Between Timmy, Matador and bicycle helmets

We’ve been here for a good three months now.

And we still think it’s pretty brilliant.

Which doesn’t mean, however, that we’ve suddenly delved deep into the Danish soul. On the contrary: so far, we probably only understand the surface. The friendly, efficient, astonishingly relaxed surface.

The real cultural codes?
The subtle nuances?
The discussions where all Danes immediately understand what it’s actually about, whilst we’re still thinking: “Oh, an interesting infrastructure issue”?

We probably only catch snippets of that.

You always notice it when you’re chatting to parents at school or sitting with friends and suddenly realise that behind seemingly simple topics, entire cultural operating systems are at work.

The Eurovision Song Contest and a spontaneous act of kindness

Take this year’s Eurovision Song Contest, for example.

It was the Danish band who publicly took the somewhat isolated British singer under their wing – a singer who received about as much support during the voting as a broken printer at a local council office. His band, meanwhile, seemed to have got caught up in a chat whilst smoking outside.

The Danes practically took him under their wing, emotionally speaking.

Not over the top.
Not melodramatic.
Simply human.

And to be honest, that fitted in very well with what we often experience here:

That quiet “Come on, have a seat”.

Not as some grand moral gesture.
More as a basic social norm. We look out for one another.

Timmy the Whale and the German Outrage

Then there was the story of Timmy.

Or to be more precise: Timmy, who was later revealed to be biologically female, but the name had already been chosen and nobody wanted to launch a rebranding campaign in the midst of the media drama.

It was a huge story. In Germany, at least.

A weakened whale, rescue operations, live streams, hope, setbacks – it had it all. Germany was collectively emotionally invested in a way usually seen only during football tournaments and poorly managed rail projects.

Then the animal died.

And a Dane took a selfie and climbed onto the dead whale.

Germany:
Outrage. Reverence! Respect! Dignity!

Denmark, on the other hand, was more like this:

“The animal is dead?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”

Not cruel.
Not cynical.

Rather pragmatic.

Our real concern is more about safety – specifically, when a dead whale might explode. But that’s probably just as rare as an electric car catching fire, which is why Germany can’t sleep at night. In Copenhagen, it feels as though only electric cars are on the road. And they aren’t catching fire.

It’s striking, in fact: the way animals are treated here is often surprisingly matter-of-fact.

Even zoos seem less emotionally charged. Nature appears more as something real than as a moral projection screen.

That doesn’t mean animals aren’t important.
But neither are they sacred.

Lynetteholmen, or: Let’s just give it a go

Then there’s Lynetteholmen.

A planned new island off the coast of Copenhagen.

It’s intended to create housing whilst also providing flood protection.

Of course, there is criticism. Environmental concerns. Interference with the ecosystem. Debates about the purpose and consequences.

But something else is striking:

The underlying trust.

Not everyone approves of the project.
But many seem to assume that those in charge are, at least in principle, trying to make sensible decisions.

From a German perspective, this seems almost exotic.

Because here, even the first draft would probably lead to the formation of citizens’ initiatives, three talk shows, four editorials and at least one medium-sized cultural war.

Here, it’s more like:

“Hmm. Let’s see.”

The same thing apparently happened with the massive reduction in parking spaces in the city centre a few years ago. Here in Berlin, a sort of cultural war is currently breaking out, precisely because of a shortage of parking spaces.

Here: Not everyone is thrilled.
But it’s not a social civil war either.

Perhaps that is precisely the difference:

Not fewer conflicts.
But less outright rejection.

The big helmet question

And then, of course: bicycle helmets.

A topic that in Germany reaches roughly the emotional temperature of the lingering debate over vaccinations.

In Germany, the helmet is often seen as the moral gateway to society’s acceptance of cycling.

Anyone who doesn’t wear one is quickly labelled: reckless, selfish, irresponsible and presumably a general problem for the community.

In Denmark, however, the topic seems to be framed in a completely different way.

We were led to this by the wonderfully Substack blog Danesplained by Richard, an Englishman who has been living in Denmark for some time and who clearly observes with great precision and dry humor what makes this country tick.

For in one of his posts, it becomes clear:

Here, the helmet is less a moral statement than a cultural accessory.

Or rather, a non-accessory.

Suddenly, it’s all about hairstyles.
About practicality for everyday life.
About the question of whether it’s better to make the infrastructure safe rather than to armour the individual head to the max.

Incidentally, Richard still comes to the conclusion that helmets make sense.

But with a completely different undertone.

Not: “Anyone who doesn’t wear a helmet is acting irresponsibly.”

But rather: “It’s just an extra bit of self-protection.”

A small difference in wording.
A huge difference in society’s view of people.

The real insight

Perhaps that is the most interesting thing about these three months:

That many issues here are not entirely different.

People also discuss the environment, transport, construction projects, behaviour, risks and consideration.

But often with a different underlying assumption.

Less of a moral showdown.
More of a pragmatic balancing act.

Less: “Which side are you on?”

More: “How can we make this work in a reasonably sensible way?”

Of course, we’re bound to be romanticising things a bit in the process.

We still tend to view many things from the outside.

But perhaps cultural understanding begins precisely there:

When you realise that other societies face the same problems – but respond to them in completely different ways.