OOAK Barbie vs. Snowstorm

For the last fifteen years, Copenhagen has been perfectly fine in winter. Grey, wet, occasionally moody, but not snowstorm moody. So tourists arrive wearing cute little sneakers with the confidence of someone who has only ever experienced "snow" as an Instagram filter. They assume it's safe. It usually is.

This year, they gambled wrong.

I keep hearing people dragging their luggage through our slushy streets muttering, "It's not usually like this, is it?!" No, friend, it's not. But every so often, Copenhagen decides to remind everyone who's boss.

And then I see these headlines about how the city has "ground to a standstill," like we're all huddled indoors rationing rugbrød and lighting candles with our last match. I genuinely don't know what city they're describing, because it isn't this one. Yes, the metro gets more crowded. Deliveries are delayed.  People move slower. Everyone is colder and a little more irritated (okay, a lot more irritated). But the city doesn't stop.

What happens instead is that Copenhagen turns into a layered cake of weather trauma. First you get the pretty, sparkly snow that makes everything look clean and magical (you know the kind, the kind that tricks you). Then it starts to melt, because of course it does, and the dirt gets pulled up through it as people trudge along, and suddenly the whole city is coated in this grimy, greyish slush that looks like someone put a snowman in a blender with a sidewalk.

The real danger isn't "standstill." It's splash-back.

Stand too close to the curb and a passing car will plow through a puddle of that mess and baptize you in what I can only describe as street soup. You learn fast. Keep a few feet back from the edge of the sidewalk, unless you enjoy being cold and soaked, spending the rest of your day smelling like wet tire while your body quietly considers hypothermia as a lifestyle.

And the sidewalks, oh, the sidewalks. They become these bizarre little arches and tunnels of snow clinging to life through sheer spite. Not quite cleared, not quite passable, just there, daring you. You end up doing this undignified little shuffle around puddles, slush ridges, and surprise ice patches.  Have small dogs?  They’re passenger princesses until you reach a patch of ground where the snow is packed down (and slick), but won’t coat their undercarriage.

Inside isn't much better. The snow that clings to footwear and pantlegs melts, the water goes everywhere, and apparently "everywhere" includes places water has absolutely no business being. Like elevators. Yes, there was literally water pooling in the elevators. Nothing says modern city living quite like stepping in and directly into a puddle.

I love you, Copenhagen. This weather? We need to talk!

I measure snowstorms differently these days. Not by centimeters, but by how much I hate my life while trying to do something urgent in one. The last time it was like this, snowdrifts were well past my knees and I was out there struggling to the emergency vet because my dog had split his dew claw. That's my unit of measurement now. That's the benchmark.

So no, Copenhagen didn't grind to a halt. It just got messier. Wetter. More slippery. More crowded on public transport. More dramatic in the way only a city can be when it's quietly tracking slush across every surface while insisting it's totally fine.

Also: nobody stops biking.
Nobody.

People will bike through a full snowstorm, toddler in the cargo bike, groceries balanced like a physics experiment, eyes carrying the calm, dead-eyed stare of someone who simply has places to be. This is Denmark. Vikings do not negotiate with weather.

Anyway. I took Moira out onto the balcony for some pretty snow photos, because why not? She survived. Mostly (she did need to dry out a bit afterwards). She's plastic. I'm the one in danger of becoming a human popsicle.

If you're visiting Copenhagen this winter: pack actual boots, watch the curb, and do not trust the headlines. The city keeps moving. It just does it while tracking slush on every available surface.

It's slippery out there. Be careful.