The Year of Living Danishly (17 page)

‘No, it's fine. We're friends now. Besides, everyone gets divorced in Denmark.'

‘They do?'

‘Oh yes. July's the most popular month for it. People either row on holiday and realise they don't love each other anymore or get caught out cheating with text messages or emails because they're away from their lovers for too long. My ex and I were just the rowing types. It's our divorce anniversary next week,' she adds, cheerfully.

I attempt a nervous smile, unable to quite comprehend how she can be so cool and calm about her impending divorce-iversary, and I'm relieved when she changes the subject to update me on her travel plans for the rest of this month (‘Norway, then France, then New York,' she says matter of factly).

When I get home, I look online and discover that two-thirds of couples end up arguing on their summer breaks, according to a 2012 poll by Ebookers.
This means that two-thirds of our couple friends posting loved-up snaps of themselves sipping cocktails in swimming pools are kidding themselves
, I console myself.
Either that or they're drunk.

I call a few Danish divorce lawyers to test out Friendly Neighbour's theory that these rows often spark divorce proceedings and finally get through to Copenhagen-based lawyer, Anja Cordes. I ask her whether Friendly Neighbour's on to something: ‘I've heard that there are more requests for divorces in Denmark in July because couples are forced to spend a lot of time together. Can this be right?'

‘Yes,' one of Denmark's leading divorce lawyers tells me, ‘there are more calls for assistance in July and we're always very busy after vacation time.'

Denmark, it turns out, has the fourth highest divorce rate in Europe – and living Danishly can seriously harm the health of your marriage. The latest figures from Statistics Denmark show that 42.7 per cent of marriages end in divorce. There's also a rise in the number of immigrants getting divorced, even when this goes against cultural norms. A study by the Danish National Centre for Social Research found that the divorce rate of Turkish immigrants in Denmark has increased from 3 per cent to 12 per cent over the last twenty years. Cağdasş Sağlicak, chairman of the Alevi Association in Denmark, called this ‘a shift in the new generation' as more Turkish descendants pursued higher education. The right-wing Dansk Folkparti and Denmark's most left-wing political party, the Red-Green Alliance, both claim that this as an example of immigrants' successful integration into Danish society – making a break with their home country's norms. Divorce in Denmark
is
normal. And although going through the emotional distress of a marriage breakdown probably isn't on anyone's bucket list, it's so common that any stigma that may still be attached to getting a divorce elsewhere just doesn't exist here.

‘Why is this?' I ask Anja. ‘Why is divorce so
normal
in Denmark?'

‘I think that so many women are working and so many children are taken care of outside the home that it's very easy to get a divorce and good financial help from the state,' she says.

Because both sexes get paid a decent wage in Denmark, women don't need to depend on their husbands for money. Most mothers return to work after having a baby and the state pays three-quarters of the costs of childcare – so there's no financial obligation to stay together if it isn't working out. Danes also marry later, with most men nudging 35 before they get hitched and the average bride being 32 years old (compared to 30 for men and 28 for women in the UK and 28 and 26 respectively in the US). As Friendly Neighbour put it: ‘You have a lot of fun with your friends in your teens and twenties, then you settle down with one of them in your thirties. It can feel like the fun stops after that so you feel like you want a change.'

Getting a divorce in Denmark is also famously easy. ‘If parties can agree on direct divorce,' says Anja, ‘you can fill out an application on the web and between one and three weeks later, your application will be handled and the divorce order will be sent out.' What's more, it's cheap: ‘A straightforward divorce costs 900 DKK [around £100 or $170].'

But how can all this divorce make for happy Danes? Isn't the breakdown of a marriage, along with bereavement and moving house, one of the three most stressful life events that can occur?

I ask Anja how Denmark can keep coming top of the world happiness index in spite of this and she tells me simply: ‘It's because we have equality and freedom.' A depressingly high divorce rate does at least suggest that Danes have choices. They can take their own destiny in their hands and take action if their lives aren't panning out as they'd hoped. They are free, and freedom makes you happy, even if divorce doesn't.

I ask Anja whether she counts herself among the contented Danes of the surveys, despite dealing with warring soon-to-be divorcees all day long. ‘I'm an eight out of ten,' she tells me. ‘I have a good, fulfilling and satisfying life.'

All these divorces don't put Danes off tying the knot again, either. Denmark is the number one country in Europe with regard to marriages, according to Statistics Denmark. So the key to domestic bliss, Danish-style, seems to be that if you're not happy with who you're waking up with most mornings, make a change – if you want something (or someone) else, go for it. And as Friendly Neighbour puts it: ‘Danes
really
like getting married, so we don't mind doing it more than once. Plus most people here are pretty liberal.'

I tell her that this is something I've noticed. My mother was outraged during her last visit when we passed a selection of maternity wedding dresses in the local bridal shop (‘Well, really! Couldn't she have waited?' was her tutting response), and many Danes have children before they get hitched. Danes don't mind a bit of public nudity, either, from organised skinny-dipping sessions to naked CrossFit classes (really) and plentiful nudist beaches sprinkled along the coastline. The latter are so common that my in-laws got an eyeful on a recent trip when they strayed too far from a
Lonely Planet
-listed sunspot.

Porn is regularly screened on public TV channels and a recent YouGov survey exploring sexual behaviour in thirteen European countries found that Danes consumed more X-rated content than any other nation surveyed. Danes are so open-minded that they even left their
hygge
family homes on Boxing Day 2013 to watch the premiere of director Lars Von Triers' five-hour sex epic
Nymphomaniac
. Because nothing says ‘Christmas' like a six-foot-high projection of a phallus.

Those who aren't indulging in blue movies may still credit celluloid with giving their sex lives a boost thanks to ‘Disney sex'. Every Friday, Danish children countrywide sit down to an hour of Disney cartoons at 7pm, and a lot of parents use this time to ‘cultivate each other', as Helena C puts it, while the kids are entertained. Every parent I speak to tells me that ‘Disney sex' is a fantastic invention (despite the dodgy name) – ‘and importantly, it comes at a time of the evening when we still have a
fair
chance of staying awake…' adds Helena C.

Even the clergy are pretty right on when it comes to sex here, and I write a story for a UK newspaper about a Zealand priest conducting a carnal-themed mass to promote procreation. Despite all this, Denmark's birth rate is currently at a 30-year low. With just ten babies born per 1,000 residents, the government, clergy and commercial parties are doing all they can to get Danes
at it
. A Danish travel company is running a campaign to get more couples jetting off on minibreaks together and encouraging them to
‘Do it for Denmark!'
The advertisement claims that Danes have 46 per cent more sex when they're away from home, resulting in 10 per cent of the population being conceived while on a break (though not, clearly, if they go away for too long. One week = sexy times. Two weeks = imminent divorce). To get more Danes getting it on, the company is offering an ‘ovulation discount' to women who enter the date of their last period when booking so that they can calculate the most fertile time for a minibreak. Anyone who sends in a picture of a positive pregnancy test after their trip is put in a prize draw for a three-year supply of nappies. No, this is not made up. This is the way Danes roll. Oh, and in case this all sounds a bit hetero-biased, gay couples are also encouraged to get involved because, ‘the fun is in the participation'.

Sex is everywhere in Denmark, and it starts young. Sex education has been compulsory since the 1970s and from the age of six, Danish children are taught how babies are made during a national curriculum ‘Sex Week' every February. By the age of ten, they learn about boundaries, how to take care of themselves on the Internet and the HPV vaccine. Danish preteens cover homosexuality, bisexuality and heterosexuality, and as the first country in the world to recognise registered partnerships for same-sex couples and the first European country to allow legal changes of gender without sterilisation, Denmark has long placed an emphasis on inclusion.

By thirteen, they're onto masturbation, contraception, sexually transmitted diseases, abortion, and sexual abuse. Danish pop stars and actors take part in public health videos to be used in sex education lessons and discussions in class are, apparently, frank and wide-ranging.
Wow
, I think, a
whole generation who don't have to find out about sex from reading Judy Blume or the sticky pages in the library copy of
Lady Chatterley's Lover
…
For someone who went to an all-girls convent school, this seems amazingly progressive. I had a biology teacher who blushed beetroot at the mention of stamen, let alone periods.

‘And the classes are all mixed, right?' I ask Helena C over
snegles
, as she explains her young daughters' incredibly enlightened views on sex.

‘Of course. We don't separate the sexes. That causes repression.'

This may be true, but it was far easier to concentrate in double Geography when I wasn't having lustful palpitations about Marco Terrinoni from the adjacent boys' school.

The legal age of consent is fifteen in Denmark, and once Danes get going, they don't stop. A recent public health survey found that 90 per cent of Danes aged sixteen to 95 said that a good sex life was ‘vital' to them – which means that men and women in their tenth decade are swinging from the Scandi-style chandeliers in Denmark. According to figures from AgeForum, there has been a doubling in the number of divorces and marriages among Danes over 60 in the last ten years with many meeting new lovers online. The dating site Seniordate.dk now has 68,000 members, and Seniorcontact.dk has 34,000 users.

Singles can sleep with whomever they like without being judged, and those in relationships aren't shackled to sex with the same person forever either. A YouGov survey showed that 32 per cent of Danes had been unfaithful (tying them with the Finns for the ‘most cheaty nation in Europe' crown) and 51 per cent admitted to one-night stands. Most Danes get around the problem of wanting to sleep with someone new by doing so in secret or splitting up and moving on. But for a growing number of Denmark's sexually curious, there's another option – and it's literally right up my street, as it turns out.

Late afternoon, the dog starts barking at the front door. This can mean only one thing: his nemesis, the tweenage paperboy is approaching. The dog and I play the daily game of ‘
which of us will reach the newspaper first?
' and this afternoon I triumph, saving the local rag from its usual fate of being shredded and liberally distributed around the house. Scanning the inky pages in the hope that this might be the day my Danish lessons pay off and miraculously turn the collections of consonants and mystery vowels into a legible language, I'm delighted to spot a few words I recognise. Aside from a threatened strike and a special deal on pizza, there's a headline featuring the words:

Tucan Swinger & Wellness Naughty Nightclub!

Since moving to Sticksville-on-Sea, fast food offers and threats of union walkouts have been the apotheosis of excitement in my area. The very idea that I've been living in the eye of a
swinging
storm all this time is nothing short of staggering. I find myself coming over all Home Counties and having to sit down with a cup of tea and a biscuit. Then, I Google it.

The Tucan Club, it turns out, is Denmark's premier swinging establishment. The club was set up by husband-and-wife team Mie Hansen and Torben Nielsen, to ‘bring secret dreams and wishes to fruition' by ‘pushing the boundaries of accepted sexuality', according to the blurb on its website.

Even after a slightly tense holiday, I have no desire to swap Lego Man for anyone else's other half. But I am curious (just doing my job, honest).

‘What if swinging is one of the keys to Danish happiness?' I ask a sceptical-looking dog.

He looks at me as if to say ‘
Really?
', then slinks off, still sulking at having lost out on the chance to eat today's paper. Unperturbed, intrigued, and in the name of journalistic endeavour, I pick up the phone.

‘We got into swinging thirteen years ago,' Mie tells me, in the same tone one might use to describe getting into juicing. ‘We decided to start our own club and it just grew by word of mouth. Now, we're the biggest in Scandinavia.'

Mie explains that most couples arrive, have a look around to see if there's anyone they like the look of, then issue ‘invitations' for whatever takes their fancy. ‘There's no pressure,' she says, ‘and there's also a disco, a sauna and a Jacuzzi for couples who aren't ready to swing yet. Then, when they do feel ready to try it, we have lots of facilities to make things more fun.'

The word ‘facilities' conjures up chlorine-doused leisure centres but Mie soon sets me straight and I realise, not for the first time, that my life to date has been Very Sheltered Indeed.