Someone's field, Denmark: Trailing mystery behind me

August 16, 2015

Now that's what I call a wall mural. At Sakskøbing

I COULDN'T help smiling. Some time this morning, someone woke in a Danish village and found a box of curry mixture on his doorstep. Puzzled, his neighbour said: "Well, good gracious, old chap, I had one as well!"

Why? Because my plan to have curry last night failed for lack of Danish. I thought I had to empty a packet into a pan and heat it. There was no point reading the box because it was all in hurdy-gurdy. But that, you'll have guessed, was far from the case. I had to do Serious Cooking, beyond a single stove while camping in weeds at the foot of a mobile phone tower.

So this morning I stopped in the next village a little after seven and donated my failed dinners to neighbouring households.

I slept well last night, too. I do when I camp wild. It's so silent, so relaxing. And better grass than proper campgrounds. I got up around six and I was on the road on a Danish Sunday a bit before seven.

A poet and priest called Kaj Munk said:“There are possibly places just as beautiful in this world, but none is more beautiful than Maribo.” And, given that recommendation, it seemed a good place for coffee. I rode there on the path beside a long, straight and largely empty road. Denmark had yet to stir.

I was disappointed on all fronts. Maribo was nothing special and I think old Kaj was talking for local consumption. It seemed no more than anywhere else and a lot less attractive than many. Nor was there any coffee. On the other hand, the little cathedral was quite something.

On the outside it had the functional appearance of a bus station. Maybe the architect saved his effort for inside. It's a melody of gentle lighting and imposing structure, with an imposing pulpit.

Maribo's little cathedral doesn't look much on the outside but look at the interior

A man who looked suitably religious walked down the aisle towards me.

"Hoi," he said.

"It's beautiful," I replied truthfully.

"Thank you," he said in English. He smiled a saintly smile and walked on. When I walked back to the heavy wooden door, he was crouched over a vacuum cleaner, struggling with a plug and hoping for a miracle. He was still hoping when I stepped out into the graveyard.

Kaj, by the way, wrote plays with an obvious religious message and a less obvious message to annoy the Germans. He plucked up courage and went as far as calling on Danes to shelter Jews. That was more than the Nazis could put up with and they murdered him. Not forgotten, though. He stands frozen in stone at the edge of the square.

It started raining on him and it started raining on me. I rode through a golf course and into humdrum countryside with no lullabies for the soul. But I didn't mind. Life was going to smile on me. Or a water tower was going to.

There it was at the entrance to Sakskøbing, a cartoon face with windows as eyes, looking down through the drizzle. Locals call her Saksine. She's been up there since 1982, rain or shine.

Rain or shine, I had more and more touring cyclists going my way, loaded, almost all with flat bars and a purposeful, industrial pedalling style. I didn't know where they'd come from but they were heading for Vordingborg. The bridge there is a pinch point for those going north. It was also a hard, hard ride, fighting into the wind over the exposed bike path.

I had that wind against me all day, rising as the clock hands turned. I stopped by an ancient castle, and walked across a field to the neolithic burial site outside Rynkebjerg. Yet even with an hour of sitting on a beach once the sun returned, I'd made the progress I intended.

Tonight I am sharing a sheltered corner of someone's field with several thousand mosquitos, many of whom have died for their curiosity.

Today's ride: 112 km (70 miles)
Total: 4,022 km (2,498 miles)

Rate this entry's writing	Heart	2
Comment on this entry	Comment	0