»It’s a cue that we’re going in—maybe not the lion’s den, but Simba’s«

We spent Monday planning the U.S. trip, and I got back to my apartment pretty late when my permanent secretary called. New info had just come in: the meeting wouldn’t just be with Rubio—it would be with Vance as well. I thought, »Not good.«

We’d reached out to Foreign Minister Marco Rubio because we know him. The first time I met him after he became foreign minister, Greenland was on the agenda, but he took it off—said we should wait until things cooled down. He’s a rational guy, and the point of a meeting is to anchor the process with thoughtful people. I’ve met Rubio many times.

I’ve only seen the vice president at the Munich Security Conference, and then in the Oval Office during the meeting with Zelensky, which didn’t go well.

But I agreed with my department head that we would stick to it. We reached out ourselves. So we can’t say no just because the vice president is involved.

I slept very few hours on Monday night; my mind was racing. I have this obsession with walking 10,000 steps a day, and when it’s 3 o’clock, it’s Tuesday’s steps, so I get up and walk. I have a treadmill in my apartment. I also know we have to fly, so it will be difficult to reach those steps. You can’t walk that much back and forth on a plane.

I just manage to stop by my hairdresser and get a trim. My staff has said I need it. Sometimes my hairdresser also calls in and says: »I saw Lars on the TV news; he needs to come by.«

I am in the Foreign Policy Committee with Troels (Lund Poulsen, Minister of Defense, ed.) to brief on the situation and how the meeting in Washington has changed character. We do a brief doorstep; I have to catch a flight.

We’re flying via Keflavik, and the plane is badly delayed. We sit on the runway for an hour, and my team starts worrying we’ll miss the connection to Washington. The flight attendants tell us not to worry—they’ll hold the Washington flight. They’re very warm, they know what’s at stake, and they wish us »good luck.«

During the layover, I open my phone. I posted a fairly flat and neutral update on social media, probably just saying that these are serious times, but now we are on our way as we left Copenhagen. When we land in Keflavik, there are hundreds of comments; people write »just go for it« and »we trust you.« Wow, that’s pretty wild. I’m used to likes and sweet comments, but normally there are also people who write »you are a disgrace to Danish democracy,« »I hope you die,« and »can’t you just get a real job,« but here it’s only positive people. I know it’s important, but it really hits me that, wow, this is more than that. This means something to many.

We rush on, catch the flight, and land in Washington, where the post gets even crazier. More comments. I also see that Trump says he doesn’t know who Jens-Frederik (Nielsen, Greenland’s Prime Minister, ed.) is, and that it will be a problem for him if Greenland wants to stay in the Kingdom of Denmark.

Vivian Motzfeldt, Greenland’s foreign minister, arrived the day before, and we’re sitting in the ambassador’s residence by the fireplace, talking through tomorrow. My motto is ‘better well-rested than well-prepared,’ although it’s great to be both, and we are well-prepared. It’s a bit like going to an exam. We have studied. Should we go through everything one more time? No, we don’t need to; we can answer when the examiner asks. Now it’s more important to get to bed.

We go to bed at a reasonable time, American time, around 11 PM. I sleep at the residence. But it’s 5 AM Danish time, so even though you’re tired, you can’t sleep long. I wake up at 2:30, 3:30, and 4:30.

I wake up early. I’m informed that Trump has posted on Truth Social, claiming that the U.S. needs Greenland for the Golden Dome. We have people at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs working around the clock to monitor developments. They can visually demonstrate the impact of a post—whether it’s something that goes unnoticed or if it reaches a wide audience.

Vivian arrives, we have breakfast, and while we’re sipping coffee, another post from Trump appears, stating that Denmark only has two dog sleds in Greenland. It’s a reminder that we’re heading into, well, maybe not the lion’s den, but Simba’s. I remain calm, it’ll be fine.

We drive towards the Eisenhower Building, where the Vice President’s office is located. I can see it’s quite large. TV is covering my drive live. It’s reminiscent of the 2011 election, where cameras followed my drive from Marienborg to Christiansborg. My phone buzzes with messages.

I feel okay. It’s like preparing for an exam. We’ve studied extensively, and when we draw a question, we can answer it. Now it’s just about keeping our composure. And remembering that they’re people. They’re human beings, flesh and blood. And they’re all younger than me. When I was first elected to Parliament, what was Vance doing? Attending college?

And hey, we have a strong case. In our job, we constantly defend our positions, sometimes standing up for something a bit shaky, a campaign promise not yet fulfilled, pretending we have a solid argument. But here, we DO have a strong case. We’re a great ally, there aren’t Russians and Chinese everywhere, and the thing about two dog sleds isn’t true.

They won’t intimidate us, I tell myself. And Vivian.

When we meet with Rubio and Vance, there are five minutes of small talk before the meeting. Rubio pats me on the shoulder and introduces me to Vance. We talk about Vance’s visit to Greenland and about polar bears. Vivian mentions that her father has shot two himself. Vance asks if we’ve tasted polar bear. I have. Rubio says he’d rather eat alligator, like they have down in Florida. The atmosphere is good.

Then the meeting begins. Given the circumstances, Trump and Vance’s outbursts against Greenland, it’s a good meeting, a really good meeting. Very focused, not an easy meeting. You can feel the seriousness, and the opening remarks show that it is the president’s crystal-clear ambition to acquire Greenland.

They argue for it. We argue against it, and I sense that we do it so credibly that it makes an impression. We counter the narrative that it’s teeming with Chinese and Russians. We explain that we’re doing what we can, that we’ve invested in the airport, that Greenland is moving forward with investment screenings, the Arctic packages. We point out what the U.S. isn’t doing, that they had 17 installations (military, ed.), now they have 1. There used to be 10,000 Americans, now there are 200.

The meeting is primarily about the future, about 5, 10, or 15 years from now. What happens if there’s a new government in Denmark or Greenland, and when the ice melts? We try to get a handle on the framework; some things need adjusting, but it’s hard to wake up every morning to new threats. The conclusion is that we agree we fundamentally disagree, but nevertheless want to start a conversation that takes place elsewhere than on social media, Truth Social, and Fox News.

When we leave the meeting, it’s with the feeling that it could have been much worse. I have no idea there are cameras filming us. I’m freezing like hell, so when I run to the car, it’s not to find my cigarettes, but my coat. Jesper (Møller Sørensen, ambassador to the U.S., ed.) gives me a fist bump, which I respond to. It’s probably a fist bump of relief. It could have been a Zelenskyy moment; instead, it was a constructive one-hour meeting with the collective conclusion that we need to de-escalate a bit. I had no idea it was being recorded, but so be it. Maybe it’s also a very Danish reaction.

When I open my phone, messages flood in. Beep, beep, beep.

We drive back to the embassy, grab a sandwich, and shake our heads. We call Copenhagen on a secure line—Mette, Jens-Frederik, and Troels are on. Mette is dialing in from home; I take the floor and say it was an interesting meeting and, all things considered, a good one. But I quickly let Jeppe Tranholm-Mikkelsen give the rundown—when you’re in the room sparring with Vance, it’s hard to also keep track of everything. The permanent secretary has, and he can recap it better.

We step out to face the press. It’s genuinely moving when Vivian speaks to her own people—I don’t understand Greenlandic, but I know what she’s saying. It’s a small yet clear sign of how in sync we are. Four years ago, you might’ve gotten uneasy if a Greenlandic politician spoke Greenlandic—wondering, okay, are they also going to bring up the IUD case? Now we’re completely on the same page.

We head to Congress and meet some senators from the Arctic Caucus (a group in the Senate focused on the Arctic, ed.). Over the past year, we’ve made efforts to reach out to members of Congress, because while the American president is powerful, he is not absolute, even though he challenges the boundaries. The senators and representatives we meet are people who are on our side.

We drive back, I have a tentative appointment with Fox News and host Bret Baier. He is both a TV host and close to the president. When the New York Times recently did an interview with Trump, his phone rang many times. But he only answered when it was Baier calling. I’ve met him before, and I have a standing invitation to appear, but we are considering whether we should do it. Is it tempting fate? But we want to have the Danish narrative explained, and what if Trump listens in.

We kick around ideas, this whole thing about trading with people, and hunt for a one-liner. It’s 2026. We land on: »You can trade with people, but you can’t trade people.« There’s a bit of nerves; English isn’t my first language, it was actually my worst subject in school, but you just have to go for it. He interviews the Iranian foreign minister before me, we shake hands under an ad, and then we’re off. I get Baier’s WhatsApp number.

We race back; 40 members of Congress from both parties are at the embassy for dinner. Prince Joachim shows up too. There’s huge support and a great atmosphere. It’s a reminder that the United States is more than just the president, and that there are people who value our relationship.

I’m short on steps, so I head down to the embassy basement, where there’s a gym, and start walking. I’m in a suit, but I take off my tie. I hit 9,200 steps and my watch dies, and when I turn it back on it hasn’t recorded the treadmill steps. I’m being followed by a documentary crew that’s been with us for a year, and I’m thinking I need to get to 10,000. So I start over. I end up walking for an hour and 25 minutes. I’m completely wiped, mentally and physically.

We gather all the ambassadors from the EU plus NATO countries. I brief them about the day before, they ask questions, I answer. It’s also a good way to spread information about the meeting. Many of my colleagues write to ask how things are going and if I can give them a call. But there are limits to what I can manage. We also meet with Senator Lindsey Graham, who is close to the president, before heading back to the residence to pack.

Then we get messages from the White House. Trump’s press secretary talks about the meeting, describing it as »constructive,« and that sounds good, I think, before she says that we’ve agreed on a technical working group to explore how the U.S. can take over Greenland. That wasn’t exactly what we agreed on, was it? To put it mildly.

We discuss what to do, and we decide to reach out to some of those who were at the meeting—not Vance and Rubio, you don’t just call them—but others who were there, and we get confirmation that we agreed on what we agreed on.

I figure this is presidential messaging, too. If he’s taken the view that he wants Greenland, he can’t just say, ’Never mind.’ But we choose to set the record straight. In interviews with DR and TV 2, I try to correct it.

It’s good this happens before we’re on a plane and out of reach. I do interviews with the Wall Street Journal and the New York Times, and then we fly home, with a layover in Frankfurt—I get maybe three or four hours of sleep on the way there.

In Frankfurt, I take a shower, and then we fly to Copenhagen.

We land at noon and go straight into meetings with the government leadership and our party. That evening, we host dinner for 10 visiting members of Congress—two I’d met the day before—and we joke that they beat me to Copenhagen; they flew on a U.S. government plane. »You could’ve just come with us,« one of them says.

The dinner is a good opportunity to follow up on recent events. One of them, I can’t say who, met with the vice president two hours after our meeting with him. He tells me that the vice president said it was a good meeting.

In the afternoon, Trump casually mentions at a press conference that he might impose tariffs on Denmark and other countries that support us. I still think he was just responding to a question, sort of like, well, yeah, I could do that.

I know what we’ve agreed upon, and I’ve had it reconfirmed. For heaven’s sake, it was his vice president who held the meeting, not some low-level official.

I head home to Græsted relatively late. I’m tired. I sleep soundly. Eight hours.

I haven’t been here, so I haven’t experienced the atmosphere in Denmark. I understand it’s been almost like a national sports event. It’s strange in a good way.

I’m with my daughter and grandchild in Gilleleje. We’re in Matas, at the pharmacy, and at the fish shop to buy fish cakes. People say, »That’s great, Lars«, and someone stops their car and gets out to talk to me. My daughter says, »Dad, don’t you think you should go home? You can’t handle more praise«. We’re standing in line at Rema because we need to buy milk to make pancakes, and a lady says, »You should know how proud we are of you here in the municipality«. It’s a very, very heartwarming experience. But I’m old enough to know that this will not be lasting.

At 5:19 p.m., Trump posts on Truth Social that he’ll slap tariffs on Denmark and countries backing us, and that pretty much wrecks the rest of Saturday—it sets off a flurry of calls, even though I’m trying to focus on family and the creamed cabbage. So, the weekend was shot.

Colleagues call, and we talk about all this, but also about what’s happening alongside it. I know that this occupies the minds of Danes 100 percent, so that’s what the newspapers and News cover, but many other things are happening. Like Trump’s ’peace council’ in Gaza, which, diplomatically speaking, is very, very strange, and aims to secure the ceasefire in Gaza by reinventing the UN in a new concept. Many of my colleagues want to talk about that.

I was supposed to go to Oslo last Friday, but it was postponed due to the meeting in Washington, and in light of what’s happening, it’s important to meet. I first meet with Stoltenberg (Jens, former Secretary General of NATO, ed.), who doesn’t really have anything to do with the matter, he’s the finance minister, but I’ve known him for many years, he’s a wise man worth visiting, and he has experience with Trump.

I have a long meeting with Espen (Barth Eide, Norwegian Foreign Minister, ed.), and there is strong support and a good atmosphere. We don’t just talk about Greenland, because we have to be extremely careful that Trump doesn’t appear as a magician with a white rabbit in his hand, and then everyone looks at that while Ukraine and Gaza still require attention. Espen is a good friend, and Norway is a strong ally, a sister nation, and an Arctic nation.

I also get to see the Faroe Islands’ national handball team play against Montenegro. They are playing the preliminary matches in Oslo. There are 6,000 Faroese in Oslo, 10 percent of the population, it’s absolutely fantastic. They are part of the Danish Realm, I am married to a Faroese, I love the Faroese, and they completely thrash Montenegro, so the atmosphere is amazing, and I present the award to the player of the match. I give a fist bump to the mascot, we laugh a bit about that. There’s a picture of it, but I keep that to myself. I post about how even small countries can win if they play by the rules.

The ferry that usually runs between the Faroes and Hirtshals has gone to Oslo, and my very good friend Tomas owns the shipping company, so we have dinner on board and I say hello to the players. I can’t help thinking: what on earth do we do if the Faroes qualify for the Olympics? The IOC doesn’t recognize them as independent, so we can only send a team from the Kingdom. Then we’ve got a problem. I even tell the players: would you break away?

We fly to London late in the evening, unfortunately to Stansted, because the airport in central London closes at 10 PM. I’m in bed by midnight. Better well-rested than well-prepared.

I wake up pretty early and listen to P1 Morning in bed—that’s my daily routine—then pull myself together and go for a run.

We’ve got meetings at the embassy. The UK is far along on the green transition, so I meet with Energy Secretary Ed Miliband, whom I know well; half the meeting ends up being about Greenland, because he’s genuinely interested in what’s going on. I’ve also had time to watch Prime Minister Keir Starmer deliver a powerful, well-supported speech. I meet with Foreign Secretary Yvette Cooper, do a round of interviews, and then it’s off to the airport and home.

I’m back home in Græsted at 11 p.m., short by 2,000 steps. Two dogs are waiting, thrilled for me to grab them, so we head out for a walk.

Truth is, I’d already done the steps—my watch died after the first kilometer of my morning run, so they didn’t register. I told my adviser: Remind me to buy a new one.

Steps are like social media: if it isn’t recorded, it doesn’t exist.