Earlier this month, a wedding took me to England for the first time since returning to Denmark at the start of 2025. It likely won’t come as a surprise that I haven’t missed living in the UK. There’s some good rationale behind The Economist naming Copenhagen the world’s most liveable city and many expected and unexpected reasons I’m delighted to call Denmark home again. But this trip reminded me of something the UK does better than Denmark: pub culture.
Denmark has a reputation as a country that enjoys a drink, but it’s very different from the normalcy of pub life in the UK. While I’d experienced British pubs on vacation before moving to the UK, I hadn’t understood how they foster community and how integral they can be to feeling comfortable and connected.
Given the smallness of our home in England and the challenges of controlling its temperature (cold and drafty in the winter, stuffy and sweltering in the summer), our closest pub became a cozy space to spend a dark evening or sit in the shade of the garden on hot days (sometimes with the extra added bonus of dogs cooling off in a paddling pool!). The pub was a welcome third place, offering social connections and acting as an alternative to home (the first place) and work (the second place).
In England, our locals (yes, we were known by name at three establishments) were comfortable spaces to show up alone and chat with whomever else happened to be there. Or not get into conversation with anyone but the barkeep (I was fond of bringing a book and tucking myself into a corner on slightly antisocial days where I still wanted to feel like I existed in the world). Everyone was welcome (unless they’d already had a few too many, in which case they were gently shown the door) and pub goers spanned all ages and demographics — and often included dogs.
Our home in Denmark is a better size and is closer to green space and the water than to beer on tap. While we have more than adequate bakeries and restaurants, there isn’t anything I’d class as a ‘pub’ nearby (unlike the UK where it’s common to have at least a half dozen within 20 minutes walk). My third space has become the library (which puts less pressure on both my wallet and my liver). It’s always the right temperature and gives me ample opportunity to sit alongside others, but it’s missing the possibility for the casual interactions that came with British pub culture. The staff are delightfully helpful, but they have plenty of other people to take care of (as a good barkeep would). Patrons are there with a purpose — tapping on laptops, blocking out the world with headphones, collaborating on group projects — not for a chat.
And that’s what feels like it’s missing from Danish watering holes. There are bars and bodegas and places to have a pint here, but people seem mostly to go out drinking with friends or colleagues; they aren’t looking to strike up casual conversations or eavesdrop and provide their opinions like in British pubs. My partner and I once changed our plans for a weekend trip based on someone at the pub overhearing our initial itinerary and insisting on an alternative (he was absolutely correct: Weymouth was far nicer than Poole).
Pub culture may be distinctly British, but perhaps that’s because the UK has greater need for that type of third place. I’m reassured that Denmark has opportunities for socialising through clubs and associations, cultural and sporting events, and plenty of summer festivals. And when I miss going to the local for a pint and a conversation, I can always console myself with a fresh baked wienerbrød while looking out at the sea.
