The Hyggelig Journey

I found myself, quite perplexed, observing a rather animated discussion on the Internet — of all things, about bathing. The participants, otherwise respectable members of a Northern club, chattered away with abandon, their arguments flowing as freely as a brook in spring. To them, bathing was nothing more than a self-indulgent luxury, an exercise in mere well-being rather than a necessity of hygiene. They dismissed the notion of its practical value, reducing it to sheer vanity. Lamentable. I pictured them, as a thought experiment, transported to the unyielding heat of Rio de Janeiro. The sun, unrelenting, bearing down upon them; the air thick with humidity, clinging to their skin like a wet woollen cloak. And then, inevitably, the scent — the ripe, unmistakable musk of human exertion, its pungency announcing itself well before its bearer appeared. A harsh yet inevitable reminder of reality, unsoftened by the forgiving chill of their northern climate. What reigning arrogance...