My motives for going to Copenhagen in December were simple: to see an old friend and to get a hint of actual winter, the snow and the cold I was missing while I was in Barcelona. The sun was setting when I left Barcelona, and by the time I took my first deep breath of winter air in Copenhagen I was entering a world that had already been dark for hours. My friend Jeppe (pronounced something like “Yeb”; I’m sorry to say my pronunciation of Danish didn’t improve much over the weekend) offered to give me a place to sleep and show me around while I was in Copenhagen. I had arrived in the evening, and our first and only stop that night would be a small party at his friend’s flat. I dropped my bag off at Jeppe’s place and we set out towards the party. The streets were cold and quiet but places like the metro and some of the bars we passed revealed that, even though the streets weren’t flooded with people, there was a lively layer of activity beneath the surface. After all, it was still Saturday night. Along the way Jeppe and I caught up on the last couple of years (I had met him when I went to Dublin in 2009 but hadn’t seen him since). We talked about the fact that I’d met the party’s hostess in Dublin, but I wouldn’t know anyone else there. Jeppe explained that usually the Danes can be stand-offish or tight-lipped around new people, but after a few drinks it wouldn’t matter. Between us swung a bag containing a bottle of Jack Daniels and a bottle of Coke, so I knew that at least those few drinks wouldn’t be a problem.
I had to smile when I walked in and saw a deck of cards arranged in a circle around a bottle in the middle of the table; this was a card game I knew, and I was able to join in right away. We sat around the table, drawing cards in turn and translating the rules from Danish to English for my sake. It wasn’t long before I was taking a shot of schnapps homemade by Emilie’s grandmother and even getting in on a joke or two. The room was lit by a small lamp and a couple of candles on the windowsill, and some great music was playing in the background. It was hard not to feel comfortable and the game, the party, and the bottle of Jack Daniels ran out all too soon.
The next day Jeppe and I put our hangovers in check, bundled up, and took a tour of the city. Copenhagen came across to me as a clean, beautiful, compact city. Five minutes walking was enough to pass by which the Danish parliament, the city’s theatre, and a 400 year old church tower. In the shopping district there was a Sunday afternoon bustle of Christmas shoppers, food kiosks, and musicians playing Christmas songs. Jeppe explained brief histories of some of the buildings and we talked about Denmark’s government and compared it to other countries in Europe and the United States. Denmark was frequently rated as one of the “happiest” place to live (if there can be such a measure) and it was interesting to talk about why that might be. Along the waterfront there was an even line of buildings. Jeppe laughed at me for getting such a kick out of the “square buildings”, but I thought they typified what I was getting to know of the place: level, even, and ideal.
In the afternoon we walked through Christiana, which was a different kind of ideal from the buildings of Copenhagen’s downtown. Christiana is an area of Copenhagen considered in most ways to be independent Denmark. Rules regarding drugs and alcohol are muted if not entirely set aside, and every surface of the ramshackle, thrown-together buildings is painted either by street art or random tagging. From the descriptions I’d heard before and the motley appearance of the “town” I was expecting a sort of lawless, shabby commune. Instead I walked through an indoor Christmas market packed with stalls and families shopping around. I sat and enjoyed Danish ebleskiver (a kind of fried dough served with strawberry jam and powdered sugar) and watched the crowd shopping, eating, and greeting each other as they passed. Everyone from the very old to the very young was enjoying the market. Christiana is probably many things, but at that moment it was a family destination on a Sunday afternoon.
That night Jeppe and I ate dinner at his flat and he played some more great music, introducing me to some of his favorite Danish bands. I bought two CD’s while I was in Copenhagen (one of which I’m listening to right now) and I’m definitely going to keep an ear out for more Danish bands. After spending all day walking around in the snow and the cold, a hot meal and some good music was exactly what we needed.
A blanket of snow has an almost magical way of reducing the world into something pure and understandable. The landscape becomes, literally, as simple as black and white: the black of still and finger-like tree limbs, the gray-white of the afternoon sky, the black of the street, the white of the snow on either side. The snow makes the world quiet, too. Traffic, footsteps, conversations… there are a thousand little sounds that are noticeable only in their absence when the snow swallows them up. In this world, the only real color comes from the warm, tawny glow of the windows facing the street. When I’m walking down those winter streets- whether I’m in my hometown or far away- I always have the same naïve image of what lies on the other side of those windows: warmth, good food, pleasant company… the feeling of a home. In Danish, I was taught, the word for this feeling is hygge (if you think you know how to pronounce it, you’re wrong).
I had originally thought that I was going to Copenhagen to see snow and ice and real winter. What I found out was that real winter was the feeling that comes with the cold and darkness, the hygge of being inside with friends or family. Whether it’s in a small party, a Christmas market in an unlikely setting, or just a night listening to some tunes, I’m glad to know that many times the other side of the window is just as warm and comfortable as I imagine it.
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