1
We all have those friends who are clever, successful and good-looking to boot but who you still find yourself being lured into giving morale boosts to every now and then (while deep-down secretly thinking, is this for real?). I found myself doing this at a city level this week in Copenhagen. I had been invited to speak at a conference with the no-messing name “Copenhagen: Cool or Boring?”. My input was to explain why we run an annual Quality of Life Survey; what makes a great city for Monocle (and for you, our readers – I hope you don’t mind me speaking on your behalf this once); and, yes, why Copenhagen so regularly takes pole position, including this year.
Over the three days that I was in the city, I did an interview with the newspaper Børsen, caught up with contacts and spoke with attendees at the event, and again and again people came over all surprised that pretty little Copenhagen was so well-loved. The tone was reminiscent of a Jane Austen tale in which some nice lady coquettishly holds a fan in front of her face and blushes as suitors express their love. (At least in this version of my story I can cast myself as Mr Darcy gone doddery.)
Trouble is, the evidence is everywhere you look. Michael Solgaard, the very engaging and well-regarded culture editor at Børsen, suggested that we start our interview on bicycles – he had his; I borrowed one from my hotel. Over the next hour we seemed to traverse a large swath of the city, all on dedicated and well-used bike lanes and with Solgaard acting as both tour guide and instructor on the city’s cycling etiquette (basically, you seem to have right of way when you are with him). Solgaard was also carrying a bag that contained towels and bathing costumes, as on Mondays he leaves work early to take his granddaughter swimming (you can see why they struggle here). We glided through even the supposedly sketchier parts of town, me looking like Miss Marple with a big wicker basket on the front of my two-wheeler, and it all seemed OK to the outsider. Later, over carrot cake in a café that sits in the shadow of the Church of Our Saviour, with its famous external staircase coiled around its steeple, Solgaard quizzed me about the city’s global appeal, pretending to be surprised while knowing all along that it was rather incredible. When I asked him about problems in Copenhagen, he wondered whether there were too many festivals. I am looking forward to a return carrot-cake ride in London.
Illustration: Mathieu De Muizon
This became a running theme: people told me how they never work late, how all their university fees were picked up by the state, how they had found city-centre apartments for a decent rate, and how they felt that children had an easier and safer life than in many parts of Europe. Yes, they pay exorbitant taxes, the cost of living for things like food was high and, as in all cities, there were clearly people who struggled. But.
One night I cycled out to a party for Thomas Lykke, friend and founding partner of celebrated design studio OEO. His birthday drinks were in a restaurant called Hija de Sanchez (which he designed) in Nordhavn, an old port area that’s being transformed into a vast new residential district. Again, I got there on my bicycle, on lanes edged with ambitious planting and as I approached my destination there was a cute boathouse on the water and people had just finished kayaking. I looked in through the windows of handsome apartments at families eating dinner on this autumn night. At the base of the new apartment buildings there was lots of life in shops, cafés and restaurants. It was urbanism done well. I parked my bike among all the others that were so modestly secured and thought, “Let’s see whether anyone dares to ask why Copenhagen ranks so highly in our survey.”
2
On the plane back to London, just as on the flight out, many people boarded with no masks on at all, or with their hooters uncovered. The pre-flight announcements underlined that everyone had to wear a mask when not eating. The refuseniks, however, carried on staring at their phones with their masks slung like squirrel hammocks under their chins. The crew said nothing. There was an announcement that because of a heavy fog we had to turn off all electrical equipment for take-off so that there was no risk of it interfering with the plane’s foggyometer (I think that’s the technical term). People kept using their phones; one man was speaking on his even as we took off. A young woman next to me who was clearly friends with the crew kept her giant headphones on throughout without a word being said. Back in London, there were posters telling you to mask up on the Underground. Standing by the ticket barriers were four members of staff – no masks for them. I don’t like masks but I happily wear one if I think it makes other people more comfortable. At this point, though, the game is up and the messaging should change to match the facts: “Nobody here cares, do you?”
Mr Tuck would like to point out that his fine column was not prompted by today’s sponsor. Next week he promises to be a Dane-free zone. He won’t even go near a ‘kanelsnegle’ – a cinnamon bun to you and me. Although on that point we may not be able to trust him.