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What makes contemporary Copenhagen tick? It depends on whom you ask. Cynics will say the city is canny and twee, smug even, while more sanguine commentators notice how Copen- hageners sanely prioritize aspects of their lives, cutely saving money in order to attain what is ultimately worthwhile. Even on a short visit to the city, it is possible to observe these contrary claims to truth, and to realize that out of the apparent contradictions comes a healthy dynamic. The city is remarkably civilized and well-behaved, and many non-American visitors are bemused by seeing pedestrians waiting patiently for a green light before crossing a road that was always devoid of traffic. This is not out of fear of a jaywalking charge – uniformed police are rarely seen – but more an expression of ingrained civic duty. If this makes Copenhageners sound too obedient, the Singaporeans of northern Europe, just take a bus to the ‘free city’ of Christiania where a community of some 800 citizens have enacted their right to run their own lives free of the State, and have been successfully doing so for over 30 years. And this doesn’t mean that Christianites won’t wait for the green light before crossing an empty road! Copenhagen and its inhabitants have a delightful sense of modesty and proportion. Nude bathing is passé, but always in a designated area of a beach. What would surprise a city dweller is not the revelation that you’re a bisexual with a penchant for s & m but an act of aggressive rudeness to a stranger. Aspects of the anarchist spirit of Christiania pervade everyday life as people go about their lives quietly, valuing their privacy in a way any bourgeois would approve, but also tolerating everyone’s right to be different. And the sense of privacy is not English in character; witness the way many homes leave their curtains open at night as if indifferent to the public at large. The city’s character is expressed in the urban skyline when viewed from the top of the town hall tower, where it is easy to read the landscape because there are so few high-rise buildings, only the very occasional tower block, a few church spires and a line of giant windmills out at sea. Nothing about Copenhagen is in your face. On the buses that ply their way across the city it is easy to miss the two little flags of Denmark that flutter at the front of the vehicles. In their modest way they signify the subdued pride Copenhageners share in being Danish. It is not chauvinism, though there is often a note of imperial regret when Danes remind you that Greenland has home rule but is still part of the Danish Kingdom (forgetting to add that it’s 95% ice, so who cares), as was Sweden, and national pride colours conversations about their near neighbours. This is normal for countries so close to one another, but in the last couple of years a nastier form of nationalism has shown itself in the election of far-right politicians, who as part of a coalition government, have introduced anti-immigrant regulations. There is a smugness that at its core says immigrants are welcome as long as they think and behave like Danes. Copenhageners like to socialize at home and keep work distinct from play – no pub lunches during workdays and pubbing after work is regarded with disdain. Not that you can accuse a city famous for its libertarian reforms in gender and sexual matters of puritanism. There is a touch of that glacial, Scandinavian worship of healthy living, but Copenhageners also smoke like troopers (looking for a non-smoking restaurant is a search for the Holy Grail) and decaf is regarded as an American aberration. In the aesthetics of design and architecture, Copenhagen has every right to feel a cut above the European norm. This is not design à la Sunday colour supplements, the city is not on Planet Habitat, and at one extreme you can be forgiven for tipping ash into what is actually a designer side plate in a smart restaurant. It is with the vernacular that Danish design comes into its own, and window shopping in Illums Bolighus or Georg Jensen reveals just how sophisticated and tasteful Danish-designed cutlery, home furniture, silverware and glassware can be. Keep it simple and functional – to the point of stringency – is a guiding principle, from the sleek Viking ships of yesteryear to lego and the Christiania bicycle, and the latest shower fittings or Bang & Olufsen DVD player. You will experience it the moment you arrive at the new Terminal 3, designed by the celebrated Danish designer Vihelm Laurizen, and view its latest incarnation in the Øresund Bridge that connects Copenhagen with Sweden. See it at first hand when you visit the extension to Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek designed by Henning Larsen, or the museums of modern art at Louisiana and Arken. The roots of modern Danish design, functional but also experimental, are found in the achievements and influence of Arne Jacobsen, whose centenary was celebrated in 2002 and whose designs now grace many a smart restaurant in the city. Jacobsen’s work was ahead of its time when he designed the lock, stock and barrel of the Radisson SAS Royal Hotel and much of what we take for granted today in terms of cool design was looked at askance when it first appeared some 50 years ago. Designs from the 1950s of Jacobsen’s furniture and the famed lamps of Poul Henningsen are still exported, and the wooden chairs of Hans Wegner and the sofas of Erik Jørgensen are eagerly sought items. And while svelte designs and flowing forms characterize the hip side of the city’s character, lurking beneath is a yearning for herbal tea and healthy footwear, a deep need for cosiness and well-being summed up in a term – hygee – that has no adequate translation. The Copenhagen poet, Michael Strunge, called it bitterly ”the life-support machine of this comatose state” but every now and again, encountering an error in a train timetable or someone’s misguided street directions, the visitor is reminded that Danes are as human and fallible as the rest of us.
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