By Daniel Wirtheim, Features Editor

Published in print Dec 3, 2014.

A typical Danish winter will have about four hours of daily sunlight and an average temperature of about 36 degrees. The streets will be icy, snowfall is very likely and everything is incredibly expensive. Yet, everyone will be sure to remind you that it’s the happiest place on Earth.

It was Thanksgiving of 2013, the start of the winter season, when I traveled to Copenhagen to visit my girlfriend, Iman, who was then studying at Copenhagen University. At first, I was overcome with delight in the candle-lit barrooms and bodegas. I enjoyed strolling through the campus, which was actually a converted insane-asylum, and I reveled in the idea of what the Danish call hygge (pronounced hooga).

Hygge roughly translates to coziness, but encompasses much more than reading a book with a cat on your lap. It’s more like eating a pot roast and drinking mulled wine by fireside with your best friends. Imagine hanging out in Bilbo Baggin’s home from “The Hobbit.” This is what I aimed for at all times. To be surrounded by friends and happiness. It worked for a few days, but after the third day something went wrong.

I was tired all the time. I grew irritated with everyone around me, including Iman. “The happiest country in the world is quite an advertising campaign” I thought as I wore my heavy winter coat in her living room. I began to loathe the masses of people that were shopping and being happy everywhere, seeming to care about nothing in the world except their little socialist utopia. On the fifth night, I had a real breakdown.

I had read on Wikipedia about the Nazi occupation of Denmark during WWII. It seemed that they had more or less given up the city to the Nazis. I was looking at pictures of Nazis standing guard on the very street I was staying on. The darkness was all around me. I began telling Iman how scared I was to be in “Nazi-Ville” and surrounded by people who looked like they would have been Hitler’s dream children; all blue-eyed and blond. It was a sort of mental breakdown and I didn’t even consider that the weather may have been involved.

The next day, Iman and I met a friend of hers for a few drinks. I was barely holding it together that day. Out of respect for Iman I decided to be nice to everyone and refrain from any sarcastic remarks I might be inclined to make.

The bars are nice in Denmark and this one let you try everything before ordering, which I did. This made things better. I was beginning to feel okay when we said goodbye and Iman and I headed for her apartment. I loved biking in the cold along with the rest of the bicycle traffic. I knew what a jerk I was being and wanted to overcome it that night.

There are three lakes that form the western border of Copenhagen’s city center. Iman and I stopped along one of these to talk. We parked our bikes and found a bench on the waterfront.

Across the water we could see the city center, which was comprised of

lengthy buildings with Classical, timeless architecture. The bridge covering the water was lit up, illuminating the bicyclists riding across. There were swans in the lake. As we talked, Iman seemed to regain her patience with me. She told me how she had also suffered from weather-induced depression.

“You know, it’s been hard here; everyday is like a test,” she said. “Every morning you have to ask yourself, ‘am I going to have a good day or am I going to let it pull me under?”

I began to think of the great architects who had designed those timeless buildings. I thought of the classical musicians, who I couldn’t name but was sure lived at some point in that city. I watched as the swans washed their wings in the frigid water. At that moment I realized I had a choice to make.

If I were to survive another week in this place I would have to be mentally stronger than I was before. I would have to overcome my own petty concerns and learn to control my environment. I had it all figured out. I was going to do it with style and grace, like the swans.

We left the bench and headed for home, her words resounding in my head; “Am I going to have a good day or am I going to let it pull me under?”

The next day I woke up feeling irritated. Iman had gone to work before I was awake, but left a map so that I could find a good coffee shop. The problem was that I needed coffee before leaving to get coffee and there was none in the house. I got dressed and poked my head out of the front gate to look at the icy road that lay before me.

The Danes went cycling by, happy to be out in the frigid winter air. I took one step on the ice, began to slide and regained my balance.

“I can do this,” I thought. I was still cautiously optimistic about my new philosophy, but what did I have to lose? I wasn’t going to let the day beat me, especially one that only lasted for approximately four hours. I stretched my face into a smile and started pedaling.

I realized that the people of Copenhagen were much nicer than I had previously thought. In a situation where I would have ordered a coffee, made some rude remarks in my head and left, I began to talk to the barista.

This was a positive move for me, especially when I realized I had counted my money incorrectly and couldn’t pay her.

“It’s okay,” she said. “You can just pay me next time.”

I was taken off-guard. I didn’t expect the good karma to come so quickly. I took my coffee and sat in a distant corner of the shop, thinking about what I had said about “Nazi-Ville.”

I looked at the couple telling jokes over soup by the window, the child wearing large earmuffs and the plump barista humming to a song on the radio. I believed they would all go on being jolly, even with my negative outlook.

It didn’t take a lot of skill or thought to be a jerk. That was something that comes naturally to a person who only wants to critique everything outside of themselves. What was difficult was looking at these people and recognizing their strength, their ability to overcome the winter while bringing a sense of hygge. That was the test. 

During the rest of my stay I made regular appearances at the Christmas market, went to an electro-dance club without complaining and perfected my winter-proof frame of mind.

On my last night, I was nearly out of money. Iman and I were walking past the metro station when I heard the most beautiful jazz music I had ever heard. It was gritty and raw, completely improvised. A rag-tag group of guys played horns, clarinet and a homemade xylophone. People passed them while leaving the metro station, occasionally placing change in their jar. I stood watching them with a maniacal grin on my face.

After three songs they began to notice me staring at them. I placed a sizeable tip in their jar and gave them a thumbs up sign.

I hoped the hygge feeling would at least carry me through the airport.