Funny how a day can go from the sublime to the mundane, extreme surprise and then satisfaction in the matter of a few short hours.
My plan to wake at six and walk to Grenen point totally alone, avoiding the miriad of travellers who would later descend, was scuppered somewhat by my inability to sleep last night. It was two thirty last time i looked at the clock in despair, dozed shortly afterwards only to be woken by thunder an hour later. It then rained most of the rest of the night. My room is stifling hot. I have a balcony with the door permanently open but am on the leeward side of the house so get full sun but no wind comes in through the doors.
I woke at six thirty, barely able to open my eyes and managed to doze back off again. An hour later the wind was gusting strong which made it feel imperative that i get out to the point today and i dragged myself out of bed. A quick coffee and i was biking facing head winds. My butt and my legs know they've cycled maybe forty miles over the last two days on a heavy machine over mostly uneven terrain.
First gear most of the way this morning, i am pushing in to the wind, pass an occasional jogger coming towards me but no one heading out. I am thrilled that when i arrive, the car park is still empty. My excitement builds as i climb to the look out point and i am rewarded to see churning waves two kilometres away.
The tide is high, much of the time i am walking on deep, soft sand rather than the firm moist surface i had expected. My legs ache slightly from riding but they have lost that numb dumbness they have held for some time, cycling is good for them, it must be the circular motion they have been missing.
I dont know how to record the thoughts and feelings that go through my mind as im walking. I love the light and the brisk, fresh wind, the sunlight gleaming on the water, birds wheeling and soaring. I give thanks for my health that allows me to be here, thanks to my family who have let me go and thanks to the light Danish air for letting me feel free. Tantalising waves cut into tiny sandy cliffs that have formed at the waters edge, the wind is strong and although i cannot see the point from here i know it will be lively and wonder how wild it must get in the winter.
I have concluded that i find mountains oppressive, they may look beauitful but they cloud my view, dont let me see anything but themselves, stand as a barrier, often insurmountable. I guess i was brought up with East Anglian big skies and need a sense of distant horizon. Openess, light and space equate freedom, expectation, excitement, possibility wheras a sheer rock obliterates everything but itself. Exaggeration? Maybe. It hadnt occurred to me before but it feels that way at this moment. I loved the Faroes most when i was on the water, at a distance, with fluidity and perspective.
I love the Skagen artists who painted the beaches and the skies and the wild openess and was absorbed when i revisited the museum, enjoying the work of George and Anna Anker again. I remember the glorious light from my visit years ago and am full of anticipation.
I am not disappointed.
Someone has been here much earlier than me today but their footprints have nearly disappeared with the drifting sand. I am quite alone, apart from seabirds sitting on the sand which fly before i reach them, have the beauty to myself. I watch the waves crashing, confused and battling with each other, feel the wind blowing hard, see the point of sand changing shape as waves push from one side and then the other making them dance and explode in mid air. I breathe in with all my whole body, my senses alive and alert.
Turning to look back i see a couple beginning to walk this way, soon, many will be here. I remember all the holidays with Carla and Nicola when I would scurry us out to try to get to places before crowds arrived. Stickle tarn in the lake district comes to my thoughts. Not realising quite how popular the walk was, we set off very early, mainly to avoid the heat of the day and discovered the tarn almost by accident. It was hot already, around nine thirty i believe and with no one in sight i couldnt resist stripping off and having a quick dip. I remember tiddlers nibbling my toes and the water being very very cold. I didnt stay in long, dried myself with my knickers and dressed again. Looking back to see how high we had climbed, there were now dozens of people headed directly our way. Out just in time!
No swimming today, the confused currents here make it extremely dangerous. I eat breakfast, sitting in the sand, watching the water, thinking again how much i would love to live near the sea and will endeavour to find winter accommodation in cornwall. Mooching slowly back i race around some rocks, judging whether i can make it in time before the next waves and remember the same at Kynance Cove with many years ago. My heart feels light.
I meet a woman sitting with three children eating crackers. We chat. I talk about wanting to stay but finding it diffiuclt to find affordable accomodation. She tells me the Danes use facebook to rent rooms, that the tourist information will help me find the groups i need. I am pleased to have met her and stop to admire her Kristiana bike on the way out, she is carrying three kindergarten children and i see seatbelts and helmets waiting for them in the front box.
The rest of my day involves buying bread, booking a ferry to a Læsø island tomorrow, checking train times and asking the tourist office if they can help with cheap accomodation. There's eight and a half million people living in London, five million living in the whole of Denmark. There's 49,000 living in the Faroes and 213,000 in Norwich. I find it hard to comprehend these figures. Four times as many in Norwich than the Faroes and nearly twice as many in London as in Denmark. These figures surprise me. Skagen has a population of 4,000. That feels comfortable.
Dappled shade comes into my room from the chestnut tree, the pale blue and white cushions match the chairs and the floor, thinking about it I'm in a very Cornish room. It is evening. i have made a big leap. I have booked a caravan in St Ives for October with a view to staying in Cornwall for the winter, in the caravan if its manageable or to find myself something more suitable.
With that decision made, i have been free to make others. I have been fretting about my plans to go through Germany to Belgium to come home, when my heart wants to stay in Denmark. I am abandoning those plans. I will fly home from Copenhagen to Luton, at twenty five pounds its far cheaper than trains, busses or blahblah car and reduces my immediate travel expenses, allowing me to be a bit more free with the money i have available for rooms.
I think the kindest thing i can say about the tourist office is that it must have been a tough season for them. Todays visit, my third, has been no more helpful than previously. When i suggest that Danish people advertise rooms on FB it is as though i have committed an offence, i am told they most certainly do not and i must use hotels or go to a place and look for signs, i point out my budget and the impracticality of turning up and walking around some small place with a backpack, in the hope of finding affordable rooms. She says, i cannot help you and turns away. Hey ho.
I buy my bread and discover surprising tasters of fruit in the supermarket.
Having been tempted and purchased melon and clementines as well as my bread, i sit and ponder for a while in the middle of town. I need to get cash out to pay for two extra nights here in Skagen but how much should i withdraw. How long am i staying in Denmark? The streets are cobbled, a lone trumpet player busks raising funds for salvation army.
I withdraw around one hundred and eighty pounds, perhaps that was the beginning of my decision to stay. On unlocking my bike I discover that the clicking noise that has accompanied it since before I received it, is in fact, two broken spokes. Oh dear, i wonder if there were always two, i have given it some rather rough handling, there are multiple kerbs to go up and down, most with a half ramp but some without.
I arrive home at the same time as Per leaves his back door. He is naked. Im unsure who is more surprised but we both laugh easily, i wonder if he is going to a sauna but he says no, to his outdoor shower behind the bamboo screen. He clasps a tiny towel to his body, claims he has forgotten his soap and retreats.
I return to my room to find an email with the offer of a simple caravan in St Ives, eighty pounds a week, available from the end of September. The timing is perfect, i have no second thoughts. Per comes to talk, now clothed and to collect my rent and we talk about my wish to stay longer and to find small places. He offers some suggestions to try.
Findroommate.dk
Boliger.mitula.dk
Ledige lejiligheder i ribe og omegn fb
In my search on fb i stumble upon this and smile
Two years after i had moved to norwich, i wanted to leave, wanted to try somewhere new but felt that having moved Carla and Nicola once, i needed to stay put. By the time they left home, i was fifteen years older and had settled into a comfortable existence. Perhaps it is time for somewhere new. Time for some seenager stumbles.
