The Old Customs House – Gateway to the City Our journey begins at the Old Customs House (Det Gamle Toldhus), once the threshold between Denmark and the world. Built in 1734, this stately Baroque building stood as a symbol of Copenhagen’s importance as a trading port. Here, ships from all over Europe docked to declare their goods, pay duties, and bring news from across the seas. The house watched over barrels of rum from the West Indies, timber from Norway, and silk from the East. Though its customs role is long retired, the building remains a cornerstone of the city’s maritime identity — elegant, proud, and weathered by centuries of sea air. As Freyja gently pulls away from the pier, you step into the same flow of water that once carried goods, kings, and ideas across the globe. This is where Copenhagen opened itself to the world — and where your journey begins.

Nyhavn – The Postcard of Copenhagen Just around the bend lies Nyhavn, a canal so picturesque it barely feels real. The name means “New Harbor,” though it’s been here since 1673. What was once a rowdy sailor’s quarter filled with beer halls and brothels is now the city’s most beloved promenade. Colorful 17th-century houses lean slightly over cobbled quays, and old wooden ships nod gently on the water. Locals sip coffee on the docks, jazz floats from open windows, and bicycles clatter by in eternal rhythm. Hans Christian Andersen once lived here — in fact, three of these houses were his homes — and it’s easy to imagine the inspiration behind his fairy tales blooming right here. Today, Nyhavn is Copenhagen’s most photographed face, a joyful mixture of nostalgia, beauty, and the ever-present lapping of the harbor against the stones.

Just beyond Nyhavn’s colorful facades, we sail past the bold, modern lines of the Royal Danish Playhouse (Skuespilhuset), dramatically perched on the harbor’s edge. Opened in 2008 and designed by Lundgaard & Tranberg, this sleek structure of oak, glass, and black steel seems to grow out of the water itself. A wide wooden promenade wraps around its base — a popular boardwalk where locals sunbathe, sip coffee, or dip their feet into the harbor on warm days. Inside, some of Denmark’s greatest stage productions come to life in three different theaters, ranging from grand drama to experimental performance. From the water, it looks like a ship moored in permanent readiness to set sail on stories. It’s a powerful symbol of how modern Copenhagen integrates art and architecture, blurring the boundaries between city and stage, between the real and the imagined.

We glide east toward Papirøen, or Paper Island, a former paper warehouse turned cultural icon. For decades, this low, functional island was a closed industrial zone — paper was stored here for the Danish press, stacked in giant rolls in cold, concrete halls. But then something remarkable happened: artists, food trucks, and dreamers moved in. Papirøen became a hotbed of creativity, home to Copenhagen Street Food and a dozen pop-up galleries. People sat on the edge of the quay with wine in hand and music in the air, watching the sun set behind the skyline. Though much of the original has now been cleared to make way for bold, modern architecture — including the new Opera Park — the spirit of Papirøen remains: reinvention, community, and the transformation of industry into art. From Freyja’s deck, it’s a perfect view of Copenhagen’s past and future in conversation.

The Old Mast Houses & Cannonball Courtyard Further along the canal, we pass the Mastekranen — Copenhagen’s old mast houses, where colossal ship masts were crafted and stored. These long, timbered buildings echo the city’s shipbuilding days, when naval vessels and merchant ships were built by hand and launched right here into the harbor. Behind them lies a quiet, walled space with an ominous name: the Cannonball Courtyard. Here, if you look closely, you’ll spot actual cannonballs still lodged in the brick — remnants of the Battle of Copenhagen in 1807, when the British navy bombarded the city to seize its fleet. The buildings still bear the scars. Together, these sites tell a tale of craftsmanship and conflict, of warships and woodwork. Even in stillness, the harbor remembers.

Christiania – The Free Town Soon we approach one of Copenhagen’s most legendary and controversial neighborhoods: Christiania. Founded in 1971 when squatters took over an abandoned military base, it has grown into a self-governing, countercultural commune famous for its colorful houses, art-covered walls, and “Green Light District” where cannabis has long been tolerated. As Freyja floats past its canalside edge, you’ll see handmade homes perched on stilts, ramshackle gardens, and sculptures built from scrap. But Christiania is more than just a tourist curiosity — it’s a living, breathing experiment in autonomy and communal living. Some see it as a utopia, others as a political provocation. Either way, it’s a place unlike any other in the world, and from the water, its peace and defiance ripple gently on the surface.

orpedohallen & The Long Boat Houses We now enter the quiet stretch near Torpedohallen, a former naval facility where torpedo boats once docked and trained. Built in the early 20th century, this long industrial building is a reminder of Copenhagen’s military edge — a time when the harbor bristled with warships and drills. Today, Torpedohallen has been reborn as a residential and creative space, but its austere lines and concrete bones still whisper of defense and strategy. Alongside it, the Long Boat Houses — charming, low-roofed wooden dwellings — stretch down the canal. Some are over 150 years old, each lovingly restored by hand, painted in reds, greens, and blues. They are a sailor’s dream come true — floating cottages where you wake up with ducks outside your window and sunrise on your deck. It’s a quiet, human-scale part of the city, and one of the most beloved stops on the journey.

Copenhill & The Waste-to-Energy Wonder Then, rising on the horizon, something surreal appears: a green mountain with people skiing on its roof. Welcome to Copenhill — a waste-to-energy plant that also happens to be a public park, climbing wall, hiking trail, and ski slope. It sounds like science fiction, but it’s 100% real, and 100% Danish. Designed by star architect Bjarke Ingels, this ultra-modern facility incinerates non-recyclable waste and turns it into electricity and district heating for tens of thousands of homes. But instead of hiding it away, the Danes turned it into a destination — a place where environmental responsibility meets urban adventure. From Freyja, you can see skiers gliding down the synthetic slope, hikers making their way to the top, and the giant smokestack that playfully puffs out smoke rings. It’s quirky, clean, and unmistakably Copenhagen.

As we glide along the edge of Holmen, Copenhagen’s historic naval district, a fleet of museum ships comes into view — each one a floating chapter of Denmark’s maritime story. Here lies the frigate Peder Skram, once a Cold War powerhouse armed with guided missiles. Next to her rests the torpedo boat Sehested, sleek and angular, built for speed and precision. And further down the quay floats Sælen, a diesel-electric submarine that once patrolled under icy northern waters — now open for visitors to step inside her narrow, steel belly. These vessels are part of the Royal Danish Naval Museum, moored right where real warships once launched from. In their silence, they speak of training missions, tense standoffs, and young sailors who served in distant seas. Seeing them from the water gives you a sense of scale and reverence you can’t get on land. This is not a reenactment — these are the real things, preserved in rust and rivets. They once protected the kingdom. Now they protect its memory.

As we sail past the edge of Holmen, two graceful neoclassical buildings appear along the quay — the Royal Pavilions. Modest in size but rich in detail, these waterside pavilions are used for welcoming and seeing off royal guests arriving by sea. Built in the early 20th century, they offer a rare glimpse into the quieter rituals of monarchy: private arrivals, discreet departures, and summer voyages beginning beneath Danish skies. Moored just across the water is something even more striking — the Royal Yacht Dannebrog, gleaming with white hulls and polished teak decks. Launched in 1931 and still in active service, she is both palace and vessel, a floating residence for the Danish royal family during official visits and holidays. Her elegant silhouette recalls another era, yet she continues to sail the world as a symbol of Danish tradition, diplomacy, and seamanship. From the water, the Dannebrog appears timeless — a piece of living history quietly anchored in the present.

The Old Guardhouse & Cannon Salutes at Sunrise and Sunset As we continue along the canal’s edge, nestled between naval buildings and timeworn walls, we pass the Old Guardhouse — a humble yet symbolic structure that once served as the main lookout and ceremonial post for the Royal Danish Navy. What makes this site special is a ritual that still continues today: the daily cannon salutes. Every morning at sunrise and again at sunset, a blank round is fired from the saluting battery nearby, echoing across the harbor and startling birds into flight. It’s a tradition dating back hundreds of years — a ceremonial gesture marking the beginning and end of the day for the fleet, and for the city itself. Hearing the salute while afloat on the water is something unforgettable: a thunderous reminder that Copenhagen’s maritime heritage is not only remembered but still lived. A timeless echo of order, honor, and sea-bound pride.

Rising quietly above the treetops of Holmen is the unmistakable silhouette of the Mastekranen, or Mast Crane — one of Copenhagen’s oldest surviving industrial landmarks. Built in 1749, this towering wooden crane was designed to lift the colossal masts onto warships and merchant vessels during the golden age of Danish naval power. Back then, ships were built by hand, plank by plank. Though it may seem quaint today, the Mastekranen was a marvel of 18th-century engineering — operated entirely by manpower using a system of pulleys and counterweights. Sailors and shipbuilders would climb inside to turn the massive internal capstan, slowly hoisting masts that reached as high as church steeples into the sockets of Denmark’s naval giants. Today, it stands unused but proudly preserved, a wooden titan reminding us of the labor, sweat, and craftsmanship that once ruled this harbor. It’s not just a crane. It’s a symbol of the strength that lifted a fleet — and, with it, a nation.

We now pass a quiet stretch of Holmen’s shoreline called Krudtløbsvej — or “Powder Run Road.” In the age of sails and cannons, this path was one of the most vital arteries of naval life. For centuries, gunpowder was transported from the Royal Powder Magazine to the docks and warships preparing for action. The word krudt means gunpowder in Danish, and løb means run — a name that hints at both speed and the extreme caution required when handling such a volatile substance. Specially trained sailors, sometimes even young boys, would carry heavy barrels along this very route, step by careful step, knowing a single spark could set off a deadly chain reaction. Some of the old buildings still remain — squat, brick-walled, moss-roofed structures that seem to breathe with history. Today, this once nerve-wracking route has been transformed. Where powder once rolled, charming houseboats now float, gardens bloom along the quay, and the only bangs you hear are champagne corks on summer evenings.

The industrial edges of Copenhagen give way to something vibrant and unexpected — welcome to Reffen, the city’s open-air street food mecca, creative playground, and urban soul rolled into one. Once a disused shipyard, this reclaimed patch of land has exploded into life with shipping containers turned into kitchens, workspaces, bars, and art studios. More than 50 food stalls and start-ups gather here, serving everything from bao buns and Brazilian barbecue to organic ice cream and Copenhagen craft beer. The smells are intoxicating, and the energy spills out to the waterfront, where hammocks swing in the breeze and sun-loungers offer front-row seats to the harbor. But Reffen isn’t just about food. It’s also a space for music, skateboarding, design, and conversation. On weekends, you might catch live jazz by the water or a DJ set echoing off container walls. Built with sustainability at its core, vendors commit to reducing food waste, using local ingredients, and thinking green.

As we venture farther into the harbor, an island fortress appears on the water — squat, round, and built to withstand the wind and war. This is Trekroner Fort, a defensive bastion that has stood guard over Copenhagen since the late 1700s. Named after three royal crowns (tre kroner), the original fortification began as a floating battery of sunken ships and cannons in the 18th century. But by 1818, the current stone and brick structure was in place — a crucial part of the city’s harbor defense, protecting against naval invasions and blockades. It played a defensive role during the British bombardments of Copenhagen and again during both World Wars. Trekroner no longer bristles with weapons, but its thick walls and narrow gun slits remain intact, silently watching every vessel that enters or leaves the city. You may even see people exploring its ramparts or sunbathing on its grassy roof. The fort rises like a time capsule — a guardian of the gateway between the harbor and the open sea

As we sail northward, past old cranes and former industrial piers, the skyline begins to change — steel and glass rising from the sea, wind turbines spinning gently in the distance. This is Nordhavn: Copenhagen’s boldest experiment in urban design, sustainability, and sea-level living. Once a gritty container port, Nordhavn is now being transformed into one of Europe’s most ambitious waterfront neighborhoods. Built almost entirely on reclaimed land, it features floating homes, energy-efficient buildings, bicycle highways, harbor baths, and rooftop gardens. Every brick and bench here has been planned with green living in mind — and yet it doesn’t feel clinical or forced. It’s alive. You’ll also notice the striking UN City — home to several United Nations agencies — a gleaming white building with solar shades and seawater cooling systems. And towering nearby, former grain silos have been repurposed into luxury apartments with sweeping views across Øresund.

Just beyond the curve of the quay, perched on a rock near the water’s edge, she waits — still, graceful, and infinitely wistful. This is The Little Mermaid, Copenhagen’s most beloved symbol and the quietest celebrity on the waterfront. Unveiled in 1913 and sculpted by Edvard Eriksen, the statue was a gift from brewer Carl Jacobsen, inspired by Hans Christian Andersen’s timeless fairy tale of longing, sacrifice, and transformation. At just over a meter tall, she is modest in size but immense in meaning — a mermaid who gave up her voice and her world for love, only to become sea foam. Over the decades, she’s been celebrated, defaced, beheaded, painted, and parodied — and yet she remains. Always looking out to sea. Always alone. From the deck of Freyja, you see her not as a monument, but as a story — bronze against the waves, patience against time. She isn’t grand or loud. She whispers. And that’s why she endures.

First comes the Yellow Palace (Det Gule Palæ) — a stately 18th-century residence in soft ochre tones. Built in 1764, it once housed royal family members and today serves as the monarch’s official guesthouse and administrative office. Before Amalienborg became the royal residence, this was home to kings and queens, and it still breathes quiet formality. The grandeur of Amalienborg Palace, the heart of the Danish monarchy. Four nearly identical rococo mansions form an octagonal square around a statue of King Frederik V on horseback, perfectly aligned with the Marble Church behind and the Opera across the water. It’s more than architecture — it’s precision and symbolism carved into the city’s bones. From Freyja, you might see the Royal Life Guards in bearskin hats, marching to the daily changing of the guard. The palace is stately, yes, but lived-in — a working home for Queen Margrethe II and the crown prince. History, ritual, and royal life continue here as naturally as the tides.

Across the water from Amalienborg, a bold silhouette slices into the sky — sleek, symmetrical, and seemingly floating above the harbor. This is the Copenhagen Opera House, one of the most expensive opera houses ever built, and a powerful symbol of Danish ambition and artistic devotion. Completed in 2005 as a gift to the state from shipping magnate Mærsk Mc-Kinney Møller, the opera house stands on Dokøen, a former dockyard, now transformed into a cultural icon. Designed by architect Henning Larsen, the building features a massive cantilevered roof that projects like a ship’s bow over the harbor, daring yet balanced. Inside, the main stage is clad in golden maple wood. The foyer glows with Sicilian marble, custom lighting, and sweeping glass walls that offer views of the royal palace — creating a symbolic dialogue between state, art, and tradition. With world-class acoustics and performances ranging from classical opera to contemporary productions.

As Freyja glides into Christianshavn, the atmosphere shifts. The canal narrows, the buildings lean a little closer, and the city seems to exhale. Founded by King Christian IV in the early 1600s as a merchant town inspired by Amsterdam, Christianshavn remains a charming blend of old-world grace and bohemian spirit. Tall, colorful townhouses line the water, their reflections shimmering in the ripples below. Balconies are filled with plants, bicycles lean lazily against lampposts, and café chatter drifts across the quay. Houseboats bob gently along the banks — some rustic and handmade, others sleek and modern — each one a quiet rebellion against landlocked life. Christianshavn is also home to the famed Christiania, though hidden behind fences and trees on the opposite bank. But even without seeing it, you feel its presence — the creative, rebellious energy that has long defined this part of the city. Sailing here is like entering Copenhagen’s softer soul. Less polished, more personal.

Rising above Christianshavn like a golden corkscrew reaching toward the clouds, The Church of Our Saviour is one of Copenhagen’s most striking landmarks. Completed in 1695, this baroque masterpiece is famous for its external spiral staircase, which wraps around the tower like a helix of faith and daring. The church itself is a place of solemn beauty — rich woodwork, candlelit chandeliers, and an organ so powerful it feels like wind through ancient trees. But it’s the spire that captures imaginations. Climb the 400 winding steps — the final ones in open air — and you’re rewarded with a panoramic view of the city, the harbor, and even Sweden on a clear day. At the very top stands a golden globe, often circled by birds and, occasionally, brave maintenance workers. Legend has it the architect jumped to his death from that globe when he realized the spiral turns counterclockwise, rather than clockwise — but that’s myth. What is true is that this tower draws eyes and hearts upward.

Just ahead, an unusual bridge arcs playfully across the canal — not in a straight line, but in a series of overlapping circles. This is Cirkelbroen, or The Circle Bridge, designed by artist Olafur Eliasson and unveiled in 2015. At first glance, it seems almost whimsical — a floating necklace of round platforms, each with its own tall, ship-like mast reaching skyward. But like everything in Copenhagen, there’s intention beneath the beauty. The design encourages pedestrians and cyclists to pause, shift course, and slow down, much like the city itself. In a world obsessed with efficiency, Cirkelbroen invites reflection. It’s less about getting somewhere fast — and more about the joy of crossing. The masts evoke Copenhagen’s maritime roots, recalling ships once moored nearby, their rigging humming in the wind. It’s not just a bridge — it’s a gesture of connection, linking not just islands, but people, stories, and rhythms of the city.

As Freyja glides onward, a striking building of obsidian glass emerges — sharp, angular, and shimmering like water turned to stone. This is the Black Diamond, a modern extension of Denmark’s Royal Library, and one of Copenhagen’s boldest architectural statements. Completed in 1999, its mirrored façade reflects the harbor, sky, and passing boats, blurring the line between solid and liquid, structure and story. Inside, the building houses ancient manuscripts, rare books, and national treasures — a temple of knowledge where scholars study in silence and ideas echo through time. A light-filled atrium slices through the center like a canyon of thought, connecting the modern wing to the 17th-century original. Bridges of glass span the space, and if you look closely, you might spot a reader crossing between centuries. The building’s very shape resembles an open book or a sliced diamond

As we turn into Frederiksholms Kanal, the city quiets — the water narrows, reflections deepen, and Copenhagen’s layers begin to fold into one another. This canal is often overlooked, yet it runs through the heart of Denmark’s story. Along its mossy stone banks stands Kongens Bryghus — the King’s Brewery, founded by Christian IV in 1608. Here, royal beer was brewed for court banquets and naval voyages. The building’s thick walls and vaulted cellars now house the Lapidarium of Kings, where forgotten monarchs carved in stone lie in stately silence — lions, busts, crowns, all reminders of the grandeur and gravity once poured into every pint. Moored nearby floats the King’s old lighthouse ship, its red hull weathered but dignified. Once stationed at sea to warn sailors of hidden dangers, it now rests in calm waters — a quiet sentinel from an age when light was life or death.

As we enter Ved Stranden and Gammel Strand, the canal narrows and the buildings lean in close — this is one of the oldest parts of Copenhagen. “Gammel Strand” means “Old Beach,” once the city’s medieval shoreline. Fisherwomen in long skirts once stood here selling eels and flounder straight from the harbor. Today, it’s lined with colorful 18th-century houses and vibrant cafés. You may spot the entrance to the Thorvaldsen Museum, dedicated to Denmark’s greatest sculptor, and behind it, the domed roof of Christiansborg. The name Ved Stranden — “By the Shore” — says it all: this is where land, history, and the rhythm of the water have met for centuries. It’s a place where the city remembers its roots, and where the past always ripples gently beneath the surface.

ust above the canal, at Højbro Plads, stands the bronze equestrian statue of Bishop Absalon, sword raised high on a rearing horse. This is the man credited with founding Copenhagen in 1167. Soldier, statesman, and churchman, Absalon built the first fortress on Slotsholmen, laying the foundation — literally — for the city we sail through today. Cast in 1902, the statue is dramatic and defiant, facing east toward the old enemies across the sea. His armor gleams in the sunlight, and from the water, he appears both noble and imposing — the mythic father of a maritime capital. Though the fortress is long gone, the man and his legend remain, etched into bronze, stone, and every bridge you pass beneath.

We now pass Christiansborg Palace, Denmark’s seat of government. It’s the only building in the world housing all three branches of a democratic state: the Parliament, Supreme Court, and Prime Minister’s Office. But it’s also a royal palace — where banquets, ceremonies, and royal receptions still take place. Built over the ruins of Bishop Absalon’s original castle, Christiansborg is a layered monument to authority — part medieval fortress, part 18th-century grandeur, and part working democracy. From Freyja, you can see the palace’s grand façades, copper roofs, and the Marble Bridge that leads to its courtyard. This is where Denmark’s laws are written, where power resides, and where the city’s past and present hold each other in balance.

Just ahead stands Børsen, Copenhagen’s former stock exchange and one of its most iconic buildings. Commissioned by Christian IV in the 1620s, it was designed to turn Denmark into a commercial powerhouse. Its unmistakable dragon spire, formed by four intertwined tails, coils upward like a protective symbol over trade and ambition. For centuries, merchants struck deals beneath its copper roof and ornate sandstone carvings. Sadly, in April 2024, a devastating fire destroyed much of the structure — the spire collapsed, and the building suffered major damage. But the Danish people are already rebuilding, stone by stone, dragon by dragon. From the canal, you can still feel its presence — not as ruin, but as resilience. The spirit of Børsen remains: proud, defiant, and preparing to rise again.