Copenhagen

Copenhagen redesigned the good life at handlebar height: more bicycles than people, harbor water clean enough to dive into on a lunch break, and a food scene that took the world's most demanding lists and filled them with fermented Nordic things nobody could pronounce and everybody now copies. The spires — dragon tails, golden globes, a spiral you can climb — keep the skyline seventeenth-century while the street level runs on tomorrow.

The sensible traveller rents the bicycle immediately and lets the infrastructure do the teaching; photographs Nyhavn's colored facades early, then leaves it to the crowds; climbs the Round Tower's spiral ramp and Our Saviour's outdoor stairs for the two best views; and treats Tivoli at dusk as what it is — the world's most charming argument that amusement parks can have taste. The smørrebrød lunch is mandatory; the new Nordic dinner, a pilgrimage if the booking gods allow.

The Guide's honesty: bike lanes have their own traffic law and its enforcement is social — signal your stops or learn Danish disappointment —; Freetown Christiania is a community, not an attraction: follow its posted rules, especially about cameras; and hygge cannot be purchased, only assembled: candles, company, no agenda.