Denmark’s Darling

by Terje Raa

I’m the most popular mermaid in the world, for I am The Little Mermaid at Langelinie in Copenhagen - graceful, inscrutable and green with patina.

Tourists have been admiring and snapping me the entire day, but now it’s late, and although my body appears to be shining in the dim light of the lanterns, no one pays attention to me any more. Possible latecomers must content themselves with my substitute who will take over my big stone very soon, after swimming all the way from the old Nyhavn harbor.

They say my eyes are busy looking for the prince, who according to Hans Christian Andersen never became mine. Actually, I've got a prince, just take a look at the opposite side of the road, where he is drying himself with a towel, atop a marble plinth bearing the inscription “After the Swim”. Seeing me glide down from my stone, he throws away his towel and dives into the sea to go swimming with me. Our destination is Nyhavn.

Endowed with a fish tail and a slim body of 165 centimeters, I should be a born swimmer. To be honest, I have problems keeping myself afloat due to my weight, 175 kilos, so I do appreciate the encouraging winks from the house with the blue eyes. A light blue flag with a white star is all that reveals whose head office the secretive white building with the characteristic windows is: The Moller-Maersk Group, one of the world’s major shipping companies.

Royal Symmetry

A bronze colleague, stark-naked David, is waving at us from his plinth outside the West-Indian Warehouse, housing the Royal Cast Collection, plaster copies of famous sculptures. The next two warehouses have been converted into apartments for the financially strong. A few years ago, hydrofoils between Malmo and Copenhagen always disturbed our daily swim, but they were put out of business by the Oresund Bridge.

At the Amaliehaven garden, we take a breather in the water to enjoy the sight of the royal residence - Amalienborg - four similar palaces symmetrically located around an axis, with the domed Marble Church at the other end. At this end, over on Holmen, a new opera building has shot up, donated by big business in the house with the blue eyes. A spectacular hotel, on the waterfront, was unmistakably once a warehouse. The neighboring Skuespilhuset, a brand new national theater, tries to fit in with its modern yet discreet architecture.

At long last, Nyhavn comes into view, the canal on the right hand, with proud old wooden ships rubbing against each other. In the good old days, Nyhavn was synonymous with rough and lively harbor joints, rendezvous for sailors and prostitutes, all of them retired long ago, several immortalized in ballads and stories. Expensive restaurants and trendy cafes have taken over. During the summer, they turn Nyhavn into one long outdoor cafe. The old buildings are kept in good repair, also the houses where my originator, Hans Christian Andersen, used to rent a room.

National Jewel

In the fish restaurant Havfruen, named after me, I assume my substitute’s regular position - horizontally suspended above the bar counter. Although conceived in one and the same fairytale, she and I are widely different: I am cast in precious metal, she is merely carved out of a log found in the harbor. While lounging here, I don’t mind people’s curious looks since they often buy me a quick one. My prince, on the other hand, looks displeased. “You receive all the attention,” he bursts out, “no one ever notices me!”

The prince ought to know how exceptional my position is. I was born in 1913, lived anonymously till after the war, was then launched in the tourist propaganda as the national jewel of Denmark. Today, I top every must-see list, and each time I lose my head, my picture adorns front pages worldwide the next day. On my 90th anniversary, commotion reached new heights. Not to mention the year 2005, when the writer of fairytales would have been 200. “Retire!” my prince pleads. Never in my life, I know my duty and intend to remain at my post until I sink into the sea.

My head is feeling heavy as I jump up onto my big stone again, after a rather boozy evening. I turn my face away, uncomfortable at the thought of yet another day of incessant photographing and offensive pawing and climbing. On such a day, my only amusement is to give the daredevils a push, causing them to lose their balance and get wet socks when leaping out to me.

I’d like to direct everybody’s attention to the prince or to his neighbor on the lawn, “The Swimmer”, dressed in a loincloth, watching the marina with his arms folded. Instead of bothering me, the tourists should take a walk along the Langelinie pier, stroll on the green ramparts of the well-preserved fortress Kastellet, eat today’s special cake in the Langelinie Pavilion or buy tasteless souvenirs at the kiosk - mermaids in any size and color, keyrings, bottle openers and oil lamps with a mermaid mounted.

However, everything is as usual. Packed doubledeckers arrive one after the other, and while the guides of the canal tour boats are making jokes at my expense, I’m exposed to climbing young people who do not stop until they sit on my shoulders. I almost wish that someone would chop off my aching head.