, and what they do know they know from movies. I cannot begin to count how many times I have heard Dances with Wolves invoked as a reference point. You know, now that I think of it, sad to say it is not much different from many places in the USA. At least these people, the Danes, have a geographic barrier – the Atlantic Ocean – preventing them from readily experiencing American Indian culture. What is your excuse America?