The best thing about today was finding our new home there, just 4 kilometers outside of the city of Nyborg, but feeling like it’s way out in the verdant countryside. The countryside in Denmark is a patchwork of charming small farms. Gently rolling fields of wheat or corn or clover, interspersed with woods and ponds, surround whitewashed barns and houses with tile or thatched roofs, usually arranged in a U shape, with the house in the middle and the barns on either side. Horses and cows graze on the lushest grassy meadows imaginable.
We drove through a copse of tall trees, past elaborately patterned brick barns and horses grazing near shady ponds. We then found ourselves on a dirt road, wondering what the heck we were doing there. Then we came upon the house. Suddenly, we knew why we were there. It quietly stood beyond its lawn and its ancient tree, welcoming us to come forth. Our hosts appeared on the porch. We had found our new home.
It had been the home of the Nyborg Castle gardener for two centuries. On the bricks of the front porch, his pupils and apprentices had written their names and the dates, going all the way back to the mid-19th century. The upstairs was awash with sunlight from tall windows and skylight roof-windows that the nineteenth century architect had never dreamed of. The bathroom was filled with radiant heat from above and below.
One of the best things about the stay was the breakfast, served in a spacious country kitchen, and complete with candlelight, English eggs, Danish cheeses, ham, fresh rolls, four different homemade jams and tea hot and cozied. For the next breakfast, we requested the company of our charming hosts, Anne-Lise and Niels, and breakfast was even better. She is a seamstress and color analyst. They have a thriving online business promoting Kagan water machines and Nu Skin products. They met in Odense several decades ago when she walked down the street to borrow a stamp.
The best thing about this week was Merete and John’s summer home on a fjord in Jaegerspris. We arrived in a storm of wind that threatened to rip the clothes right off of my body.
Undeterred, they welcomed us with a Danish luncheon of mushroom casserole, onion tarte, crème fraiche cucumber, and the tiniest shrimp you’ve ever seen heaped on Danish brown bread. The shrimp are a delicacy, harvested right out of the waters in front of the house by John himself.
Then, off they went to take care of the grandchildren for the rest of the week. We then set about learning new routines of housekeeping. We washed our clothes in the kitchen sink, hung them out to dry until it rained, then decorated the entire house with socks, pants and shirts attached cleverly to anything that protruded from the wall. We lit the wood stove in the afternoon after walking in the rain—so cozy – and then when it turned into a sauna we got on our shorts and flung open everything that had a hinge. At night, we slept under fluffy down comforters — with the windows still wide open. The Danes sleep under down through all the seasons, and we were going Danish all the way. It was a struggle to keep our cool. At dawn, 5:30, the sun streamed in and greeted us, ready or not.
Every morning required a stroll down the vast green lawn to the quiet waters of the fjord. Along the way, we gathered raspberries and blackberries. We must have consumed the equivalence of $60 US Dollars in berries – growing in huge hedges that went all the way down to the sea.
We wasted a lot of US minutes staring at the sky. The home was blessed with a wall full of windows and doors going out to the sea. The island is blessed with wind, rain, sun, rainbows and the most astounding clouds.
At any time of the day, you can look out over the fjord and watch the show. A stately parade of clouds passes by over the water, always progressing from west to east. Great white, gray and black shape shifters move in stately procession. Whales, giraffes, bunnies, witches, mountains, tarantulas, you name it. Time and space loses meaning. You forget where you came from and where you were trying to go.
Then, one night, after we had thoroughly marauded all of Merete’s delicious leftovers, we got a little hankering. Was that ice cream I saw in the freezer? I explored. I found. I produced the most delightful desert and I proudly presented it to my husband. Creamy vanilla ice cream, dark chocolaty drizzle, almond biscuit garnish. Am I The Gourmet, or what? My husband, takes a few bites and remarks, “This is . . . exotic.” I’ve really proven my culinary ingenuity now. I taste it. A salty, almost coffee flavor graces the cream. Hmm. . . The bottle certainly looked like chocolate sauce. (Granted, I wasn’t quite sure of the contents, since they were labeled in Danish.) Oh . . . Not quite chocolate sauce. Oh no, I do think it is . . . meat sauce. OMG, I just had just served meat sauce over my ice cream. When I told Merete about our faulty marauding, I think I gave her an American–in-Denmark story that will receive uproarious laughter at many a dinner table throughout Jaegerspris.
Today we took the fairy across Isefjorde, which is the fjord we see from Merete’s summer home. The custom for summoning the fairy is to turn a paddle that reached high on a pole, so that the orange side faces across the water. If the captain sees the sign, if he wants to, he comes to the landing.
Martin & the Captain — Photo by PMP
We were lucky. So off we went, in the midst of yet another rain shower. We were invited up to the captain’s bridge, where we got a firsthand tutorial on the winds and the currents. When asked if the seas got rougher than this, the captain laughed heartily.
On the Way to Lynaes — Photo by PMP
We walked two kilometers in the rain to the little harbor of Lynnaes. Our reward at the destination was a steaming cup of coffee. More rewarding than destination was the process.
Photo by PMP
On this side of the fjord, thatch-roofed homes abounded. I have a “thing” for thatch-roofed cottages, so I reveled in each glimpse.
First glimpse of a thatched home — Photo by PMP
By the time we returned home, the rain of course had cleared. We made our first home-cooked dinner, with ingredients we had fetched this morning on foot at the local market.
The best thing today was a rainy walk in the forest of Nordskoven. We walked through sunshine, mists that glistened the ferns, rain drops as big as dimes — three rain showers.
Even after the clouds cleared, down came a shimmering tree shower. When the wind gusted through the tall forest canopy, with layers upon layers of leaves, each small leaf vessel tipped its cache of water, and down came the droplets through the dappled sunlight.
Luxuriant ferns graced the forest floor.
Delicate wildflowers — purple, rose and bright yellow — danced across the meadows and skipped along our path. We were drenched in the fresh scent of grasses, woodland herbs, blossoms and loamy soil.
The king of the forest is Kongeegen. He is an ancient oak tree, between 1,500 and 2,ooo years old — and still living. Small underlings crowd around his massive trunk — probably his progeny, eager to reign, but without a chance. In a ring around the “konge”, the king of oaks, loyal guardsmen hold back the forest growth and preserve the elder’s right to the sun.
He alone lives on, longer and luckier than Storkeegen, the revered oak a short ways away in the same forest. Storkeegen is only about 800 years old, and ceased producing leaves a few decades ago.
We were alone in the wet woods, paying homage to this marvel. In contrast, busloads of people file into Roskilde Domkirke to view the elaborate sepulchral monuments of 39 generations of Danish kings. One looks at those lifelike marble carvings of the kings lying in stately, dead repose, amidst lavishly ornate displays of wealth and power. Perhaps each king’s greatest wish was to live on in immortal glory.
Kongeegen simply grows — majestically — and outlives the lifetimes of 39 kings.
Today’s post is about Vesterbro, an incredible neighborhood enveloping trendy cafes, prostitutes, art galleries, drug addicts, children’s parks, homeless shelters, coffee houses and sex shops. From the Queen’s point of residence, it’s on the wrong side of the tracks. It’s also the hottest hipster hangout. More importantly, today’s post is about what I learned from Kristine, Elizabeth and Jonathan. Their compassionate, fresh, embracing attitudes about where they live and how they live made me realize that I carry from home some predispositions that need dusting off.
Kristine, Martin’s distant cousin, lives In Vesterbro with her boyfriend Jonathan. She was eager for us to experience this unique section of the city, and she was right when she said we probably would not venture there on our own. Her sister Elizabeth came from Odense to join us, and later Kristine’s boyfriend Jonathan, so we had three enthusiastic, articulate young tour guides to show us what the tourists don’t see and the older folks probably don’t know about.
Vesterbro is on the other side of the train tracks from the royal palace . It’s also the hottest hipster hangout. The street where Kristine lives straddles two lives. During the day, it is the province of mothers carting children to school on their bicycles, shoppers and lunching locals. We pass window displays of more dildo makes and models than I ever knew existed. Nightclubs promise strip teases, table dances, and lap dances, and more – all in English (the favored language of learning and fashion). At nightfall, the prostitutes lounge against the walls of the stately old buildings – but on only one side the street. It was a relief to see Kristine’s apartment was on the other side of the street. Remarkably, Kristine feels safe in her neighborhood. You just have to know the correct social conventions: Don’t make eye contact and stay on the correct side of the street. There is evidently more to it than that, for Elizabeth still has not learned enough etiquette to feel safe alone on Kristine’s street.
As we entered Kristine’s apartment, she pointed out that at night, there are usually several drug addicts hanging out at the building entrance. They know her, and just politely step out of the way. Kristine seemed much more concerned on our behalf about the steep steps up to the top floor of the building. No problem!
Americans, you may be wondering about Kristine. Banish your preconceptions! She has long blonde hair, fresh complexion and exudes girl-next-door wholesomeness. Elizabeth, too, a beautiful young mother of two tow-heads. Kristine has an art degree from the University; Elizabeth has a PhD in linguistics and teaches University English. Kristine happily lives here by choice and relishes the diversity.
Her apartment was charmingly cluttered with the useful and the whimsical. Sunlight streamed in through skylights and dormer windows. Looking out the living room window, across the street was a handsome brick building sporting a sex shop on the ground floor. Across the other street was a trendy roof-top garden. Catty-corner stood another centuries-old building that provides shelter for addicts, along with on-duty nurses who administer “safe” doses to the local addicts.
Kristine’s courtyard
In the center courtyard, raised beds grew vegetables and flowers, and doubled as picnic benches and a children’s playhouse. As we exited to the street, Kristine pointed out two handwritten signs, one in English and one in Danish. They alerted the residents about the bloody needles found in a child’s stroller, so be sure to check before plopping junior in for a ride.
I had a deliberately muted, horrified reaction. Kristine was totally composed. She expressed compassion for the addicts, who meant no harm and simply sought a quiet place to relieve their distress. Elizabeth talked sympathetically about the clash between those who were in the neighborhood first, the addicts, and the newcomers with young families who wanted to change things. We certainly can think of many American neighborhoods that have become gentrified, and the costs to those who are forced out of their neighborhoods. Kristine wants them to stay. She has an extraordinary sense of compassion and fairness. Not just that. She relishes the diversity and sees it as no threat to her own ambitions and wellbeing.
We headed out first of all to the meat-packing district. Slaughter houses have morphed into furniture dealers, fragrant food stalls, art galleries, beer bars and restaurants. We had organic salads, a popular alternative to what used to be.
Vesterbro artifice
Public art pops up in unexpected places. What is real? Is that an arch, or a wall? Are there windows and people waving down to us?
Veterbro ring jousting, with baby on board
On Saturday afternoons in summer, a modern-day version of the ancient Jutland ring-spearing contest draws an exuberant crowd of beer-swigging locals to an otherwise sedate residential cul de sac. You would never know it was there—unless you have friends on Facebook who ring-joust. Bicycles, decorated with crepe paper streamers, now replace horses. We held our breath every time a less-than triumphant and slightly inebriated rider flamboyantly dismounted his metal steed, casually brandishing a truly sharp lance amidst the onlookers. Not a drop of blood was lost.
A claim to fame that most tourists don’t know about is in Vesterbro: It is the world’s smallest hotel. It has one room, above an equally small and charming coffee house. Definitely the hotel I want to joust for the next time I come to Copenhagen.
A claim to fame that most tourists don’t know about is in Vesterbro: It is the world’s smallest hotel. It has one room, above an equally small and charming coffee house. Definitely the hotel I want to joust for the next time I come to Copenhagen.
We went to a very different coffee bar that a tourist would never find. It would not be found because it has no name. A tourist would pass it by because it has absolutely no street appeal. Locals love it, and devotedly patronize it. We had a long chat there and had the best coffee I’ve ever tasted. The shop now has a sign, a concession to the times: It reads “Navnlus”, “nameless” in Danish.
We walked and talked all day, with these two friendly sisters and congenial boyfriend, who joined us later in the afternoon. We strolled through the rain along the four lakes in the city, we looked for hipsters on the bridges, we walked through the botanical gardens, we visited the friendly Vesterbro children’s park. We paused often and we talked.
Martin, Elizabeth, Kristine & Jonathan at Maddklubben
We ended our day at Madklubben, a trendy and lively restaurant that served terrific cooked-t0-order and to-die-for flank steak in an upscale, cosmopolitan atmosphere.By the end of the day I knew that these delightful, intelligent people had something special. They lived in a neighborhood that at home I would label as undesirable. They love its lively character, its diversity. They live in harmony with all that is there. Jonathan feels so fortunate to own his sunny, top-floor, corner apartment with a view of the neighborhood he grew up in and has lived in for twenty years. Kristine loves where she is. With such generous nature, she let us in on her secret to happiness. It is absolutely precious. We should bottle it. But we can’t sell it. Each person has to find it and somehow hold onto it. It might be called contentment. But the elixir has more complexity than that. It is infused with gratitude, a dosage of humility, a sprinkling of playfulness, sweetened with compassion and clarified with open-mindedness.
We drove through a copse of tall trees, past elaborately patterned brick barns and horses grazing near shady ponds. We then found ourselves on a dirt road, wondering what the heck we were doing there. Then we came upon the house. Suddenly, we knew why we were there. It quietly stood beyond its lawn and its ancient tree, welcoming us to come forth. Our hosts appeared on the porch. We had found our new home.
Every morning required a stroll down the vast green lawn to the quiet waters of the fjord. Along the way, we gathered raspberries and blackberries. We must have consumed the equivalence of $60 US Dollars in berries – growing in huge hedges that went all the way down to the sea.
We wasted a lot of US minutes staring at the sky. The home was blessed with a wall full of windows and doors going out to the sea. The island is blessed with wind, rain, sun, rainbows and the most astounding clouds.
