kms in a single day. Might explain why the ancient B was snoring gently this morning instead of hounding me.
I played hound instead, and we hurriedly put all our stuff together, and rushed out. Suddenly I wanted to slow down - but B insisted we had a long way to go. But it's only 7 hours i protested, not if you want to see Mons Klint, B reminded me.
Aha. Mons Klint. In all the excitement of the last few days i had clearly ignored my initial enthusiasm when i had discovered Mons Klint. In the pictures it looked like a piece of the world that existed only in Pajero ads or exotic holiday brochures.
So we set out - the Danish roads as boring as can be. I suddenly was missing the 'husk bilbelte'(buckle up) signs from the Norwegian highways. Some fresh Bagels from a nearby bageri and a special Dansk garlic flavoured cream Havarti was a perfect beginning to the day. Better still, we had managed to dispense with some of the endless change that seemed to be piling up. The euro had spoilt us - currency exchanges were clearly a thing of the past in our heads. These Kroners had frusted us no end, as had the toll gates across Scandinavia.
Fortunately the Danish countryside soon looked up as we crossed over from Zealand to Mon and Falster, south-east of Copenhagen.
The island of Mon turned out to be a surprise, with little villages and quaint towns such as Stege, with perfect little churches, houses and plenty of strawberry shacks. The weather, and the landscape had an almost Provencal air. Van Gogh would be inspired.
Mons Klint, the 5,000-year-old chalk cliffs whose dramatic and striking drop 128 metres into the sea has proved to be a popular tourist attraction for Danes for many years, was in fact real! It was just like the pictures promised, if anything was much more spectacular. In addition, the nearby Klinteskoven woodland is perfect for hiking, picnics and horse riding excursions. Plenty of trailers were parked nearby for long-term campers perhaps.
Of course the climb up the cliff to get a bird's eye view, and some photos was very tiring, but worth it. Though this meant that the climb down 400 stairs to the beach was double the effort! But we were suitably rewarded; the sunny, cloudless day reflected varied colours of the sea - emerald, turquoise and azure. A nearby sign suggested that the East Sea, the Kategatt and the Baltic sea were all visible on a clear day. Sometimes the Russian coast line as well.
The time had come to head home. A drive across Mon and Falster, across quiet unhurried villages and bright red poppies, we arrived in Lolland, yet another island. The town of Rødby, a ferry port appeared, as did a large Scandlines Ferry to take us to Puttgarden, in Germany. 45 minutes, some very blue skies and entertaining seagulls, we were now in Germany. In a few hours flat lands and chubby cows would greet us, back home in 's-hertogenbosch.
But for now, needless to say - B turned into HarryP., the car into a broomstick, and me, the petrified house elf.
All good things must come to an end, as had this fortuitous adventure of fairy tales, a first home, fjords, family and friends.
As Longfellow said, "Skoal! To the Northland ! Skoal! Thus the tale ended.
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