Returning to Phoenix after living in Aarhus

I carried my full laundry basket into the laundry room and slid it onto the bench in front of my wash machine. I was tired after a multi-stop itinerary from Denmark to Phoenix, but eager to begin unpacking and washing.

As I opened the machine's lid, I did a doubletake. Maybe I even flinched. The wash machine seemed huge. Like, a small bathtub. Was it always this big, and I just never noticed?

This was the first difference between the U.S. and Denmark I was aware of upon returning to Phoenix after living in Aarhus as a U.S. Fulbright Scholar. There are multiple things about Denmark that I grew to admire, such as its technological advancements, high-quality food and medical care, and an presumed willingness to throw down for community and country. As my family and I settled back into our lives in Phoenix, I wanted to pen a list of the things that are taking the most time to acclimate to again.

The view from South Mountain's National Trail in Phoenix in February. A rainless winter has made the area and its air even dryer than normal.

Everything is Bigger. The aforementioned wash machine is part of a larger, supersized theme that my whole family has commented on since returning. Many things in Arizona are unsettlingly bigger than in Denmark. Houses. Cars. Beds. Schedules. Waistlines. Food portions. In Aarhus, I would go to the grocery store about every other day on my Swapfiets bike because food is packaged in smaller portions, and they don’t use the food preservatives that the U.S. does, so food spoils faster. These chemicals, though, make a difference. I could taste it. When I first came to Denmark, my taste buds seemed overwhelmed by the onslaught of flavor. But now that I've returned to Phoenix, flavors seem to be muted in a way that I had forgotten.

Rubber band-less egg cartons. The differences between cities like Aarhus, that matured pre-automobile, and newer cities, like Phoenix, that were designed around a car culture permeates daily life. When the cashier in Aarhus slides a carton of eggs over the checkout scanner, you can be sure they will reach into a nearby bowl of rubber bands and snap one around the carton. This is a practical courtesy. A lot of people bike their groceries home, and this rubber band adds a layer of protection for a delicate product.

We don't do that in Phoenix. But we don’t have the bike culture Aarhus does, either. I wrote about this in an earlier blog post.  

Disjointed online systems. Whether it’s scheduling appointments, trying to refill a prescription, or checking email, doing anything online in Phoenix is clunky and time consuming compared to Aarhus.

I need to enter a username and password for each account I attempt to access online in the U.S. I'm supposed to have a unique password for each website.

One way Americans keep track of their passwords is to manage them in an app. I have 85 passwords stored in LastPass, for example. However, it took me a while to confirm that number. So many months had passed since I last used LastPass, I forgot my master password. You need that master password to access your passwords.

I had forgotten how “normal” this is. The time I did not spend navigating entities' disjointed websites is singlehandedly the biggest thing I miss about Denmark. I wrote about this in a previous blog post, but to summarize, MitID is a multi-purpose authenticator that allows users to log into just about anything quickly and securely. It's a digital ID someone has when they became a Danish resident. To log into something online while in Denmark, I opened MitID, entered a code, swiped, and voila.

One day, a Danish colleague told me that a downside of such a centralized, digital ID is that when it has a glitch, it disrupts an entire country’s ability to conduct its daily affairs. That was a fair criticism. For me, the efficiency was such a contrast from what I had grown accustomed to in the U.S., I still thought the tradeoff was worth it. (And, for context, when he said, "whole country,” he was referring to about 6 million people. That’s slightly more than Wisconsin, but less than Missouri.)

F-Bombs galore. People in Aarhus curse. A lot. The setting doesn’t seem to matter. What initially confused me was the context: People would swear – in English – left and right, but not necessarily out of anger or frustration. It was as if the f-word was simply a synonym for “very.”

I asked a native Dane about this. He said he had never thought anything of it until he moved to the United Kingdom and now is more bothered by prolific cursing. As skilled as Danes are at speaking English (and they are), English is still a second language for them. They don't have the cultural context of profanities that comes with growing up in a native English-speaking country. And even if they did, Danish culture generally loathes censorship. There is a staunch defense of personal prerogative. There were multiple occasions where someone said something that would have cost them their job in the U.S., yet the Danes seemed unbothered.

Drinking and smoking. See “F-Bombs galore” entry.  

Too much stuff. One thing about Phoenix that struck me as unusual when I first moved here and now again upon returning is how frequently people cannot park their cars in their garage because their garage is used for storage. Since houses in Phoenix typically have neither basements nor usable attics, residents resort to stacking their stuff in their garages.

People in Aarhus seemed to have far fewer material items in their homes, and decorate more sparsely compared to Valley residents. What they do have, however, seemed to be of higher quality.

"You are beautiful" on a dumpster in Aarhus, Denmark, in September 2024.

Graffiti. That being said, whereas graffiti is associated with economic hardship and decaying neighborhoods in Phoenix, this is not the case in Aarhus. Graffiti is pervasive. On buildings, underpasses, city stops, rubbish bins. You name it. There doesn’t seem to be a hurry to remove it or to paint over it, either, regardless of content. (Again, see "F-Bombs galore" entry.)

High levels of trust. Danes trust each other, and their government. This was noticeable in too many ways to mention in a single blog post. The crime rate is low. Violent crime is nearly non-existent. (Someone fuld may steal your bike, though, so keep that secure.) Parents leave their sleeping babies in their prams outdoors for a nap and/or while they go inside to shop. Children are more independent, riding bikes and playing without adult intervention. This independence and confidence is not the result of a stress-free, care-free life, as so is often romanticized in American writing about Denmark. It's the presence of official and unofficial support systems. I don’t know how to describe the contentment, pride, and strength that comes from knowing – I mean, really knowing – that you can trust the people around you, and that your community, in turn, can trust you. This knowledge and its byproducts changed me.

Medical care. Residents are entitled to a tax-funded healthcare system that, in turn, generates massive amounts of longitudinal health data. Researchers can access and examine this data, and, in turn, make suggestions for health care improvements. This cycle generates such thorough, standardized data that Denmark has emerged as “an international pacesetter in digital health and ranks as number one regarding IT systems in hospitals and general practice,” according to Morten Schmidt and colleagues (2019, p. 571).

I have seen this in real time, and it’s no joke. Shortly before Christmas, one of my family members needed to see a doctor for what-appeared-to-be strep throat. But it was evening, and the clinic was closed. I called the local Emergency Room to schedule an after-hours appointment. This is standard protocol; there is a number for this on my CPR card. (See my previous blog post to learn about CPR cards.) I called the number and entered the patient’s CPR number.

Once I arrived at the hospital in Aarhus, we checked in by scanning the CPR card. There was no other paperwork, and we weren’t billed. We were immediately called into a room for a strep test, then escorted back to a waiting area. When my family member and I were called back to see the doctor, I was taken aback by two immediate observations: First, how equipped the room was. This was no little triage room. There was some serious equipment at the ready. Second, how attentive the doctor was. He was waiting for us, standing at a desk and smiling. He dressed in business casual. He made a ton of eye contact. I didn’t realize how accustomed I was to being in the U.S., where doctors would be simultaneously reading and typing, rarely looking at me.

The doctor confirmed strep throat was the culprit, and asked if I knew of any pharmacies open at that late hour. I said I did not, and he gave me a list of places. It didn’t really matter which one I chose; him showing me was a courtesy. But in the U.S., it does matter. A doctor would send the prescription to a specific pharmacy. But in Denmark, the prescription is attached to your CPR. I could go to any pharmacy, scan the patient’s CPR card, and the prescribed medicine would drop out of a drawer-like bin in the wall that reminds me of a drive-thru window at an American bank or fast food restaurant.

This efficiency and ease would not happen in Phoenix. Like the aforementioned online technologies, our systems are disparate and disjointed. Being a Danish resident is like having one big umbrella under which all facets of life are sheltered and shaded. The U.S. is comprised of multiple smaller umbrellas, coming from diverse private and public entities, that may overlap in some places but not in others. Even if I’m already a patient someplace in the U.S., I will still need to complete forms – likely actual paper forms, on which I’d write with a pen – each time I check in for an appointment. And if I would go to a different medical practice owned by a different entity, I’d have to provide my data all over again, and request medical records to be transferred. How much money I pay upfront depends upon my health insurance plan, what I’m seeing the doctor for, and whether this doctor is one of my insurance company’s “preferred providers.” My health insurance plan is through my employer, not my residency. A portion of my paycheck every two weeks will go toward paying this insurance. However, this isn’t a “bank” from which I’ll be able to pull the money when I need it. I’ll still have to pay thousands of dollars in deductibles before my insurance company will begin paying for expenses – if it pays at all. Americans can wrangle with their insurance companies for months. Many Americans will avoid going to the doctor as much as possible.

Air quality. After growing accustomed to Aarhus’ relatively cool, moist air, I was coughing for about a month after returning to the dry, dusty desert. I could feel it on my face, too. According to the American Lung Association’s State of the Air report, Maricopa County, which is where Phoenix is located, is among 26 U.S. counties receiving “failing” grades for its air quality. Phoenix specifically has the fourth-worst ozone pollution in the nation, and fails on particle pollution, or particles suspended in the air such as dust, dirt, soot, or smoke. This type of pollution wreaks havoc on people’s health, especially those who have chronic lung or heart conditions. The Clean Air Act of 1963 was intended to reduce air pollution across the U.S., and through it, the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency can track and analyze air pollution. Metro Phoenix was improving until 2017, however, wildfires, wind-less days, reliance on cars, and high temperatures counteract efforts.

Informed citizenry. A Danish student told me that a long-standing stereotype about Americans is that they don't know what happens outside the U.S. The Danes are comparably well informed on international current events, and could carry on engaging conversations about any number of subjects. The U.S., on the other hand, is more isolated. It is bordered by two large, historically friendly nations and two oceans. Within its border are 50 states – many of which boast population sizes and economies comparable to that of other countries. The country's sheer size, diverse population, and large private sector is hard for Danes to grasp. And these things can make working together and being on the same page within the U.S. a challenge for Americans, too. Learning more about how other nations and non-American institutions tackle their obstacles could help Americans find innovative solutions to multiple homegrown challenges. I'm hoping when I return to the classroom this fall, I can bring more of that perspective to the course content so my students can not just learn about how sports journalism is done in the U.S., but what role quality journalism can have in shaping and improving the world of sports as a whole.