Wrong Turn: Denmark

Meet the Happiest People on Earth.

Every year, the people of Denmark fix the game of life and top the global contentment scoreboards. Why, on earth, is the average Lars so much happier than Larry?

There is definitely a utopian glow about the capital, Copenhagen. The air is filled with the musical flutter of relaxed consonants. Pelotons of milfs and dilfs whistle down the city’s bike lanes. Each carting along a bundle of even-keeled toddlers. 

All the dudes are craggily handsome 20th-gen Vikings. The average Danish frame could still heave-ho through an oar-powered raid. Thankfully, there isn’t a coastal barn’s worth of pillage left in these guys. Everyone is clinically chill. Unpacking each sentence with the soothing tones of a well-slept therapist.

The whole country has a sickenly healthy approach to health. As I pummelled in a third breakfast pastry, right on cue, some Christ-like triathlete would hover on by. Extending any initial digestive regret into a more thorough analysis of my life choices. 

Not one Danish man struck me as much of a Danish man. Hopefully, the flakey, butterier citizens are not rounded up by the tourist board. 

The streets are squeaky clean, without feeling sterile. Nothing like a Swiss train station or a serial killer’s apartment* - where every spotless surface carries an implicit threat. To my shock, in one polished facade I caught sight of the only fat person in the entire country.

The Nordic nation battles it out with their neighbours, Iceland, for the ‘The Most Peaceful Place On Earth’ trophy - narrowly losing last year. I know, I know, why not simply invade and take it? But it’s just not their way. 

Each of their law-ridden streets is edged with a domino run of unlocked bikes. Almost inviting halfway crooks to pinch their own getaway vehicle.

Coming from Cowley, Oxford, once the bicycle theft capital of Great Britain, I was halfway-tempted myself. Today, the OX4 is sitting as low as sixth in the national rankings, mostly because my friends have grown up a bit.

I digress - transferring ownership of bicycles was completely normalised for me. Finding a hacksawed D-lock where mine had just been, left me with no feelings of ill-will. What does not belong to you, cannot be stolen. Bikes belong to the people. 

Yeah, I’ve stolen bikes - and what of it? Lock up your daughters. And their bicycles. Between 2008 and 2009, my campaign of pedalled thievery struck sheer concern into the two-wheeled communities of the Thames Valley area.

A few months apart, I once lifted the exact same bike, off the exact same bloke, off the exact same pole. I’m assuming the victim was a man, based on the saddle height - and, probably a young one, based on the recurring dumbness. Plus, that victim profile makes me feel less guilty. No women. No children. No elderly.

Although, feeling worse about stealing two bicycles from a giant young woman is a little sexist. Such are the moral quandaries of the 21st-century gentleman thief. Maybe, ageist and sizeist too. Don’t worry, I will rob an authentic granny bike from a little, old lady and show the world the man of honour I have become.

Anyway, there is clearly something rotten in the state of Cowley. But, if nobody in the Danish capital is taking advantage of this free bike promo, we must ask the question, what the fuck is right with this country? 

Whereas Oxford boasts the biggest university and council estate in Europe, Denmark is one of the least unequal places on the planet. So much so, I bet their smug statisticians rank the society in terms of most equal. Nobody has the proper motivation for petty crime. 

Asking around, I learned the Danish government takes the controversial approach of providing for its citizens. University-goers make a tidy profit; every slender resident receives free health care they’ll probably never need; and new mums and dads get enough leave to explain all that offspring they’re ferrying around. 6 months a pop. Say no more. 

The creation of paradise on earth doesn’t come cheap. Every breath of fresh Nordic air is taxed, heavily. Tourists will spend a day’s wages on two halves of the same ornate tuna sarnie.

Apparently, you can put a price on happiness - as well as universal equality and peace on earth  - and it comes in at 37% - 50% of your gross net income. Living the results, everyone files tax returns with a smile.

Copenhageners make the grizzled commuters of London and New York seem from a different time period. The capital gives off a warmth not often found in your average rat-maze metropolis. I’ll certainly return one day.

Coming back with my mate’s van, and we’re gonna take these fuckers for all they’re worth. Then we’ll see who's smiling. 

*Sorry, that Swiss train station comparison was not fair. On serial killers - or their apartments.

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