Copenhagen week 2
Highlights
By the second week, I felt more settled. My mornings had a rhythm—writing at the Royal Danish Library, which is such a special spot that even checking email feels elevated there.
Food-wise, I didn’t miss Korean or Asian dishes much… until I walked past GAO Dumpling Bar. The dumplings were solid. My new friend Walter swears by “Restaurant Seoul,” a chain with three spots in the city, so popular it’s hard to book a table.
Copenhagen keeps impressing me with its people-first design. Bikes rule the streets, architecture and land use are geared toward community, and every waterfront is public—no private beaches, no gated docks, no matter how wealthy you are.
Work-life balance is also something else. Most people head home between 3 and 5 p.m. If you’re still at your desk after 6, the assumption is not that you’re ambitious or hardworking, but that you’re either incompetent or your boss is working you too hard.
French fries come with mayo by default. Ketchup fans—be ready to ask.
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I joined a guided bike tour on Saturday, and our guide had a gift for mixing local history with social commentary.
He began with the harbor. Hard to imagine now, with people swimming, sunbathing, and grabbing food by the water, but just a few decades ago Copenhagen’s harbor was filthy, neglected, and avoided at all costs. Today, it’s a crown jewel of the city—and most importantly, it belongs to everyone. “In Denmark,” the guide said, “all waterfronts are public—twenty meters from the water, no exceptions. Even if a billionaire lives there, they can’t block your access.” It felt so Danish: egalitarian rights embedded in daily life.
From there, he pedaled us into Nørrebro, where he dove into a controversial chapter. “About a decade ago, parts of this neighborhood were on the government’s ‘ghetto list,’” he explained. “Too much unemployment, too many from one ethnic group, too much crime. The government made what they called the ‘Ghetto Package’—moving people, demolishing some housing, forcing daycare and language programs. It was their way of forcing integration.” He shrugged. “To some, it was harsh, even discriminatory. In fact, residents took the government to court, and now the European Court of Justice may rule against the policy. But Denmark chose intervention. In Sweden, the government often lets such areas be, even if they struggle. Here, the state steps in—sometimes with a heavy hand.”
From top left (1), moving right then down to the left:
Restaurant Seoul in Norhavn
Street food market, Reffen
Famous wooden monkey designed by Kay Bojesen
Large EV charger battery
Fries with Mayo
Old bathrooms in the Royal Danish Library
“Interview” by Dana Schutz at the Louisiana museum of modern art
Water view from the cafe at the Louisiana museum of modern art
Not a real Jackson Pollock, painting by Robert Longo at the Louisiana museum of modern art
People enjoying the sun along the waterfront
At the old Meatpacking District—now a hip neighborhood of bars and restaurants—he lowered his voice: “Behind you is one of Denmark’s drug consumption rooms. People can safely inject there under medical supervision. Since 2012, this has been our policy. Before then, 10,000 needles littered the streets every week. Now it’s fewer than 1,000. It’s safer, cleaner, and we can connect people with help.” A woman in our group from Lucerne, Switzerland chimed in: “We do the same. It works.” It was surreal—policy discussions in the middle of a bike tour, but it made the city’s character come alive.
The rest of the ride was a master class in Copenhagen bike culture. We passed a stretch with 40,000 bikes daily, complete with separate lanes for turning right or going straight. Kids biked alongside parents as naturally as if they were walking. The guide pointed out: “Cycling here is not sport—it’s commuting. It lowers health costs, reduces pollution, and keeps things equal.” I believed him, especially as we stopped at bike lights with crowds bigger than Boston traffic jams.
At one point, he compared Italy and Denmark. “In Italy, if you follow all the rules, people think you’re a fool. Here, it’s the opposite—everyone respects the rules, because welfare works only if everyone participates.” That line stuck with me.
As if to prove his point about the harbor being truly public, a man waved to us while, well, peeing into the water. Everyone laughed and biked on. Still, the scene said it all: these spaces belong to the people, to use as they please. And when the sun shines above 25°C (77°F), Copenhagen collectively drops what it’s doing to worship the light. Offices empty. Sidewalks overflow. Shirts come off.
During this week, I caught up with a Sloan alum (Class of 2022) who was born in China and grew up in Denmark. She contrasted it with her finance job in London: “Here, I feel respected. No hierarchy pressing down. This is not the city to get rich quick, but it’s the city to live well.” We also talked about why Asian tourists are lining up to take the same photo at the same spot like checking the box. That day was 78°F, and she laughed as Danes filled every outdoor seat by 11 a.m.—reminding me how in Korea, people rush to shade at even the hint of sun.
I also made a pilgrimage to the Louisiana Museum of Modern Art, one of the most beautifully integrated spaces I’ve ever seen—art, architecture, and nature flowing into each other. Fun fact from my reading: the name comes from the villa’s founder, who happened to marry three women named Louise. Hence: Louisiana. I couldn’t help but wish Jennie was there to see it with me.
Finally, I met Walter, a Kenyan MBA grad now living in Copenhagen. He took me to Norhavn and Reffen, a street food market where I found Korean fried chicken. Unfortunately, the sauce was too salty and the chicken underwhelming—note to self, trust Korean food only when cooked by Koreans.
Over dinner, Walter shared: “In Denmark, If you’re still working past six, your boss will worry you’re incompetent or stressed. People leave at 3–5 p.m. That’s normal.” Danish work culture isn’t about heroics—it’s about balance, efficiency, and making sure no one burns out.