Two Beers or Not Two Beers

Leaving behind the cobbled chaos of Ribe and the LEGO shrine of Billund, we ventured eastward for the grand finale of our Danish escapade: Kronborg Castle (known to most as Hamlet’s castle). Approaching the castle, perched dramatically on the edge of the Øresund Strait, I couldn’t help but think that poor Hamlet might have been slightly less moody if he’d had a decent snack. Conveniently, the Danes have solved this issue by placing a food court near the moat—a modern-day marvel that offers everything from gourmet hot dogs to sushi, all under the watchful eye of a 16th-century fortress. We roamed the grounds, basked in the salty sea air, and then promptly abandoned all pretence of historical interest to indulge in pizza and craft beer. Nothing says “Shakespearean tragedy” quite like spilling chipotle sauce on your jacket while gazing at a UNESCO World Heritage site.

From Kronborg, we made our way to Copenhagen, a city that greets you with two immediate realizations: 1) everyone is on a bike, and 2) you are most definitely not on a bike. Copenhagen doesn’t just like cycling—it reveres it. The city is crisscrossed with bike lanes that are treated with the kind of respect reserved for royal motorcades, and the locals zoom along them with the grace and speed of migratory swans. We, meanwhile, spent our first hour dodging said swans and trying not to look like complete idiots, which I’m fairly certain we failed at spectacularly.

Our first stop was the Little Mermaid statue, a Copenhagen icon that is, as it turns out, not quite as iconic in person. Perched on a rock at the harbour’s edge, she is smaller than you’d expect, a fact that every guidebook mentions but it still somehow feels surprising when you see her. The statue itself is fine, but the experience of viewing it is less so, thanks to the throng of tourists who seem to believe that shoving their phones into her stony face will somehow capture her better than the millions of professional pics already in circulation. We snapped a quick photo (because, obviously, we’re not above such behaviour ourselves), muttered something about expectations versus reality, and moved on.

From there, we meandered through Copenhagen’s postcard-perfect streets and arrived at Nyhavn, the harborside stretch of colourful 17th-century townhouses so picturesque it practically demands a brass band to announce your arrival. It’s the sort of place where even the peeling paint looks deliberate, like it’s part of a Danish government initiative to boost tourism through tasteful decay. While most visitors succumb to the lure of the cafés lining the waterfront, we opted for a more economical approach: a pair of cheap beers from a nearby corner shop. Armed with our modest haul, we plonked ourselves on the harborside, a prime spot for people-watching, where we quietly congratulated ourselves for outsmarting the system. Around us, impossibly chic locals strolled by, some pushing prams that probably cost more than Vishnu, their outfits effortlessly curated to make me feel bad about my choice of shoes.

The next morning, we braced ourselves for a distinctly modern Danish challenge: the Amager Strandpark parkrun. For the uninitiated, parkrun is a 5k event for people who think running before breakfast is a fun idea. Amager Strandpark, with its sweeping Baltic views, was a stunning location for this particular form of masochism, though I quickly discovered that “stunning” also applied to how my lungs felt after approximately 200 meters. The fit, naturally, darted ahead like gazelles, while I huffed along at a pace that could generously be described as “optimistic.” I finished, miraculously upright, and promptly declared it the most exhausting yet satisfying way to see a Baltic beach.

Having recovered, we rewarded ourselves with a trip to the Carlsberg Museum, a temple to all things beer-related. The museum, which I suspect is actually a very clever marketing ploy disguised as cultural enrichment, was a delightful mix of history, brewing techniques, and shameless brand promotion. It culminated in a tasting patio where you could sample Carlsberg’s finest (it was a short session). We then spent the remainder of the evening channelling the Danish art of “hygge” by the city’s canals, beers in hand, watching the world drift by. With our sights set on the next leg of our journey, we left Denmark with full bellies, sore legs, and a vague sense of envy for a country that seems to have mastered the art of living well. A tough act to follow for our next nation: Sweden.

J