I have been on the road for almost a month, and in Schleswig Holstein, I was pampered and fed like a king by German friends who seemed to understand exactly what a cyclist needs. Upon entering their splendid home, I was immediately seated at a table laden with a giant Black Forest cake smothered in whipped cream and an equally magnificent cheesecake. They served me large slabs of each, accompanied by a strong cup of coffee. As if reading my mind, they then offered me the use of their washing machine before I even had to ask. Frieder and Eva, though not cyclists themselves, have led lives filled with extreme adventures, and it shows. They hiked part of the Pacific Crest Trail and spent months in a secluded hut they built themselves in the Canadian wilderness by Lake Superior.
Thanks to their generosity, I indulged in everything they offered, allowing myself a welcome break from my usual fare of porridge, bananas, Nutella, and pasta with repetitive sauces. After a two-day stay, they filled my bag with sandwiches and half a kilo of cheesecake and waved me off, leaving me no excuse not to make it to Denmark. My sixth country was not far away and marked a new beginning—the start of a Scandinavian journey that had spurred my interest and inspired me to head this way in the first place. I reached the border town of Flensburg after 1,700 kilometres and the tragic end of countless slugs, victims of their own slow pace as they attempted to cross the cycle path at the wrong time.
I was immediately struck by two main facts. First, I was suddenly much poorer than I had been in Germany. Second, the sudden peace and quiet compared to its neighboring country was palpable. Denmark, with a population just shy of six million, is not a vast country, yet it certainly isn’t crowded. I felt as if I had been transported into a fairytale, one where the ending is never told, but everyone is happy and everything is neat and tidy. Large houses with immaculate flower gardens, perfectly trimmed lawns, and strangers welcoming a traveler with a smile.
Back were the well-maintained cycling paths and trails, allowing me to ride almost entirely separated from road traffic. To help with my skinny budget, the Danish government, God bless them, maintains a network of shelters and spots to pitch a tent, free to use for cyclists and hikers. Although basic and far from luxurious, they usually have a toilet, a water faucet, and a wooden structure for cover when necessary. My first spot got a little crowded when a young Danish couple, hiking without a tent, begged me for a corner in their own country. How could I possibly refuse?
The next day, I took a ferry to the even more beautiful Shangri-La of the tiny island of Ærø. If one doesn’t mind a bit of remoteness, being born there is like winning the jackpot in a lottery. I basked in the sunshine, riding up and down meadows and fields painted fuchsia by flowers, with the deeper blue of the Baltic Sea always there as a backdrop. The day ended by the coast in the quiet alcove of Skåret, where I took a quick dip in the refreshing Baltic Sea. Perched above the beach were a couple of lawn patches where tents were allowed to be pitched. The only thing missing was water, but when I asked some locals, they pointed me to a sign on a wooden board. It read: “Water is available at the big white house up the road. Just enter the courtyard and you will find a garage door open with a faucet free for use.”