travels with janne

At first
glance it may seem dull and monotonous, boundless and barren with ice and rock
as far as the eye can see. As this time of year, north of the Arctic Circle,
there is not even much difference between day and night. It is light all the
time.

Gradually,
though, Greenland’s nuances peep through. You start noticing the variety of
tiny and hardy flowers that brave the harsh northern climate and eke out their
living on a meagre layer of soil. You revel in the delights of dining on seal,
muskox, caribou, whale, ammassat (capelin) and scrumptiously fresh halibut. You
discover the many shades and forms that water and ice can take. You delight in
the endless days with their ever-changing sky and varying light. And you pride
yourself on getting your tongue around the Greenlandic place names and a few of
the words.

West Greenland
grows on you. The wild and untamed nature. The friendly people. The furry dogs,
and the tasty local delicacies. Let me tell you about my adventure at the
height of the Arctic summer in this fascinating land of ice and rock.

My first
stop from Denmark is Kangerlussuaq (previously called Sønder Strømfjord). With
a population of about 500 people this town is about as unexciting as a town can
be. The houses and other buildings look like overgrown shipping containers and
have charmless addresses like “”Block 7” or “SS-00-32”. Some buildings are difficult to discern if they are in use and for what purpose. Crumbling sidewalks
lead to nowhere. Mosquitoes abound.

Kangerlussuaq
was established in 1941 as an American Air Force base and the air force guys
certainly did not waste any efforts on prettying it up. There is a distinctly masculine
and utilitarian feel to the place. Is functional, basic and rather bleak.

Kangerlussuaq
has good and stable visibility conditions, so the airport has been central for
both military and civilian air traffic, and that is what put Kangerlussuaq on
the map to start with.

The upside
is that everything is within reach. A five-minute walk from the airport brings
me to the youth hostel that also houses a little souvenir shop. From our picnic area I can see the planes in the airport. For dining I stroll
back to the airport that has both a cafeteria (muskox stew – yum!) and a rather
pricey gourmet restaurant.

A mountain
looms up behind Kangerlussuaq, while the other side of town is bordered by a fjord
that is fed with glacial meltwater. I go for walks in all the directions I can
manage without resorting to mountain climbing and delight in the variety of
flowers and birds that for the most part are new to me. The landscape is rock,
rock and more rock. What, then,
brings tourists like me to stay in Kangerlussuaq instead of flying onwards? The
Greenland Ice Sheet is what – and this is what I will tell you about in the
next travel blog so stay tuned!

This morning is the final leg of the 2016 journey.
Just a hop, skip and jump through some more woods before I reach Viborg. To be
more precise, I need to walk about 11 kilometres before reaching my goal for
2016: the town of Viborg.

Viborg is one of Denmark’s oldest towns. The name
means “holy place on the hill”. It had its beginnings as a town somewhere
between the end of the 900’s and the beginning of the 1000’s and was already in
Viking times a religious centre in Jutland.

When Christianity came along the religious goings on
in Viborg continued. The town became an episcopal residence and the building of
the first cathedral began in the 1100’s. Not long after, because of strife
between several pretenders to the throne, the town was fortified with a rampart
and a moat and there were five city gates.

During the following centuries, no less than 12
churches and five monasteries were established. With the advent of the
Reformation things changed. Viborg was actually the place where the Lutheran
Reformation in Denmark began, in around 1529. During these years of
reformation, the citizens of Viborg tore down all 12 churches, closed most of
the monasteries, and the munks and nuns had to flee. So much for religious
tolerance.

Viborg was also a power hub in other ways. It was one
of three Danish towns where homage had to be paid to a king before he could make
a legitimate claim to the throne. This was carried out for every single Danish
king from 1027 to 1665. Viborg was also where the political assembly (“Ting” or
“Thing”) for Jutland was located. Despite the fact that a major fire in 1726 destroyed the cathedral, city hall and the major
church, Viborg today still oozes history with its cobblestone streets, old
houses and rebuilt cathedral.

Well, folks, the 2016 leg of the hike up through
Jutland is over. In 2015 I walked about 129 km and this year I managed 209 km
for a total of 338 km from the border in the south to the town of Viborg smack
dab in the middle of Jutland. My plan is to continue northwards next year and walk
towards the very tip of Jutland. I think I am approximately halfway there. I
have already bought a new pair of hiking shoes and am looking forward to new
adventures in the Danish landscape.

I continue the rest of the journey on my own. I hardly
meet another soul in the final stage of my 2016 ramblings. Four days of almost
no people! The weather is incredible for a Danish September. At one point it
reaches 27°C. Fortunately, most of the hike is in the shade of oak and fir woods.

Acorns litter the forest floor. At intervals I hear
more acorns falling to the ground and wonder when one of them will land on my
head. At one point the silence is broken as I pass under the highway. I can
hear it several kilometres away.
Later on, I meet a wild deer and then a
fenced-in elk that bellows when I approach.

My feet get swollen, my back gets tired, and I feel hot
and bothered. In the deep of the woods I decide to take a break. I prop my
backpack up against a tree, eat my lunch, drink some water, and read my book. A
headache bothers me, so I curl up and sleep on the ground under the tree, like
a forest animal.

Waking up much refreshed half an hour later I trudge
onwards, hour after hour, day after day. More misty mornings with dew-laden
spider webs that make me think of fairy hair.
Sunny days with dappled light
sneaking through the trees. The forest smells of fir trees, autumn leaves and
mushrooms. It is so quiet around me I can hear the leaves fall. I pass through landscapes with lakes, and through farmland.

One foot in front of the other, again and again and
again. Finally, on September 15, I unfold the last page of the last of the three
maps that have guided me through the first half of the walk through Jutland. An
event! Hurray! An end to the first half of this crazy project is in sight!

Before I reach my destination I have one more
challenge. I have arrived at Dollerup Bakker – the Hills of Dollerup. They are
beautiful, heather-covered hills with lovely views of the lake Hald Sø.
To
follow the route to the hostel where I am to spend my last night I need to
clamber up a very steep hill. There are steps, but the risers are so high that
I can hardly lift my weary bones and backpack up each of them. This is not the
kind of challenge I was looking for after having walked about 80 km in three
days.

Not much further on is the hostel. It is housed in one
of the buildings of the manor Hald Hovedgaard from 1787. With the meagre energy I have left I wander around and look at the buildings, enjoying the details of the masonry and ironwork. They knew how to construct lasting buildings in those days!

I continue my ramble northwards, passing by more burial mounds and through oak forests, moors and farmland.

At one point I stop
at the church Øster Nykirke, which is the church with the highest location in
Denmark (127 above sea level). Okay, okay, not exactly an impressive height
compared to so many other countries, but throughout the ages it has afforded
good views and a marker for people on the Hærvejen route.

I also come close to the spot where Denmark’s two main
rivers have their source. Skjern Å, the river containing the most water, flows
westward to the North Sea, while Gudenå, the longest river in Denmark (about
158 km) flows eastward to Randers Fjord. I have canoed on both of them –
wonderful trips!

The stages of the walk described above and in the previous two blogs
were undertaken in May and June 2016. Then along came a very rainy summer that
took care of most of July and August until I went on holiday in warm and sunny
Nova Scotia. When I came back to Denmark from Nova Scotia it was still raining.
Then a wonderful thing happened: September. This was the year’s warmest month
in Denmark, so I laced up my hiking shoes, packed my backpack and walked as
much as possible before the “normal” dreary autumn set in.

On the next stage of my journey up through Jutland I
have convinced Niels to accompany me on the first little bit.
The route changes
character and becomes quite beautiful. We do not see as many churches, burial
mounds, rune stones or other historical monuments as before.
We leave the farm
country behind (except for a wannabe zebra). The soil is too poor for farming,
anyway.

Instead, nature abounds. We marvel at the large areas
of inland dunes. We pass through oak forests. We walk on moors covered with a
purple, fragrant spread of heather.
We wander through cathedrals of pine
forests with soft moss floors. We see elk, deer and kestrel, and dewy grass
decorated with spider webs that sparkle in the morning sun.

The next part of the hike I walk alone for two days, totaling
about 54 km. I start where Niels and I left off last time at the lake Fårup Sø
on the southern outskirts of Jelling. A reconstructed Viking ship floats in the
water and reminds visitors that they have now arrived at the ancient Viking
stronghold.
Jelling is where pagan Viking gods meet Christianity
and where the first king of Denmark was buried. It is considered Denmark’s
birth certificate. This marks where the Danish monarchy and Christianity in
Denmark began. The area is so full of history that it has been designated a
UNESCO World Heritage Site.
Let’s start with the burial mounds. The biggest of
them is the largest burial mound in Denmark and was constructed on top of a
burial mound from the Bronze Age. Two million turf blocks were used to build
it. The other, smaller, burial mound is where Denmark’s first king, Gorm the
Old, was originally buried as a heathen in the year 959. A few years later, his
son Harald Bluetooth moved his father’s remains to give him a Christian burial.
There are remains of a grave chamber that lay in connection with the original wooden
church. Now there is a stone church – back to that later.

Outside the present church are two rune stones. The
smallest of them was raised by King Gorm the Old in honour of his wife Thyra.
It mentions the name Denmark for the first time. The largest of the stones,
from the year 965, was raised by Harald Bluetooth in honour of his parents, Gorm and Thyra. It
says that Harald won all Denmark and Norway and made the Danes Christian. This
marks the point in time when the Vikings downsized from having many gods (such
as Thor and Odin) to having just one.
The stone also has Scandinavia’s oldest picture of
Christ. The same picture adorns the Danish passport. Whether we are religious
or not, we cannot escape the fact that Christianity is an integral part of our
Danish heritage.

So much for the burial mounds and the rune stones. The
area also encompasses an enormous stone ship (350 m).

Originally, it encircled
the spot where Gorm the Old was buried. The ship ensured that he could sail to
the gods in mythical Valhalla (Valhalla was Odin’s home and where Vikings that
died honourably in battle went to).

Surrounding the two burial mounds and the
stone ship was a 1.4-km long and 4-metre high palisade. It surrounded an area
corresponding to 12 soccer fields (12 hectares). The palisades are now marked with white stones. The size and grandeur of the
whole shebang attest to Gorm the Old’s power.

Lastly, there is the church. It is one of Denmark’s
very first stone churches, built around 1100. It lies where the original wooden
church built by Harald Bluetooth lay. Although the church is old, not much of
the interior remains from that time It is in fact quite modern with typical
understated, elegant Danish design. A
silver stripe in the floor indicates where Gorm the Old was re-buried.

A replica of a sailing ship hangs from the ceiling.
Numerous queries on my part and hunting around on Google have not given me a
satisfactory reason for the Danish tradition of hanging ships in churches –
just many suppositions. Nevertheless, it is a nice habit.

Well, folks that was your history lesson for today. I
think it is fascinating to experience hundreds and hundreds of years of history
merely by following a path up through Jutland.

In the first summer months of 2016, I resume my
project of walking all the way up through Jutland.

Once again, I have my friend Niels for company. Last year we ended in the southern
part of Jutland, just north of where the old border to Germany used to be.

We left off in Læborg, at a white church in front of
which was a big stone with runes engraved on it. This year we start in Bække, five
kilometres north of that church, at another white church with a big stone with
runes on it. This stone is from about 925 AD and is yet another reminder that
this historical route has been used since the days of the Vikings.

Runes and rocks, stone and ships

On our journey northwards we come upon an even more
ancient monument at a place called Klebæk Høje. This spot is 81 metres above
sea level so it has afforded good views of the surrounding area throughout the
ages.

On this spot there are two burial mounds dating back
to the Bronze Age (3,500 years ago). Later on, about 1,100 years ago, an
important Viking woman was buried here. She was honoured with a stone ship.
This was a custom in which the burial or cremation area was surrounded by stone
slabs that formed the shape of a ship. Historians figure that these ships were
constructed to provide the dead person with means of transport to the next
world. This particular stone ship is 45 m long. One of the Bronze Age burial
mounds is at the helm of the ship while a big stone with runes engraved on it marks
the other end of the stone ship.

The historical Hærvejen – the road that we are
following up though Jutland – cuts right through the ship, leaving a 10 m wide swathe
that has worn down into the ground.

Not far from the stone ship we come upon another
interesting rock – the Hamborggårdstenen. This 50 ton boulder was transported
at the front edge of a glacier during the Ice Age and left behind when the
glacier receded. It came from Ålandsøerne, which is a group of Finnish islands
snuggled between Finland and Sweden. The glacier pushed the block of stone for
hundreds of kilometres about 20,000 to 25,000 years ago. Neat, eh?

Then along came the Viking Harald Bluetooth (not the man in the photo – that’s Niels). He wanted
to drag the boulder to his mother’s grave in Jelling (you will hear more about
Jelling later on). I don’t know if he would have succeeded, but he abandoned
the project when he learned that his son Svend Forkbeard was plotting to depose
him as king.

I’ll get back to Harald Bluetooth and his parents
later on, when I reach Jelling. In the meantime, Niels and I wander through the
attractive Danish summer landscape.
I think it is best at this time of year,
i.e. late spring and early summer. Along the way, we see idyllic country homes
with thatched rooves. We see deer and hares, cattle and cows, free-range pigs, vineyards, and fields with barley, rapeseed, wheat and rye before reaching the southern outskirts of the town of Jelling.

I have a
house in the woods of Canada. I go there to pull the plug on the jangle of
everyday life. I go there to find peace but not silence, solitude but not
loneliness.

The house
is on Tupper Lake in Nova Scotia, Canada. I call it Nature’s Nest. The house
has all the amenities of modern life and is tastefully built with lots of wood,
space and light.

Although
Nature’s Nest is serene it is not necessarily quiet. At night I hear the
explorative rustling and eerie moan of a raccoon and the busy bustling of a
beaver bumbling about in my woods, munching on trees and branches. I hear the
crazy, mournful call of a loon and then another loon, answering it. I hear the
hoot of an owl and the croak of a frog.

Unfortunately,
I also hear mice scamper about inside the house, but I guess if you want
biodiversity you have to accept the whole package. During the day, the mice
still hang around in full view of me. They seem more curious than frightened of
me.

Hummingbirds
hover by the feeders and slurp up sugary water with their long tongues. As if
there was not enough nourishment to go around (there’s plenty!), they dive bomb
each other like little Red Barons with ruby red throats and sparkling green
backs.
I train a chipmunk to come closer and closer to me until finally, after
a couple of weeks, it clambers up on my outstretched legs and down to my foot
while I am sitting on the veranda with my feet up.

On my first
day at Nature’s Nest I see an osprey gliding over the water, on the lookout for
fish. A day later, while clearing branches from the driveway, I see it perched
in a tree. We make eye contact.
Another day I spot a couple of deer by the edge
of the lake. They wade out to the beaver den and peek in, then wade out further
into the water and start swimming towards me. What a sight! A few days later
one of the deer comes right up to my veranda.

In the
evening, as I wash the dishes, I peer out on the lake and see the beaver
swimming by. It zigzags here and there, seemingly aimlessly, but on a route
that takes it past yummy aquatic plants. It makes a grand circle in front of my
house before returning to the area of its den and then going up on land for
more munchies.

Thus the
days pass at Nature’s Nest. I do some writing. I paint the veranda. I read
voraciously. I hang up pictures, and cook dinner for guests.
But I am constantly drawn to the veranda, where I stand and look out on the lake, if not at some animals, then the stunning sunrise or the reflection of a full moon shimmering on the water, or the morning mist rising mystically from the calm morning waters.

I also go
exploring in my little wood (the property is 2.85 acres) and along the
shoreline. I pass close by the beaver den and hear her (him?) chirp a warning
at me. He (it?) has a whole pile of branches gathered on land adjacent to its
home. I bet most of them came from trees that used to grow on my property until
the beaver felled them.
Wanting to
explore the island across from my house I follow in the footsteps of the deer on
what is now an isthmus leading to a peninsula due to drought. I get seriously
stuck in some very aggressive mud that seems to want to suck me into the lake’s
nether regions. After a somewhat scary tug-of-war between me and the sticky
soil, I escape, covered in muck up to my knees and elbows. Much later on I get
to thinking that this mud would be ideal for clay. It is very elastic and
sticky. Investigating that will be a project for next year.

Safely back
on land, I wander up and down the shore, studying the plants. There are loads
of cranberries and sundew. In the water there are arrowroots and lily pads.
That’s about as far as it goes with regard to my being able to name the plants.
So another project for next year will be to botanise properly.
In the calm
of the mornings I go canoeing. Later on, when the days get hot, I go swimming.

In between it all I go for walks further down the road. I am told I should
carry a stick or something similar in case I meet a bear (!). As I walk I say
out loud, “Hello bear! I am here!” to warn of my presence.

Nature’s
Nest clears my head of everyday nonsense and small-time worries and fills it
with a sense of peace and serenity and big-time thoughts about Nature and Man
and the meaning of it all.

I have
written about my travels in various exotic places but I also have adventures
closer to home. All I have to do is step out the door and start walking. Five
minutes later, I am on a path that leads me around Vandkraftsøen (literally ‘Water
power lake’).

The first
part of the walk leads me through a grassy field, which is where I take my
daily walks. At this time of year sheep and lambs abound. The lambs are
unabashedly cute. They are presently at the age at which they are discovering
friendships in each other. They romp, frolic and dash about while their docile
but watchful mothers graze.

Fifteen
more minutes of walking brings me to a small wood. The forest floor is white
with anemones (some of whom are sisters to the ones I have in my garden…) I
hear woodpeckers, chaffinches and warblers and, in the distance, kayakers and
canoeists on the lake. I get occasional
views of the lake on my left. A swan sits on her nest and stretches her neck to
pull in grasses and reeds and other building materials to add extra comfort for
the coming cygnets.

I pass by a
lovely, placid pond and pause to enjoy the stillness, so close to home yet lost
in my own little world for a spell.

The path is
steep and narrow at times, which I suppose is one of the reasons that it is not
overrun by crowds of people, even on such a fine day as this. I find more
anemones, including sunshine-y bright yellow ones.

Interesting
landmarks on the route are the little watermill (Tvis Mølle) and adjacent monastery
ruins (Tvis Kloster). I drive past these two historic sights every day on my
way to work. The watermill was reconstructed from the one that was built in the
1700’s but records show that there has been a watermill here since around the
late 12th century. It was owned by the Cisterciensian monastery Tvis
Kloster, which was established in 1163. The monastery fell into ruin and was
eventually removed but there are still remnants of it: the peaceful graveyard,
a few foundations, and stones in the modern paved road showing where the
monastery lay. The monastery was actually on a small island, snuggled between
two tributaries of Storåen. Denmark is filled with so much history –
fascinating!

As I walk
on the bridge to get to the other side of the lake, a swan gets it into its
head to skip like a stone along the water. Startled, I fumble with my camera to
catch a shot of the bird in mid-flight. However, the swan never rises above the
lake’s surface to fly but eventually settles down and starts grooming its
feathers.

The path
now follows the bicycle path I take when I visit my mother in her old age home
(if, lazy me, I don’t take the car instead). A few huge buildings sit on the
top of the hill with, I would guess, amazing views of the lake. They look like
office buildings but are actually private homes. Square boxes are the latest
architectural rage in Denmark for offices and private homes alike.

Shortly
thereafter are more sheep, lambs, peace and quiet. I pass very close by the
table and benches that I would bring my mother out to so we could enjoy a view
of the lake together. Now it is too far for her to walk, unfortunately.

I then walk
through a verdant cathedral. There are anemones on the forest floor and a light
green canopy formed by the newly unfurled leaves of the beech trees. Spring in
Denmark is a thing to behold! Who needs churches when you can rejoice in
nature? Nature can be harsh, though, as I am reminded when I spot a turquoise
egg that has fallen out if its nest. That broken egg will never become a bird.

The last
leg of the walk is more urban than the first part. I pass by the regional
television station TV MidtVest that must certainly be the place of employment
in Holstebro with the best view.

Next up is
the dam where the water rushes through with mighty force. Vandkraftsøen is an
artificial lake that was created to harness hydroelectric power from the river
that flows through Holstebro (Storåen, literally ‘The Big River’).

Then there
is the building that used to house the restaurant ‘Søens perle” (Pearl of the
Lake), where Johannes and I had our wedding reception on 7 June, 1986. A horse
and buggy drove us up right on the lawn while the guests awaited our arrival.
Those were the days. Now the building houses trade union offices. How
unromantic.

Back to
nature for a while again. There is a stream with water that is coloured brown from
ochre. The ochre in the water in our area is also what makes it hard to keep
white laundry white. Welcome to the land of grey bras and panties!

After two
hours of walking (eight kilometres) I wend my way down the streets of Mejdal,
the village where I live just outside of Holstebro, until I am home again and
back to my lush and somewhat wild garden.