What to pack for Copenhagen in October

13 rain days a month finds every seam. A real shell, not a windbreaker.

Wear one, dry one. Cotton stays wet all week here.

The layer you'll wear more than any other.

Water reflects low sun and glare stings tired eyes.

Check ankles and, if there's a dog, paws and ears every night.

Coastal terrain and urban crowds spread minor infections fast.

This country runs on Type C, E, F or K. Get one with USB-C so you're not fighting over the single outlet.

Ten hours of daylight means the phone dies before the day ends.

Set it up before you land. Signal drops for long stretches outside cities.

Dark by 6:05pm. Every campsite chore after that is a two-hands job.

Overhead bins on every airline that flies here fit this size.

Urban parks and museums fill most daylight hours.

Fits the overhead on every airline that matters. Skip the checked-bag line entirely.

For the passport, the chargers, and the one dry pair of socks.

Wind gusts to 28 km/h chill exposed skin at 48°F.

One brick charges the laptop, phone, and camera.

Hotel and cafe wifi is shared with everyone else in the building. A VPN keeps your banking and email to yourself.

Crowded transit stations and city streets lose bags fast.

Laundry happens once a week in shared guesthouses.

Thirteen rain days leave clothes damp and smelling stale.

Transit noise and crowded hotels steal sleep on short days.

Thirteen rain days a month means wet feet damage leather.

Ten and a half hours of daylight still burns lips at sea level.

Tap water is safe, but surfaces touched by many hands are not.

One outlet per room charges nothing without a second cable.

A few phrases go a long way. Ten minutes a day before you leave is plenty.

International travel requires proof of identity at every border.

Luggage moves through transit hubs and airport hands.

Humidity at 82 percent fogs lenses and grows mold on gear.

Transit hubs and hotel noise wake you on the short nights here.