The Year of Living Danishly (21 page)

9. September

Butchers, Bakers & Culture Makers

A gentle breeze lifts my hair from my neck as I look out across the sea to Sweden and inhale the salty air. The sun is shining and the sky is blue, with just a few, perfect,
Simpsons
-style clouds scudding by. I trace my fingers over a Henry Moore sculpture, the bronze warmed by the sun, as a sailboat passes, appearing in the gaps between the free-flowing forms.

‘Coffee's up,' Lego Man holds two cardboard cups aloft as he walks barefoot on the soft green grass to the shade of an oak tree. I tear myself away and join him, sitting cross-legged and savouring the one caffeinated beverage that I'm currently allowing myself a day. I can almost feel the adrenaline trickling through my veins and making my brain taut and alert once more.

‘This is
really
good stuff.'

‘Yeah, a woman in the café told me the coffee here's legendary. Even Patti Smith dug it when she visited.'

‘“
Dug
”?'

‘Yes.'

‘Er, the Beat generation called, they want their term of reference back…'

He narrows his eyes at me and returns to reading the guidebook we've been desecrating for the past few days, ticking off sights. It's our wedding anniversary and we're in Denmark's pocket-sized capital of just 550,000 people to celebrate. Wonderful Copenhagen has just been voted the world's best city for the second year running by Lego Man's favourite magazine so we're in town for a long weekend to refuel on culture, decent cuisine and all that Jutland has been depriving us of. I've spent some time here for work over the past nine months but we've never just hung out together and savoured it – something I promise to rectify during our minibreak. I've even left my laptop at home. Now
that's
love.

We've already visited the National Museum, the grand Royal Theatre, the futuristic-looking opera house, and the Degas exhibition at Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek – the art museum founded in the 19th century by Denmark's biggest brewer. We've made the pilgrimage to The Little Mermaid statue, walked along the Langelinie promenade, eaten ‘
smushi
' – a combination of the famous Danish
smørrebrød
open sandwiches and sushi – in Strøget, strolled around the Botanical Garden and watched a lot of beautiful people on bikes (‘You don't get that in Jutland,' nods Lego Man at a leggy blonde pedalling past in a dress and heels. I clock her equally striking, Viggo Mortensen-alike companion and murmur appreciatively: ‘Mmmm').

Now, we're kicking back at the Louisiana Museum of Modern Art, just north of Copenhagen. After filling up on Picassos, a Giacometti, Andy Warhols and our first taste of Danish painters Asger Jorn and Per Kirkeby, we take in the gardens and watch children attempt to scale a huge Alexander Calder sculpture.
God bless Danish health and safety
… Once we've finished our coffee, we walk around some more and come across a tree festooned with slips of paper. Each one has a handwritten message on it,
Alice in Wonderland
‘Eat Me'-style, with some sort of wish or hope for the future. These range from the profound (‘
world peace
') to the fantastical (‘
I wish my toy gorilla would come to life
'). Before we can nose around at more people's wishes, we're press-ganged into creating our own and handed white luggage tags and felt-tipped pens to get us going. ‘You can have three wishes, two personal and one political,' a woman wearing a multitude of colourful scarves tells us. Yes, even wishes have rules in Denmark. We accept the challenge and Lego Man starts scribbling away furiously. I start writing too, but I'm surprised to find that when it comes to the personal wishes, I'm stumped. If someone had asked me what I wished for a year ago, I'd have said, without hesitation, ‘
to write more
' and ‘
to have a baby
'. Sickening though it sounds, both these things appear to be happening. I no longer have a diary filled with meetings about budgets or strategies or recruitment. I just write, every day. And miraculously, we're on course to start a family in January.
Am I,
I hesitate to even dare think it,
am I … happy? Just as I am? Danish-style?

Lego Man is already tying his wishes to the higher branches of the tree so I jot down something about looking after the people I care about, then add as a postscript, ‘…
but a lottery win might also be nice.
' I start fiddling with the string to make loops and hang my tags on one of the lower bows when Lego Man comes over.

‘So, what were your wishes?' he asks.

‘The usual,' I reply. ‘Lottery, gender equality, an end to all Nicolas Cage films. Yours?'

‘Oh, you know, stuff about the planet.'

‘Nice,' I nod, as we wander back inside.

Copenhagen is an invigorating place. I know we're probably making the most of it because we're here for such a short time before going back to Sticksville, but just having great art and sculpture and a sea view on your doorstep must be good for the soul.

I try to talk to Lego Man as we amble around, but he's made a beeline for the eye-wateringly expensive lighting section of the gallery gift shop, making him essentially deaf to the outside world for the next half hour.
I need a cultural guide,
I think,
someone to update me on ‘the scene' here.
I need, essentially, Denmark's answer to Melvyn Bragg.

Fortunately, Denmark's answer to Melvyn Bragg lives and works nearby. Adrian Lloyd Hughes (his father is Welsh but he moved to Denmark aged three) is a broadcaster and host on DR, the country's public service broadcaster, and has been making television programmes on culture for the past 30 years. I track him down online and we arrange a time to talk before I get busted by Lego Man.

‘Are you
working
on our anniversary trip?' he eyes me suspiciously.

‘No,' I lie, feeling guilty now. I notice he has emerged from the throng of shoppers empty handed. This is unheard of but it may just give me some leverage… ‘Wasn't there another design shop you wanted to go to in town?'
Bingo!
‘I could talk to this culture expert while you looked around a bit…' We stare at each other for several seconds, neither of us wanting to blink first.

‘Oh go on then,' he tells me.

‘Thank you!'

The following day, I catch up with Adrian. I tell him I've been to the Louisiana and loved it and he reels off a list of more galleries and museums I should take in during my stay.

‘The best Danish museums have become like theme parks, with shops and cafeterias,' he tells me. The capital's cultural offerings got a facelift in 1996 when Copenhagen was made European Capital of Culture. ‘It's like when you're about to host a dinner party – you get dressed up, get fresh flowers in, do some cleaning, and get your best self ready to present to the world. The same thing happened to Copenhagen.' This was then incorporated into the infrastructure to keep the city in good nick. So how's Denmark's arts scene faring today?

‘Pretty well, actually,' says Adrian. ‘The arts are well supported here and the boom in Danish TV and architecture (and food) can be seen as the result of three decades of financial support.'

Danish theatres are heavily subsidised, Adrian tells me, ‘and if you buy a ticket, you can probably estimate that the actual cost is twice, or even three times, what you paid.' As a result, actors usually perform to a full house. Denmark has also been adept at fostering new writing talent. Christian Lollike attracted worldwide attention for
Manifesto in 2083
, his piece based on the Oslo killer Anders Behring Breivik, and Thor Bjørn Krebs, who wrote about Danish soldiers in the former Yugoslavia, is also celebrated throughout Europe. Many playwrights come up through Aarhus Theatre's writing school where they're paid to study (naturally) and have the opportunity to see their work performed at Denmark's second largest theatre. ‘Private sponsorship is also growing in Denmark,' adds Adrian, ‘but most of it goes to the ballet – probably because more companies want to be associated with this glossy, beautiful world than a controversial piece of theatre about a Norwegian mass murderer.'

Discounted ticket schemes make both classical and contemporary dance in Denmark accessible to all and Adrian says that it's more popular than ever with young audiences: ‘Whenever I go and see something now, I'm stumbling through rows of high school students to get to my seat.'

Opera is heavily subsidised, too, but tickets still start at around 500 DKK (around £60 or $90), ‘so if you want a babysitter and to park the car somewhere you're looking at 2,000 DKK (£240 or $360) for a night out,' says Adrian. The greatest success story to come out of the Danish Opera in recent years has been Kasper Holten, now director at London's Royal Opera House, who caused a stir with his retelling of Wagner's Ring Cycle. ‘He staged it with a feminist twist, making the entire production a question of male superiority versus female superiority,' says Adrian. ‘The “ring” became a DNA molecule and the protagonists were literally fighting over the future of humankind – it was a huge hit.'

The Danish film industry remains one of the most successful in Europe thanks to a proactive policy of grants and support from the government. Big names still working in Denmark today include Susanne Bier, who directed the Oscar-nominated
After the Wedding
, Thomas Vinterberg, director of 2014's
Far from the Madding Crowd
, and, of course, Lars von Trier. ‘Most Danes acknowledge his genius, even though we may find him incredibly irritating,' says Adrian. Von Trier was responsible for Dogme 95 – the filmmaking movement begun in 1995 with fellow Danes Thomas Vinterberg, Kristian Levring, and Søren Kragh-Jacobsen. Its goal was to ‘purify' filmmaking by following rules of production that put an end to predictable plots, superficial action and technological trickery. The rules were later abandoned but Dogme helped legitimise low-budget digital filmmaking and cemented von Trier's reputation as a controversial figure to be reckoned with.

Of course, the biggest success story of recent years has been Danish TV. I ask Adrian how this came about and he tells me it was no accident: ‘A decade ago, you couldn't find a Danish TV series that made it onto anyone's radar overseas. Then the Danish Broadcasting Corporation [like Denmark's BBC] took action with a policy of fostering home-grown talent, finding out what writers wanted to work on and helping them to develop their own projects – with huge success.' With an emphasis on social realism, tense storylines and a distinctive, stylised colour palette (i.e. ‘gloomy'), Danish dramas
The Killing
,
Borgen
and
The Bridge
gripped audiences worldwide and inspired remakes in the US and the UK.

‘They've been a real good news story for Danish culture and they reflect a lot about us and what's important in Denmark,' says Adrian. ‘For instance, series three of
The Killing
showed a Dane compromising his own family for greed.' As the plot played out, writers made it very clear that this was A Bad Thing and the wealthy businessman suffered as a consequence. In another storyline, the Danish political system was portrayed as protecting a guilty man. ‘This was controversial,' says Adrian, ‘but it showed that the public service broadcaster felt free to criticise those in power.' Each of the three hit series had strong female protagonists who were ambitious, sexually active, complex and flawed – reversing traditional portrayals of women on screen. ‘In both
Borgen
and
The Killing
, we saw women trying to balance home and family, conscience and ambition – something that's familiar all over the world,' says Adrian.

Yet despite the homegrown hits, Denmark has a dirty little TV secret. No, not the naked lady show Helena C told me all about, but the cosy British Sunday teatime classic,
Midsomer Murders
. The Viking, Friendly Neighbour and Helena C all admit to being fans of the craggy-faced DCI Barnaby, who solves a minimum of three murders an hour, and the British import is one of the biggest shows in Denmark.

‘Somehow,
Midsomer Murders
is our best-rated TV import,' admits Adrian, reluctantly. ‘It's been getting a 30–40 per cent audience share for the past thirteen years – as long as it's been around.' The show is so popular in Denmark that to celebrate the anniversary of the ITV crime drama, bosses teamed up with Danish producers and stars from
The Killing
and
Borgen
for a special episode. ‘I think it's because people find it soothing or something,' says Adrian. I tell him that The Viking compared the experience of watching
Midsomer Murders
with eating soup: ‘It's not the most exciting thing out there but it does make you feel all warm and
hygge
.'

But aside from DCI Barnaby and his assorted sidekicks, Adrian is keen to reiterate that Danish culture is in good shape. Government subsidies mean that creativity can flourish and cut-price ticket schemes mean that more Danes than ever can afford to attend art galleries, dance or opera performances, the theatre and the cinema. The Danish Broadcasting Corporation's strategy of developing new writers has cemented Denmark's reputation as a cultural force to be recognised and helped popularise the Nordic noir genre internationally.

‘And all this makes people happier?' I ask.

‘I'm sure of it,' is his response. He's backed up by a study from London School of Economics that explored the top five activities that made people content. After sex and exercise, these were revealed to be attending the theatre, a dance performance or a concert, performing and going to an exhibition or museum. It seems that culture really can make Danes (or at least Copenhageners, lucky enough to live close to civilisation) more content. Interestingly, men who enjoy art, ballet and other cultural pursuits feel even happier and healthier, according to a 2011 study published in the
Journal of Epidemiology
. So is Adrian happy?