I am enjoying breakfast at the Helnan Marselis Hotel when a Danish lady with a beaming smile literally bounds into the room. This is Elisabeth Fogh, my guide for the visit to the MoesgardMuseum. Elisabeth is hugely enthusiastic about Aarhus, Denmark and life, having had an amazing recovery from a bad head injury following a horse riding accident.
Moesgard, a 15 minute drive south from Aarhus through some delightful beech woods, has a wealth of treasures on display from Denmark’s Viking past amid some splendid surroundings. Many years ago I attended their summertime ‘Moot’, an atmospheric and realistic display of Viking role-play.
But there’s no doubt that the star attraction is the 2300-year old Grauballe Man, discovered in a peat bog with his throat slit in 1952. There’s much speculation over whether it was a ritual killing, but Elisabeth and I (neither qualified in archaeology!) don’t think the evidence supports the theory.
The museum has a fascinating collection of local finds, including a hoard of coins which prove that the Danes were trading with far off lands such as Iraq and Iran as far back as the 10th century. So much for modern-day globalisation!
Elisabeth, who speaks fluent Spanish as well as English, is a delightful and charming host and I’m sad that we don’t have more time together.
I’m having a quick trip to Aalborg, 80 minutes north by Express Train. It’s a nostalgic trip because I first visited there in a warship some forty years ago, docking on the Limfjord, right at the bottom of the main street.
It’s a gorgeous autumn day and the journey through some beautiful rural Jutland countryside is simply wonderful. My time is short, so I walk up the main street to the river, take some pictures and head back home again.
Back at my hotel, I am startled when a man in a paraglider appears within a few metres of my second floor window. He repeats this act a dozen or so times until, after landing, his foil becomes tangled up in a bramble hedge!
It’s my final morning of thirty days of travelling and I celebrate by having a swim in the Helnan Marselis pool. There is something special about being in a warm pool overlooking a chilly ocean!
I spend most of the morning on a totally justified return visit to the OldTown and like it even more. I have timed my departure to make sure I have a trip on the German Railways superb Inter City Express which goes from Aarhus to Hamburg, although I will only be on board for an hour.
Even so, I am treated to a coffee and a snack in my very private little compartment.
At Esbjerg, I am pleased to discover that, as the holder of a rail ticket, the number 5 bus to the docks is free.
The DFDS waiting room is cramped and lacking facilities, so I repair to the adjacent local island ferry terminal, which is much better equipped.
On board Dana Sirena, www.dfds.co.uk) I am being treated to Commodore Class. The cabins are well-appointed and spacious but the real Wow factor is the comfortable and well equipped lounge. We are on deck ten in a severe gale force nine, but it’s an absolutely splendid way to end my trip.
I am never at my best when I’ve had a disturbed night’s sleep. I shudder to think what the noise in the courtyard must be like at weekends. In addition, I have discovered that my king-sized bed was equipped with something I absolutely hate – two single duvets.
So, rather than linger till my intended 1100 departure time, I head down for an early breakfast. It is a buffet, another pet hate. A coach load of elderly Americans are busy squirreling away (they thought, surreptitiously!) croissants and pots of yoghurt into their bags, presumably for their lunch.
As York wakes up, I enjoy the 20 minute walk up the hill to the station. The choristers from the MinsterSchool being led, crocodile-style across the road, to the Cathedral. Cycling commuters, many still bravely (or stupidly) in shorts, despite a distinctly autumnal chill to the morning.
I’m just in time to catch the Cross Country Service from Birmingham to Edinburgh, although I am only going as far as Carlisle. It’s very pleasant, but not a patch on the comfort levels onboard East Coast trains’ HST’s..
I wave my ticket in front of a camera to gain admission to the First Class lounge at Newcastle and help an old lady make sense of the high-tech tea and coffee machine.
The Northern Rail service to Carlisle is formed of two ancient diesel carriages, long overdue for refurbishment and much in need of a decent clean. But the train is quiet and the journey turns out to be a gem. The route follows the TyneValley and its splendid countryside. We trundle through stations with names like Haltwhistle and see endless flocks of sheep and dry stone walls. It’s an unexpected treat.
We are held up by a signal outside Carlisle and although I alert the conductor to my short connection to Whitehaven, that (also Northern Rail) train disappears off to my intended lunch destination as we are pulling in. Such things would not happen in Germany!
So instead of a nice lunch in Whitehaven, I sit on Carlisle station for an hour.
I make sure I am sitting on the right hand side of the carriage, because, after Maryport, you have a splendid view of the seaside. At least I would have done if the windows had not been, like the train, filthy. I fully realise the difficulties of trying to run rural railways, but there can be no excuse for sloppy cleaning.
We pass lovely St. Bees with the impressive buildings and grounds its’ public school, followed shortly afterwards by the enormous nuclear power station at Sellafield/Windscale.
One is left wondering if the line would exist at all, were it not for the constant stream of nuclear and other materials being delivered as freight.
As we have headed south down the Cumbrian coast, the weather has deteriorated to become torrential rain. Dave Jenner, my host at the Ravenglass and Eskdale Railway, agrees with me that the best bet is to settle me in at the splendidly characterful Bower House Inn in Eskdale (www.bowerhouseinn.co.uk) and we’ll do narrow gauge steam trains in the morning.
Belgian Conductor on the train from Antwerp to Lille
DIEPPE
The Villa des Capucins in Dieppe (www.villa-des-capucines.fr) is an old presbytery, stepped in history. The rooms are small, but very pretty, overlooking the pretty gardens. Mt host, Mlle Bore, tells me that her tabby cat, Mme. Poussette, won’t stray far from her kitchen. Shortly after, I have a visitor outside my room. Cats know who their friends are!
It’s quite a while since I have been to Dieppe. It’s a town which seems filled with the colour of flowers, the sound of church bells and the smell of lovely coffee.
It’s thirty years since the town launched its kite festival, now a nine day event which attracts entries from forty countries and a total of there quarters of a million visitors. It’s a wonderful spectacle, with kites of all shapes and sizes dancing around the skies above the beachfront venue.
I note with interest that the town has thousands of free parking spaces, something which some of our seaside resorts would do well to emulate.
I have been invited to dinner at ‘Au Grand Duquesne’, in the shadow of the impressive 600 year-old St. Jacques Church. On my way there, a couple ask me the location of another restaurant. I tell them, with the authority of someone who has just peered through the window of said restaurant, that it is closed on Monday and recommend the one to which I am headed.
The meal is excellent. The place is packed. Le patron tells me that it’s because a lot of restaurants close on Monday, but I think it’s rather more than that. The thirty or so diners are served by the boss and 16 year old Gabriel, who’s only been there for two weeks, but is clearly under strict tutelage.
As I leave, a couple dining on the pavement outside stop me to thank me for my recommendation.
Dieppe’s old swimming pool complex has been much modernised. Now ‘Les Bains’ incorporates a splendid indoor and outdoor pool and a big spa.
I am given a fifty minute ‘Sea water ritual’ treatment, which involves seven different creams being plastered on my face. I liken it to being iced like a cake. Jacques Pradines, the boss, tells me how wonderful my skin is looking, but the face that looks back at me from the mirror doesn’t look 50 quid younger to me. But I have enjoyed teaching English to my plasterer, Alexandra.
On a previous visit to Dieppe, I was entertained by the splendid Claude Olivier at his eponymous epicerie. Now, daughter Benedicte runs this glorious emporium of fine cheese, wine and much more besides. She entertains me over a lovely local cider and two local cheeses.
Interestingly, she advises that a dry white wine is a much better accompaniment than red for most cheeses and tells me that, at Christmas, the Olivier family always enjoys Stilton and some mature cheddar. Sacre bleu!
After a dismal meal at ‘Le Bistro du Pollet’, where Madame refuses to replace my inedible steak, it’s early to bed. I have to catch my train to Rotterdam at five thirty am.
TO ROTTERDAM
A GlobalRailPass gives you, in theory, unlimited travel on the rail services of twenty European countries. In practice, making reservations on the fastest and busiest routes can be difficult. Hence my early start.
Instead of travelling via Paris, I have selected a route via Rouen, Lille and Antwerp. While not quite as fast as the TGV’s of France and Belgium, I think it’s a much nicer journey, with morning commuters coming on and off at various stages. Having started 90 minutes earlier than I might have done, I arrive in Rotterdam within a few minutes of my original scheduled time.
My taxi driver is incredibly grumpy as he takes me the short distance to the Hilton Hotel and wants to extract double the seven euro fifty minimum fare. As if, as a stranger in town, I am supposed to know it would be quicker walking. My mood is not brightened by the Hilton Hotel giving me a room next to the lift and wanting to charge me 22 Euros to use the internet. Unbelievable.
But lunch at the eclectic Bazar restaurant, with its fusion of African and Middle Eastern dishes does much to improve matters.
It’s a windy day, which makes my trip up the 100 metre high Euromast interesting to say the least. At the top, you can take the Euroscope, a rotating lift, another 85 metres to the top. Wonderful views, if slightly scary in the windy conditions. I declare no interest in the abseiling and rope sliding options for descent.
To end my day, I climb on board the Splashtours bus, which can travel on land and water. To my mind, it’s more gimmick than practical and, if you sit at the back, incredibly noisy when you are in the water. But, travelling in a bus with lifejackets under the seats is odd, to say the least.
My Rotterdam Welcome Card gives me unlimited travel on the city’s excellent public transport service, so I take the metro home for an early night.
Up with the lark after a splendid night’s sleep in a four poster bed. My hosts, Paul and Linda Garwood very much treat their guests as friends and its all first names. The Cary Court’s (www.carycourthotel.co.uk) is splendid, with smoked salmon and cream cheese bagels among the choices.
I am booked to take a 1942 Fairmile launch to Dartmouth, but there’s an easterly blowing and I am told that most passengers would see their breakfasts appear again in no time at all as soon as the craft nosed her way into the bay. I am disappointed, because it’s a rare opportunity to experience a craft which served the Royal Navy valiantly for many years.
But the operator, Greenway Ferry (www.greenwayferry.co.uk), has a splendid alternative in the form of a lovingly restored 1948 Leyland bus. Roger, the driver, is an excellent host and gives a commentary that is interesting, amusing and original.
Nobody is expecting me at Greenway, Agatha Christie’s holiday home overlooking the river Dart and when I ask to see Robyn Brown, the property manager, I receive a rather terse ‘Do I have an appointment’ message back. But eventually, after every one else in the queue is dealt with, I am allowed in.
I have to deposit my bag before entering the house for my timed entrance, only to be told that ‘cameras are not allowed’. I explain that I am a journalist, writing a feature, but it is prohibited, verboten. Supposedly the taking of photographs ‘breaches the Trust’s copyright’. I will investigate further, but I find it very odd that they want publicity but seem to do everything they can to prevent it happening. Their copyright? I thought the National Trust was looking after properties for us, not them.
I arrive back at the bus less than pleased, but Roger calms me down and sends me down to the quay to get a ferry to Dartmouth. The boat deposits nearly a hundred folk before I get on board, the sole passenger. The trip from Greenway starts opposite Dittisham, for many years the home of the Dimbleby family. David and Jonathan are both regular visitors and their sister also has a home in the village.
I have only been to Dartmouth once since I joined the Royal Naval College exactly forty years ago and it’s become rather twee. Or maybe it was then and I just didn’t notice before.
There are loads of art galleries and antique shops and the town is clearly very popular. I spend some time at one of my favourite haunts of yesteryear, the Cherub Pub, dating from around 1380, although my memory has forgotten quite where it is and I have had to seek directions at the tourist information office. The Cherub bitter is off (it transpires that whoever changed the barrel reconnected the old one), so I settle for an excellent half of ‘Proper Job’ which comes from St. Austell in Cornwall.
Sitting on a bench beside the river Dart in the autumn sunshine is delightful, watching the comings and going of the higher and lower ferries and the steam train puffing along from Kingswear on the other side. The river is a lot busier than I remember, with new marinas on both sides, but the essential character of the place very much seems to have been retained.
Back at Greenway, Roger is there to take me back to Torquay. Obligingly, he stops in the local village to allow a tourist to take a photograph and he takes a small diversion in Torquay to drop an elderly couple closer to their hotel. It’s just splendid customer service.
I am booked to take a flight in the Hi Flyer tethered balloon, but the wind is being difficult, so I decide to call it a day.
Two years ago, I was commissioned to write a series on European Rail Travel. The month-long trip was highly successful. Tourist boards and hotel groups could not have been more enthusiastic in supporting the venture and I could have spent three or four months trying to visit all the destinations that were offered. A series of four weekly features ran in the Saturday magazine of England's biggest regional daily paper, the Eastern Daily Press, its sister title, the East Anglian Daily Times and several others. I did radio weekly radio reports as well as pre and post trip interviews.
I was paid for writing them, not much, but enough to cover my expenses. I have subsequently sold many of my photographs to a wide range of organisations, from tourist boards and hotel groups to newspapers, magazines and to Eurail, who provided the First Class Global Rail Pass.
Eurail offered me the opportunity to do another trip last year, but an over full diary meant that it had to be deferred until September 2010.
But what a difference a couple of years makes. Having done a lot of rail travel in Continental Europe over the past couple of years, plus extensive trips around Scotland in 2009, I decided to theme the 2010 journey ‘Coastal Rail Journeys of southern UK and near Europe. I promoted the journey in exactly the same way as before but despite a hugely enthusiastic initial response, tourist boards have either trimmed down their involvement or, in several cases, cited ‘no available budget to pay for accommodation’.
That in itself would not have been a problem, had the media world itself not had to cope with shrinking advertising. That meant no payments at all for writing or broadcasting about the trip from the commissions I have received.
But, like theatre, the show must go on with an itinerary that has been very much amended from that initially proposed.
On the downside, I am not now spending as much time in Devon, Dorset, Cornwall and on the English east coast as I had originally planned; Wales has had to be dropped completely. But the financial squeeze is still allowing a great itinerary, which includes good stretches of the English coast, several preserved railways and short forays into Normandy, Holland and Denmark.
Live Luggage (www.liveluggage.com) have kindly loaned me one of their 2012 sports bags, pictured in this first Blog, and it will be very interesting to see how the innovative design of this bag, with its two detachable front sections, works getting on and off trains. The bag weighs over 10 kilos empty, but is ‘designed to put 85% of the weight over its wheels’ so, its ‘anti-gravity handle’ and large wheels makes it actually feel very lightweight.
On Wednesday of this week I shall find out whether the reality matches the PR!
The grocer's shop at 'Den Gamle By'. The man is real.
I’d forgotten what a splendid place Denmark is. The people are friendly, their skin looks unbelievably healthy and there’s a general air of tranquillity which is very much to my taste.
I’ve slept very well in my giant bed, eased into slumber by the waves crashing against the nearby shore. But, yet again, I have a tiny duvet which, reception tells me, is the norm in Denmark.
I’ve got an Aarhus Card (www.visitaarhus.com) which allows me unlimited use of the local buses. The yellow ones, not the blue ones, as I found to my cost last night.
The very friendly receptionist at the Hotel Helnan Marselis has kindly printed out bus timetables for the connections I need to make to get to one of Denmark’s most splendid attractions, ‘Den Gamle By’, which translates as ‘The Old Town’.
Founded in 1909, there are now some 75 historic buildings, brought from all over Denmark.
But it’s not just the splendid buildings. A great deal of care has been taken to make each property a living museum with people acting out roles as shopkeepers, bakers, stable lads and much more.
I first visited the museum more than forty years ago and I’m delighted to discover that they haven’t rested on their laurels. There is now the old town, locked in 1864, a new town, which looks at life in 1927 and, currently under construction, the 1974 town. Funding permitting, that will be complete in 2014.
Over a third of a million people visit in a year, with the busiest time being in the Christmas period, when the town takes on a very special atmosphere indeed.
I love the latest developments and I am hugely impressed with the whole place, especially the 1683 Mintmaster’s Mansion, lovingly reconstructed by Den Gamle By’s skilled craftsmen after the building lay in storage in Copenhagen for several decades.
There’s so much to see that I hope to fit in a return visit.
I ask my lovely guide about Danes and their duvets. She confirms that the single duvet is the norm but, having just spent two years in Boston, confesses that she’s brought back a big one for her marital bed!
Aarhus is bathed in autumn sunshine, which makes the buildings look their best. The nine-storey ARoS art gallery is one of the largest in Europe. I admire the work being done for its’ latest attraction, a 150 metre walkway being built on the roof. The five-metre tall sculpture ‘Boy’, by Australian artist Ron Mueck, is just one of many exhibits in this 17,700 square metres of art, dating from 1770 to the present day.
I’m glad that I’ve added an extra day in Aarhus. There really is a lot to see and do.
A typical street scene in 'Den Gamle By'
Danes love their bikes!
Lovely colours and shapes in an Aarhus supermarket
