Story by Michael Shapiro, Photos by Gary Schwartz and Michael Shapiro
Copyright Michael Shapiro, 1997
Michael Shapiro is the author of 'A Sense of Place: Great Travel Writers Talk About Their Craft, Lives and Inspiration' He can be reached throughwww.michaelshapiro.com. Shapiro is a contributor to National Geographic Traveler, Islands magazine and the Washington Post travel section.
When I meet a fellow traveler, I do my best to learn a few words of his or her native language, hopefully something unusual, a conversation starter. While traveling a few years ago, I met Henning Olesen from Denmark, who taught me the phrase "Skal du ha' buksevand?" ("Would you like your trousers dipped in water?") This is a common taunt among Danish boys (akin to a "wedgie" in New York), who might bully a younger kid by placing his bottom in a water fountain.
On a recent trip to Denmark with my college buddy Gary Schwartz, I found the perfect opportunity to use my limited Danish vocabulary. During a summer bike tour, Gary and I boarded a small ferry in Himmelbjerget (Heaven
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Mountain), at 147 meters above sea level, one of the highest points in Denmark.
A handful of young children, just released from school for the summer, exuberantly twittered on the boat. I caught the attention of a 6-year-old boy and asked, "Skal du ha' buksevand?" He replied with a firm "Nej," and proceeded to shout and squeal at me in Danish.
The 6-year-old who cried "Nej"
This was just one of many humorous and touching moments during a two-week bike and ferry trip across Denmark's three land masses. Our ride began in northern Germany, two days (biking) from the Danish peninsula Jutland. After riding about 100 kilometers, we planned to stay in a hostel 4 kilometers beyond the border.
When we arrived at the hostel, we were greeted by a sign saying it was closed for renovations. After asking the locals where we might stay, we learned the nearest lodging was in Tønder, 18 kilometers west. We had no choice - we had to keep pedaling.
A couple of kilometers beyond the boarded-up hostel, I saw a sign with a bed on it hanging outside a home. We met a man gardening outside the house, and in a rough mix of English and German, we established that this was a kro, a Danish bed and breakfast.
We hadn't been to a Danish bank, but to our relief the couple, Mr. and Mrs. Nissen, accepted the last of our German marks, just enough for a room and a little herring and bread from their small store. We gave the Nissens all our German money, expecting a basic meal. To our amazement and delight, a platter of cheeses, fish, and brown bread graced the table. They even served us a Danish beer. Welcome to Denmark.
Serendipitous Encounters and Ultimate Freedom
Had we been traveling by car, bus, or train, we never would have met the Nissens. Serendipitous encounters like this are just one of many advantages of traveling by bike. Cycling offers a sense of ultimate freedom. You can meet the locals, be sensitive to the environment, save money, and enjoy an area's scenic beauty while getting a good workout.
Your senses come alive as you hear the songs of the sparrow, smell fresh summer flowers and feel the bracing whip of a sharp wind against your cheek. Daily plans are not dictated by bus or train schedules, and if you go to a place you particularly like, you can stay - for a few minutes or for the night.
A lake near Jels, our campsite for the night
Denmark is one of the finest places for bicycle touring: pastoral scenery, welcoming people, ubiquitous bike lanes, little-traveled country roads. And it's virtually flat. The three main land masses (the peninsula Jutland and the islands of Funen and Sealand) are bounded by expanses of blue, so occasionally cyclists are obliged to sit back and relax on a ferry.
Jutland, where we started our trip through Denmark, offers some unique attractions. Undoubtedly, the most bizarre is in Billund, where we found a theme park called Legoland. It celebrates the possibilities of the Danish invention of Lego, those mini bricks that snap together, forming creations bounded solely by one's imagination.
A two-story statue of Sitting Bull in Legoland
Within the mini world of Legoland are Lego sculptures of Sitting Bull, Mount Rushmore, Copenhagen's Nyhavn district, and various temples from around the globe, some using more than a million Lego bricks. Legoland's fascination with the American West can best be experienced on a Disneyland-type ride through a mock-up of an old mining town, where one miner turns to another and says, (with a heavy Danish accent), "Pass the dynamite, pardner."
From Billund we rode through the splendid Lakes district where we boarded a ferry across Lake Julsø. We disembarked in Ry and followed one of the dozens of well-marked national bike routes to Arhus, Denmark's second city, on Jutland's east coast.
Arhus is the site of Den Gamle By (The Old Town), a reconstructed village that illuminates traditional Danish life from 1600 to 1900. More than 70 half-timbered houses have been relocated to Den Gamle By. An old school, a customs house, post office, and numerous workshops adorn the grounds.
From Arhus, we rode south through lush Marselisborg Park, where wild pheasants roam, to the Moesgard Prehistoric Museum. Inside is Grauballe Man, Denmark's Swamp Thing. Dating back to 80 B.C., Grauballe Man was discovered in a peat bog. He is so well preserved that scientists could tell what he ate for breakfast on his last day (rice and barley cereal).
Welcome sign as we entered the first town in Odense
Leaving Jutland, we crossed by bridge to the island of Funen, known for its central city of Odense, birthplace of Hans Christian Andersen. The Hans Christian Andersen museum, the city's largest, is in the home where Andersen was born in 1805. But the attraction was not enough to pull us from our coastal route, which we followed to the southern city of Faborg.
Gary and I approached Faborg on a raw, rainy afternoon, and stopped at one of the island's finest hotels to make a phone call to the U.S. Despite our mud-spattered legs and dripping cycling shorts, and although it was clear we were not hotel guests, the receptionist welcomed us warmly and helped us place the call.
A businessman who was having a drink with a beautiful teenage girl invited us to join him. We hesitated, not wanting to interrupt what looked like a romantic rendezvous. When we protested, he said that he and his daughter would not only enjoy our company for a drink, they'd like to invite us over for dinner when we reached Copenhagen. My cycling companion and I smiled, glanced at each other, and accepted.
From Faborg, we took a ferry to Aerø, a tiny, L-shaped isle with beautiful beaches and the medieval town of Aerøskøbing. Though my guidebook had little to say about Aerø, a Danish friend said it's a must-see. For good reason.
A walk through the city center feels like stepping back in time. Some houses have settled so unevenly that rows of bricks have become waves. Walking over the cobbled streets one expects to hear hoofs snapping against the stones. Each Danish city seems to boast a unique museum; in Aerøskøbing, it's the bottleship museum, a fine collection of model ships in bottles.
In Aerø, we stayed at a hostel where we met a couple from the nearby island of Lolland: Lotte, a pharmacist, and her husband Stig, a restaurant owner. We shared a couple of bottles of wine and got to talking about the Danish tax rates, which are among the highest in the world.
Stig said they pay more than 64 percent of their income in taxes, but he wasn't complaining. "It's worth it to help poor people get their teeth fixed."
"We are Vikings"
Later we found an old, smoky bar where we met a bearded man named Andy, who looked like the famed Danish sailors of a millennium ago. With the fervor of someone who's had one too many, Andy adamantly argued against deepening Denmark's participation in the European Community.
"We are Vikings," he said. "We have a queen; England has a queen. How can we [be united]?"
After a day of rain, we ferried back to southern Funen and rode up the coast to Nyborg to board a huge (10,000-ton) ferry, the Prins Joachim. The Nyborg-Korsor ferry line is the key link between the islands of Funen and Sealand, but will soon be replaced by what will be one of the world's longest bridges. You can carry your bike on the ferry for about $2 over the standard fare of $6 per person.
The nine-story ferry has different levels for trains, autos and people. The trains roll onto tracks on one end of the ferry, and exit through the other side onto the isle of Sealand.
Riding across Sealand, I noticed little details that were symbolic of why I was enjoying Denmark so thoroughly. Baskets of strawberries and potatoes were left unattended on stands alongside the road. Buyers pay by the honor system, leaving their coins in a tin box. In small ponds, tiny elevated houses were built to give shelter to ducks. Old bathtubs were left in fields to collect water for migrating birds.
Doorway of a Danish house
The wind in Sealand typically blows from west to east, and we had the good fortune of riding toward Copenhagen with a full force gale at our backs. Copenhagen is an extraordinarily welcoming city. People are not dwarfed by skyscrapers - the city is built on a human scale with almost all buildings six stories or less.
Although Copenhagen offers many museums and castles, my best moments were on the Strøget, the city's pedestrian boulevard. In the morning I lingered over light pastries and rich coffee; later, Peruvian musicians serenaded passersby from all corners of the globe.
Typical Danish Modesty
Compared to the countryside, the capital glitters; yet traditional Danish modesty is amply evident. A Carlsberg sign reads, "Probably the Best Beer in Town," a particularly humble claim given only two beers are brewed in Copenhagen.
One evening we walked through waterside parks to view the Little Mermaid, perched on some rocks in the harbor. Since its unveiling in 1913, this statue of a Hans Christian Andersen character has been the emblem of Copenhagen. When first seeing the human-size sculpture, one might say, "So what?" but after spending some time watching the waves lap at its base, I began to appreciate its innocence.
After too many fast, fried meals, the prospect of a home-cooked dinner with a Danish family had tremendous appeal. So I called Torben Lenzberg, the Danish man we'd met with his daughter at the hotel. He was pleased to hear from us and enthusiastically invited us to join a celebratory dinner in honor of his daughter's graduation.
We boarded a metro train to Vedbaek, a suburb about 20 kilometers north of Copenhagen, where Torben met us at the station. His daughter Desiree was hoarse from the previous night's graduation party which lasted till dawn. She wore the traditional red graduation cap with three cuts, one for each party at which she'd stayed up till daybreak.
After two weeks in hostels and campgrounds, Gary and I weren't quite prepared for what awaited us: a lovely, spacious (though not ostentatious) home with views of Sweden across the Øresund strait, just north of the main body of the Baltic Sea.
The Carlsberg and Cabernet flowed, and while I can count on one hand the number of times since 1990 I've eaten red meat, the imported steaks were splendid. Like many Danes we'd met, the Lenzbergs were uninhibited - our conversations ranged from their views on sex (liberal) to their outlook on politics (not as liberal; you could describe Torben as a Rotary Club Republican). We dined outdoors, enjoying the view of the narrow waterway that divided Denmark from Sweden. A huge ferry passed, starting an all-night journey to Oslo, Norway.
The culmination of our two-week bike trip was the celebration of Midsummer's Eve, marking the longest day of the year. On the summer solstice, darkness doesn't descend until around midnight. While most tourists flocked to Tivoli Gardens in Copenhagen, we joined a throng of Danes at a suburban amusement park in the seaside town of Bakken to hear the Danish rock band Shubi-duah.
The carnival scene was delightful as people of all ages stayed up to celebrate. Schoolkids danced with their parents, young couples held each other close and an elderly woman in a wheelchair sat back and smiled. The festivities climaxed with a colorful display of fireworks, as people in small boats watched from the sea.
If You're Going...
- For a free cycling map of Denmark, write to: The Danish Tourist Board, 655 Third Ave., 18th floor; New York, NY 10017. Or call (212) 949-2322. The map has numerous tips for cycling, camping, renting bikes, and finding affordable rooms.
- For package tours, write to: BikeDenmark, Aboulevard 1, DK-1635 Copenhagen V, Denmark; phone (+45) 35364100. These tours include accommodation, meals, and support vehicles for luggage, and allow riders to pedal at their own pace.
This story was originally published at GNN. Michael Shapiro has kindly allowed us to reproduce his story. The trip took place in 1993.
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