When in Denmark, do as the Danes

COPENHAGEN, Denmark — I’m of Danish descent, eating a Danish surrounded by Danes and thinking about a souvenir for my nephew Dane.

The first thing I noticed in Denmark is these Danes are big, strapping people, men and women both. No wonder they and the other Vikings in Scandinavia once conquered much of the known world. The minute their horned-helmeted hulking selves walked ashore in a foreign country, one would guess the natives quickly gave up.

“Yes, Leif, you’re welcome to have my food, my wife, my country,” people encountering invading Danes likely said. “Just don’t put me in a bear hug.”

Speaking of bears, in a bear-wrestling match, the average Dane would be even money at least with the bear. I’m an average-size guy in the U.S., at a little over 5 feet 10 — or at least I was before I started shrinking. That puts me right in the middle of American men height-wise. In Denmark, though, I’m a little guy, or at least a smallish guy.

I previously had written that you don’t see many overweight folks in Europe. I take that back after traveling to Denmark and briefly to Sweden. There are some folks in this neck of the fjord who are heavy, although few are obese, largely because Denmark is a place teeming with bicycle riders. In Copenhagen, bicyclists have the right-of-way, over cars and even pedestrians.

I like that. Actually, I like almost everything here. I felt comfortable immediately here. There is order here. There is peace here. There is uncommon beauty here, with water and stunning, other-worldly views at every glance. There is incredible cleanliness here. Plus almost everyone speaks English here.

My paternal family name, before being Anglicized into Kofford on Ellis Island when my family members immigrated more than 100 years ago, was Kofoed, a fairly common name in Denmark that means, quite romantically, “cow foot” in Danish.

My mom told me many times that I somehow got none of her DNA, which means I take after the Danish side of my family. Apparently my mother was right about the genetics thing because almost everywhere I went here people first addressed me in Danish (and in Swedish when I was in Sweden.) Sometimes they would go on and on before I had a chance to respond, in English, that I had no idea what they were saying.

People would apologize and say with the way I looked they just assumed I was a Dane (or a Swede for the day I was in Sweden.) I would explain about my Pop’s side of the family being from Denmark and the changing of the name on Ellis Island and my mom’s frequent remarks about my DNA and how I take after my dad’s side of the family. By that time they would be bored and moving on to the next customer or scared and moving to another seat on the bus.

Actually, people don’t seem to judge much in Denmark. They want visitors to be comfortable. They believe in a lifestyle called “hygge,” which doesn’t really have a one-word definition in English but could be loosely defined best as “coziness.” British writer Helen Russell defined hygge as “taking pleasure in the presence of gentle, soothing things” like good food, good drink and welcoming smiles.

All of that “hygge” has made me want to eat yet another Danish and smile at the person next to me the whole time I’ve been here. I’m a happy Dane here.

Not happy enough to be bear-hugged by Lars across the room, because I want to continue living, but still pretty darn happy.