GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE: June 25-26 Denmark: Helsingør and Copenhagen

Friday June 25  
HELSINGøR and COPENHAGEN

Bruised and a weary but alive, we arrived in Copenhagen, where we changed from the International train to a Danish train.  We had been invited to spend the weekend with an elderly female relative of mine in Helsingør, which is situated on the north east coast of the island of Zealand in eastern Denmark 

by kind courtesy of http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Helsing%C3%B8r

Donna and I eventually arrived at "Auntie" Stine's home around noon. She lived close enough to town to be near shops, yet far enough away from it to escape uninvited tourists. Auntie had prepared a tasty Danish brunch of open-faced sandwiches for us, from dark rye bread, unsalted butter, pickled herring, cold cuts and her own home grown vegetables and herbs.  After so much eating on the run, and picnicking in trains, it felt really good to sit still at a table to eat and eat a real meal.

And what a delicious spread it was too!

by kind courtesy of http://www.wonderful-denmark.com/Danish-food.html

After lunch, Donna summoned what was left of her energy to take a trip back to Copenhagen in order to research her family genealogy in Copenhagen.

I stayed behind, to chat with Auntie Stine and help clean up the dishes after lunch. Then I took a long relaxing hot shower, tidied up my backpack and strolled around my Auntie's pretty flower garden, while she tried to teach me the Danish names of some very familiar blooms. It was a special shared time with a genteel lady, in her peaceful and serene garden that totally soothed my soul. 

Slowly but surely, Auntie Stine led us both toward her cosy garden summerhouse, where, over cups of hot tea, we shared a long chat about our family members, who had moved to England.  But by 4pm, my mind and body, having endured too many sleepless nights, now demanded immediate sleep.

Though I tried desperately to stifled my yawns, Auntie noticed and instantly cleared away our cups and saucers, while insisting that I stay there and nap. Lying down in her pretty summerhouse in its garden setting, with the delightful scent of pansies, and with birdsong wafting through the open windows, made it easy for me to sleep like a baby.

by kind courtesy of  www.naturesrights.com

Donna had not yet returned to Helsingør by the time Auntie Stine and I ate supper together at 6pm.  So, after the dishes were done, I left for Copenhagen excited to experience the magic and promise of Tivoli on my own.

by kind courtesy of 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Kopenhaga_tivoli_jan2004_ubt.jpeg

Tivoli Gardens is more than a Danish amusement park. It is equally as popular as a place to go dining and people-watching.  In the seventies, several different types of public dance venues were also offered as specific sites around Tivoli

by kind courtesy of 

http://www.fotovoyager.com/istock/lightbox_copenhagen.jpg

by kind courtesy of

http://media-cdn.tripadvisor.com/media/photo-s/01/0b/72/83/the-castel-in-tivoli.jpg

This 21-acre park is beautifully landscaped with fountains and flower beds containing half a million colourful flowers.  At night, thousands of custom-designed lights illuminate the park, giving it the holiday feel of a European Disneyland.

by kind courtesy of  
http://images.nikonians.org/galleries/data
/500/105057Tivoli-Gardens-Denmark.jpg

It was a balmy, warm Friday night in summer, in Copenhagen, and I was young, single and female. So, it was inevitible that someone would speak to me! All I had to do was wait.

He stood next to me when I stopped to watch two swans swimming on a man-made pond, with their babies.  And for a little while, he watched them with me. Then (in English), he asked me what baby swans were called in English. Initially, mesmerized by the magical surroundings, and Erik's Scandinavian good looks, I temporarily forgot that the offspring of swans are cygnets.
by kind courtesy of 
http://www.dannygreenphotography.com/media/Iceland%20Gallery/Whooper%20Swan%20and%20Cygnets.jpg

Amused by my flustered state, Erik pressed his advantage, and asked if he could take me dancing. Having slept well that afternoon, my train travel aches and pains now a distant memory. I happily agreed.  He took me to a discotheque inside Tivoli, where we enjoyed an evening of loud music, shouted conversations, furious dancing and cold drinks.

After making an official date to meet Donna and me inside Tivoli for drinks the following evening, Erik gallantly escorted me to the Helsingør train. An hour later, I caught a taxi to Auntie Stine's home, arriving quietly at 1.15am.  Donna had returned earlier and so was fast asleep by the time I returned.  Sleep came easily that night. It seems my body had needed the exercise of Disco dancing!

Saturday June 26 KRONBORG CASTLE and COPENHAGEN
In the morning, I washed some clothes and left them to dry while we breakfasted at Auntie Stine's kitchen table.  Afterwards, she announced that she had arranged to take the two of us, plus a picnic lunch, to visit her local tourist trap:

Kronborg Castle 
Known all over the world as Elsinor Castle, this Helsingør castle, is the setting for William Shakespeare's tragedy HAMLET, one of the most famous and frequently performed stage plays in the world.

by kind courtesy of  
http://billcainonline.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/kronborg-castle-denmark-or-hamlet-castles.jpg

Kronborg Castle was named after King Frederik II in 1577, but its history goes right back to the 1420s, when Erik of Pomerania built the strongly fortified castle known as "Krogen" ("The Hook"). From here the king's men controlled the shipping in the Sound and collected the unpopular Sound Dues.

above excerpt taken from http://www.kronborgcastle.com/en/KronborgsHistorie.aspx

by kind courtesy of 
http://www.danishnet.com/photos/b6/kronborg-castle-5.jpg

It was a long visit, involving a lot of walking after which Auntie Stine, Donna and I strolled outside for a picnic lunch on Kronberg Castle's eastern beach. We came upon a large grassy area, where most people had gathered. Beyond, a narrow strip of beach bordered the shallow sea.

Whilst there, we were amused - and a little shocked - to witness full-on Kronberg Castle sex antics. By the water, in broad daylight, an amorous young man and his more than eager young lady were so engrossed in each other that they seemed quite oblivious to the fact that young families were also present, at the beach with them. To their credit, the adult Danes simply ignored the couple.  Only the youngest children and I stared at them in complete and utter disbelief!  That's just not something you see every day on beaches in Canada!

Lunch was light, nutritious and delicious, as is usual with Scandinavian fare, and Auntie Stine certainly did us proud!  Somehow, sea air always seems to ramp up one's appetite.  But it also makes one very sleepy. So, we were all ready for a long nap by the time we returned to Auntie's home that afternoon.

by kind courtesy of 

http://www.welcome-to-my-copenhagen.com/images/danish_food_head_compos.jpg

Donna and I awoke around 5pm, eager for an evening out on the town.  We had intended to eat at Tivoli. But, knowing the prices there would be well beyond our budget, Auntie Stine insisted that we eat a light supper with her, before leaving for the station and our train to Copenhagen. 

Upon arrival in the big city, Donna accompanied me to Tivoli and then stuck by my side like glue - for the entire evening.  I had hoped that she would be brave enough to risk striding out on her own, after having visited Copenhagen by herself the previous day.  But Donna had grown up in a small village and was not as used to large cities as I was. She thus needed the reassurance of my company.

Erik met us both at the pre-arranged outdoor Tivoli drinking place, that served cold pitchers of beer along with individual glasses of wine. He had erroneously concluded that Donna was my 'chaperone Auntie', with whom we were staying, and about whom I'd told him the previous night.  He thus graciously provided us both with wine for the entire evening.

by kind courtesy of http://www.thelocal.se/articleImages/22200.jpg

Unfortunately, the free-flowing wine only seemed to amplify Donna's discomfort, as all she had to offer, by way of polite conversation, were her many complaints about travelling with me.

Listening to her comments, I concluded that Donna must have been overwhelmed by the insane pace of our Scandinavian tour.  I did, however, feel sad that she seemed unable to relax and enjoy herself in this amazing place designed for light-hearted fun.

We had a further 7 weeks of high-paced travel to enjoy (or endure!) together, and I was quickly becoming apprehensive about how our busy European adventure would unfold.

by kind courtesy of 

thisbrowngirl.wordpress.com/2010/07/emerson-quote.jpg?w=560

Most of all, I was perplexed by Donna's insensitivity towards Erik. He had been guilty only of behaving like a real gentleman as he quietly, and generously, footed the bill for our many, many drinks. The wine, however, had revealed a side of Donna I'd not known about, when we had only ever been colleagues.

But my main focus that evening was Erik and what he must have endured. Though his manners were always impeccable, he looked understandably confused by Donna's open irritability towards him.

So, when my travel companion eventually summoned the courage to visit the washroom alone, I took the opportunity to reassure Erik.

I explained that Donna was neither my 'aunt' nor my 'chaperone', but only my travelling companion. Erik's countenance visibly brightened and he immediately moved a little closer to me, sweetly begging me to join him on a solo date, beginning early the following morning.  Of course I agreed!

Donna would have to fend for herself! And I would not miss her at all.  Nonetheless, I found myself hoping she would spend some time relaxing her body, mind and spirit, in Auntie Stine's garden fragrant summerhouse, that I had so thoroughly enjoyed the previous afternoon.  It had been a healing and beautiful place in which to spend a few delicious hours.

Erik dearly wanted to show me around his beloved Copenhagen and I was delighted to go.  To be shown around a European city by someone who truly loves living there, is a rare treat, And I suspected that the warm summer weather plus Erik's congenial company would create the kind of magic that might, perhaps, extend beyond one single day.

That special day was going to be filled with charm and magic for both of us. Despite Donna's sour mood, I smiled quietly within myself during our return train journey to Auntie Stine's home.

  NEXT WEEK!

DENMARK June 27-29

WONDERFUL, WONDERFUL COPENHAGEN

JULEBEK BEACH

FREDERICKSBORG 
CASTLE in HILLEROD

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE June 27-29 DENMARK

Chapter 2: Days 1 - 2 London to Bordeaux (700 miles)

Day 1:  England to Belgium (160 miles)

The next morning, instead of reporting to my Mayfair office, I caught the tube to Victoria Station, promising to send a telegram to my boss at my earliest opportunity.  

I was travelling out of England for the next few weeks, and couldn't, in all conscience, just disappear and have her worry about me.  

Like everyone else, I really needed my job's regular paycheque each month. But, about to disappear without notice, I was uncertain if either would be waiting for me when I returned.

photo by kind courtesy of:

www.simplonpc.co.uk/SNCF1.html#anchor19098 

To avoid being overwhelmed by guilt, I decided not to obsess about taking this time out, at least until I felt ready to explain my reasons to my boss.
 
The rest of the Overland Tour group and I met our drivers at Victoria Station, shortly before we all boarded a chartered bus to the Dover ferry.

photo by kind courtesy of: www.dovercalaisferrytickets.com

By 3pm, we'd crossed the English Channel to Calais and wasted no time in reaching our first pit stop, a campsite in rural Belgium.  

I was the first to spy the Volkswagen 'hippie' wagon

 that was to transport us to Morocco and back.  

It was a riot of flower-power artistry that was sure to attract attention on the road. And, as our drivers pointed out, it would be easy to spot in any parking lot!

Our bus had no bathroom, but it was reliable and would seat us each of us in relative comfort during our 2000 mile  journey to Fes and back.

On the roof of the "Love Bus", as we named it, were cooking and camping gear, provided by our Overland Tour Company.    

photo by kind courtesy of www.wisegeek.com

By pooling our food money, we prepared and ate nutritious meals when and how we chose. Extra funds paid for snacks and restaurant treats

Having spent an entire day travelling from England to collect this bus had primed us for our Morocco trip. We were all eager to venture overland for 17 glorious days, through three countries and two continents.

This trip was a dream come true!

 
Our journey out of England had given me a chance to chat with my fellow travellers, for the first time.  Auspiciously, we numbered thirteen: 8 men, 5 women. 

The other four 20-something women were single nurses who had trained together in Manchester and were now belatedly celebrating their success.   

Four of the men, also in their twenties included a scholar, an architect and two world-travelling brothers from New Zealand.  Our two Aussie drivers, and the two English business-men were all in their late thirties.

I found our two drivers,  and one of the businessmen, very sensible and approachable. Sadly, the other businessman, George, was a relentless wet blanket who heartily disapproved of "my reckless hippie views" and took every opportunity of telling me so!  As a group, we were often to wonder aloud why George had chosen to travel with a 'hippie tour'.

Of the younger set, the four nurses and two brothers were delightful company - polite, helpful and friendly. Only the red-headed Len, a quietly brooding scholar, seemed like a fish out of water. I secretly suspected he would have felt more at home inside a monastic library.

Anton was a young architect from London who had a passion for photography. He was an intelligent and articulate fellow with an infectious smile and a gift for spinning a yarn that kept most of us laughing all the way to Morocco.  And he took an immediate shine to me!

As the odd person out, I had expected to pitch and sleep alone in my own tent for the duration of the trip. But, while were crossing the English Channel, Anton verbally jettisoned Len as his proposed tent-mate, leaving the brooding scholar to fend for himself.

Anton then volunteered to be my bodyguard, which apparently meant he would pitch my tent for me at each and every campsite.  Who was I to argue?!

photo by kind courtesy of: www.diggingalot.org

Upon arriving at our destination that afternoon we removed the camping and cooking gear from the Love Bus roof.

True to his word, Anton efficiently and quietly set up my tent near the others. 

We all pitched in to unpack our camp kitchen and foodstuffs, and then prepared a hearty meal which we ate together around the blazing campfire.  

Later we relaxed, sipping wine before cleaning up, re-packing our cooking gear and calling it a night. That was when I discovered that Anton had placed his own sleeping bag right beside mine, inside my tent!

It was, he explained, easier to protect me when he knew precisely where I was.  And while I couldn't fault his logic, I did wearily wonder why he was being so solicitous of my needs.  But it  had been a long, eventful day and I was much too tired to think. 

Making a note to sort it out 'later', 

I slid into my sleeping bag and was soon asleep. 

We were finally on our way!

Day 2:  Belgium to Paris (240 miles)
             Paris to Bordeaux (300 miles)

Sometime that night, I startled awake, feeling a warm hand roaming my body.  Irritated by his hubris, I pushed Anton away, then lay in the dark, formulating my response.

Supporting myself on one elbow, I faced my randy tent-mate. Then, in an angry whisper, I impressed upon Anton that, regardless of our circumstances, I expected him to behave like a gentleman! Were his intentions otherwise, I informed him, I would not require his 'services'  for the remainder of our trip.

My would-be bodyguard had understood my boundaries and I had accepted his apology before either of us returned to sleep that night.  And despite some lingering misgivings about Anton, I quickly fell asleep for the rest of the night.

The aroma of fresh coffee and warm croissants roused us all from slumber, a few hours later.

While shopping for that day's food supplies, our drivers spied a boulangerie where they purchased our first "continental" breakfast of the trip.

Quel Surprise! 

While we stowed our tents and backpacks on top of the "Love Bus", I realized, to my chagrin, that I still hadn't sent a telegram to my boss.  

Again, I promised I would  do so when we stopped in Paris.  But first we needed to head south.

   Good bye Belgium!    

  Hello  France!  

I was soon made aware that my decision to ‘room’ with Anton had had the oddest effect on the quietly brooding Len. Though Len had baulked at the idea of solitary camping, he never once stated his objections directly to anyone! Instead, he would add a caustic  “here here” to George's frequent rants against me!

Quelle paire d'imbéciles!

Last night's awkwardness now just a memory, and boundaries established, Anton and I were having far too much fun to allow Len or George to cast even the merest shadow over us. Thankfully, the rest of our fellow-travellers were blissfully unconcerned with how - or why - we, two, had teamed up for the trip.  

With a couple of notable exceptions, our happy little group hung together like a family, enjoying each other's company and the camaraderie of communal mealtimes.  

C'est si bon! 

Christobelle with parents, Yvonne and Jack, in 1950 

That first day, we also shared tales of our former experiences in Europe, and I casually mentioned having once lived in France. But before I could explain that I'd been but a toddler then,  our driver  handed me a map and told me that I would navigate our bus through Paris.

 

*merde!!*

I had really hoped to stop in the City of Lights, if only for an hour to send that telegram. 

Though thwarted, I gamely searched the map for the shortest route through Paris. And this was no easy task! Before its ring road was completed, a few years' later, all roads really did lead to Paris.

But on that particular day, precious few roads seemed to lead from Paris!

photo by kind courtesy of www.survol-paris.com

We, and our poor Love Bus, thus circumnavigated the Arc de Triomphe for an hour before we stumbled upon the road that actually led us out of 'La Ville-Lumière' via the road to Aquitaine.  

photo by courtesy of www.vintageholidays.co.auk

By the time we were beyond Paris' city limits, it was well past lunchtime.  We were exhausted and testy, but still had miles to go before we slept. Most of us were thus were eager to keep driving and make up for lost time.  

Our drivers vetoed our idea, stopping instead beside a picturesque field where we enjoyed a picnic meal. After lunch, our drivers again shopped for the food and supplies we would need when we stopped for the night. 

photo by kind courtesy of girlsguidetoparis.com/archives/best-cycling-workout-in-paris

That pause in our day was a wise decision.  All around us lay broad, flat fields basking in warm spring sunshine, reminding us that we were now on holiday and thus were supposed to be enjoying ourselves.

We resumed our journey, an hour later, more relaxed, with full bellies and much improved dispositions.

We followed the Aquitaine Road south to Orleans, then headed in a south-westerly direction to the outskirts of Bordeaux. 
photo by kind courtesy of: http://qingdaoschoolhub.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/bordeaux.png

By the time we finally set up camp outside Bordeaux that night, it was way too late to eat a full evening meal. So we were most grateful for the recent purchases of cold meats and salad veggies which we ate with baguettes, apples and a couple of dessert cheeses, all washed down with a couple of bottles of local wine!   

Délicieux!! 

Section 3 - Chapter 3: 

 From Bordeaux thru the Pyrenees Mtns. 

to San Sebastian, Spain

Landslides, Little Richard and Loud Laughter in 

My Road to Morocco - Day 3