Landmarks: A Tourist Journey in Pursuit of the Horses of Copenhagen
- Timna Benn
- Nov 7, 2025
- 8 min read
I travelled with my partner’s mother and his two sisters for a short trip in Denmark. A week that was partly family time, partly a women’s getaway, and above all - a necessary vacation for mental health. Perhaps a brief escape, immersing ourselves in a language full of strange and soft endings, eating extremely well, drinking a bit too much, wandering the streets, buying things I do not need but suddenly, really want.
A kind of bodily pause from the race (even though we covered more kilometers than any recruit in basic training), and along the way my mental well-being - without any formal request - began to loosen up.
And despite the attempt to escape - or perhaps because of it - they appeared to me from every corner. The horses.
As though walking before me and marking that between a heavenly Danish pastry (Københavnerbirkes) and perfume, between statue and sidewalk, between a majestic fountain and a LEGO store, there is more to see.
As though whispering to me: You can travel wherever you like, but we will be there before you - a quiet echo, almost invisible, just waiting for you to notice.
The Airport - Glass, Light, and a Sense of Beginning
I had not even finished saying “jeg hedder Timna” before I found myself standing in front of a transparent sculpture of a horse and rider.
It did not shout, but it was hard to ignore. Colourful, translucent, almost floating. It is part of a work called Arkadia, a collaboration between Danish artist Per Steen Hebsgaard and Norwegian painter Frans Widerberg. It is believed to be the world’s first life-sized glass sculpture of a horse and rider. It is located in Pier A, between gates 18 and 34 - a hymn to movement, not only aerial but emotional.
I stood before it, still carrying my gear - backpack, neck pillow, too many scarves - while each of my travel companions dashed off in different directions for coffee, toilets, currency exchange. My body had not landed yet, but something in my vision already did.
I sat with a giant coffee (at a price that makes Tel Aviv seem modest) and a butter cookie from Lagkagehuset, and let the light caress the glass. It was one of those rare moments - the journey had not yet begun, but the heart already understood something would shift. Even if it’s just a few days. Even if it’s just Copenhagen.
That transparent horse seemed to whisper: Let your feet lead. We will meet again.
The Statue of Frederick V - Where Art Meets Family Myth
On an especially soft evening, while daylight still washed the city (darkness arrives only around 10:00 PM!), on our way back from dinner and aimless wandering, we found ourselves in Amalienborg Square - surrounded by the four symmetrical palaces of the Danish royal family. Guarded at the entrance of each palace are the impressive royal guards (a bit comical to the cynical among us). Yet even we were caught by the formality - something about the timing, the uniforms, and the fact someone takes this so seriously. By the way, if you are there around noon, you can see the changing of the guard - synchronized marching, festive music, and a moment of regal presence impossible to ignore.
In the centre of the square towers the statue of King Frederick V, mounted on his horse, posture erect, gaze forward, hand extended in a noble gesture. The statue, completed in 1771 by the French sculptor Jacques François Joseph Saly, is considered one of Scandinavia’s most remarkable sculptures - not merely by its size and precision, but for the quiet power it radiates. The bronze horse is alert, yet still. The king does not brandish a weapon - he is simply present.
While I photographed the dramatic square and tested how indifferent the guards truly were, my sister-in-law tossed me a comment: “There is a theory that the horse’s pose in a statue hints at how the rider died”.
So we checked.
If both front legs are raised - the rider died in battle. If one leg is raised - he was wounded. If all four legs are on the ground - he died peacefully.
Like every good myth, there is a kernel of truth. It holds for some statues, like Andrew Jackson in Washington or Napoleon in Paris. But exceptions abound - and there are many. Even here in the heart of Copenhagen, the horse stands steady - though history might suggest otherwise.
There is no real consistency, nor any documentation that it was intentional. Yet - it is a beautiful myth. Something in it arranges the world, like reading signs in the silent bronze. And in that moment, as we stood there, we lifted our gaze - not to confirm facts, but simply to see. And sometimes, that is far more important.
Shopping, Horses, and Everything in Between
On the day predesignated for “wandering” (i.e. scheduled shopping), we began the morning in Kongens Nytorv - the city’s largest square and the point where the main shopping street Strøget meets a river of tourists, store windows, street musicians, and branded bags.
This is not the part of Copenhagen that asks you to slow pace - quite the opposite. It’s the city deploying its commercial magic at full strength, unapologetically.
In the centre of the square, like a quiet observer of it all, stands the statue of King Christian V, mounted on his horse, scepter in one hand, the other hand resting casually by his side.
The statue, erected in the late 17th century, was the first full bronze statue in Scandinavia and served as a model for royal sculpture of the period - and perhaps a permanent backdrop in local wedding photography.
The blend of historic bronze with Magasin du Nord on one side and HAY House on the other felt almost absurd - but that’s Copenhagen. Ancient and modern, classic and hip, simply coexisting.
Between one local gift shop and the international Zara, we passed the window of Penhaligon’s - a British perfumery with Victorian roots and an unmistakable presence. In the window: a perfume bottle adorned with a gilded horse head.
No rider. No carriage. Just the horse. Noble, standing on its own, wrapped in dark velvet.
I stopped. Not because I truly intended to buy (though perhaps a little - but certainly not within budget), but because the imagery was simply perfect - a horse that is not a tool, but a statement.
And in some way, that is what good shopping does - it makes you feel, momentarily, that you do not need to hurry or perform, only choose. Just be.
On the Way to Nyhavn - Moment with a Real King on a Horse
On our route to one of Copenhagen’s most photogenic spots - the colourful canals of Nyhavn - we passed another equestrian statue, perhaps less dramatic but no less loaded with meaning.
King Christian X, mounted alone, without sword, without pomp. Just him, his horse, and a steady gaze forward.
Christian X, who ruled Denmark from 1912 to 1947, became a mythic figure of quiet steadfastness and uncompromising resolve. During the Nazi occupation in World War II, he used to ride daily through Copenhagen’s streets unguarded, without protection - a living symbol of presence, resistance, and sanity in trembling times.
This statue, recalling those daily rides, was erected not to reenact battle, but to preserve a memory of moral backbone.
What is beautiful is its simplicity. No affectation. No exaltation. Just a man on a horse - exactly where the Danes most loved to see him. And for a moment, so did we. We paused. Looked. And continued toward the water.
The Royal Stables - Behind the Show, at the Beating Heart of Splendour
Among all the city tours, this was the only one in which we encountered real horses. Not an image, not a statue, not a gilded perfume cap - but an actual living horse. Breathing. Standing. Staring. Occasionally snorting.
The tour of the Royal Stables (in Christiansborg Palace, on Slotsholmen) began - unsurprisingly - in a gift shop. Why is it always that way? As though someone insists that a step into royal history must first pass through magnets shaped like carriages, aprons with the Danish flag, or tote bags reading Royal Horses of Denmark.
We moved past it - for beyond the display window, horses awaited. Real ones.
They emanated a calm that inspired envy. While we dash among tasks and lists, they simply stand. Waiting quietly for the next carriage, the next ceremony, the next gentle touch.
When we entered the stables themselves, something shifted. Each of us slowed. Began whispering. Like entering a cathedral - only here, the walls are wooden beams and the incense replaced by the familiar scent of horses.
Yet, there was nothing staged about it. On the contrary - they seemed perfectly at ease.
One of them - a greyer horse than the others, suggesting youth - had just been let into pasture. He didn’t wait for anyone. He trotted a bit, paused, flicked his tail, releasing untapped energy from the morning.
I stood by the fence. He noticed me. Stopped. We looked at each other.
There was nothing especially dramatic - but enough. A small, quiet moment between two beings who didn’t need words.
On the final day, between the last packing and one more pastry debate, we decided to go on a Bicycle tour. It was a practical and wonderful way to tick off several of Copenhagen’s classic stops. We paused by The Little Mermaid (yes, she is really small), continued to the Reffen food market, which exceeded all expectations - in taste and atmosphere - and ended with a surprising, colourful walk through Christiania, the city’s freest and most complex district.
Although we did not ride horses during the trip - only bicycles - there was something analogous in it. Shared movement. A rhythm forming. A space that changes around you once you are ready to see it.
At the end of that day, I walked into a modest yet precise Danish design shop. Among minimalist wooden pieces and effortless aesthetics, I found a charming wooden horse by Kay Bojesen - a Danish icon that somehow channels both childhood and eternity.
I lifted it off the shelf and knew this would be my gift for my mother.
Not a mere souvenir of Copenhagen - but a blessing. Something small, stable, wise, with quiet motion - like the horses I met along this journey.
Thus, without overplanning, I returned home with a suitcase full not only of purchases and chocolate, but of signs. Of a different pace, a different breath, and creatures - quiet, intelligent, appearing exactly when you are ready to meet them.
When we returned to the airport, just before security control, I passed once more by the transparent horse sculpture. It was there, just as at the beginning. Quiet. Bright. Stable. And if at first it whispered “Let your feet lead”, now it seemed to nod in approval, as though saying: “Good that you noticed.”
