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 I'd 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 I'd 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 didn't 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 you're 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... First of all this section is dedicated to Niels Kaae. Without his seemingly infinite generosity and patience I would not have recovered so quickly from my shoulder injury. When I first explained to him that I didn't think I'd be able to ride for 2-4 weeks and that there was a possibility I'd have to have surgery that would involve eight weeks of convalescence he told me unequivocally that I \"could stay as long as I like.\"
I learned to love Copenhagen which Niels dubbed the \"Italy of Northern Europe.\" This phrase fits it well. People are relaxed, but the streets are immaculate. There is not much left of the city that was discovered in the 1100's. Seems that Copenhagenites are not very good with fire and much of the city has burned at one time or another. My favorite story is that of St. Nicholas Church. When the belfry caught fire one night the keeper of the church was off drinking so the fire department had to watch it burn, the tower fell and burned the whole neighborhood.
My first night there a dude named Morden took me on a city tour. I saw the city and learned of the zillion fires that devastated Copenhagen. I spent most days walking around, exploring, meeting people, and seeing the museums of this rich northern capital. One striking characteristic of the Danish is that they can conjugate the verb \"to party.\" In fact many drink so much that they can hardly stand. When they stagger into you in a bar you find yourself praying that they won't spontaneously barf on you. The Danish claim that most of these folks are Swedes who have staggered down from their country for a drink in order to avoid the stiff taxes up there.
That story accounts for some of the drunken behavior, but not all of it. The Danes are enamored with the bicycle as a form of transportation. This immediately endeared them to me. Many Danes have more than one bike and they dash about town on them. The Danish have very different bikes then, say, for example the Dutch. Dutch bikes are big, heavy, black beasts with great fenders. You ride a Dutch bike sitting up straight and tall and saunter to your destination. Danish bikes are city-racing hybrids with bare frames and chains, little flimsy looking fenders and utilitarian handlebars. Danes lean over their handlebars and zip from place-to-place with great haste on their highly tuned cycles.
Copenhagen is a middle-sized city with a very dramatic skyline. Spires on top of churches and official buildings punctuate the sky. From my window in my sleeping loft I could see a few of them in the night sky. One had a massive clock that served as my \"horloge\" and alarm clock. Each day it would wake me with its first bell at eight a.m. Another feature of the night sky were the fireworks that lit the rooftops three days a week just before midnight. They were launched from the amusement park a few blocks away. Tivoli is like a museum of amusement parks.
It retains a feeling of before the turn of the century. Couples stroll around the little lake and gardens, dudes try to win prizes for their dates and take them on scary rides to get them to hold them. While in Copenhagen I had an amazing little social life, part of which is recorded on the Denmark Social Whirlwind page. I'll miss Copenhagen, Niels, and the great times I had there. Denmark will always occupy a special place in my heart. I felt a tear well in my eye as I said good-bye to it and Niels on our departure to Sweden.
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------+ | **31 July, Copenhagen/Malmo to Horby, Sweden, 74k** | | | | Leaving Copenhagen we grabbed a snack for the ferry. A smoked salmon, | | dill and lemon sandwich to munch on the boat. The ride to Malmo went | | very fast. It took but 45 minutes to make it across. Seemed funny to | | go through passport control as it didn't feel like we had even left | | Denmark. Sweden looked just a little cleaner and there were far fewer | | cyclists. Strange because the Swedes seem to promote bicycles just as | | much as the Danes.
Every destination could be reached by a bike path. | | | | We made it to the countryside very quickly and then to a cute little | | town called Lund. Lund's suburbs were far less interesting then | | central Lund. At first I felt like we had entered a Socialist | | Twilight Zone. Modern brick buildings, identical architecture and no | | one on the street. Soon this cold and off-putting atmosphere gave way | | to a more traditional European town. We found the central plaza and a | | hipster café to stop at and have a little snack.
We opted for a | | traditional Swedish Quesadilla. It came with the most disgusting | | looking gaucamole you have ever seen. It was more a mix of avocado | | and hummous than gaucamole. We were struck by the fact that no one | | seemed to think that we were foreigners (hard to believe) and | | everyone tried to speak with us in Swedish. Swedish almost sounds a | | little like English if you've drank too much. We'll find ourselves | | fooled into thinking we actually understand it now and then. | | | | Over an hour later we found ourselves in a teeny-weeny little town.
| | We stopped at a market to buy water and a snack. After we finished | | the water I went back into the store with the intent of throwing away | | the bottle only to find that there was a massive deposit on the | | bottle and got nearly the price of the drink back. After this | | revelation the sky turned black and began to dump rain. We made it as | | far as the next bit of shelter in town, near a supermarket. Dashed in | | to look for a salty snack.
We bought a loaf of bread and a toothpaste | | tube full of fish eggs and chowed. Once the rain passed we chased the | | storm down the road riding through the puddles it had just left. We | | stopped to ask directions to the youth hostel and I encountered the | | first person in Sweden who did not greet us with an ear-to-ear smile. | | He didn't speak English and seemed vaguely offended that I had no | | command of Swedish. | | | | When we finally reached our intended destination we found the tourist | | office closed.
Ulla and Nele were across from it in a bus enclosure | | ringing their bike bells when they noticed our frustration. They were | | traveling for two weeks and were just about ready to head home. They | | shared their maps with us and helped us find the youth hostel just | | outside of town. \"Youth\" is perhaps not the right word to use. We | | were absolutely the youngest guests by some twenty years by all | | accounts. Even the septuagenarian desk clerk seemed to wonder why we | | were staying there given our youth.
\"Cheap\" is not the operative | | word when it comes to youth hostels. Ours cost us \$50 bucks, had no | | shower in the room and did not include the paper sheets we had to buy | | for the beds. In every other way the place was great and absolutely | | spotless. One surprise was the fact that there were no towels in the | | room, but there were beautiful, fluffy and white terry bathrobes for | | each of us that made great towels. We munched the final bits of our | | roe on bread and retired.
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