Playboy on the Town in Copenhagen

Of all the pleasure cities of the world vying for the attention of the knowledgeable traveler, none has gained fame more swiftly as a metropolitan Lorelei luring the jet set than Copenhagen, a lusty 12th Century merchant port, which in less than 20 years has attained a unique reputation among Europe-bound voyagers for its high spirits, its gracious way of life, its remarkably tolerant attitudes, its omnipresent welcoming smile--and, not least by any means, its extraordinary breed of statuesque Nordic women.

Copenhagen is a captivating admixture of baroque castles and ultramodern steel-and-glass office buildings, of ancient fishing vessels and streamlined hydrofoils, of VW engine clatter and the clacking of hoofs on cobblestone pavements, of closely knit family life and there's-no-tomorrow night life that lasts until tomorrow. It's a city where the Royal Ballet coexists with a gaudily fluorescent night-club strip and the horns of the Tivoli guard blend with the clanking of beer steins and the blaring of jukeboxes.

Copenhagen's ebullience has earned for the city the sobriquet "Paris of the North," and for its citizens the tag (by British writer Evelyn Waugh) of the "most exhilarating people in Europe." American visitors return home aglow with descriptions of its multitudinous lures and its insouciant propensity for pleasure. Yet, for all its allure, it remains a peculiarly unspoiled metropolis; the quest for the dollar is nonexistent, surly service is absent, indifference to visitors is unknown. Copenhagen genuinely enjoys foreigners; it refuses to take itself seriously and has an unusual knack for laughing at itself. Small wonder that it is a happy hunting ground for males in pursuit of pleasure.

Situated on the coast of Sjaelland, just a 35-minute hydrofoil ride across The Sound from Sweden, the ancient capital was founded by warrior-bishop Absalon and quickly became a Nordic commercial and fishing center. Its greatest benefactor was King Christian IV (1588--1648), the architect of its crenelated skyline and its reputation as a city of castles. Today Copenhagen, with a population of 1,300,000, is a thriving center of world-girdling exports of industrial goods, contemporary arts and crafts--furniture, silver and stainless-steel tableware, china, toys, and an abundance of food, including the Danes' justly famous hams, cheeses and herring.

The capital is an easygoing, exuberant city whose denizens refuse to get overly exercised about much of anything--save perhaps for a spirited defense of their sensibly enlightened approach to sex or of the Danes' social-welfare setup which is one of the most advanced in western Europe; from nursery schools to old-people's homes, it's all state-run. Life is pleasantly hyggelig (that peculiar Danish concept that can be translated only as a kind of world-is-your-oyster well-being). It also has its dominant steady rhythm pulsating (text continued on page 88) with round-the-clock activity--"Have fun in Copenhagen and sleep in the next country," the tourist association advises, and they speak the truth.

The red tape preparatory to debarking in Denmark is minute. No visa is required, merely a valid passport. Pack the togs you'd take along to any country of moderate climate (average Danish summer temperature: 70 to 90 degrees).

Scandinavian Airlines System jets you over directly from Los Angeles, Chicago or New York (in seven-and-a-half hours from the latter jump-off point) and is the only direct-line service to Copenhagen. It offers you en route an agreeable foretaste of things to come: warm smiles from Danish-modern stewardesses (who are good bets to be blondes, but are just as tempting-looking as redheads or brunettes), ample samplings of the epicurean pleasures ahead, and superb service.

You'll hardly have time to savor your smørrebrød, quaff a Larsen cognac and say Hans Christian Andersen before you're winging over the verdant fields of Denmark, over green-coppered roofs and setting down at the end of the airport terminal finger. It would be a long hike into the terminal building, but the airline has thoughtfully provided scooters for transportation.

The customs people are the epitome of pleasantness, and soon you're heading for the city aboard your cab--a short, uneventful ride save for the helter-skelter blend of autos, scooters, motor bikes and bicycles that fuse into the crazy-quilt traffic pattern. The pace is breakneck and the traffic individualistic. The thronging cyclists weave wildly in and out, seemingly doing their utmost to test the motorist's mettle.

The inner core of Copenhagen--of which City Hall Square is the nucleus--is a labyrinthine patchwork of meandering, narrow streets. Fanning out from this core are wide, tree-lined boulevards cutting deep swaths through alternating neighborhoods of attractive modern homes with well-manicured gardens, and clusters of ancient dwellings.

Because of the fairly seasonal tourist flow to Copenhagen, there's generally a shortage of rooms during the peak period from (text continued overleaf) May to October, so the digs you've headed for should have been reserved well in advance. (If your sojourn to Copenhagen has been a spur-of-the-moment inspiration and you find no room at the inns, don't despair: call the National Travel Association and by some logistic sleight of hand, it will come up with lodgings for you.)

The most magnificent hostelry in town is the d'Angleterre, a 209-year-old institution which matches in quiet elegance such estimable hotels as the George V in Paris and Claridge's in London, but whose asking price, by U. S. standards, is surprisingly low.

A fine double room runs from $16 to $26 a day, a single for as little as $12, while the royal suite is a steal (if you're a prince) for $50. Another prestigious rendezvous is the Palace, which, in addition to first-class accommodations--single rooms from $5.50 to $12, and doubles with His and Her bathrooms--boasts the city's most lavish cabaret, a superb restaurant and an intime after-theater gathering place for dancing.

A short walk from the Palace (and a shorter ride) stands the Royal, the glittering new 22-story steel-and-glass creation of famed Scandinavian architect Arne Jacobsen. Though the exterior suggests austerity, the service is gracious and impeccable, the view of the city is panoramic and the rooms are comfortable nests of contemporary Danish design, down to the ubiquitous Jacobsen "egg chair." Among the many other features of Denmark's only "skyscraper" is a dry-air sauna where you can be pummeled and pampered for trifling change. Single rooms run from $5.50 to $12, doubles from $9.50 to $23.

Within a ten-minute run from the center of town is another trio of modern hotels rightly favored by discriminating travelers: the newest, Danhotel, which offers, needlessly, a TV in each comfortable room (singles: $7.50); the Fsterport (single rooms: $5.50), a discus throw from Hans Christian Andersen's prim Little Mermaid atop the rock by the Long Pier; and the Tre Falke, which stands inside a shopping-and-entertainment center, and, with its Old World elegance, attracts such notables as ex-king Ibn Saud (usually with a five-woman traveling harem), Duke Ellington, Dizzy Gillespie and Jayne Mansfield.

Tipping is hardly a problem. Hotels add a 10-percent service charge to keep your pad in shape and your shoes polished. Service beyond the call of duty should be richly rewarded with a one-or two-krone piece (14 and 28 cents, respectively). Most restaurants automatically include a 12.5-percent gratuity in the price of the fare, although the better epicurean temples will have the service charge listed separately. Your cabby will expect a 10-percent tip. Otherwise you need know no more about the krone system than that 1 kr. equals 100 øre, that you get about 7 kr. on the dollar and that 100 kr. is roughly $14. (The language barrier, incidentally, is practically nonexistent. Of all countries on the Continent, Denmark comes closest to using English as a second language.)

After you've paused in your hotel room long enough to refresh the outer and inner man with a shower and a chilled bottle of invigorating Danish beer, you'll be ready to set out on the town. There is no better place to start your ambulatory reconnaissance than in storied Tivoli Gardens, a kaleidoscopic 20-acre pleasure park which uniquely blends the sights and sounds of rattling roller coasters, alfresco concerts, commedia dell' arte Pantomime Theater, raucous dance halls and clanking beer steins--amid a Disneylandish mixture of Danish and Oriental architecture. Tivoli--open from May to September--is a colourful conglomeration of slot machines and excellent restaurants, of multihued flower gardens and whirling carrousels, of open-air ballet programs and rock-'n'-roll jam sessions. In short, it's the home of hygge.

You might choose to visit Tivoli on another day, and promenade instead along the ancient streets of the inner city, steeping yourself in the local color, while seeking to establish liaison with the distaff natives. For this dual purpose, Strøget, a narrow thoroughfare that snakes through the oldest section of town, is eminently well suited. Take a leisurely stroll past wineshops and sidewalk cafés, restaurants and dance halls, and browse in some of the smart shops--and observe many of the best-looking females on the Continent. Tastefully garbed, with a proclivity for suede jackets, tight, short skirts and loose-fitting sweaters and blouses, with their blonde locks, high cheekbones, fair complexions and well-turned figures, the girls stroll along the Strøget. Chances are that smiling at a Danish girl will earn you a smile in return, but it's unwise to assume that this promising response is, ipso facto, an invitation to the dance. It often is, but more likely she is smiling because friendliness is second nature to the Danes. However, nothing ventured--in Copenhagen, especially--nothing gained.

Continuing your stroll, you reach Kongens Nytorv, a huge octagonal square, faced by the friezed facade of the Danish Royal Theater, a couple of quaint cafés, and an array of neonemblazoned basement grogshops.

The best of these is Hviids Vinstue, commonly known as "Smoky Joe's," a 230-year-old cavernous cellar pub in which you'd do well to stop off for liquid refreshment. This subterranean grotto is peopled by writers, artists and assorted disciples who share a taste for strong drink and in-group camaraderie.

Uncompromising martini drinkers--and fanciers of most other mixed drinks--will be better advised to seek out such Stateside-type lounges as those at the Palace, Royal and d'Angleterre hotels.

Among the next likely stop-offs on your itinerary might be such atmospheric downstairs dispensaries as The Bear Cellar, The Little Apothecary, The Golden Lamb, The Umbrella and the Leather Breeches, all of which cater generously to a clientele that often includes a freewheeling contingent of unattached Danish womanhood, especially on Friday and Saturday nights.

Further foraging in the area will disclose such agreeably bohemian watering places as Galathea, where liquid assets are purveyed amid a clutter of Eskimo and East African objets d'art; Tokanten, a junk-filled den of collegiate revelry wherein you're likely to find a Spanish flamenguista strumming Soleares, or a French boulevardier crooning about lost love; and the Drop In, which features dim illumination and taped jazz.

Dinner, for the Danes, is a national institution, a feast worthy of ample time and appropriate decorum. Hundreds of restaurants abound in Copenhagen, from the humblest eatery to Lucullan temples.

Of native fare, perhaps the most toothsome to foreign visitors is the Danish smørrebrød--open-faced sandwiches, usually of a pumpernickel or rye-bread base, heaped to mountainous heights with quantities of Scandinavian fish, pâtés, cold cuts, meats and cheeses, singly or in appetizing combinations--and all washed down with chilled aquavit or frothy Danish beer. There is no place that the smørrebrød reaches greater heights of perfection than at the famous Oskar Davidsen restaurant, which offers no less than 712 different kinds of sandwiches.

On a comparable culinary level is Fiskehusets, an unsurpassed temple of indigenous seafood delicacies with the immodest, but nearly truthful claim: "If it swims--we've got it." Among its specialties are chilled crayfish, and a succulent stewed cod laved in hollandaise sauce and inundated with sherry.

Other than smørrebrød and seafood, there are relatively few native Danish delicacies, and many of the better restaurants lean heavily--and handily--toward French cuisine, which has no worthier exponent than Frascati. The carte is fairly small, but each dish is memorable and, by U. S. standards, remarkably inexpensive. The specialty of the house--breast of capon baked with pâté de foie gras and served with asparagus au gratin, petits pois and truffle sauce--costs $2.25.

No less lavish fare is served in the Palace Hotel's Viking restaurant across the square, where the menu is headed by boned minced quail with goose liver in (continued on page 156)Copenhagen(continued from page 90) cognac sauce. The oddly named 7 Sma Hjem (Small Homes) is a multiroomed, elegantly intime restaurant which occupies a series of interconnected townhouses, each furnished and accoutered in a different style; downstairs is a timbered bar popular with young couples in search of hot libation and warm association. The menu is comparable to that of the Seven Nations, a similarly conceived spa echoing the decor of as many countries, including a Greenland Room and an Alaska Bar. The fare--different in each room--includes such exotica as pickled salmon, corned duck and Greenland reindeer.

A few doors away is the Coq d'Or, famous for Canard à l'Orange, and plump Bombay chicken with a curry sauce that has pleased the palates of gourmets from India to Indiana.

At least one of your evenings--and a healthy appetite--should be reserved for a feast at the Botanique, a picturesque 88-year-old establishment which excels in such varied repasts as a meal-in-itself onion soup, steak Diana and a sautéed tenderloin flambéed in cognac. The decor is charmingly Provençal, the service impeccable and the rich Danish patisserie is created by the former pastry chef at Buckingham Palace.

For culinary outdoorsmen, the roof restaurant of the Codan Hotel, next door to Amalienborg Castle, is a splendid preserve of abundant wild-game dishes ranging from woodcock to reindeer steak. Only the prices are tame: from $2 to $5.

During the summer, in addition to having such marvelous outdoor restaurants as Divan I in Tivoli at his disposal, the visitor will be charmed by the beautifully canopied courtyard of the old Hafnia Hotel, where the diner is invited to select his seafood for the evening from a huge central basin aswim with schools of finny fellows.

Oriental comestibles may be sampled in imperial style at the tiny Nanking restaurant, specializing in Cantonese fare fit for a mandarin--all at coolie prices: a dollar a meal.

Royally inclined tastes will be extravagantly indulged at the restaurant of the Richmond Hotel, which caters banquets for the royal court when foreign dignitaries come to sup and sip with the king and queen. Fit for the princeliest of palates is the capon grilled with pimiento and chopped fowl liver, served in cognac and garnished with pâté de foie gras.

Another lordly table prestigieuse is Restaurant Escoffier, which thrives mightily on the reputation of its namesake and on the quality of a first-chair international menu, no item on which costs more than $1.75.

Having indulged your gastronomical inclinations, you'll be ready to swing into the city's pulsatingly diversified night life--which will be cornucopian with opportunities to establish contact with agreeable female companions. Girls are plentiful in Copenhagen bars and night clubs, frequently unattached and nearly always approachable (provided you're not daunted by the sight of a panatela perched between the lips of more than a few).

Copenhagen has no cabaret hostesses who will share the pleasure of your company on a per-hour basis. It doesn't need them--for the likelihood of catching the eye and fancy of a Danish girl, for a reasonably well-polished American visitor, is almost too good to be true. The reason for the quantity and complaisance of this feminine embarrassment of riches is fourfold: the inbred Scandinavian taste for pleasure, unprecedented social freedom for women, their almost defiant determination to make the most of it, and the apparent indifference of many Danish women toward Danish men. Thus, the urbane American male with pleasant manners and earnest intentions stands a better-than-even chance against his less-adventurous Danish counterpart.

Love, the physical variety, is a publicly private affair in Copenhagen, unselfconsciously evidenced almost everywhere, day and night--in buses, on park benches, in the candlelit seclusion of timbered taverns, on crowded North Shore beaches. For sex is looked upon with favor and frankness by the Danes. In many public schools, pupils are taught the practical aspects, if not the pleasures, of sex--which most of them learn for themselves soon enough. It is discussed with unblinking candor, accepted with equanimity, enjoyed with enthusiasm. (The visiting male may find himself momentarily disarmed when his female companion bluntly accepts--or rejects--his invitation to dalliance before it has been uttered.)

You might choose to start your peregrinations by taking in a performance at the ABC Theater, which stages leggy revues with such corny, but titillating titles as "Sextacy" and a bevy of demiclad chorines who engage en masse in the closest thing to le strip that you can find in Copenhagen at the moment--but it is definitely no Folies-Bergère.

Another pair of unabashedly lowbrow but high-spirited emporiums in which to observe, and perhaps join, the nightly mating ritual are the Red Pimpernel, a cavernous beer-and-dance hall whose dime-sized dance floor is so tightly packed that terpsichore is a matter of incidental interest; and a blatantly misnamed bar called the Virgin Cage, where the female patrons are wont to welcome a visitor with open-armed hospitality.

Having sampled some of the earthier brands of Danish hospitality, you'll want to move up in class to some of the town's more stylish night spots. There are 35 with a five-A.M. closing time, euphemistically known as "night restaurants" to indicate that they feature food along with drink, dance and dalliance. This is an important feature of Danish night life; the Danes would consider it unthinkable to seek nocturnal adventure without the firm assurance of sustenance en route.

Jazz buffs, male and female, local and imported, flock for far-out sounds to the Club Montmartre, which boasts a large clientele of unattached girls, a candlelight-shirt-sleeve atmosphere, and the services of some of the finest U. S. jazzmen: The bandstand has held such as Stan Getz, Gerry Mulligan and the brothers Adderley. Those in search of blue, uncool, old-fashioned jazz may profitably explore a pair of nearby sound stages--Vingarden, whose bar is a bohemia of whimsical trinkets, cast-iron memorabilia, medieval tools and Rube Goldberg--type creations, and the Cape Horn, a harbor dive that offers neo-Dixie and New Orleans blowers. The policy of both places is predicated on the nostalgic proposition that true jazz came to a dismal end when King Oliver laid down his horn.

Round about midnight, the city's swinging wee-hour circuit plugs in for the last lap en route to daybreak. Showtime is past and revelers settle down to serious drinking and dedicated pub crawling. A pack of clubs are available for these purposes--foremost among them being the Atlantic Palace, Café de Paris and the Adlon. With lamentable modernity the Atlantic recently replaced its thriving upstairs carrousel bar with a string of bowling alleys--a heavy blow to the city's late-night social life--but the downstairs remains a plushly appointed, Grecian-columned mecca for music, dancing and convivial spirits, potable and otherwise. Café de Paris is a multistoried den with a Lilliputian dance floor on the second floor and a cozy drinking nook decorated in the style of a 19th Century mansion library one floor above. But by far the most glittering of the three is the Adlon, whose gold-and-red interior resembles nothing so much as a turn-of-the-century opera house. Admission is 29 cents, but it may take a bit of palm greasing to get you by the imperious tyrant guarding the front gate. Table reservations are a prerequisite, for even on week nights the crowds approach rush-hour proportions. But there's one compensation: The bar is almost always awash with throngs of animated feminine fun seekers. The music is nonstop, one band spelling another, and so is the dancing. If you feel inclined to while away the hours in less hectic surroundings, the New Look bar at the Palace Hotel is the place to enjoy plush and quiet comfort while sipping.

If you still find yourself at loose ends during the few remaining hours before morning, you'll be greeted with sympathetic hospitality--along with coffee, crullers and marmalade--at a sanctuary known as the Society Bar, which opens its doors at the stroke of five.

If you are not alone, however, the question eternal of where to share a private nightcap becomes the final order of the new day. Happily, your hotel room is often--but not always--considered quite acceptable by the liberal-minded Danes, unless the night clerk can show prima-facie evidence--which few, if any, ever have--that the young lady is accompanying you there for purposes of engaging in a business transaction. (The hotel desk clerk is positively affable, however, about feminine visitors during the daylight hours.) In any event, your companion will probably have volunteered her own quarters.

Whatever your early-morning status, it is well to remember that during the Scandinavian summer the sun begins to show its face at 1:30 A.M., and the birds insolently begin chirping an hour later. This unseemly display of early-bird frivolity may seem incongruous at first, but you'll probably have too much on your mind at that hour to find it disconcerting.

The Danes are early risers despite their dedication to late-night pleasures, so if you want to make the most of your visit, you'd be well-advised to roll out of bed early and into one of the city's many public steam baths where a suffusing steam-and-sun-lamp treatment, plus cold shower and massage will prime you for the day ahead.

You might begin by renting a bicycle and setting out on a freewheeling city tour. If this notion sounds too athletic, you may elect to sight-see in a rented car down narrow, winding alleys lined with picturesque antique shops and leaded-glass windows, past the thickset Round Tower and the bear-capped sentries guarding the first family at Amalienborg.

Ride out past Langelinie Promenade to the Glyptotek museum whose world-renowned collection of modern and ancient art is supported by the Carlsberg brewery. Or visit the Rosenborg Palace and the Christiansborg Palace, both aglow with the glittering trappings of state.

If you're interested in Danish arts and crafts--whether for browsing or buying--a visit to one of its great purveyors will prove a rewarding experience. None is more illustrious than Illums Bolighus, a starkly modern downtown showcase for cleanly designed Danish palisander and rosewood furniture (teak is no longer in), hand-blocked linens and handsome silver, enamel and glassware. The prices are reasonable by American standards, though often high for the natives. No less exclusive an emporium for the discriminating shopper is Den Permanente, a treasure house of choice home furnishings, flatware and jewelry of tastefully chaste chaste design.

Your next shopping stop-off should be Georg Jensen's silversmith shop, whose Fifth Avenue affiliate in New York has long since outgrown the original Copenhagen hammer-and-anvil workshop, which offers a superb collection of jewelry, silverware and ornaments.

To sporting bloods, the offerings of Copenhagen may seem a bit tame except for the fast-paced soccer games at Idraetsparken, where the Danes, ordinarily an imperturbable breed, display uncharacteristic passion in rooting for their favorites, even to the hurling of bottles when the local goalkeeper is threatened by a brawny Swedish forward, or the umpire has called a foul against a home-town center half.

As a contrast to the previous evening's strenuous inaugural--after a postgame potation at the nearest pub--you might consider (having wisely made reservations beforehand) a visit to the theater or the ballet. The former, to be sure, may present a language handicap, but if you're accompanied by a fairly bilingual companion, you should be able to catch the gist of the highly stylized musicomedy, Teenagerlove, an acid satire on today's pop culture which is in its second year at the Royal Theater. The wide repertoire and consummate artistry of the Royal Danish Ballet, of course, requires no interpreter.

In a lighter vein you might wish to audit the jazz-and-poetry offerings at the minuscule Fiol Theater; or to sample the coffee and cake, and the multilingual folk songs strummed and sung at the Purple Door by a flock of high-spirited Scandinavian citybillies.

Moviegoers may elect to screen the latest Bergman or Antonioni opus at one of the city's fashionable art-film houses--or perhaps to enjoy the experience of screening a candidly adult French or Swedish feature unexpurgated by the scissors of American censorship. You'll suffer no serious loss skipping Danish films, which seem to consist mostly of threadbare drawing-room comedies and slapstick.

On an early afternoon you and a companion might explore the hinterlands of Copenhagen. Best bet is to rent a Simca or Volkswagen and set out along the winding byways traversing the gently sloping hills into the greencarpeted countryside. Well worth a visit is the Dyrehaven, a verdant deer park, just north of the city, surrounding Eremitagen, a palatial lodge for royal hunting parties. You'll also want to explore still farther north to Kronborg Castle at Elsinore, the green-spired, moat-girdled 16th Century rococo palace of Hamlet, brooding moodily on the northeastern shore of Denmark 35 miles out of Copenhagen. A more lighthearted feature of Elsinore is the Marienlyst resort hotel which harbors the only gambling casino in Denmark.

On the way back, stop off at one of the many picturesque highway inns dotting the landscape, and savor the heartiness of true Danish country cuisine, best exemplified by such rustic delicacies as crusted pork roasts or Danish meat balls, accompanied by a foaming tankard of beer.

You may also want to enjoy the sun--and its worshipers--plus an afternoon dip, at the Klampenborg Beach, also known as Bellevue, on the North Shore, peopled by bikini-clad bathers frolicking in the pale-blue water--and by young couples locked in warm embraces on the warm sand.

There is much yet to see--Tivoli at night, asparkle with lights and fireworks; Bakken, a noisy suburban fun fair of tent barkers, clowns, rides and boisterous Bierstuben; and Dragør, an idyllic old fishing community south of town. Despite the tiny size of this country, it will seem as though there really aren't enough hours in the day and night to see and do everything.

But after you've winged your way back to the States, the people of Köbenhavn will linger longest in your thoughts. You'll appreciate their warm sincerity--and the pleasant prospects of reviving newly made acquaintances in the future--when you've been treated to that timehonored Danish farewell: "Tak fordi De kom--kom snart igen"--Thanks for coming by; come back soon.