Triplogue - Denmark |
13 July, Eva, Freddy
and Niels Exclusive North Seeland Bike Tour, 74km It was everything I had hoped and more. It was the reason I had rushed up to Copenhagen. Eva had long been promising me an unforgettable tour of the glories North of Copenhagen, and even back in the States it had sounded deliciously tempting. I especially liked the idea of being led around without any concern for the route, placing all my faith in my able guides. The activity-packed day began promptly at nine a.m. Niels and I set out under a cloudless sky along the deserted streets of Copenhagen towards Eva and Freddys. Thankfully there was coffee waiting for us (or for me rather, as Niels is a tea drinker, which causes me to suspect hes actually an alien in Viking drag), as well as the most sumptuous brunch spread Ive ever seen on this side of the Atlantic. Sitting in the garden of Freddy and Evas perfect little house and wolfing down pancakes in the glistening sunlight was almost enough to make me think that there is a God. I could have stayed there all day, but of course other arrangements had been made, and soon we were all pedaling Northwards. Seven-months-pregnant Eva displayed a Viking-like constitution, undaunted by the many kilometers that lay ahead. My hosts kept a running commentary. "This woods belonged to the kings of Denmark before and have never been forested," Freddy would tell me. "Tyco Brahe lived on that island out there," Eva pointed out. "Just ahead on the right is THE gay beach of Copenhagen," Niels informed. We stopped at the Karen Blixen Museum to wander around the garden and view the famous authors simple grave. I thought of Meryl Streep shooting lions and bonking Robert Redford, my Danish cultural knowledge woefully lacking. Our second stop was at the home of Niels parents, who welcomed us warmly and gushed to me about how much they liked the U.S. (In their many travels they have obviously learned that Americans never tire of hearing foreigners praise the merits of the Home of the Brave). Niels dad reminded me a lot of my own father, right down to his enthusiasm for computer technology. Again, I would have been happy to tarry here for hours, but we had a tight schedule to keep The world-famous Louisiana Museum for Modern Art was only a few minutes away, and in this gorgeously situated place we viewed a huge and ambitious exhibition on art in L.A. from 1960 to the present called "Sunshine and Noir." I was more impressed than Freddy, who stated that he was more fond of creative output that served a more practical function, like industrial design. From here it was on to Helsingor, of "Hamlet" fame. Looming over the town was the enormous castle built to collect a tax on all passing ships. Sweden lay across the straits, close enough to swim to. We stopped for monster-sized ice cream cones topped with jam and smushed chocolate-covered marshmallow things before continuing northwards past streets called "Opheliaveg" and "Poloniusstrade" and suchlike. We arrived right on time for our meal at what must surely rank among Denmarks most extraordinary culinary experiences, Jan Hurtigkarl & Co. The chef here takes an extended trip each winter, when the restaurant is closed, and comes back to Denmark to create a fixed seven-course meal inspired by his trip. Our meal was influenced by Basque cuisine, and included tasty tapas, two fish dishes, two deserts, and a main course of "sommerbuk," or baby Danish deer. Delicious! The four of us got a bit carried away talking about the practice of circumcision in America, which provided the surrounding tables with free entertainment. No one complained, though, and we stuck around until well after the northern sun had set, and pedaled back to Helsingors train station in the dusk, our bellies full to bursting. It had been as close to a perfect day as I can remember having in a long time, and I only hope to be able to return it in kind some day to my wonderful Danish hosts. Thank you Eva, Freddy and Niels! |
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MiniParty 1 |
15 July, Vordingborg
to Copenhagen, 113km I woke up this morning feeling guilty. Having taken so many trains of late has seriously compromised the integrity of this trip, I thought to myself, and I felt Id given Denmark short shrift, pedal-wise. Besides, people told me that I had skipped over the prettiest countryside in Seeland by taking the train from Vordingborg; and my legs were aching for a workout. It was too cold to go to the beach, as Niels had formerly proposed, yet too sunny to stay indoors. So I took the train back to Vordingborg, promising Niels Id be back in time for dinnner at nine. The Danes were right. It really was a gorgeous ride. I followed the recommended and well-marked route #9 (except for the couple of times I got lost) and generally enjoyed being alone with the hills and trees and wind on my unencumbered bike. I passed cows and churches and lots of other bicycle tourists. I even saw a pheasant. North of Praesto the route followed the coastline of a fjord, which didnt look quite as dramatic as the fjords in Norway but was picturesque nevertheless. I dealt with virtually zero auto traffic before coming into Koge (pronounced as if youre gargling nails, ignoring the second consonant), after which the bike trail followed the path of least resistance for some kilometers, namely route 151, which traces a straight line parallel with the coast through an endless suburbo-industrial zone. Thankfully the path turned towards the sea to follow a string of islands that looked suspiciously like landfill before dumping me back onto the 151, where the signs marking the route began to dwindle and where I began to get lost in a land of bike freeways and apartment blocks that looked like a socialist version of Sim City come to life. I got to Niels door with just enough time to shower before dinner. Thomas and Thomas ate with us, and then Peter and Helle showed up with much noisy fanfare. They had just returned from making a documentary of a Catholic pilgrimage site in Bosnia where several villagers have visions of the Virgin Mary every afternoon just before dinnertime. They had ridden all the way down in a bus full of Danish pilgrims and had many stories to tell. After much laughter and many exchanges of "SKOL"s, I realized I had to be up in just a few hours in order to pick up poor wounded Fred at the train station. It seemed like an eternity that I had last seen him |
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