Denmark, you beautiful little state in the north, you get me again and again, over and over again. It starts with the fact that I know: when I cross the border after Flensburg, I no longer need fourth gear. Three is enough. Then I pass dilapidated houses which, in their heyday, when holidaymakers used to stop here and exchange money, used to sell all sorts of things, from loppemarked to erotica, here and there a pizzeria, an Isenkram. It's all not quite up to date anymore, but when I drive past here, there's pure Danish flair.
Also interesting:
You drive at a leisurely pace behind the Danish cars, whose drivers have leased the peace - never again have I seen anyone drive slower into the bend. It's a marvellous feeling to simply wait for them to get going. Maybe Mormor gets bad on bends.
A must: the hot dog just over the border. Or the chips with hail salt. Then you're there, then you know: the pastures with cows and horses are just around the corner, I'll drive through small villages and then look at my watch. Will I make it over the bridge that separates Jutland from Alsen? It opens at a quarter to full, old and stolid and reliable. Kong Christian Bro. With a crown. Because we are in a kingdom! Yes, Denmark - you always get me!
If I don't catch the bridge - what the hell. Then I'll just wait and look at the boats moored alongside in the city harbour. There's a lovely promenade there, with nice restaurants and the best ice cream in the world. And mussels in white wine broth - heavenly.
Time is changing in Denmark
As soon as I arrive in Denmark - in my case, on the island of Alsen - a lazy, cosy mood takes hold of me. Our boat has been moored in Sønderborg for over 20 years now, and for over 20 years I've been looking forward to seeing Conny in the kiosk, who greets me with a cheerful "Hey!" and brings me up to date with the latest gossip. New piles have been driven, and there will be a new harbour master, and, and, and - and then I look forward to seeing John, the former harbour master, who is now retired and always demands my cheesecake, which means that I bake two, because otherwise my husband feels unfairly treated.
As a person with an affinity for the nobility, I also love it when the royal yacht, the "Dannebrog", is moored alongside in Sønderborg harbour right in front of the castle, guarded by lots of people dressed in white, namely the crew. At some point in this life, I might meet Queen Mary and King Frederik in an ice cream parlour and ask them if they would like to have a glass of wine with us. It's certainly easy in Denmark, you're allowed to ask, even if the king is the only person in the country who isn't on first-name terms. They're all quite relaxed about it. Perhaps we like each other so much that we can play a game of rummy over a nice whisky on board the Dannebrog. That would be something. After all, he's a sailor too.
On this day, after the arrival, time changes again and again. It softens and stretches, flowing in slow, warm waves to every place. The Danish South Sea is such a place. The Danish South Sea! The name alone! Sure - it has long ceased to be an insider tip among water sports enthusiasts, but it always promises them peace, space and everything that life used to be before everything became loud and fast. It is simply marvellous. Everything becomes sluggish, calm. It's as if you've been painted with happiness from the inside!
Everything is a little more hyggelic here
When you set off, cast off and set course, not only does the landscape change, but the mood changes too. Sometimes - we were only travelling for two days - my husband asked me: "How long have we been on board?" Honestly, it felt like a week. It's this sluggish, calming, healthy and incomparable serenity that takes over. Everything slows down, the hectic pace disappears somewhere under the floorboards in the bilge.
Conversations and sounds become quieter. The world becomes friendlier. People greet each other again. They smile at you. Candles burn in large glasses in front of the shops in the pedestrian zones. You don't come here to hurry on, but to stay.
Anyone who has spent a few days in Ærøskøbing, the picturesque, ancient town on Ærø, will know what I mean. If you're open to it, you'll soon realise that everything is a bit more hyggelic here. What kind of word is that anyway? There are several explanations for it: cosy, pleasant, nice and good. There are also others that can be seen as positive: secure, intimate, cosy, home from home, lovely, picturesque. In any case, it's a word that you can't really translate, but rather experience. Walking through the old, cobbled streets of the village, you realise that time has simply stood still here. Windswept houses with tiny windows, flowers and benches everywhere. The town is 750 years old, and the only thing missing is a horse-drawn cart coming round the corner, market women in long skirts trying to sell you potatoes or strawberries - oh, there is no corner, no part of this island that is not beautiful.
And to experience the hygge attitude of the Danes for yourself: the bus to Marstal costs nothing. Why? "Oh, you know, it was such a hassle, so we didn't bother," says the friendly bus driver.
The mood in Denmark is spreading
On the way to the beach, you walk past dozens of old bathhouses that shine in all kinds of colours and create a picturesque scene. In the bay in front are numerous yachts with holidaymakers enjoying the peace and quiet at anchor.
Then continue. Anchoring today too? Sure, the wind is good and so is the weather. We drop anchor off Avernakø, the air is balmy, a light breeze is blowing, and then we feel the gentle rocking as the evening sun bathes the water in a liquid, warm gold colour. We eat a few more cinnamon rolls from the bakery and look forward to a drink. It's that kind of happiness, the smell of fresh coffee in the morning, perhaps a dip in the cool but incomparable Baltic Sea, and then it's on to Faaborg. The stroll through the town, where the shop assistants laugh as warmly as if you were not the tenth tourist, but an old friend. Even the children move differently here. Yes, it's the way children run barefoot across the footbridge without anyone shouting: "Watch out!" - because nobody here is constantly afraid of everything. And that carries over.
Heading
Another thing I noticed, by the way: In Denmark, women dress cosily, there's no other way to describe it. They don't squeeze themselves into tight tops, but wear airy blouses with flowers on them, linen trousers around their legs, and you can see that they feel comfortable.
The people who live and sail here retain their unagitated pride. They don't show off. There are almost no 50-foot yachts here. Most harbours don't have enough draught for them anyway. No air conditioning below deck, as you sometimes hear in the Mediterranean. The heat there is unbearable - both during the day and at night. Hardly any moorings, and if there are, then in a packet and then music until dawn. Some of the people here have old, well-maintained boats, lovingly restored, and they don't need more than a little help with mooring.
The truth is, the people here are friendly and helpful, but not intrusive. Anyone travelling here is welcome. Without any fuss. If you had to describe the Danish South Seas as a novel, it would be relaxed, pleasant entertainment without drama. But with a happy ending. And the occasional bottle of Øl.
The moments when everything is just right
We continue on to Svendborg. We moor in the town harbour and our first course is at Bendixen, the nearby fish shop. We have squid rings with tartar sauce and fish cakes with this incredibly tasty, definitely unhealthy potato salad - but we can't do without it. Then off to the town, look, the shop there has reopened, but the ship accessories shop is still there. Another thing I always notice in shops and boutiques there is that we are not checked. Nobody stands behind us and makes sure we don't bag anything. I think anyone who did that would be ashamed of themselves. Because that's just not what the locals or tourists or whoever do here in Denmark, in this small country with a big history. On the way back to the Fotex, shopping. Delicious Muscadet in any case, because we ordered oysters from Bendixen.
Now quickly back on the boat, wine in the cooler, oysters opened, and then the wonderful blue hour begins, which is beautiful almost everywhere, but beautiful here. The wine glasses are misted, the oysters are sprinkled with lemon. Music? You don't need it. These are the moments when everything is just right. The whole setting, the person sitting opposite you, the light breeze, the feeling of summer on your skin, the security. Yes, safety. That's what Denmark is all about - you feel safe.
Evenings in the cockpit
And then the evenings. The sky slowly turns red, then purple, then still. Someone is playing the guitar on the neighbouring boat. Nobody thinks it's a noise nuisance. I'd even like it if someone played the accordion. It's part of it here. Even the seagulls here don't screech - they sound as if they are thanking us for being part of this moment.
With a second glass of Muscadet, looking out at the dozing ships, you can feel what you so often miss in everyday life. That it's enough. That this is enough. That you don't need any more. If you realise this on your own, you've done everything right, because the Danish South Sea doesn't force you to relax - it invites you to do so. What you do with it is entirely up to you. In really every place in Denmark you will encounter this proverbial warmth, and many people radiate a warmth that can be felt physically.
If you've been travelling for a few weeks and are heading back to Sønderborg, you hopefully have sand in your luggage, beautiful impressions in your head, a happy or at least contented soul - and maybe even your heartbeat has calmed down a little. It's like this: The Danish South Sea leaves traces inside. Perhaps a little like the phosphorescent dots of light in the wake on a warm summer night. Yes, of course it sometimes rains here and you have to take harbour days. But so what? We're all like Karl Valentin: "I'm happy when it rains, because if I'm not happy, it rains!"
And yes, I admit: as soon as I cross the Danish border back into Germany, I'm honked at after a short time. Yes, of course, because I'm driving too slowly. But I take my time. I still want to have that Danish feeling inside me. I eat a few cinnamon buns while I drive. Luckily it's still the season. Next week I can forget about fourth gear again! Tak Danmark, du gør mig altid glad! (Thank you, Denmark, you always make me happy!)
