Wednesday 31 August 2016

Research

Research  31.08.16

'Several coincidences work in my favour. Such a glorious little town. Horse trials on the flood meadows on the evening i arrived and yesterday they held an old car rally. Now where there are old cars, surely theres old car parts..... and number plates?


It turned out not to be so but seems i asked the right people, who told me i needed to find Hans, a short, grey haired, old man...... hmm........ But i now have a date! Off to Esbjerg tomorrow in search of him at home.  the guys who found him for me told me to be sure to knock him down. I try to decide what IS my price. Its a question i am asked over and over and the answer is always, it depends... on age and condition and other unquantifiables.

Today is market day by the old harbour in Ribe. I sit by the river in the sunshine with a mass of purple blossom beside me, the smell of waffles drifting in the cool breeze and a busker playing a selection of easy listening classics, music from my teens. Leonard Coen, James Taylor, Simon and Garfunkle, Lou Read, with occasional Streets of London and similar.

The flea market disappointingly does not produce a number plate but gives me information and another lead. Old plates will be white on black, newer plates black on white and business plates yellow.  i have another date, to meet Jørgen at a railway station on Friday, as i pass through on my way to Faaborg, to buy a yellow plate for £11, if he can find it! Armed with knowledge, a basic price and a firm offer, i am better equipped to trade with Hans tomorrow.

Travelling without the spirit of travelling is almost what i feel ive been doing. For me travelling involves mixing with, meeting, conversing, being challenged by other travellers but apart from my first two weeks in Nolsoy ive largely been alone.  Denmark is not equipped with a wide range of hostels, else ive not found them as have no Lonely Planet to guide me. Dan Hostels, which are everywhere, mostly seem to cater for families, few have dorm rooms, only open a couple of hours a day to talk to, else its booking on line without being able to understand the information! 

Evening times it would be good to have companionship. Went to the Night Watchmans free walk this evening, probably forty of us there, thought some might wander into the night watchmans bar afterwards for a beer but only one did and i found no company even in there.


I conclude that knowledge is the primary quest i seek. My life has become stale without the pursuit of knowledge. Throughout my career i was constantly studying qualifications, not for qualifications sake, initially to raise my salary but then just to keep me intersted, engaged in what i was doing. 

The thought that has to go into planning and executing my travel has been engaging. I suspect it would not matter where i settle in life, perhaps i am a perpetual student and need to take up study again. Forget the gap year, go back to uni! Or rather go to uni for that wasnt something that happened for me first time round. Cant call a dead end girls only teacher training college that was closed the year after i left, academically challenging in any respect! I think it closed more doors than opened. And my time at UEA, initially advanced cert and then MA was part time, teaching at Larkman First, single parent. Tough times. Study is so expensive though and student loans not available with a masters.

Maybe three months travel would suffice each year. Portugal and northern spain for this winter maybe, turn my basic spanish into a language that might contribute to my travel experiences. I am thinking of buying a loom to take to cornwall, to experiment with making the irregular, unpredictable rag/yarn weave that i began to explore in the spring. Turn rags into Faroes, grey sky and water, perhaps painting mountains onto the warp, hidden but known and there in the fog. 

But i dont feel a sense of love for the Faroes or even for Denmark. When i returned from Australia I made a series of images related to the balance between earth and sky which became foundation ideas for my conservatory curtain. I had passion for the country, I feel no such passion here.

I must resist cutting any more of my hair, first it was my fringe then the sides. The back kicks up and curls. Right now, I need to go move and talk to the tourist office but enjoy sitting here in the sun and the breeze. My plans here have grown organically, without drama. Five nights is a good length of time to stay in one place. My knees are flexed and free again after yesterday's 20-30 mile bike ride.

Bike hire is expensive, adds a tenner a day onto forty five quid accommodation so needs to be carefully planned. I trekked out to the island of Mando yesterday, only accessible by causeway and tractorbus, add on a fee for my two wheeled passenger and my bike becomes thirteen fifty for the day. But i couldnt have done it without.

I found it hard to comprehend the thirty people choosing to live out there. Grazing marshes, sheep, a few cows, no fishing harbour, no other agriculture, small scale tourism. Circumnavigating the island was generally unimpressive, mostly as a result of the road and tracks sitting inside low down the tall earth bank protecting the island from storm surges.



I enjoyed the tractorbus though, driving through up to two feet of water on our return journey. There are a few children living on the island, most days tractors can get through with an average tide of one point seven meters but there are days when children cannot attend school or have to stay over at friends houses on the mainland.


Ok thats two cans of beer drunk, disappointing beer but what do you expect if you zip off to the only open supernarket at ten o clock. Somehow Denmark just isnt Oz. You have to EAT if you want to drink and pay over the odds for both! 

I was pleased this evening in the nightwatchmans bar or rather, empty dining room, to discover a beer called Shitze, at least thats how he pronounced it, made of rosehip berries, just tasted like bitter to me but i thought, yeah ok ill have another from the supermarket but of course, I end up buying cans of the only available beer carlsberg or tuborg. Sigh.


And my fridge here is so luke warm that they wont even be cold by tomorrow, unlike my shower, thats cold every day!



Monday 29 August 2016

Tourist hat Ribe

Tourist hat Ribe  29.08.16

I ought to be washing my clothes. Or thinking about finding a room in Copenhagen for my last few days. Or checking the weather forecast for tomorrow. Ok, thats important, its good. Or planning the rest of my time here in Ribe.

Its always a difficult balance, as soon as i arrive i need to do research and plan whilst checking transport for and confirming my next place and making preliminary enquiries and bookings for the place after that. Always at least two steps ahead, constant catching up.

I find myself sleeping in a bed with no headboard and against no wall, thatll be the pillow on the floor then, good job i dont fuss about pillows. I look forward to sleeping, i am just as close to the centre as i was last night and know that many churches will ring out to me and play tunes at different hours of the night. And half hours. And quarters. Its ok, its melodic. I think theres three sets of bells and they are coordinated to be seconds apart. Lullabies.

I have a loose plan for my time here but it occurs to me that exploring Esbjerg doesnt appear in it and if i am to catch early shows in the Vadensee festival i need to plan carefully. I am torn, need to do both those things but planning can wait.

I have been a dutiful tourist today. I took myself on the self guided tour of the town, spending time in the viking museum along the way. It was excellent in every respect and such a good grounding in terms of understanding my surroundings. 

How can i choose a photo from dozens? Ok, my courtyard, some buildings and then something ive not really understood. I think this signpost might be related to bike routes but sadly the ending of the Hull to Denmark ferry means that cycle route one has a major hiccup these days! I hear they might be adding to it so it goes via Iceland? Maybe? This section has some awesome places and views anyways.








Ribe is expensive. Full stop. The oldest town in Scandinavia and a wealth of history, very carefully cared for it deserves to be expensive. Its kind of like an area stretching from Elm Hill to Norwich Cathedral and St Peter Mancroft, all still cobbled and with buildings beautifully preserved.

Ive taken endless photos of buildings for buildings sake and remember the way i did just the same in Bruges, with my mother, Carla and her friend Rosa (Nicola decided at 14, that family holidays were no longer cool. Coping with my mother was enough, i didnt need a truculent teenager on board as well and despite the challenges we faced together, i always trusted Nicola to make the right decisions when it mattered. Earning money was too important for her to make any seriously bad decisions so i think i left her at home, alone, aged 14. I love the way work can ground us)

Thats my random, later thought track, my immediate one had been much more selfish. Trying to work out the age of my mother, remembering her inflexibility and lack of fitness, trying to work out how old she was and how my body is comparing. I give up trying to work it out but do note that whilst she became increasingly stooped and breathless, she never complained, unlike me who constantly whinges about my body! Im actually unsure which is better, i prefer an open dialogue about my health.

Midway in my town walk, i gave myself lunch at a place i chose yesterday, thinking it sounded good and affordable at £12. I think it was mostly mayonnaise. There was some chicken, lettuce and potatoes but predominantly it was mayonnaise. Cheapskate, what did i expect for my twelve quid chicken spears with salad?

Eating out is never easy for me even at home. i would rather spend twenty pounds on beer than on a meal that often disappoints. And here, twenty is the minimum but twentyfive more realistic for a basic meal from a menu i cant interpret. That just leaves takeaways then. Having moved to a bed with a kitchen, Ive just done my food shop for the next four days and including a bottle of wine it was twenty five pounds. It needs to be, im struggling finding cheap rooms, have not managed to find a hostel once in my time away and these four nights here are around forty five each night and thats without breakfast!

If ever there were a reason for home ownership, its retirement! Rent it out my friends! I could never be here, doing this, without the rental from my house, such freedom!

I took an evening walk, returning to a local high spot, earth work remains of some ancient kings palace, hoped to see some starling action but found instead hawks hunting, a few rooks gathering and a pair of totally lost backpackers, carrying carrier bags of groceries along with heavy packs, lost, mapless after nine pm. I realise how safe and cautious i am being, always planning to arrive in a new place by mid afternoon. Give me time to ground myself.


They ask for help and i reach for my map, but, twenty eight hours after arriving i am out walking mapless and i both love and regret the fact for i would have liked to help them along their way. They head off and I choose a direction that i think will take me close to home, confident that my geographical grounding is sufficient to find my way back wherever i turn out to be.

Nearing home, from a direction not travelled before, a man hesitates as he enters his property. You were sitting he says, out walking, on the hill, yes i said i enjoyed the sky and the birds, i took photographs of you he says. I say oh, thats cool, thank you, and walk on.

A few steps further i turn around, return, ring his bell, ask him will he email me a photo. He agrees but sounds unsure, says he is a photographer. i say i travel alone, its rare to have pictures of me. he says i am only in silhouette, says he is the same, that nobody takes pictures of him. I say a picture of me in silhouette sounds beautiful, i give him my email address but i dont hold out much hope. But maybe....  theres half a friend.. he didnt have to tell me he had taken photos of me.

Ribe

Ribe  29.08.16

'What a heavenly place! An extraordinary mixture of old and new with the emphasis on old old old. My room i had booked via the internet is gloomy, a sky light for a window, no vista, no light or spaciousness, the shower room is huge with a lovely view, i could have slept in here but I cannot stay in a gloomy room more than one night. I pay for one night and go walkabout, explore.


I am sorry to have arrived immediately before two festivals start, without even knowing any festivals were happening. I seem to be chasing festivals on this trip. Aarhus happened just after i left, Tonder Folk festival is ongoing, i cant say i wasnt invited for Benny was looking for someone to go with but i declined his invitation!.  And now, Vadensee.... tempting but unavailable and a Wine festival coincides with it which means all accommodation for the weekend is booked.

I will pretend to just be a tourist and not know the festivals are about to arrive. Alternatively, i might use the next few days to try to connect with locals, even offer to volunteer, see if i might find a rat hole in a corner somewhere, to stay for the weekend... Rejecting my prebooked room i have found myself a decent room for 5 krone more, will move in tomorrow. 

My encounters this afternoon have been on three levels. 

One. Counter assistants in the cafe i have booked to stay at. 
Functional. My room has no view, only a skylight offering limited stars. I cannot stay for four nights in a room without a view. The girl is powerless, consults to see if im allowed to stay one night. Once in, i check airbnb and begin to understand why i booked here through booking.com.

Two. Jesper, friendly accommodation i happen chanced upon.
From the outside his property looks tawdry, tatty notice in a flaking window, but a nice guy, gorgeous courtyard, light and airy, spacious rooms, a kitchen, a much better option and just a fiver a night more. I move in tomorrow. Sadly, his festival weekend rooms were booked a year ago.

Three. Jake, was it Jake? Doesnt sound Danish but an old guy, interesting chap, easily in his 80's?
Lives next door to the pub i stopped at, told me his life history and engaged in philosophical conversation about being dutiful and being free, about icelandic sagas and morality. His mothers ill health ended his chosen life in Vancouver and after she died, his heart bypass operation prevented him sailing around the world alone. Regrets.

I misjudge. He's another man who just needed me to listen, not contribute. He was not ready for me to say that i tell my daughters its far better i die doing something i want to do than live in the knowledge that i didnt give it a go. I lose my first friend here, he goes home, full of his own regrets.  

must try to forget the vadensee arts festival but this is nevertheless a good place to be. I order a kebab and go to the loo, discover im in herren not dammen but pee regardless and no one distrubs me. I wait for my food and wonder how much aloneness i have had, yet how little loneliness i have felt. Perhaps i just dont need to be a social creature. 

Its bizarre, i equate cobbled streets with pedestrian priority but despite no road markings and no signs, pedestrians and cars seem to equally confuse each other here, neither knows which way to go and i include myself in this but am pleased other pedestrians and vehicles seem equally adrift. This was also true in Aarhus, cobbled streets looking pedestrian, no road markings to spoil the cobbles yet cars everywhere. 


Things i have missed

Things i have missed  29.08.16

I whileaway an hour waiting for my bus to leave the island of Rømø, head for a gallery and spy this old dwelling and wonder how it is that i havent seen it before and do not know its origin or its present use. I would like to ask about the wooden stakes protruding from the roof but am unable to do so.


notice the rows and rows of holiday chalet accommodation, first seen from the Sylt ferry yesterday, and wonder the life of this village, out of season, quiet, slow, empty. I imagine how those who love it, enjoy the winter whereas others live for the summer. Not so different from my experiences living in Aldeburgh. 

Getting quieter all the time, the imperative to book accomodation ahead has now lessened, i have four nights booked in Ribe but want to stay six, my onward booking is flexible, ill see how it is when i get there but have noticed an arts festival about to commence. I pass the pancake house where i planned to eat, no regrets, my pancakes on Sylt were good.

I smile, remembering the chattering dune buggys driving off the ferry yesterday, whether going to play on Sylt or coming from playing on Romo ive no idea, probably both. I thought, when i left for Sylt yesterday, that i would be sharing my hotel with german bikers last night, but when i returned, the bar was empty and quiet, the leather and bikes all departed. Maybe we shared the same ferry.

I begin the next leg of my journey, Ribe, a recommendation from my Skagen host else i would never have known it. Staying in Denmark was, i think, a good plan. Trying to obtain euros in Germany yesterday though was difficult, no, impossible. The ATM machines refused all three of my cards and ive no idea why. I continue to purchase goods happily today, and extract Danish krone. Perhaps Brexit has prevented me withdrawing euros? Dunno.

Ive not shown my passport since check in at Edinburgh airport, no calls for it on entering or leaving the Faroes, on arriving in Denmark and equally none yesterday on leaving for Germany or returning although the quantity of duty free goods available each time signified all were very clearly borders.

These were not the only things i missed. My dislike and fear of busses has increased. Sheltering in a leaky bus shelter during a thunderous downpour, i wait and wait. Fortyfive minutes go by and i ponder my options. Hitching in the rain is not an option. The only other bus on a sunday is late afternoon. I need go only fifteen miles to the train station but have few options. I write a sign saying SKB hoping people will understand Skærbæk and wait for the rain to cease. I hitch for an hour, skirting occasional spits until the downpour recommences. No joy. 


This was my first hitching attempt since leaving the Faroes. I book a £50 taxi which thankfully arrives with a friendly, chatty driver who tells me stories of the black sun bird. The season is approaching for this migrational bird, when they will swarm and dance in the sky, when all areas around will be full and busy with black sun bird tours. 

Later i look up the Danish black sun bird, aha, our very own starling murmurations and it seems i have arrived in Ribe on the cusp of the black sun tours. I saw a small murmuration on Lyst and will be sure to watch for them here.

Saturday 27 August 2016

Doctors orders

Doctors orders  27.08.16

Wow just what i needed! Time to relax in privacy and comfort, wash my clothes, drape them dripping overnight then lay them in the sun on my generous balcony for a couple of hours before putting them back on.

Not having a bike slows me down, narrows my world, its ok. Benny had told me i would not find mudflats to walk, yesterday i went looking for them nonetheless but didnt find them. This morning though, the view from my balcony suggested there might be a way to find them close by, that they might be hiding behind all that sand and no entry quayside. Without a bike it was an ideal location to explore. 


First though, a couple of hours research led to the discovery that i would be leaving Ribe, my next stop, on the day the Wadden Sea festival starts. It is the Wadden Sea that i came to this area for, Vadensee stretches the North Sea coastline of Holland, Denmark and Germany and is the biggest system of tidal sand and mudflats in the world, in places, a world heritage site.

I step out with four missions, to read the historical billboards by canon hill (hill? Ive seen no hill!) , post postcards, visit a quality craft shop i seem to have missed and see if i can get out to the edge of the water on the east side mud.

I managed the billboards and the mud. Exploring the back of the hotel, sure enough I found an unblocked entrance into the building site and was thereby able to climb the earth bank. I soon found myself listening to bubbling mud and the calls of waders, to the crackle of shells, suck of mud and squish of seaweed underfoot. Glorious sun sent sparkles off the water and vehicles travelling the distant causeway to mainland, flashed in the sun and merged into the landscape, as one, with the birds.


I watched the distant waters and the sandbanks carefully, looked for tidal movements, stepped slowly in case of quicksand, noted the high tide line and how the shore bank was being eroded away and was conscious that i was walking on mudflats with no knowledge of tide or waters. Walking in a zone generally closed to human traffic, yet footsteps told me others had been here before me.

I wanted to walk out on the high sand to the sea but common sense forbad me do so and I startled myself enough anyway, each time i sank a couple of inches into the sandy mud. Seaweeds and eel grass adorned the tideline. For a while i looked briefly for amber but not with any seriousness, there was too much going on around me. 


I wondered if the tide were coming in or out and cursed myself for not reading the tide times for surely i had seen them on a leaflet. I listened. I looked. I trod carefully, chose alternative routes. I absorped the beauty so pleased to have found it. Corner after corner showed something new and when i decided i had scared myself quite enough thank you, it was time to turn back. As i did so, i stopped to listen again and there were more bubbling noises than hitherto, the tide was coming in i decided, receeding water makes less noise than incoming, which pushes trickling air bubbles out of the mud.


My words are inadequate to describe the joy i experienced and the thrill of that edge of excitement in not really knowing if it is safe and needing to use all my senses.  can read the surface sand, mud and water contours, i know the risks but there could always be that unkonwn hidden danger that i cannot see.

Arriving back at the point at which i entered, i decide to walk further along the waters edge, now heading out to sea along a harbour wall, way beyond the eight foot locked gates but i am below the bank, on the water line, hidden from sight. The thrill of being where i am not supposed to be is ever new and the adrenaline it brings tastes sweet and heightens every nerve. 

I reach boulders that i think imported, old tyres used to stabilise the mud and a tarmac bank with big fuck off floodlights above, i walk along the bottom of the bank with the sea now lapping, progressing at walking pace towards the shore. I walk out to sea, a metre higher than the water but nevertheless have a tinge of anxiety. 


Determined to reach the end of the harbour wall i press on. When i arrive, the turmoil tells me why this is out of bounds, currents come from many directions and fight each other in the water. With the turning of the tide, the outgoing water from marshes around continues to try to flow out. it is clear the bottom shelves steeply for the deep water harbour entrance is metres away. Survival rates would be low for anyone falling in here. 

Having satiated my curiosity and scared myself quite enough for one day i decide not to walk back along the waters edge but to climb the tarmac bank and return along the safety of the top wall, albeit knowing that i will have to climb over and drop down at some point to circumnavigate the fence that bars the way.

And so it is that i have mud on my shoes and a smile on my face. I knew there would be more for me here than the sand and straight roads into the heather and dunes. I watched the two thirty ferry come and go while walking and detemine that i will go to Sylt for the evening, go for supper and a beer, catch the four thirty over and the nine thirty return.


Wow. Simply wow. Another magical surprise. Much disregarded as the playground for the rich and famous i find such contrast in national approach and miles more of gleaming sand and mudflats that this has probably been one of the most beautiful days of my time away. 


Ive been constantly struggling to interpret Faroese and Danish cycle tracks, paths and maps. The Danish approach is to focus on a love of raw wild nature leaving you largely just to get lost much of the time, not lost on a big scale but making it difficult to follow a route. Here i find typical german simplicity and efficiency, i am given a beautifully simple, clear map by the girl at Sylt tourist office. Danish tourist office counterparts have been bored, desultory and generally rude or unhelpful. Ive put it down to them being tired at the end of the season but this girl is helpful, fresh and alive. She listens to my timescale and proposes a 4k coastal walk, through to a 'mountain' in the dunes. perfect, i have four hours to explore eat and drink. 

As i walk though, It quickly occurs to me that 4k might be more than a tad under exagerated but i love the light, the scrub, sand, water and the sun as well as the gates, sheep and autobahn.....Yes the pedestrian autobahn. The Danish block off their salt marsh, not to be seen, whether to protect it or for shame that it is not pristine sand i am unsure but the German approach is to build a massive seawall from some horrid clinker like substance and install a pedestrian autobahn on top of it, damaging precious environment in so doing but making it so accessible and so utterly difficult to climb down that no one would think to step on and spoil the pristine marsh beneath ensuring birds and landscape stay safe but close to view and no one is walking in tidal mudflats.


Mostly i walk alone along my autobahn, occasional joggers and cyclists, i am not quite making the speed i might like through constant stops to enjoy sheep grazing, starlings gathering, the seven thirty ferry moving, but neverthelss ascertain that my walk will be stretching a good five miles, perfect. 

I check the map frequently but each time am reassured by the features it displays, the autobahn continues a long way further than i need to go but i know i am on the right track as i look across at the heather clad dunes, and wonder which 'mountain' i will be climbing.


When i find my turn, i leave the autobahn and follow a clear gravelled path through dunes until i become close to the intended mountain, i had wondered how i might tell which dune it was but need not have worried. Im unsure how i feel about chopping into the landscape in the way the germans have done here but my sixty year old body appreciates the easy walking. My supposed four kilometer walk took me two and a half hours, easily six and a half miles.


Hungry before i started, finding food was less easy. The 'village' was packed by the time i returned with hundreds if not a thousand people eating. Restaurant after restaurant i tried to find a menu with English  translations but everywhere gave me a no, no, no. Disappointingly i settled for one offering kebabs, pizzas and pancakes, i could read enough german to understand that! I found myself a lovely little, movable, beach hut such as i had seen on the ferry and around the village, a 'strandkorb'. Facing the oceon, i enjoyed a beer.





Disappointingly, the menu showed only two kebabs on offer and i had no idea what they contained. The nationality of the young waitress was unclear to me but nope she didnt speak any english, only danish and german. Throughout my time away i have found that i am not on a path trod by many english which is of interest in itself. Here, many of the waiters and waitresses with whom i have spoken, do not look typically german and do not speak english, french or spanish. I wonder about their origin but have no language to converse. With animal noises we ascertain there is no chicken kebab so with the help of google translate i opt for a leek and mushroom pancake, asking for cheese to be added, i can point to the words i know. It was good, very good.

Faroese ferries were solid, safe machines, with double barrier, fold up, fold down doors and demanding that vehicles reverse in. Danish and this german ferry are ro-ro designs and i keep forgetting not to be sitting below decks, that i want to be on the top deck ready to escape should water start to come in. The Herald of Free Enterprise disaster in 1987 affected me greatly at the time. Different doors but wide open car decks and we leave and approach harbour with our doors wide open. Every time.






Friday 26 August 2016

Room 2 Haveneby Kro

Room 2 Haveneby Kro  26.08.16

Yep, ive jumped ship. More than that i have a full refund from Airbnb. I have a balcony with a seaview in my eighty pounds a night room but it had to be done. I started by lodging a discomfort notice with airbnb last night.

I havent mentioned the bikes have i. Bike number one, yesterdays rust bucket little number with gears that jump and handle bars not centred so steering straight is difficult. I said, ill take a different one tomorrow. I think thats when he first got the hump with me, didnt like his bike being frowned on.

Bike number two appears ok this morning, im motoring nicely along but when i need to change down a gear, nope i cant do so, im stuck in top gear. Anticipating over 30k of mostly gravel and sandy tracks i headed back. Ah, he said, yes it sometimes does that, fiddled with a tensioning knob for ten minutes, got it working again, said thats what you need to do. Hesitantly i suggested i might try the third bike, he says no, its too big.

Bike number three, a mans bike, yes, a bit on the large side, especially stand over height, but i can ride it, mostly functioning gears except theres no functional big ring, handlebars not quite securely fixed but definitely the best of the three. I think its probably his bike.

This is a small island, full of germans and my destination of the town of Lakolk is actually acres of german campervans and caravans. A bit like butlins on wheels with parades of tacky shops, hotdogs and ice creams. I dont even bother to go find the beach, itll be like yesterdays, miles and miles of hard sand and two kilometres to walk to reach the sea for a paddle. I spend most of the day instead, searching for viewing points to sit and while away the time, such as are marked on the map in woodland and heathland areas and overlooking salt marsh.


I conclude that Denmark scenary here is rather dull and becomes monotonous after a while. I dont have much luck with my benches, they just don't seem to be there! I wonder what else they might mean, perhaps its a good place to take your camping stool? I find benches that are not marked but mostly sitting by the road side with no apparent view. I become more diligent and finally find one and sit to admire the salt marsh from a distance!



i decide that maybe a trip to Germany on the ferry might not be such a bad idea after all for tomorrow. It will be in direct contrast to today, Sylt being the luxury, rich person and celebrities island and will keep me safely away from Benny. I hadnt realised until earlier how close i am to the german border. I could even go to Hamburgh for the day.

I tell Benny when i get back that i wont be hiring his bike after all for day three. He is not a happy bunny, starts going on about loosing money and i say if the bikes worked well maybe i woukd be hiring one. Then he starts on about breaking agreements so i say, rather sharply, ok ill pay you regardless, i dont need arguments. No, no, no he says, no arguments, i just want you to know how it is so there wont be any surprises later on. No surprises later on? I dont ask but take this as sounding mildly threatening in light of the personal review and deposit systems in place with airbnb. With this veiled threat, i find myself taking photos of my dirty room to use as evidence when he lodges a complaint claiming my deposit and i then think this is just daft and delete half of them again. At least the toilet isnt overflowing this evening.

I go to make a coffee to calm down and find that my coffee has disappeared, i ask about it, he has taken it he says, am i sure it is mine? He thought it belonged to the last guests! It took me less than five minutes to jump back on the bike and head for the hotel.  

From a hotel room i message airbnb to say im checking out, please cancel my reservation and then return to collect my things. I make one trip on the bike with my daysack carrying as much as it can and on second trip i will tell him im leaving, collect my backpack and walk away.

I start to say im sorry we seem to have a personality clash, its not working is it, but he tells me its all me, that i am very odd, that there is something wrong with me. No need for pretend politeness anymore, i hand him the keys, tell him ive made alternative arrangements and have cancelled the booking. I pick up my pack and walk out with him following me, ranting, dont expect to get any money back, you cant do this, then jibing about how peculiar i am. For a moment i think he is going to follow me all the way up the road, but like a barking dog, he stops at the end of his property. 

I breathe a sigh of relief and walk to freedom. 

Once fully installed in my room, i ring airbnb who listen, note my concerns and then surprisingly offer me a full refund. I thought they would keep the first nights money. I do feel a bit sorry for him, i think he has mental health issues but his complaining over an extra fiver for a malfunctioning bike has cost him sixty six quid. Heres just one pic, theres more, of spiders, leaves, general fluff and plastic tags


Oh ok, heres another



Thursday 25 August 2016

Not my best choice!

Not my best choice!  25.08.16

is a fucking nutter! I might walk away tomorrow having paid three days money.

Over friendly arrogant sod pontificates all evening. Arsehole thinks he knows better than anyone about EVERYTHING. Hates the EU. Doesnt like anyone else to have opinions or anything to say. And he keeps touching me!

Scrounger. Kept on and on hinting about my vegetable curry i was cooking for three nights meals and how he has no food and doesnt know what to eat until i finally say help yourself if you want some. I go to sit outside and he joins me and continues on and on and on.

I was planning to visit Sylt tomorrow but discover its german owned and whereas bikes here generally cost a quarter of my fare on a ferry, here they are double fare, trying to encourage you to rent one once there. I don't want to go there now, dont want to be here. Dont want to feel this way. He is a loopy nutter. Hey ho, i knew he was! You gotta laugh!





Rømø

Rømø 25.08.16

Facebook reminds me today that in 2011 i wanted to move from Norwich. A week or so ago, it said the same, but for a much earlier year. Is this a summer time fad? Or something i have repressed for many years. I want to go to Greenland. On the map on the wall in my room in Aarhus i saw islands to the east of Greenland, what are they i wonder? My potential long term tenant from my garden house is returning from a year in Alaska. Circle the north pole, how close might i get without actually doing it. I still want to sail up the coast of Labrador.

Rømø is sand sand sand. 



Now i know where Happisburgh, Dunwich and Winterton are disappearing to. Denmark grows year after year, 18metres a year was the figure given me at the salt factories i visited on Læsso, thats the distance they have to move each year to sink wells to gather the salt water for their production. 

Arriving here the in only way possible other than hitching, the school bus, I stand sweltering in the heat with sweat running down my face amidst a mass of chattering children, I do not like large groups of children, find them brutal, uncivilised, pig sticking beasts, am afraid of being in their world. I am pleased I generally choose trains over busses when ever i can, it is a small luxury I give myself. A comfortable journey with aircon, wifi, table and signs that announce stations is preferable to a greenhouse with mobile data switched on just to find out where we are. 

I meet a young man, he sits beside me when enough children get off for we, the only adults, to sit down. It is clear he has issues. He soon tells me he is on a 'pension' having mental health difficulties that no doctors understand, that they say he must work out alone. He reflects that he is bored and wants to study but must pay a million krone a year in order to do so. Because of his pension. Education is free for sane people but not for him. It is a lifetime pension. Or is it prison? Societal disgrace.

He did not complete school and now recognises the need for education. He tried fishing but said he could not live on a boat with six smelly men for a month. I mention my prawn boat experiences but he cannot engage. He wants to grow things, he says, to learn how to be a market gardener. No, he cant help me with which stop i must get off at as he has only lived in Havneby a year, doesn't know it but knows a year is too long. 

He talks easily. People get to know him he says but he wants to remain unknown, doesnt know where he will go. He would love to be in Norway where places are remote. I say, go. It turns out he is Faroese, from Torshavn, no he would not return, everyone knows your business he says. I wonder if he is gay, chased away. We are unable to engage in conversation about the Faroes any more than conversation about fishing. I thank him and wish him good luck as my phone tells me I am at my stop. 

I knew Bennys place might be challenging and that he would be a real character, not from the one negative review on airbnb but from his lengthy, expostulating response to it! Plenty of others have made enough cryptic comments for me to know he would be worth a risk. 

It'll be ok, Im sure, but it occurs to me that I might think about checking single women's reviews of hosts. If there are any. I thought it would just be basic and dirty but twice, he has touched me, in just half an hour of showing me around, welcoming me. Touched me in that presumptuous way that i know from my childhood, that men used to assume it ok to touch women. I dont want him touching my bare shoulder. It is unclothed, i wear a vest type tunic dress over crops. It is hot. 

I try to minimise my discontent but recall the fb post that is going around about women going sober and understanding why they need to drink. Yes, im drinking now and am avoiding going back. Its ok, I will return and cook my veggie curry but a couple of pints will help me not to be prickly when he is inappropriate, to let it wash over me. He is approaching seventy. Another generation. Hats off to him for earning money this way and hats off to him for letting me be here, thats my reality. Yes please, ill have a third.

Of course, the crazy thing is that the price of these three pints could have bought me much more pleasing accomodation. But im kinda interested in his stories, i like the undertones of the reviews about him, dont want cosy cosy tourist experience, i  enjoy taking risks. Small town world. Living on the edge. 

Thanks Sophie.

Leaving Aarhus

Leaving Aarhus 25.08.16

I allow myself fifty minutes for a twenty minute, generally up hill walk, and purchase of tickets. My excitement of city shopping means i am carrying couscous, carrots, cauliflower, cucumber, french beans, fresh ginger, bread, cheese, butter as well as my staples of stock cubes, coffee and curry powder. Folly but the island im going to will have limited choice. I just need a tin of tomatoes and milk and am set for three days veggie curry.

The sweat soon dribbles from my face, it is twenty five degrees, my pack is heavy and my daysack carries lunch and water for a four hour journey. The wall i planned to sit on to rest towards the top of the hill is in full sun, i press on. The shady leafy park i planned to cut across is blocked in readiness for this weekends festival, i walk around the busy road, my clothes are wet, clinging to me, sweat dribbles down my back but i am pleased to be on the move.

My 'review' from my gay artist host in Skagen arrived this morning, i thought i displeased him with my uncouth ways but he says Tina is a delightful guest. Independant, with a wonderful attitude, and thoughtful of her surroundings. Leaves her room neat and clean. We do hope to be able to welcome her back.” Funny how we can never tell what others think of us. 

Oh the luxury of Danish trains. Platforms are simple, boards easy to read and with twenty five minutes to wait, i already sit in what could easily be first class seats in a spacious air conditioned carriage, maybe Jeremy Corbyn might like to visit. As we leave thentrain is till nearly empty.


I have missed recording my time in Aarhus. I enjoyed the buzz for the first day and a half, the art museum was a gem but it held little more otherwise for me than the recycled jeans rugs i fell in love with. Ive been meaning to buy myself a nice rug for years and this is so very very me. Frustrated notto be  able to get it shipped by the shop, ive wasted many hours trying to organise something but have left without buying one.


Aarhus, a gentle mixture of old and new buildings. Preparing for city of culture 2017, building noise and dust is everywhere.  

I went on a guided walk yesterday, expected a group of people but found just one chinese guide and myself. She knew her stuff i thought initially but it was so very very intense. It seems she had only her rehearsed script tho and did not seem to have had enquiries of her own. Noting the recreation of early viking settlements i asked whether the romans were ever here as thought there were similarities in the straightness of the roads, the linear towns and the adaption of viking mythology into the christianity that replaced it. No she said, there were no peoples here at the time of the roman empire. Really, i thought? Thats the only question i remember now but two other times i asked questions and she said i have never wondered about that. I left before the end.

I loved watching the rainbow sky walk from our flat. Being inside it was mesmerising, the light changed my mood as i walked around, it was a beautiful space of light and colour.










 I have no mood for writing now. If the Faroes were grey, Denmark is rainbows. I am moving on. Back to the sea





Wednesday 24 August 2016

Moving on

Moving on 24.08.16

Four nights was one night too many. Cities can be lonely places, people watching some times makes other peoples lives seem too cosy. I share an apartment with two ghosts who seem to live in the bathroom and sometimes become four. They have nothing invested in me, the girl whose room i am renting is is out of the country and hard to communicate with.

I feel myself turning away from writing, less keen to share my emotions. I felt safe at a distance but the closer I come to returning home the more i will need to withdraw.

As with all decisions in my life, i have doubts about Cornwall. Decision and doubt are bed partners for me, anxiety builds and i find myself torn. The distance and size of St Ives begin to feel scary.  Ive decided to build a bug hotel in my garden, bought a rug for my front room, homing instincts. Which bits of my life will i take with me? My shoes are falling apart, buying shoes for non standard feet is always difficult. Maybe i dont want to go......

The list of jobs i have to do grows, i have no time for shoe traipsing. To feel happy about renting long term i need to provide a freezer compartment in the garden house fridge, improve storage with a divan drawer bed base, get rid of the old fridge and bed. Need to sell my kayak and a bike, clear Nicolas belongings from her bedroom, clear my conservatory for three days of new door installation, prepare the alley for a coded lock to be installed, free the front door that is sticking badly, get a haircut, appointment at apple store, lay turf so the garden is more manageable, sort journals as well as clothes i need to take, and bike, which bike do i take? That, along with the wedding, the dentist, the sixtieth, choosing a new ISA, shuffling money, trying to catch up with friends, two different guests to welcome and turnarounds to be done. The swoosh party and triathlon will have to go. Two weeks is not long. I frequently make life hard for myself. I work best under pressure, no time to think, just commit and do.

A potential long term garden house tenant has found me, i need to move the short term booking i already have for the garden house into the main house until the end of October, but her dates coincide with mine for a week. Another problem. Potentially no bed then before i even get home but i must be at home to complete the tasks. Ive found a rug i love, arranging shipping is harder, im unsure the store are ready for export and the couriers refuse to talk to private individuals. Collecting and carrying is unfeasable with three trains at the other end. The rug and the tenant take a lot of my energy.

This is the only way i can force myself to commit to big decisions. Inertia descends unless I push myself into a corner from which there is no escape. I wait for confirmation from the previously booked guest and new tenant, who will i be sharing with for a week? Will i lose the long term tenant?

Sunday 21 August 2016

Hyggeligt

Hyggeligt 21.08.16

I wrote so so much yesterday but once again, have lost my work. I cannot understand how i didnt save it at least once for i wrote at several different points in the day. If you shake an ipad it will undo your last actions. I can only think that this is what has happened but it is so distressing. Using paper it would not happen this way.

I am surprised at my excitement of being in a city, albeit a small, gentle, welcoming, low rise city. Hyggeligt. 

0150F, I let myself in and climb five flights of dirty communal stairs to the third floor, or is this the second? the key is under the mat so i let myself in. Its grim. No welcome note, two rooms with bedding tumbled upon them that might possibly be clean, a shower cubicle that is so scaled you cant see in it. 

I open a window, put my phone to charge, connect to the wifi and try to ascertain which room might be mine. none reflect the pictures on airbnb.

I wonder if i am in the right apartment. I text my host and as i do so, remember i should have found two keys but there was only one. Taking the key with me i scurry upstairs to find two keys under a mat! Rushing back i collect my bags and let myself in again, this time to my correct accommodation. I find myself in a 'Georgian' style tenement, on the third floor in a student house. The rooms are clean, large and light, they match the pictures. 

A 'flatmate' comes out of his room to say hello and we laugh about my error. I ask him for supermarket information, reach for my phone and remember it is still on charge, in the flat below! I rush back, pleased no one is still home, and return. I am still laughing about it this morning but sadly, i have remembered the window i opened and i must return to reassure the occupier.

The apartment has enormous windows. Looking from my bedroom i can see other, five storey residential buildings and from the kitchen, i look over rooves, over pigeons and great tits sitting in the twisted willow, over towards the rainbow skywalk of the art museum. I am very close to downtown.



Walking through a street of small colouful terraces, Møllestien, i find Fairbar,  where couchsurfers like to hang out, closed. i enjoy the air and the safe anonymity of being in a city. There is so much to see and i am just able to be me. The evening light is soft but Møllestien colours muted.


The streets are quiet, it is sunday evening, suddenly horns beep, two small cars appear, chattering in a symphony on the quiet roads. I think perhaps the Danes have just won a gold in the handball olympics. I know that as excitement in Denmark has been building!

As i walk, i reflect on my existence in the Faroes, at times i felt like a patronising, almost quasi ethnographer, searching for what it might mean to be Faroese.  much of my questioning was the result of there being little to learn naturally from, and in my search for knowledge about my surroundings, i found myself searching myself. Here, learning is all around me, is given me, gift wrapped.

I walk through the busy nightlife of the Latin quarter, to the harbour, bigger and more industrial than i imagined. Now getting dark i let googlemaps assist my sense of direction and head home. waylaid by the beauty of a building, i sidetrack and find the theatre just as a roar starts behind me, followed by a mass of singing that can surely only be the national anthem. i am drawn to watch.


The old irish pub might be somewhere i would usually avoid but as i stand at the bar, the place erupts with Queen, we are the champions of the world. Over the deafening noise i point to the only recognisable beer (other than carlsberg) on the pumps in front of me and find myself with the most enormous glass of Hoegarden.


I enjoy the atmosphere and am soon joined by a very drunken young man, entertained by his questions. Not for the first time do i find aminosity expressed towards the english, disdain, even contempt, for the fact that english has become the universal language. He also speaks fluent spanish and i begin to converse with him in my broken spanish but he becomes frustrated and returns our conversation to english. i am unable to persuade him of my point, that whilst indeed we are generally 'lazy' as a nation in not learning other languages, so too are we frustrated when others do not allow us to practice, for without practice, there is little growth.

He says, as others have said, that Danish people see themselves as 'racist' not so much towards other nations as amongst themselves. It seems there is a hierarchical use of language, perhaps a bit like received pronunciation, or BBC english as was. More than just dialect they say. Joined by one of his friends, they tell me how disapproved of, unaccepted, perceived as lesser beings they are, in places like Copenhagen but that here, in Aarhus, people come from all over the country and are easily accepted. 

The city is hyggeligt. Literally translated it means cosy but it is clear that it means so very much more. Indeed, their pronunciation of Aarhus is very different from that of my host in Skagen, a gay artist, my own age from Copenhagen, who CONSTANTLY corrected me, every time i tried to use any Danish, forcing me, over and over, to repeat, to try to get my pronunciation correct. I mostly gave up and spoke english.

And i learn another side of the Faroese independence story. Greenland was sold for alcohol, just a few bottles of alcohol. Denmark feels frustrated that this is so. Such a small country yet trying to be so very big, it has not forgiven the sale of Greenland and will not let go of the Faroes, almost as a matter of principle. I ask, isnt there still a connection with Greenland? But i dont find an answer.