The two cylindrical concrete silos1 at Sandkaj Harbour in Nordhavn have become my personal landmark when meeting up with friends for a swim. The view from there opens up to a set of contemporary buildings, designed by some of the most well-known architectural firms in Denmark. The visual language screams novelty – futuristic (whatever that means), geometric, playing between symmetrical harmony and asymmetrical angularity. A panoramic view of desaturated, cool-toned colours with the burnt-red brick residential buildings as the only piece standing out. Cooler, glass-heavy architecture against the warmer red-brick buildings. The bricks radiate warmth throughout, amplified when the sun is shining, beautiful.
To swim there is quite convenient, no sand sneaking into my beach bag, sticking between the pages of my book or in the creases of my swimsuit, skin and toes. The concrete harbour deck is well-organised, with easy access for lying down and getting in and out of the water. Whenever I feel like taking a quick swim and basking in the sun, without wanting to get sand in my shoes and then unwillingly bring some home, I go there.
A few days before the photoshoot of our guest writers for this issue2, as I walked from Nordhavn Metro station to Sandkaj Harbour, my steps got slower and more intentional. I imagined myself in a wheelchair, and took the exact routes a person in a wheelchair would. I noticed the tightness of the sidewalk before crossing the street, the people passing by, the thresholds I would never even notice. Crossing the street, the curb ramps were steep, but they were there, I thought. My assumption? Well, if I had a personal assistant, they would hold my weight and keep my wheelchair balanced while using these sharp curb ramps to cross the street.
I then directed myself towards the cylindrical silos. From there, I started walking around and documenting the accessible parking spots on the side of the streets in the district. I marked them on a rough map, sent them to Cath, one of our guest writers and model in the photoshoot project, so her personal assistant (PA) could find a parking spot quite easily. Then I thought: Park ‘n’ Play3 is right next to the silos, just in case all the external accessible parking spots were unavailable.
So… Accessible parking spots – check!
I then continued my slow and intentional “accessibility-friendly” walk along the routes around the harbour. The walkway is concrete and smooth, with the choice of either using the terraced steps or ramps – check.
There are benches spread throughout the walkway – check.
An image of Portland Towers in Nordhavn, Copenhagen, viewed from across the waterfront. On the left, two large cylindrical concrete silos rise above a curved glass-and-steel office structure, forming the Portland Towers. In front of and around the towers are several residential and commercial buildings of varying heights. The image is taken from Wikimedia Commons under a Creative Commons license.
I consider my personal positive experience in Copenhagen to be hanging out with the people I love. It is activity-bound, which is, I guess, quite common. But it is also interesting that this experience doesn't come from the architectural framework, but is enabled by it.
It always starts with finding an accessible parking spot.
Finding accessible parking is difficult in most parts of the city. At Sandkaj harbour, I was forty minutes late to the photoshoot because we had to find an accessible parking spot. Even though it's supposed to be this new, shiny and flashy area, most of the parking spaces are privately owned, including the accessible ones. You know, private parking spaces have their own paid booths, meaning that even though I have a disability parking permit, I still have to pay. And because they are privately administered, the pricing varies, and I am telling you, it is never cheap.
So, first, there's a high expense on my part just to park. And second, it takes time to even find an available accessible parking spot. Besides, my car has a high roof4, so it can't access most of the multi-storey car parks (for instance, we couldn’t access Park‘n’Play3). That is why, most of the time, I need street parking.
Since, again, Nordhavn is known to be this novel area with all the diverse ways of getting to and around it, I obviously assumed accessible parking would be easily available. Unfortunately, that was not the case.
It’s a stress factor to always have to counterbalance any kind of challenge around this specific first step – finding accessible parking. This includes many other areas within Copenhagen, but I thought that, since Nordhavn has sprung up as this supposedly inclusive and newly built district, where people from diverse backgrounds and with different abilities can hang out, this should not be a problem. But if I can't even park my car, then I won't be able to join them.
A Dilemma
It's a real paradox to me. I really love biodiversity – I love plants and greenery. I have this environmental consciousness, but at the same time, I know that concrete, smooth pavements are also crucial to my accessibility experience.
So where do I position myself in this dilemma?
My friend said: “Well, it's like that for me too, but maybe you think more about it because you're confronted with it every day.”
Regardless of my body’s abilities, it's a dilemma that defies my values on a daily basis. Yes, I would like to contribute to sustainability and biodiversity, and I love being in a green environment. But I also really need smooth pathways and ramps to get to where I need to be.
So, how do you solve this?
I would not want to be in the shoes of the architects, because, it is really complex.
Cath Borch Jensen is a cross-media artist, body activist, and accessibility consultant. Her practice explores how we relate to and communicate with one another, challenging norms around bodies, language, and representation. Cath works across stage, TV, podcast, and contemporary art, and she brings a bodily rooted perspective to questions of access, presence, and expression. Photograph by Simone Steenberg for AND ORS, funded by Sharing Copenhagen.
Cath Borch Jensen is a cross-media artist, body activist, and accessibility consultant. Her practice explores how we relate to and communicate with one another, challenging norms around bodies, language, and representation. Cath works across stage, TV, podcast, and contemporary art, and she brings a bodily rooted perspective to questions of access, presence, and expression. Photograph by Simone Steenberg for AND ORS, funded by Sharing Copenhagen.
Cath Borch Jensen is a cross-media artist, body activist, and accessibility consultant. Her practice explores how we relate to and communicate with one another, challenging norms around bodies, language, and representation. Cath works across stage, TV, podcast, and contemporary art, and she brings a bodily rooted perspective to questions of access, presence, and expression. Photograph by Simone Steenberg for AND ORS, funded by Sharing Copenhagen.
It felt like the stakeholders behind Sandkaj Harbour were too ambitious in trying to create something different or new. I am guessing they had a lot of focus on multi-use? Having pedestrians, cyclists and cars all sharing the same space along the harbour. For me, as someone who is always aware of their space, and concerned with it, this causes a problem. It triggers my PTSD and affects my feeling of safety and hypervigilance, which is why space and clearly separated pathways play such an important role for me. When different forms of transportation are all crammed together, I can get too overwhelmed, lose my balance, or even experience a flashback.
Besides, the space feels half done. Maybe it started with an ambition to create something different, and I do believe that, for many, the execution has tended to their needs. But for me, it feels like the original intention wasn’t properly implemented. I might see it differently if I knew what their intention was in the design process, and what challenges occurred during the development and/or construction process that made the project feel incomplete.
Swimming as a selling point
A friend of mine invited me to go swimming at Sandkaj Harbour a week before the photoshoot. I asked her to take photos of the area, showing the possible accessible railings that assist you in entering the water for a swim. There is, I think, only one spot where I could enter the water, with railings and everything. But everyone was crowding that exact spot, the only one I could use. So I had to elbow my way to get to this one accessible entry point to the water.
I assume the main goal of this project is to invite people to swim. Their biggest selling point – swimming at Sandkaj Harbour in Nordhavn – already creates a sort of negative feeling for me when I see it being marketed.
If I can't even interact with their biggest selling point, then what’s the point of going there in the first place?
If I take the swimming aspect out of the equation… Well, yes, sure, the view is nice to look at, and, I guess, there are small corners that feel safe enough to hang out in – once you manage to get there. I could meet a friend there, sit on a bench and enjoy the sea breeze. Even so, if I'm choosing somewhere to go that offers me the same experience, there are many places in Copenhagen where I can just meet a friend, sit on a bench and enjoy the sea breeze. But if that's the only reason for me to go to Nordhavn, I wouldn’t go there anyway.
Anthony Dexter Giannelli is a visual artist based in Copenhagen, Denmark. His practice uses the dichotomy between the concrete and the virtual to question how we, as immaterial beings, interact with the world when the physicality of our bodies is limited. Photograph by Simone Steenberg for AND ORS, funded by Sharing Copenhagen.
Anthony Dexter Giannelli is a visual artist based in Copenhagen, Denmark. His practice uses the dichotomy between the concrete and the virtual to question how we, as immaterial beings, interact with the world when the physicality of our bodies is limited. Photograph by Simone Steenberg for AND ORS, funded by Sharing Copenhagen.
Anthony Dexter Giannelli is a visual artist based in Copenhagen, Denmark. His practice uses the dichotomy between the concrete and the virtual to question how we, as immaterial beings, interact with the world when the physicality of our bodies is limited. Photograph by Simone Steenberg for AND ORS, funded by Sharing Copenhagen.
When I came to meet for the photoshoot, the water was on my right side while people were walking by from different directions. Once I stood next to a building façade, I felt safe. I could keep my back towards the façade for a long time, where I feel grounded again and reorient myself towards my destination. When navigating, it’s important for me to get to a point where I can get an overview of my surroundings, with my back protected, and figure out where I want to go next. Then, even when someone is coming towards you, you still have control over what is in front of you. So, 100% of the time I would choose a place where I have a sort of wall protecting my back so I'm not caught off guard, avoiding a situation where I'm just out in the open, waiting for someone, not knowing if they're going to greet me with a poke on my left or right shoulder.
Diverse Rooms
It's funny because now there’s a lot of talk about Copenhagen, and how the city has to be renewed with new buildings and so on… how it needs to get a refresh.
I think what matters for people in a physical space is the feeling of entering some kind of room, and being able to orientate themselves towards the room they wish to enter.
What kind of room am I in at the moment?
What does it invite me to do?
Are there a lot of people in this room?
Do I need to have a conversation?
If so, what kind of conversation would I have with the people in this room?
There are many confusing elements at the harbour. So many different rooms within this open space. The container is one room. It felt a bit cold, blue. When I touched it I felt it didn’t match me. But the red brick façade, the heat coming from it, warmed by the sun… the heat did something to me. It felt nice and warm, red. The brick façade I could sit next to, in the sun, just have a beer and relax. It felt safe.
Another point, you cannot look straight ahead for more than 50 meters without meeting a wall. The feeling is different from when you are situated in a more traditional district, like Enghave Plads, where you can stand and almost see Copenhagen Central Station in one direction, Vesterbrogade in another, and an alley in a third, and so on. At Sandkaj Harbour, you cannot look without having to register another building, shape or angle, and thinking: “Could I go there and not be met by a dead end?” I guess, you could say that if the area was built by the tail end of the 1800's or perhaps in a war time, it would scream “danger!” to everyone.
I do like the concept of an open space, but at the same time, it’s ruining some of the existing rooms, cosy corners where it is possible to have a bit of privacy and agency over the space.
Some people like open spaces, others like flowers – I love flowers, but what I don't like is a flower-filled vase placed on a dinner table in front of me, it obstructs my field of view, and I am unable to readily see my conversation partner… The point I am trying to make is, we're all different, so how can we make a Copenhagen that fits all? I have no idea.
Most people are not constantly forced to think about the ways they are vulnerable in their everyday lives. For the rest of us who are constantly met with barriers on a day-to-day basis, it is not merely an analytical question of accessibility, universal design or support, but a feeling. The feeling of belonging – or unbelonging, if you will.
Cathrine Mejdal is an independent accessibility consultant and keynote speaker. She runs Mejdal Consulting, a practice dedicated to accessibility, strategic communication, and project development that supports businesses and cultural institutions in engaging meaningfully with people living with disabilities as users, leaders, audiences, and customers. Cathrine is profoundly Deaf and a native Danish Sign Language user. Photograph by Simone Steenberg for AND ORS, funded by Sharing Copenhagen.
Cathrine Mejdal is an independent accessibility consultant and keynote speaker. She runs Mejdal Consulting, a practice dedicated to accessibility, strategic communication, and project development that supports businesses and cultural institutions in engaging meaningfully with people living with disabilities as users, leaders, audiences, and customers. Cathrine is profoundly Deaf and a native Danish Sign Language user. Photograph by Simone Steenberg for AND ORS, funded by Sharing Copenhagen.
Cathrine Mejdal is an independent accessibility consultant and keynote speaker. She runs Mejdal Consulting, a practice dedicated to accessibility, strategic communication, and project development that supports businesses and cultural institutions in engaging meaningfully with people living with disabilities as users, leaders, audiences, and customers. Cathrine is profoundly Deaf and a native Danish Sign Language user. Photograph by Simone Steenberg for AND ORS, funded by Sharing Copenhagen.
As a physically and auditorily able person, I could notice the accessible features along the harbour, but there were many more details that did not even cross my mind.
On the day of the photoshoot, I thought I had solved the accessible parking issue. I marked the available spots on a screenshot of a map and sent it off to Cath. I was obviously wrong.
When I first arrived to meet Cath at the two cylindrical silos – I suggested meeting at this exact location because I knew there were two accessible parking spots just under the silos – I realised that they were already in use. At that moment, I thought to myself: there should be an app with all the accessible parking spots around Copenhagen (and eventually beyond) marked green when available, red when occupied, and orange when booked or soon to become available for booking. This way, people with accessible vehicles could plan ahead, book a spot for a certain amount of hours, and make it on time to enjoy the city. They wouldn't have to waste their time and energy driving around for almost an hour just to find an accessible parking spot, only to end up parking far from their destination (which defeats the whole point of accessibility). This sounds like a small challenge, but for someone who already has to plan their movements around accessibility, it can make a huge difference.
I went to check Park ‘n’ Play. I walked in through the vehicular route (irresponsible and dangerous, I know) to see if there were accessible parking spots. I found one near the entrance on the first floor. However, the maximum clearance for vehicles to access this multi-storey car park is 2.05 m, which is a bit low for high-roof vans4. I wonder if the accessible parking spot in this car park is actually being used.
Additionally, the fact that I can easily access the water, that I love open spaces and don't fear navigating through them, meant that I did not even think of the needs of Anthony and Cathrine in this situation. I was blinded by how automatic these behaviours were to me. They simply didn't exist on my conscious how-to list.
Walking easily on the concrete, finding a spot to lay my beach towel, heading towards the water deck without any worry, despite the fact that it is filled with people running and jumping into the water. Enjoying the open space, far from its peripheries, navigating the pedestrian, bike and vehicle traffic, without even batting an eye. These automatic movements we perform daily are precisely those we do not notice, until they are no longer automatic for us, or for the people we love.
An image of the vehicular entrance to the Park'n'Play, a multi-storey car park. A horizontal height restriction bar spans the vehicle entrance and is marked "205 cm", indicating a maximum clearance of 2.05 metres. Photographed in August 2026 by Rosemary Zeynoun.
The two cylindrical towers mentioned in this article are a reference to the Portland Towers. The Portland Towers are two former cement silos built by Aalborg Portland in 1979. They were originally used for cement storage at the harbour and were then transformed into a modern office building in 2013-2014, with the new structure built around the original concrete forms (VisitCopenhagen, n.d.).
To celebrate the work of Issue 3 – Accessibility and/or Aesthetics – AND ORS had an event in collaboration with Copenhagen Architecture Forum (CAFx), Sharing Copenhagen and AccessibleEU. The three guest writers of the issue (Cath, Anthony and Cathrine) not only talked about the experiences mentioned in their articles, but also shared their experiences during the photoshoot for the event campaign. Along with Sharing Copenhagen, AND ORS picked Sandkaj Harbour in Nordhavn as the location for the photoshoot, in order to highlight accessibility in the newly built area.
Park ‘n’ Play, also known as Parking House Lüders, is a multi-storey car park in Nordhavn designed by JAJA Architects. The construction was completed in 2016, and it combines parking with a public recreational space on its roof, Konditaget Lüders, which includes facilities for exercise and play (Danish Architecture Center, n.d.).
Under BR18, point 3.6, accessible parking spaces and their access routes should provide a clear height of 2.6 m, as recommended in the Vejregler guidance. Where this cannot be achieved in underground car parks, sufficiently dimensioned accessible spaces should be provided outside the car park, with clear signage directing users to them, including, where necessary, spaces suitable for vans (Vejdirektoratet, 2018).
As Park ’n’ Play has a clearance of 2.05 m, this may accommodate some wheelchair-accessible vehicles, but it does not accommodate the full range of accessible vehicles, particularly slightly larger vans and minibuses.
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