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.
I 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.
