There are many joys to moving home here in Denmark. The biggest joy comes with the lack of electrical light. You casually walk into your new home, press the light switch and remain in total darkness.
You look up, puzzled, only to see that the light fitting has gone. Not the light bulb. The fitting itself. The whole thing. The cable has been pulled out of the ceiling and now there is a hole with some mysterious dangerous-looking electric component hanging out.
It is as though you have arrived at a crime scene, where every possible piece of evidence in the murder case has been taken for examination. What kind of sadist takes the light fitting?
Everyone apparently. It is a fantastic tradition where electricians make a handsome packet of money and everyone else is thoroughly pissed off in the dark. And when you ask Danes why they take the cables from the ceiling they simply respond, “because there won’t be any at the new apartment.”
Let us have a new rule of etiquette, to save the misery of thousands every year: leave the lights in the ceiling where they belong. Let us end this madness and restore some sanity to a chaotic world. There is already enough stress when moving, let us not throw expensive electricians and depressed families into the mix. “Please can we read a bedtime story in my new room?” “Yeah maybe, but we’ll need to use the dim torch from my iPhone because someone stole the lights.”
Electrical lighting is one joy, natural light another. Because the curtain rails will likely also be missing, unscrewed from the walls and probably sitting in Storskrald somewhere. And even if they are still there, most Danes have tissue paper curtains. So many times I’ve stayed with friends and awoken at the crack of dawn as the light penetrates the skinny bits of cloth decorating the window.
I have never understood how people can possibly sleep in a room filled with sunlight, does this not violate some fundamental human need? But don’t worry, you’ll be in bed when it’s dark and up again with the sunrise – much like life in the 1800s.
The etiquette around moving also moves into the friendship circle. There is no test more strenuous than being asked to help someone move. The first question we all beg to know “which floor?” and the second, “is there an elevator…?” Because the higher the floor the more painfully the friendship will be tested. “Fifth floor and no elevator? When was it, next Saturday? I’m actually… not even in Denmark that day…” Then, at the risk of being seen on Saturday you rush to the Ryanair website to find a last-minute deal to De Kanariske Øer. Failing that you can order Wolt delivery and use the weekend to Photoshop yourself on holiday.
A final great joy comes with the demand from the Borger service that you tell them, within five days, that you have moved. Like an angry parent, they absolutely insist you tell them where you are with no delays. Of course, you forget. You are still unpacking boxes, the bag of essential items is missing, you are trying desperately to find light fittings and feel exhausted from sleeping on an unbuilt IKEA bed in broad daylight. You have completely forgotten that the government is furious with you, sending you bills.
Let us start fresh, a new dawn: Black out curtains, lights in all rooms, an elevator in every building and a gentleman’s understanding that we will update our address on Borger.dk when we have the f*cking time.
A peaceful future that brings some joy to the madness of moving.
