New Year's traditions: winter bathing 101

The emotions, the highs, the lows, the cold, the cinnamon buns - on preparing for our first new year living Danishly in the UK

Did we all survive Christmas? Is everyone still sound of body if not mind? In the words of Holly Willoughby: ‘Are you okay?’

I had a surprisingly nice time (I know!). We went on many long walks to counteract sprouts, let siblings squabble their own way to ‘the peace table’ daily (see How to Raise a Viking) and watched some EXCELLENT television. And now, all eyes turn to the next event in the festive calendar: New Year’s Eve. That night of endlessly repeated stories, stale cava-breath and pressure to snog at midnight.

Well, New Year’s Eve can do one.

Really, it’s not my favourite.

I’m typically sober in the world of the drunk and wishing I were elsewhere. Preferably with a book. But New Year’s Day? Now that’s a different story. I LOVE New Year’s Day. It’s a fresh start. It’s the never-before-trampled on beginning of something. And yes: there is also, often, a certain smugness that I’m not hungover in a world of hungover people (apologies). Although what I really love are the New Year’s Day traditions we’ve upheld while living Danishly.

For the past 11 years, January 1st has meant taking to the water for a new year’s day dunk in the Baltic. It’s a custom I’m mourning and missing as we approach our first New Year’s Day living Danishly in the UK. So as I’m still up to my eyes in Christmas crafting/baking/sibling conflict negotiations for school holidays, I thought I’d share an oldie but a goodie from the archives.

Danes love "Vinterbadning", translated as winter bathing. Although ‘bathing’ is a strong word that suggests a leisurely soak. And the way I do it is more of an icy fjord plunge then out again as soon as is humanly possible…

This isn’t a late conversion to any Wim Hoff tendencies (I’m a massive wuss - as you can see). Instead, it’s something Danes have been doing for hundreds of years.

Denmark’s first winter bathing establishment was created in the 1800's, the ice-cold tradition has been associated with health and well-being. It is said to benefit both body and soul. Either way, you come out tingling and the colour of a freshly boiled ham, in my case. And while I wear swimwear, many don’t. And honestly, you should see the colour some things turn when they've been in iced water for a spell. One man who took the plunge after me turned practically fluorescent. All over.

I recently saw this picture of locals enjoying a frosty dip near me back in 1937 (clothed, you’ll be delighted to see).

I’m a reluctant dipper, as evidenced by the expression I make when submerging myself in the icy depths (see above), versus the expression I make when wearing a onesie and eating a slice of quiche afterwards (see below. Delicious, thanks for asking).

But I do it. And I feel better for it. At least I have, every January 1st, for a decade. There was something comforting about eating cinnamon swirls (kanelsnegle or cinnamon snails in Denmark) on the beach and exchanging new years greetings with fellow sea-dippers and dog walkers before passing around soggy slices of quiche.

I don’t know what we’ll be doing next Wednesday. But it won’t be this. And I’ll miss it.

To my Danish crew: I trust that you’ll keep the tradition going. May the water be bracing, the weather forgiving and the cinnamon buns plentiful. I’m back in Denmark later this month for work and I look forward to hugging the heck out of you then.

READ: HOW TO RAISE A VIKING, THE SECRETS OF NORDIC PARENTING

Until next time, vi ses,

Helen