This ‘Voyage’ erupted somewhat spontaneously from a vague desire by all four travellers to visit Scandinavia. Little, and mostly no, preplanning was involved apart from the French contingent stating the ultimate destination, Leningrad, and fixing the time schedule, six weeks. These decisions were adjusted during the course of the journey to meet the needs of the British back seat writer. “Need to be back for work in a month’s time”.
The ‘voyage’ grew into both an outer and an inner journey for this writer, scribbling in English, in a car filled with French conversation, describing the scenes which follow. Little is detailed of the latter journey, so curious reader, amble between the lines.
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4 AUGUST 1990 – DAY 1 ENGLAND to FRANCE
Victoria Station, London
Dear All
How pleasant to start the holidays with a compliment, “Nice to meet a girl with ‘Knowledge’ and who travels light,” said my minicab driver. Originally from Cyprus, and discovering that I was a teacher, he began to recall his schooldays and his English teacher, who he was sure I knew. Couldn’t make out the name at first but it turned out to be Lawrence Durrell, author of ‘Bitter Lemons’ a novel I read when I visited Cyprus back in 1973.
The driver was obviously impressed by this ‘Knowledge’ and urged me to look at page 132 where he, Mr Stephanides, gets a mention. Apparently Mr Stephanides Senior, owner of a wine shop, was mad because Durrell didn’t write about him truthfully. Tactfully, I tried to explain that ‘Bitter Lemons’ was a novel not a travel book.
Mr Stephanides Junior also let his views on Mother’s favourite woman be known. “I heard THAT Margaret Thatcher talking on TV last night . She said the Big Powers will never let the small powers be overrun, but look at Cyprus! Sixteen years since the Turkish army came in, sixteen years since my family lost everything and what has she done about it? I don’t believe her great talk.”
As he left me, complementing me on the lightness of my suitcase, I struggled to carry it to my favourite breakfast haunt, the cafeteria at Victoria station. Tucked into croissant and coffee for £1.35, my base rate for comparing future food prices.
Emerged from the cosy gloom to find that the earlier queue of pale, tanned and grubby legs draped around luggage across the marble floor of the concourse leading to Platform 7, Dover and new horizons, had actually disappeared onto the train. Found myself surrounded by a large group of Italians noisily discussing the possible destination "Del treno – Parigi oppure Bruxelles?"
Joined the conversation in my rusting Italian and was immediately pounced upon by the group leader’s wife, “Ah, you are Eeengleesh. Come and seet ‘ere, we shall ‘ave a conversation.”
And so we did, or rather a monologue since during her eight days in England she had had no opportunity to practise her English. However, with the sun now burning in on her shoulder, “Worse than in Eetaly this Eenglish sun", had her hurriedly changing places with “my GORGEOUS ‘usband” at which point she plunged into a book, ‘Come Pour the Wine’, a very Italian theme albeit in English.
Ten minutes out of Dover pandemonium broke loose at the end of our compartment and the train slowly ground to a halt. For a nasty moment it seemed as though someone had fallen out of the train but no, a teenage boy had been fiddling with a door lock, the door had opened and his mother had grabbed both him and the communication cord.
Amidst the uproar the GORGEOUS group leader and his vociferous wife remained strangely silent, it seemed that they felt the £500 fine was well-deserved. After a lot of arm flinging and shouting the fine wasn’t paid but the vociferous wife was heard to murmur, “Siamo strani, noi italiani!” “We Italians are strange.”
…………..I’m now sitting on board a French ferry gliding across a flat-calm English Channel, or rather La Manche as the French would say, enjoying at last a sea breeze, haven’t felt this refreshed in months.
Arrived in Calais an hour earlier than I’d anticipated, had forgotten that Europe reaches summer an hour ahead of Britain. A relative lack of crush emerging from the cattle shed of Customs and onto the train for Paris, but those hoarding onto the rapidly disinfected returning ferry looked like a nightmare scene from the rush hour London tube.
Hundreds of people, mostly in their teens and twenties, dressed uniformly in faded t-shirts, tattered shorts and trainers, tottering like tortoises under the weight of huge rucksacks topped by ubiquitous black plastic-wrapped sleeping bags and rattan mats. Bottled water would appear to top the sales of Coca Cola on this side of the Channel.
Watched the handsome Italian’s wife flapping after her flock, vainly searching for the Milano train. Don’t envy them another twenty-eight hours journey.
It’s equally hot on this side of the Channel. Realised too late that I’m now sitting on the sunny side of the train, actually not a problem since there are curtains to shade the glare. Two young Italians behind me are struggling to complete a crossword puzzle. Listening to them I find it refreshing this morning to discover that both the French and Italian sections of my brain are still functioning.
LATER….
Arrived in Paris on schedule and found my old London University friend Solange waiting for me at our usual ‘rendez-vous’ near the bistro in La Gare du Nord. Found her looking more strained than last year. The treatment she’s been taking for breast cancer isn’t working properly but she can’t face chemotherapy so is going to continue with the same treatment, much to her doctor’s fury.
We just had an hour to sit and chat in the sunshine. It’s been Paris’ hottest day of the century today! Oblivious to all around, even to Paris, we sipped our Perrier water and caught up on the main events of the year……
...... NOW ON THE TRAIN…..
Have just been watching a fiery red sun set behind vast grey-yellow fields littered with giant rolls of corn, and unexpected bright green segments of woodland, sometimes hiding a small cream farmhouse.
I’m sick of drinking water so decided to treat myself to a can of Coke, 35p in Turnpike Lane, £1.40 in the bar of this TGV high speed train. The hostess has been telling me how disastrous the heatwave has been in those parts of France where small holders haven’t been allowed to water their produce and, as a result, have lost everything.
The soft pink toilet tissue of the English train has been replaced by the ubiquitous brown paper of the French public lavatory.
Arrived in a warm Besancon evening, five minutes early to be met by Danielle and Annie, my fellow travellers for the coming weeks. Both about my age, both teachers of French in the same school as Anne-Marie and, from first impressions, easy to get on with. Most odd being in Besancon without Anne-Marie, being driven to an unknown address. Anne-Marie is currently away on a Tai Chindo course.
Now nearly 11.30pm, have just eaten dessert, chopped up peaches and nectarines, chilled then served with lemon juice and fresh mint, very refreshing.
Danielle has an old hunting dog whose head rested on the table looking at me beseechingly as we moved onto the cheese course, rather disconcerting.
Holiday plans and destinations remain largely unmade. In the first instance we’re heading for Denmark.
From these French teachers discovered that changes are to be made to the French writing system to try and cut out a lot of ‘irregularities’ within French spelling, and with words from other languages. Think that would be a very difficult task if applied to English, it’s such a bastard language.
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Several days later, a brief retrospective….
SUNDAY 5th DAY 2 FRANCE
The three of us drove out into the country to a riverside restaurant for trout cooked in a YELLOW wine sauce, boiled potatoes and salad, delicious.
By the time we reached home Anne Marie and two friends had arrived back from Normandy, an eight hour drive across France from west to east. Good to see them again. She spent the rest of the day doing laundry and repacking for the journey ahead.
MONDAY 6th DAY 3 FRANCE to GERMANY
The four of us finally left Besancon at 8.00 am in Anne-Marie’s car, and belted north up the motorway towards Germany. No frontier formalities now in ‘Europe’.
Stopped every few hours to picnic, buy petrol and use toilet facilities. Discovered a new toilet system, the flush being a flat panel which you push into the back wall. And when washing hands, water arrives in the basin not from taps but simply by putting hands under the outflow of water. Very confusing at first.
Finally stopped for the night in the most attractive mediaeval town of Hildesheim. By the time we’d driven all around looking, with difficulty, for a hotel, we’d discovered one of the most attractive old towns I’d ever seen, old houses with high roofs, their facades of wood and plaster beautifully carved and painted in soft shades of brown, cream, pale pinks, greens and blues.
Eventually found a cheap hotel in the centre of town. After a noisy night, we had our first German breakfast, the emphasis on ham, salami and cheese plus a variety of bread and biscuits.
TUESDAY 7th DAY 4 GERMANY
Walked a tourist route around the town marked out by drawings of roses on the pavements. The story of the founding of the town is based on someone falling asleep at the foot of a rose tree where later he founded a cathedral. The original rose tree is still there, apparently, still rambling high up the wall of the cathedral alongside a cloister. A very calming atmosphere.
Having admired the old carvings at leisure, we had lunch, fat German sausages with chips. There are masses of beer cellars, cake shops and coffee houses but no sign of the little restaurants so popular in France.
Drove on north towards Hamburg, lovely scenery of hills and forests before hitting the industrial outskirts of the city. Fast moving traffic, not easy to find the main station and the tourist office but Anne-Marie is a confidant, fast, unflappable driver alongside one passenger focussed on the map, the other two focussed on street names to right and left. A good combination.
Outside the station a couple of Russians (Estonians?) in traditional dress were singing and dancing, and close by a group of South American flute players were playing unexpectedly familiar melodies.
Found the tourist office and made a hotel booking only to find it full on arrival! Then followed a frustrating hour visiting all the hotels in the area only to find them ALL full! Returned and joined a long queue at the tourist office and finally obtained a hotel in a more expensive part of town near the port.
Car parked, suitcases installed in our room, we set off on an evening stroll to explore the port of Hamburg. Huge ships were scattered on tributaries of the River Elbe, with tugs lined up waiting to move into action the following morning.
Walked miles before finding a small bar run by a young German who’d spent a lot of time in France and, therefore, provided humorous service. Beer comes in huge glasses and takes eight minutes to draw according to him. He treated us to dessert and a glass of brandy before we headed home through the red light district, similar to Soho in London but lined with young prostitutes in boots and mini skirts.
WEDNESDAY 8th DAY 5 GERMANY to DENMARK
Spent another noisy night, the hotel was next to a main road, the compensation, a banquet self-service breakfast, various types of cereal, several fruit juices, baskets of breads, cakes and biscuits, cold and cooked meats and fish, quite
overwhelming.
Decided to explore the non-industrial area of Hamburg built around a huge lake. Vast, luxurious houses and gardens, larger and more opulent than Hampstead in London. So many green areas throughout the city, quite different from the ugly town I’d anticipated.
Drove on north through RAIN. Hard to believe it’s possible to feel cold and damp again. Filled up with petrol before crossing the Danish frontier. Apparently they don’t have garages on the motorway. Danielle and Annie have a variety of maps of Europe and tourist guidebooks of the main towns on our route from place to place.
Found a bank to buy some kroner and ore, a totally ‘open’ bank ie several scattered counters each with an official, and a play corner for young customers filled with the national game, Lego. First sight of a young blonde woman matching the national Scandinavian stereotype.
We stopped at a farm guesthouse alongside a fiord on the outskirts of the small town of Aabenraa. Having booked in we were shown around the old, red brick building with its high roof divided into two levels. A great surprise to find five generations of possessions decorating the house at all levels particularly in the roof which had the atmosphere of a folk museum.
We were lodged in the highest section of the roof amidst light brown rafters and white hessian wall coverings with built in bunks around three walls, rather like the bunks on a ship, covered with the same thick flat duvets and square pillows as in Germany. A carved wooden table and chairs stood in the middle of the room, apparently these ‘family’ rooms are a feature of Danish farmhouses.
Later, drove back along the fiord, a typical small lake opening out in the distance to the Baltic Sea, past the largest electric power station in Denmark, into the town of Aabenraa. At eight o’clock in the evening with rain drizzling down, it was as quiet as an English seaside town in winter but a good time to look around.
There were pretty shops and houses painted in pale shades of orange, grey and yellow with white trim, and a small red brick church surrounded by open greenery. The advantage of sightseeing at night was being able to see inside the small houses through their small windows, filled with pots of flowers rather than curtains, each with lots of open plan rooms with open staircases.
We found three restaurants only one of which was open. Unfortunately, the waitress spoke only Danish, the menu was written in Danish, so our choice was limited to a range of steaks, chips and peas, a typical European menu.
THURSDAY 9th DAY 6 DENMARK
Awoke to bucketing rain. Breakfast was similar to Germany, cereal, fruit juice, ham, cheese, breads, homemade cakes, copious. Unfortunately I’m never sufficiently hungry to do it justice.
We shared the large breakfast table with Danish and Finnish families, communication mostly through gestures and smiles. The dining room was decorated with blue plates, family photos, paintings of the area plus innumerable nicknacks. It must be a nightmare to dust.
We drove up the east coast of Jutland, the largest land mass in Denmark. The countryside was similar to southern England, flat fields enclosed by hedges where wheat was being harvested, occasional woodland and scattered farmhouses mostly of red brick
The rain gradually cleared as we reached the town of Arhus about two hours later, the fourth largest town in Denmark and compared favourably by some to Copenhagen. No difficulty finding the Tourist Information Office where we managed to book a room for four in the Youth Hostel. At £9 per night considerably cheaper than the ‘low price’ hotels at £15 per night.
There were lots of sights to see in Arhus but since we were in transit we had to restrict our viewing. We opted for the Prehistoric Museum, a few miles drive along the coast where, in woodland, we found it located in huge old manor house.
So many interesting collections including huge stones, similar in size to some in Stonehenge, but bearing some kind of scratchy writing called Runes. Each letter in the Rune Alphabet consisted of a vertical line with other lines of different sizes and shapes attached to it. The letter either meant a sound or it could mean an idea (like our traffic picture symbols tell you what to do), all totally confusing to us but obviously not to those who used it. Rune stones are scattered throughout Denmark.
The Rune Alphabet was invented about the third century AD and was used by tribes speaking different languages across northern Europe. Eventually, as Christianity spread across Europe, the Rune Alphabet was replaced by the Latin Alphabet.
Another fascinating sight was the body of a man, with skin looking like dark tan leather, found preserved in peat from several hundred years BC! Also replicas of Viking houses showing how they’d develop over the ages. Wish we’d had more time there.
LATER, now installed in the spacious new Arhus Youth Hostel. It’s an old house with a modern extension located in a peaceful wood on the edge of town. No dormitory but a room for the four of us. Good to relax for a while after a long day’s driving.
But, still necessary to go out later in search of a restaurant. We passed a very impressive Opera House, nearly as big as La Scala in Milan, and a cathedral with the now typical green-leaded roof but, not typical, it’s black walls had not been whitewashed.
In vain we wandered searching for a ‘typical’ Danish restaurant. There were lots of steak and hamburger bars, also Italian and Chinese restaurants but only one ‘good local’ restaurant already fully booked at 8.00pm. Ended up in a steakhouse and paid £12 for steak with a glass of wine, (expensive mineral water for me),no dessert, no coffee.
Denmark - chez Loft Family. Gerda gives advice on an interesting route through Denmark.
Next Week - Part 2 (of 6) - Denmark to Sweden,
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