Here’s how Brits can weather a Scandi winter, Nordic-style

With the news that the UK is staring down the snow-cannon of an Arctic onslaught with temperatures of -15c, my first response was: -15c? Pfft. In the Nordic countries, we’ve been gripped by a big freeze for a fortnight, with parts of Sweden and Finland as low as -40c and up to 70cm of snow in Denmark. We’re talking Narnia.

I learned the rules for surviving a Nordic winter the hard way. Since I relocated from London to rural Denmark in 2013, I’ve become used to driving behind snowploughs, white knuckles gripping the steering wheel in a blizzard of flakes from all angles. Traffic lights and signage have been whited-out by snow and road markings been rendered invisible. Essential car kit now includes snow tires (better grip), extra blankets, emergency chocolate (this could just be me), and a snow shovel.

Fortunately, everyone in Denmark has a snow shovel, since it’s your civic duty to clear the pedestrian path outside your home by 8am every morning. This is so that your neighbour doesn’t break a hip on her way to buy milk. Even the prime minister can be seen shovelling snow in the inky blackness of a morning, so no one else minds doing the same.

During my first year of “living Danishly”, I approached winter the same way I had back home: with a flimsy coat, wet feet and a stiff drink. But I soon realised that sub-zero temperatures are no joke – and Danes take their winter wardrobe seriously. Vikings of all nationalities have variations on the mantra “no such thing as bad weather, just the wrong clothes”, and so wrap up to stay active come hail, sleet or snow.

Calling the Nordics “outdoorsy” is an understatement, and in Norway, friluftsliv – or “free air life” – is akin to a secular religion. During my last trip, Norwegians were getting their friluftsliv on in weather so cold, my eyelashes froze. But from birth, mini-Vikings are togged out in all manner of technical outerwear, from snowsuits to balaclavas and snow boots. This way, they can be outside, whatever the weather.

I’m now partial to a thermal underlayer, merino wool, a down jacket, salopettes, ski mittens, all the scarves, and a deerstalker. When it gets really cold, I’ll opt for an all-in-one quilted jumpsuit that I can walk the dog or do the school run in with my PJs underneath (and no one’s any the wiser). It’s not chic, but it is cosy.

I’m also the proud possessor of a pair of fleece-lined, slush-proof Sorel boots that have saved me from frostbitten toes on more than one occasion (an investment, but worth it). This means I can be outdoors daily, catching the smallest sliver of weak winter sun to stave of SAD and stock up on Vitamin D (as well as popping a daily supplement).

By dressing the part and embracing the cold weather, rather than trying to ignore it, I’m developing what Stanford University social psychologist Kari Leibowitz calls a “positive wintertime mindset”. Which is lucky, as the Scandinavian winter months tend to run between October and April.

Channelling our inner child can help, too. While the prospect of a ‘snow day’ doesn’t fill me with elation, for my three mini-Vikings, it’s magical. It means snowmen, sledging and snowball fights.

So far this year, we’ve built an entire village of snowmen/women/dogs. I’ve spent hours dragging sledges up hills then whizzing down perilously fast, flasks of hot chocolate on hand for when fingers turn blue. And I’ve had so many snowballs lobbed at me that my FitBit thinks I’ve done a HIIT workout most mornings as I duck, dodge and dive to avoid being pelted.

This doesn’t mean Danes have it all sorted when it comes to winter. The Danish equivalent of the BBC recently warned that sub-zero temperatures have been playing havoc with the nation’s skin, causing it to crack and compromising our natural barrier against bacteria. As someone who’s walking around wearing not one, not two, but three Pokémon plasters on her fingers at present, I can relate.

Doctors are advising Danes to apply fedtcreme, or “fat cream” – moisturiser with 70 per cent fat content, a little like Vaseline – on hands and face half an hour before heading outside. All to help the skin retain its moisture and reduce evaporation. I currently look like a waxwork and can’t quite get purchase on anything, but I live in hope of dewy skin.

There’s also wethairgate. As my Danish neighbour has informed me (and her daughter) on numerous occasions, in a Nordic winter, hair must only be washed in the evenings, to avoid freezing then snapping the second you step outside (one Swede captured the moment her wet hair turned to ice after venturing out in sub-zero temperatures. Sure, we could all use hair dryers, but with energy hikes and the Nordics being far from immune to the cost-of-living crisis, early bath and a towel works just fine.

Once Vikings finally come inside, it’s all about keeping warm. Nordic homes tend to have better insulation than those in the UK, since they’re used to the cold. But there’s still a culture of keeping things cosy with candles, blankets, sheepskin rugs and the all-important Danish hygge. This is the untranslatable concept of cosy togetherness than has been keeping Danes going since the 1800s – and is the kind of self-care we can all get behind: being kind to yourself and prioritising the people you care about.

Plentiful hot drinks and snacks don’t hurt, either and I’m currently writing this in goblin-mode, with coffee, tea, hot chocolate and a slice of leftover Christmas cake.

Finally, if it all gets too much, hibernate. As one Finnish friend assures me: “The best thing you can do is get enough sleep and winter is the perfect time of year to spend the evenings watching Netflix then going to bed at 9.30pm.”

So there you have it: wrap up, get out, play, then retreat to get cosy and be kind to yourself – Viking-style.

Helen Russell is author of ‘How to Raise a Viking: The Secrets of Parenting the World’s Happiest Children’, which is published by Fourth Estate on 15th February