Coorie: the rugged alternative to hygge

Put your candles and merino socks away

Given our poor track record with travelling, after getting back from the Netherlands a few weeks ago, we decided that we are not leaving Orkney until Spring, which is about June here. Ok I kid, I’m thinking April. March is one of those months you never really know how it’s going to go, but then back in 2006, we had heavy snowfall in Kent on my birthday in April. It wasn’t just because it was my birthday and I got called in to open up for work that I remember, it’s mostly because my Mum’s beautiful Ceanothus tree split in two from the sheer volume of snow it had collected.

And so, with no plans to venture off these isles for the next 4 or 5 months, we are left to embrace the winter season here in Orkney. To hunker down against wild winds, hailstorms and dropping temperatures. Or, as a friend quite rightly said recently, “it’s time to coorie in.”

Coorie is Scotland’s answer to winter cosiness, but not quite an exact replica of the much Instagrammable Hygge. It’s not just about cosy fires, knitted blankets and well-placed candles, coorie also embraces the wildness of Scotland. Coorie is a Scottish Gaelic and traditionally means "to nestle" or "to snuggle" but the concept reaches further than that. It’s also about connecting with nature and encouraging people to get outside and engage with the beautiful landscapes we have on our doorsteps. Well, I do anyway, but I realise not everyone has, or even wants that much outside on their doorstep! Coorie is about getting outside for a walk on a winter’s day, coats and boots never quite drying off and feeling a breeze come through the house.

It's hardy, resilient, rough around the edges – Scottish!

A gloomy, cloudy, grey kind of a day

There’s something about a winter walk in Orkney that feels like an accomplishment, especially today (Sunday) as I had to decide between wild winds and hailstorms. I opted for a windy walk and we managed a full hour out between hailstorms, just! There was no family walk this weekend, just me in my cosy boilersuit, or flying suit as Erik likes to call it and the pooch. The suit is spenny but it was worth every penny and a gift to myself at the start of last winter. So after surviving the walk, then cooking up two batches of soup and baking some brownies, it was time to sit down in front of the fire with the dog splayed out as close as she can get to it before we intervene. I can feel a light cool breeze coming from the single glazed window behind me, we’ve put duct tape round the edges, but it hasn’t made it completely airtight.

This is what coorie is to me.

It’s also got me thinking about how other cultures do winter, we know about hygge and my mother-in-law often uses the word gezelligheid to describe a cosiness, but it’s also a little bit more.

So, let’s have a look.

Hygge

We have to start here, don’t we? How many books have been released on the subject and notebooks, sweaters, candles, blankets, all under the banner of hygge? It’s a good market to be in!

Danish hygge (pronounced “hoo-guh”) is about making a sanctuary from the cold. It’s cosy socks, warm drinks, a place where everything is soft and welcoming. The idea is to retreat into a gentle and soft world, a cosy nook with a book, a hand knitted blanket and absolutely zero drafts. Winter becomes bearable, even enjoyable, a chance to snuggle down and enjoy the simple comforts.

Gezelligheid

The Dutch gezelligheid (say it with me: heh-SELL-ikh-heid - me neither) is an idea of cosiness, but it’s really more about a warm, inviting atmosphere than a warm, draft-free house. It’s very communal and is that feeling you get when you’re surrounded by people you love, chatting over a meal or tea and cake in your favourite cafe. As we don’t really have many friends here, this is harder to achieve.

Gemütlichkeit

Germany gives us gemütlichkeit, similar to the Dutch gezelligheid, it combines cosiness with a sense of community and belonging and is a little more social than hygge. Gemütlichkeit is about getting together with others, perhaps over a hearty stew, like Eintopf and a dark beer.

Uyut

Finally, there’s uyut (oo-YOOT) from Russia, where they endure winters that make the relatively mild Orkney winters seem like a walk in the park! Russia knows how to do cold weather, uyut is again about creating warmth and togetherness, usually with family and close friends. Similar to coorie, it’s less curated than hygge and more about practical warmth, think layers, hearty food and huddling in the kitchen with a hot drink while snow piles up. It’s a scrappy, resilient.

What I love about the idea of coorie is that it’s rustic and unpolished, just like me and Orkney – maybe that’s why I feel so at home here. Unlike hygge with its beautifully curated look of candles, an armful of hand-knitted blankets and pure white snow outside, Orkney in winter isn’t exactly romantic. Grey skies, brown fields and wind that whips through every inch of you. Where the sea can look dark and menacing and pebbly beaches are strewn with sea weed. And trust me, there’s nothing romantic about living in our 200-year-old cottage with more drafts than I can count and a leaky roof depending on which way the wind blows.  

I don’t step out of the house with a cute messy bun, a trendy outfit and fancy boots. If I have put mascara on that day to make me feel better at the billion zoom calls I have scheduled, it’s usually dripping down my face in no time as my eyes start to water. Usually, I’m in my boilersuit, any waterproof that is still actually still waterproof, a mishmash of woollens and my old trail shoes. Washing my hair feels like an ordeal as who wants to have wet hair down their back on a cold winters night and don’t get me started on the morning ritual of applying HRT gel to my thighs and standing there, chilly, waiting for it to dry.

Sunrise on a beautiful day - I need these moments

Coorie is messy, scrappy, wild and you wouldn’t expect to find books and other paraphernalia about it adorning the shelves of Oliver Bonas. Or would you? Well would you believe it, there is a book on it - The Art of Coorie! Of course there is. I enjoyed this particularly scathing review of not only the book but also the concept of coorie by Lesley Riddocht in The National: Why I won’t bother to coorie down with a book on a non-existent trend

What would my Book of Coorie look like?

Damp feet because your wellies have holes, cheeks pink and raw from windburn and a permanently red nose from wiping it against the back of your glove. Pages dedicated to artfully layering every item you own and in what order you should put on in the morning. And of course you’ll see the cosy socks, the fire, a wee dram of whisky, but there’s also a pile of socks waiting to be darned because you’re running low and times are tight. Candles aren’t for the vibe; you can’t waste and burn them just for the sake of it – what if there’s a power cut?

And so, in spite of the fact that the concept of coorie might be a little bit gentrified, this winter, we will coorie in. We may allow a candle or two, but it’ll mainly be all weather dog walks, thermals, fulsome soups, extra blankets and the kettle at the ready to make a fresh pot of tea.

What about you? How do you get through the winter months?

Take care

Han 🧡

An hour before sunset