Sunday 23 June 1996
I woke up, pulled back the curtains to stare out of the porthole but found just a wall instead. That curtain trick had me fooled again but at least we did have the benefit of a smooth voyage and a good night's sleep last night.

After a quick shower in the cabin's en-suite facility (another luxury we had lived without on this trip), I strolled up on to the deck to see what the view had to offer. The sea was still and the reflection of the clouds gave the water a milky appearance. In the distance, the Jutland peninsula was visible but there were no mountains in view, but somehow that was a relief. The ability to peer at the horizon through a boring flat landscape was something I had actually missed after a week of spectacular Norwegian terrain. Maybe I wanted something a bit more ordinary after having been surrounded by superlatives. The other thing which appealed about returning to Denmark was the idea of not spending a fortune on everything whilst going somewhere which had a more traditional bar culture.

Soon enough, we gathered our backpacks and walked off the boat onto dry land. Just as we were entering the ferry terminal, a customs officer pulled me to one side to ask where I was from, where I was going to and what I was doing here. I might have looked a bit of a dodgy geezer and was therefore fair game for vigilant officers but I couldn't imagine that there was anything worth smuggling out of Norway into Denmark apart from smoked salmon. Having neglected to stuff my backpack full of fish, a quick wave of my passport confirmed my right of passage and by Her Britannic Majesty's request, we finally walked back out onto Danish soil. There was a station at the harbour but there was no activity there so we walked along the railway line towards the main station. A brand new IC train was waiting so we jumped on board and found a couple of seats which didn't have reservation notices above them.

As the train moved off, various technological wonders incorporated within the carriage revealed themselves. The first thing was the dot matrix displays situated above each exit. These showed a scrolling destination list which also included the arrival times for each stop all the way through to Copenhagen. Somehow I couldn't imagine that back in Britain the trains would dare display the arrival times for each stop for fear of delay generated complaints and compensation claims. What was more unusual though was the fact that the reservation notices above each seat were also shown on small dot matrix displays which updated themselves as passengers got on and off at each station. There was the potential for a major cock-up if things went wrong but each reservation handover was performed seamlessly. All this conspired to make me resentful of the shoddy, shambles of a rail service we'd come to expect back home. After a while, I went off and grabbed a coffee from the machine at the end of the carriage (which tasted great) and then sat back and watched the unspectacular countryside pass by. The Nordpilen this wasn't but Denmark was an attractive, low-key country which we felt deserved further exploration outside of the capital. Our plan was therefore to get off at Odense on Funen and then head south to Svendborg where we would connect on to the ferry bound for Ærø, a remote island situated in the Baltic. In the meantime, my attention was distracted by a couple of female American students who appeared to be suffering from an all too familiar sense of Euro-culture shock. It must have been quite an ordeal for them to discover that the rest of the world wasn't America but unfortunately a conversation that a Danish guy tried to have with them didn't do anything to hide this.

"Where do you come from?" asked the friendly Dane.

"Tennessee" one of the girls replied.

"Oh OK, I used to live in Pennsylvania. I spent two years there" continued the Dane

There was then a desperately long silence before the girl continued this gripping tête-à-tête. You could almost hear the cogs in her brain whirring as she eventually came out with "Did you like it there?"

"Yes, cars were cheap over there!" replied the Dane.

Another pregnant pause before the girl looked over to her companion with a puzzled look. Her friend then said, "I think he means that cars are cheaper at home than they are here". The penny finally dropped and then silence until the first student complained that she was cold and wanted her jumper. Her friend was sitting on the jumper though and wouldn't give it back so the whole discourse was rounded off with a particularly grumpy "Oh suit yourself then." The Dane just looked across to them wondering why on earth he bothered. It wasn't however just the Americans who were matching their national stereotypes. A quick glance at a Danish newspaper described (from what I could gather) the Euro 96 hysteria gripping England. There was a lot of build-up coverage to the England - Germany semi-final so we had to make sure that we had TV access on Wednesday when the game was being played.

The train left the Jutland peninsula and crossed over a bridge into Funen. After passing through the town of Middelfart (a place mentioned for no other reason than its name!), we eventually arrived at Odense where we connected onto the local service for Svendborg. This train passed through some pleasant rolling countryside and by the time the journey ended we felt some way off the beaten track.

Svendborg was a agreeable little town although being a Sunday there wasn't much going on here unless everyone was recovering from post midsummer night hangovers. We had a couple of hours to kill before the Ærø ferry departed so we just hung around the quayside watching boats sail around the harbour. Eventually the M/S Ærøsund turned up, a quaint old ferry which carried probably no more than ten cars. Foot passengers also had to enter via the car deck which also happened to feature a railway line running down the middle of it. Unlike our short voyage to Sweden there weren't any international express trains here so I couldn't quite work out what the track was for.

We climbed the steps onto the upper deck and sat at the café where we ordered a plate of crinkle-cut chips with remoulade and a glass of beer from the friendly waitress. The fact that the café wasn't self-service was a nice throwback. Pinned on a nearby wall was a poster advertising Ærøskøbing (the capital of Ærø and the destination of the ferry), as Denmark's fairytale town. It looked very pleasant and being only an hour away we were beginning to look forward to spending a relaxing few days on the island.

We stood out on the deck as Ærøskøbing drew nearer. The weather was lovely and there was only a slight breeze to take the edge off the hot sunshine. We passed a couple of smaller islands along the way but Ærø was a fair size, having a gently undulating profile. We walked off the ferry through the car deck and I noticed that there was a railway track at the harbour which matched the one on the boat although it only extended across the road to a large shed.

Hoisting our rucksacks on to our backs, we followed a sign for the nearest campsite and walked along a road lined with some very attractive properties although it was difficult to tell whether these belonged to locals or whether they were get-away-from-it-all second homes for the wealthy. It wasn't too much further to the campsite and once we booked in, we were given a pleasant pitch away from cars and motor homes. We also ordered a loaf of bread for the morning which we were informed by the lady at reception would be baked to order.

After a quick shower and a bit of lounging around at the campsite, we decided to head back into Ærøskøbing to see whether it had anything to offer on the nightlife front. We hadn't had anything to eat apart from the chips on the ferry but a couple of glasses of Tuborg at the Arrebo Pub in the heart of the town seemed to satisfy our appetites. The Arrebo was as pleasant a bar as we could possibly expect and its laidback ambience perfectly matched the feel of the island. The landlord was a cultured man, fluent in English and German with an impeccably selected CD collection arranged behind the bar. I had never really been a fan of his but the Celtic mysticism of Van Morrison that drifted out of the speakers suited the mood perfectly.

I was quite happy to just sip a few beers and relax but things livened up a bit when a couple of Germans joined us at the bar. Their names were Bruno and Wolf and they had sailed over on their boat from Flensburg, the most northern town on the German mainland and the seat of the short lived Nazi government under Admiral Doenitz following Hitler's suicide. That was an interesting bit of trivia which I picked up from somewhere but it was something I thought best not to mention in our present company! We did however get talking about all sorts of things over a few more rounds of beer and the booze actually gave me the confidence to practice the smattering of German that I had picked up over the years. What was surprising was that my efforts went down really well with them to the extent that they both expressed amazement that an Englishman even knew a few words of their language. In fact Bruno was so shocked that he decided to converse with us in (excellent) English, something which apparently he had never done before because he never thought that the English were ever worth the time of day. In the meantime, the landlord simply commented that German was a language without conclusions. Pondering this linguistically philosophical statement, I settled down to another beer.

A local resident soon joined us at the bar and he explained that Ærø tended to get a lot of tourists from Germany as it was only a short sail from the German mainland and there was plenty of space at the harbour for visitors to moor their boats. Brits however were much thinner on the ground and he expected that there were probably only fifty visitors per year to the island from the UK. This was hardly surprising as I'd never come across anyone at home who'd ever heard of Ærø.

As the night went on, the atmosphere became more convivial and we spent most of the evening drifting from table to table talking to locals and tourists alike. The evening however turned into something a little more riotous when a couple more Germans, one of whom looked exactly like the sailor on the packet of Player's Navy Cut cigarettes, came in and started ordering shots of a strange looking concoction called Schwarz Swine (Black Pig) for everyone. The Navy Cut guy was from Hamburg and he had a sailor's cap and a big, thick, shaggy black beard which was fitting as the liquorice flavoured shots we were downing were also thick and black, if not shaggy. This drink was also strong and after five of these I was pretty much obliterated. In fact at one point I ended up walking into the ladies toilets by mistake, something I wasn't in the habit of normally doing. The bearded sailor was getting quite animated by now but he decided to leave by giving everyone a big kiss on the cheek, his moist, furry beard rubbing against our faces in the process, a not particularly pleasant sensation which was accentuated by my drunken state. I was the least of landlord's worries by this time though. He'd had enough of Bruno and Wolf who by now had become rather boisterous and he told them to leave with the stinging comment "This is Denmark, not Germany you know!" By this time it was 2:30 am so we decided to call it a night and walk back to the campsite. Needless to say, all that booze meant that I had an unsettled night which meant fumbling my way to the toilet block a couple of times in the darkness but soon enough I was off to sleep, completely zonked out from what had been the wildest night of the trip. Oh well, at least we had the next few days to recover and get in the swing of this getting away from it all relaxation thing, which was the whole point of us being on the island in the first place.

Monday 24 June 1996
Almost unbelievably, I woke up with a totally clear head. It must have been the sea air or maybe Black Pig had hidden medicinal properties but the lingering effects of last night were little more than a series of hazy memories which in the circumstances was definitely a bonus. I popped along to reception and picked up a freshly delivered loaf of three-corn bread which formed the basis of our much needed sausage sandwich breakfast.

After we'd showered and generally got ourselves together, we popped back to the campsite reception and hired bikes for the next three days. According to the guidebook Ærø was ideal for cycle touring so we took advantage of the sunny weather and ventured out onto the uncongested roads of the island in search of interesting things to see. A quick trip into Ærøskøbing brought us to the tourist office where we obtained a free map which outlined the 65km of cycle routes on the island as well as a neat A5 format information booklet which told us everything we needed to know about Ærø in Danish, German and English. A quick glance of the booklet revealed a nice line in tourist-office-speak.

"You can fly to Ærø but you ought to sail to Ærøskøbing. It is too dangerous to see the town from above! It is so charming that you risk getting off before the landing." This description was just about right, the town was one of the most attractive places I had ever visited, with ancient cottages, fragrant bakeries and speciality shops lining gently curving cobbled streets. The nice thing about the town was that it wasn't a themed re-creation of a Hans Christian Andersen setting, it was still a real working place.

As much as hanging around Ærøskøbing appealed, the cycle trails beckoned us to explore the island so we set off in an easterly direction which took us across the surprisingly strenuous 'Ærø Alps', even if their highest point was 68 metres! The views across the Funen archipelago were great though and the couple of small islands that lay just off the shore of Ærø were nicely set off by the blue waters of the Baltic. There were plenty of lanes to explore by bike and we came across some attractive villages along with a fair sprinkling of churches and windmills. Our route eventually took us to a more ancient attraction, a passage grave at Kragnæs. This grave was over 5000 years old and I managed to pass right inside it, hoping that the huge lintels wouldn't fall on top of me. It was quite strange sitting down there as it was hard to imagine the antiquity of the place and indeed the mysterious Stone Age settlers who built it in the first place, some 3000 years before the emergence of the Vikings.

As we sat and contemplated the monument, a friendly local lady came over for a chat and asked all about our travels so far. She seemed pleased that we'd made the effort to visit the island and judging by what we'd already seen and experienced, so were we. She mentioned that the Queen of Denmark had visited Ærø a couple of days ago and that there were good crowds out to greet her. It was a shame that we missed that as it was not very often that the opportunity to see a Queen in such a setting presented itself.

After a while, we remounted our bikes and cycled to Ommelshoved which was at the end of a long narrow peninsular that pointed back towards Ærøskøbing. There was a stony beach there and the information booklet stated that there were "lots of possibilities for a refreshing dip in the sea." It would appear from the bathers who'd come this far that the word 'skinny' should have inserted before the word 'dip'. That didn't bother me though and as my motto is 'do as the Romans do', I promptly stripped off and dashed in the water although the cold water didn't exactly flatter my impression of a bronzed Adonis once I emerged from the sea. However, the sun was still shining and it was very pleasant just lounging around watching boats sail into Ærøskøbing, their gentle motion sending light ripples across the otherwise still water.

It was an enjoyable cycle back to the campsite and after having bought some provisions from the local Spar store, we skipped the rock 'n' roll night at the Arrebo bar and instead settled for a quiet night sitting outside the tent before crashing out early.

Tuesday 25 June 1996
We once again woke up to sunshine so another tour of the island seemed like the best way to spend today. Before we set off in earnest, I made a quick trip to the supermarket in town where I stocked up on plenty of energy food such as chocolate and bananas. Hopefully they would make the Ærø Alps seem a little less daunting this time.

Today we followed a westerly route to the town of Søby. Along the way, we cycled a network of peaceful lanes that revealed a series of picturesque low-rise farmhouses which surrounded large open courtyards on three sides,. The Danish flag flew outside some of these farmhouses and it seemed like the people who were lucky enough to live here were really proud of their island and their country. At one point, we took a detour down a narrow track which led to a peaceful little stretch of beach which was deserted apart from a solitary rowing boat parked on the shore.

We eventually reached Søby which was an agreeable if unassuming port. From here a ferry crossed over to Jutland but after a leisurely picnic by the harbour side, we cycled further west along an ever narrowing peninsular. After about 5 kilometres we came to the western tip of the island, Skjoldnæs Fyr. There was a pebbly beach here and we sat for a while taking in the sound and smell of the sea. This was a wonderful, tranquil spot and there was only one other person on the beach. Just behind the beach was a solitary granite lighthouse which added to the sense of remoteness, a feeling which being on islands like this always helped to instil.

Although we had reached its furthest extremity, there was still plenty more of Ærø to see. We remounted our bikes and took a south-easterly route across an area of salt meadow terrain. This area was sparser than the route along the north side of the island although we cycled past a few 'Dutch' windmills along the way, one of which was thatched. The pleasure here though was the empty roads and the views of the sea which intermittently revealed itself as we dipped through the undulating countryside. Unfortunately my bike didn't provide me with a completely satisfactory ride. The chain came off several times which covered me in oil and forced me to negotiate the slopes in high gear which wasn't much fun but at least I was getting a little fitter in the process.

It was early evening by the time we made it back to the campsite and after all that riding I just flopped out by the tent ready for an early night. Not surprisingly it didn't take long for me to fall asleep but in the middle of the night, a rustling noise outside the tent woke me up. I popped my head out of the tent and found a laconic hedgehog rummaging through the bag of rubbish that we'd left outside. After emerging from an empty crisp packet, he gave me a knowing glance and shuffled back into the hedge without a care in the world. He was probably the most laidback hedgehog I'd ever come across but maybe that's what island life does for you!

Click Here to Continue