Copenhagen is one of the world's happiest cities—I visited to find out why

"What the devil is that?” comes the cry from the stern, before our bright-green kayak skims over a wave and we lurch, bow-first, into an island of swirling rubbish. Floating amid the cans of Carlsberg, rosé bottles, takeaway coffee cups and glistening plastic bags is a pair of swimming trunks, size XL, suspended on the surface like a phantom. The threat they carry is that their owner, probably au naturel, might be somewhere nearby.

Flotsam and jetsam and vessels of all kinds find a home in Copenhagen’s Inner Harbour. Fully rigged yachts, sightseeing cruisers and museum ships line Nyhavn canal. Bobbing cafes, bars and barge hotels butt gently against the wharves. Among the melee, here we are, fishing for rubbish. We manoeuvre our litter pickers in front of wooden quaysides full of blinking, nude bathers, preventing each piece from sailing out of the harbour’s yawning mouth towards the Baltic Sea — where it could potentially float forever.

We’ve only been on the water for an hour, but already Tobias Weber-Andersen and I have fished out 6kg of rubbish, having moved from the canals surrounding Paper Island, past Broens Street Food market and out into the glittering water of the harbour proper.

It’s a grand spectacle: handsome canal houses cast rainbowed reflections, while the skyline is punctuated with regal landmarks from the royal palace to the opera house. I’m struck by a sense of prosperousness and plenty — of lives well lived.

Copenhagen is regularly named among the world’s happiest places to live by the UN’s World Happiness Report and, with GreenKayak founder Tobias as my guide, I’m here to find out why. Environmental consciousness is one of the reasons, he tells me, and that led to his bold experiment in tourism — free kayak rental in return for litter picking and sharing the experience afterwards on social media.

On paper, the clean up seemed an ambitious idea: most tourists arrive in the Danish capital hoping to see The Little Mermaid, Christiansborg Palace and the free-thinking community of Christianshavn on a canal boat tour, not with dreams of hooking rusted cans or rogue bathing suits. But, eight years after launching, the nonprofit has gathered momentum, with nearly 150 tonnes of rubbish removed from the water by almost 100,000 volunteers. Tobias’s original idea has spread across Europe. The litter will never vanish totally, but, according to the EU, Copenhagen’s waters are cleaner and safer to swim in than almost any other inner city in Europe.

“We’re fortunate we have our welfare system, free healthcare and education, so we have the headspace to think about how to solve some of our other problems — like reducing plastic pollution,” says Tobias, sweeping his paddle through water as clear as glass. “The city invests in the good life.”

Wherever one looks, there are barrel-chested lifeguards watching over the high divers in the many harbour baths. Commuters navigate canals on paddleboards — an act that’s practically unthinkable on the waterways of London. Rush hour, meanwhile, is an unbroken flow of tens of thousands of bicycles on super cycleways. One of these is the Cykelslangen, or Bicycle Snake — an exhilarating 220-metre stretch of elevated tarmac that curves in orange wiggles across the waters of Gasværkshavnen. This city is simply a joy to get around.

The man-made mountain

The following day, I forge along bike lanes and over footbridges to see another ingenious example of Copenhagen’s pursuit of the good life. It’s a journey east to the coast via the neighbourhood of Christianshavn to up-and-coming Amager, past the mute swans and shallow waters of the former city moat Stadsgraven, to where the buildings and blossoming trees thin out. Sunlight spills on a tower of smokestacks that gradually moves into view as I pedal; against the blue sky, the sight brings more questions than answers. Looming above me is what turns out to be an industrial energy plant. I take the lift to the rooftop, 85 metres up, to grasp its enormity. Silos gleam and offshore turbines spin. In the distance, white-lipped waves crash against the Øresund Bridge linking Denmark to Sweden.

Copenhill offers a small Eden among the shipyards and heavy industry. Designed by contemporary architectural reformer Bjarke Ingels, whose fingerprints can be seen on other city landmarks — including Islands Brygge Harbour Bath, a series of eye-candy diving boards, pools and pontoons — the waste-to-energy plant was built to replace an ageing, 50-year-old incinerator. But in keeping with the city’s predisposition for integrated urbanism, there’s a thrilling twist: the pitched roof is home to a futuristic ski slope with two drag lifts, as well as a panoramic hiking route and the world’s tallest climbing wall. To glide freely and smoothly on a man-made mountain, above an incinerator and high-pressure steam system, is something that’s hard to believe. Especially when I learn that the canal waste I’ve salvaged will soon be turned into energy here, to help charge e-bikes and phones. Once more, I’m conscious of a city meeting its citizens’ needs sustainably.

That evening, I ride to the nearby waterside neighbourhood of Holmen to have dinner at La Banchina, where a former ferry waiting room has rearranged itself into a charming hybrid of a lido cafe and swim-up bar. The Danes are particularly well-attuned to cold water and alcohol, expressing that combination through wild acts of Viking-like showmanship. In this tiny swimming spot, which smells of barbecued meat and grilled sardines, this means cannonballing repeatedly into the sea. By 7pm, the harbour has become a pool party, the wine fridge is nearly empty and the rippling water sings with light. The grunts of laughter — pure, fuzzy happiness — create a chorus that can be heard all along the harbour, as the sun dips and the sky flares with streaks of yellow, then orange, then pink.

Free-wheelers

The waterfront is still humming the following morning, with swimmers already marking their territory with canalside towels, and an ebb and flow of cyclists on the quays. I join the free-wheelers speeding south accompanied by Cycling Copenhagen founder Christian Hougaard. We cut along the canals, tyres bumping on cobbles, admiring the many strata of Danish history.

The route takes us through the redeveloped docklands neighbourhood of Islands Brygge, where, in the late 19th century, ships left for Iceland when the country was still under Danish sovereignty. We pedal past reused shipyards and 1960s-era seed silos turned into fashionable apartments. Continuing south to Sydhavnen, we whirl through the power station’s industrial compound, rushing between two enormous turbine halls and beneath red-washed pipework that looks like a leftover from a sci-fi movie set. The land and buildings swiftly change, but it feels as if the whole city is connected in a deeper way when you experience it on two wheels.

“Cycling is a necessity here, and it maintains our levels of happiness,” says Christian, as we stop at Anløbet, a wine bar overlooking the waterfront district of Bryggen Syd. A former water supplier, it was nicknamed the ‘Drowning House’ by locals, and the whitewashed building feels almost church-like with its pitched roof and terracotta tiles. “Twenty minutes of cycling is meditation,” he adds, as we sip our coffees. “It clears your head and puts you in control, before or after work, on the school run, whenever. It helps you reset before getting back into the stresses of life.”

Perhaps this is the great epiphany of Copenhagen, I think. The city’s appeal is ever-evolving, from timeless harbours and fairytale mermaids to litter picking as sport and the playful feel of freewheeling beside the water — or skiing down an energy plant. “Danish society is designed to improve every aspect of your life and, even if you mess up, there’s a feeling of security, that everything is going to be OK,” says Christian, as we bike our way back through the same streets. “That contributes to everyone’s happiness.”

Around us, fathers and sons fish in the clean harbour waters. We overtake sailboats puttering softly. Clothes are shed along the wooden boardwalks as swimmers of all ages dive and cannonball. Back in the inner city is a glut of harbour bars with their golden beers and groups of friends soaking up the summer sun. As I ride back into the city, hazy and warm, I can’t help but smile.