I’VE spent the last week in Denmark’s capital, Copenhagen with two of my closest friends, in the name of a little experiment. This holiday was planned in no small part down to my desire to perv upon their famed cycling infrastructure. Being an active travel advocate, and someone who spends many of her waking hours on two wheels, I like to plan a little recon into my holidays. As Scotland grapples with how to use its travel budget, and I find myself deeper embroiled in Edinburgh’s Roseburn cycleway debate, I decided to see how different things could be in a place that’s committed to getting people out of their cars.

Back across the North Sea, the biggest barriers to cycling are well-documented. Studies have shown the major fears are safety concerns, lack of infrastructure, cycling confidence and road-user behaviour. The weather features pretty highly on that list – but the searing summer heat didn’t seem like something we could scrutinise (I have it on good authority from a local that they plough their cycle lanes in the winter). With two friends in tow – a cycling-able but non-cyclist and an non-commuting bike rider – we took to the streets of Europe’s most bike-friendly city to see if Denmark’s capital really has cracked the cycling thing.

The first real test was how easy it was to get on a bike and just go, where our grasp of the language is minimal, and our only inherent understanding of the roads was to keep right. This was a particularly daunting task for the friend who hadn’t been on a bike in decades. We wondered if we’d need to find somewhere quiet to re-establish the basic skills – as it turned out, it wasn’t necessary. Knowing how to stay upright, use the brakes and look around you were all that was needed to cycle safely. After a couple of hours following the crowds, and learning on the go, we interlopers felt as much part of the cycling community as the residents. Copenhagen got a big tick for instilling cycling confidence from the get-go.

After a few days on the roads, cycling for everything from a trip to the shop, to home from a nightclub at 6am, we all came to the same conclusion – it’s just so civilised here. People are patient, courteous and tolerant – even of the newbies on the ramshackle hire bikes with the screeching brakes. Despite our hesitation turning right at junctions, or forgetting to keep to the right of the lane, there was never so much as a tut from anyone. A little observation, and “unskyld” and “tak” (sorry and thank you) go a long way towards keeping people sweet.

All of this good behaviour is facilitated by the meaningful infrastructure. Frustration is minimal because the planning is so intuitive. The thing that strikes you about it is just how natural the bike lanes feel on the streets. Each street has transport strata – single-lane traffic, raised bike lanes and clearly-marked pavements. These all add up to a steady, easy flow of people through the city. No part feels congested or secondary to anything else. Attention to detail is everywhere – from the cycling-only traffic lights, micro-ramps to save you bumping up the kerb, unmistakable painted routes to foot-rests at junctions. It’s innovative, yet every part of it feels like a common-sense solution.

What’s more, you can see how well Copenhagen has addressed these barriers by the breadth of people on bikes – everyone cycles. Young people. Old people. Groups of friends. Couples. Mums and dads with child seats front and back. Instead of going side-by-side in buggies, nursery children are cycled four at a time in well-designed cargo bikes. The attitude towards cycling is positive, and the people respond in their droves.

Meanwhile, at home, things could hardly be more different. Edinburgh’s embroiled in a cycling-infrastructure war. A planned £9 million cycleway between Roseburn and Leith has shop-keepers petitioning against the track for fear of an impact on profits. Navigating your way along Scotland’s most polluted stretch of road, past community shops flanked with cars and their anti-cycleway posters, is a stark contrast to somewhere that’s enveloped active travel in both planning and attitude. At home, the undercurrent of hostility towards the two-wheelers is palpable. Having spent a week traversing the city without so much as a tut from anyone has been a welcome break from the heckling. It’s going to be especially hard to come back to a place that would rather their community was a car park, and actively campaigns against you being there.

In Copenhagen, planners respond to desire lines – if the cyclists find a better, more efficient way to go, the planners respond. In Edinburgh, just last month, the council installed a bin in the middle of one of these meander paths on an arterial route through the west of the city. They used blockade as a deterrent. Instead of adding an extra two metres of cycle track, they’ve committed to the paying for waste disposal for the foreseeable future. The contrast in attitudes to citizens is clear – at home they tell us how to use our roads, and here they listen to the people.

Copenhagen’s reputation as cycling exemplar is well deserved – getting around on a bike here is convenient, attractive, and ultimately, a lot of fun. Whether you’re a seasoned rider, or someone getting back on two wheels for the first time since childhood, there’s everything you could want to make the experience a pleasant one. Walking the streets feels inefficient as you watch the constant stream of people weave effortlessly through each and every street. It’s impossible to resist the urge to hop on.

Copenhagen has embraced the bike, and folded it into its culture. It’s become a modern day siren-song, luring the people out of their cars through a combination of progressive planning, normalisation and ease. Here, people feel like they belong on the street, no matter how they get around. For someone who spends her time dodging potholes, tramlines and cars, it’s a dream come true. And it makes it all the harder to come home knowing a cycling utopia isn’t just a pipe dream – it really does exist.