Where the Fuck is Denmark?

A leap, a fractured ankle, and a whole new perspective. One university exchange to rule them all."When I was in my final year of University, I signed up for an exchange. I mostly applied to feel like I’d done something other than get drunk on homemade wine and call-in orders of family-sized poutine. Having never left the continent, I put my preferred destinations as either Ireland or England—clearly, placing little emphasis on cuisine (or dental). Like most volunteer opportunities, I was in it for the boost of talking about doing something. I lacked the foresight to grasp that moving somewhere was a likely requirement. I also had yet to learn that time is not an almighty buffer.A few weeks later, I got the email that I’d been accepted into the exchange program. I also received my placement country. Would it be boiled potatoes or crisps? Guinness or Newcastle? Red-haireds or other pale people? As I opened the attachment, my hands turned clammy.It looked like I’d be spending my winter semester in….*drum roll, please*…Denmark!? Where the fuck is Denmark?"To read in full, check out: https://www.backtoshameless.com/