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  • Writer's picturePaul Kilgour

Round Trip #7 Sjællandsbroen-Langebro

Friday 14 May 2021

Ringo is in a mood. A bad one. If you follow these blog posts (as I’m sure you do, right?) you will know that my day invariably starts off when I tread in something that found its way out through one end of a cat. To my delight this morning, I found no evidence of anything having escaped to somewhere it shouldn’t. No puddle on the floor, no regurgitated Dreamies, no curling, stinky thing that looks and smells like a cat turd because it is. Not a sausage (to pardon the intended pun), bugger all. So happy was I that I failed to notice the evil one creeping up behind me, and promptly trod on his tail! There ensued a wailing and gnashing of teeth so fierce that I expected to be cast into a furnace of fire! Fortunately, due to his demented state he no longer recalls this episode. Fire and brimstone be gone! He is now scoffing his treats beside me on the sofa, happy as a clam. For as long as the treats last, at least. Just how happy is a clam, anyway? Has anyone ever measured its happiness? I mean, on a scale of ‘extremely happy, bottom feeding safely on the sea bed at high tide’, to ’being arranged on a nice restaurant plate with a white wine sauce’? What do you think?

As regular readers of this blog will no doubt know (I know both of you are regular readers), I promised boats for this instalment. And do we have boats! Big one's, small one's, mostly not as God intended them. Not entirely sure how many of them would get you across the harbour before you are forced to put your doggy paddle skills to the test.

The first thing we come across is a boatyard. Or rather, a tumbledown collection of old shacks, roughly fenced off. Bits of old boats and what could also be remnants of various kitchen appliances lay scattered around like the aftermath of a Viking white goods invasion. Lengths of fishing net draped over them, resembling giant cobwebs. Knowing my luck, the giant spider that made them will be lurking somewhere just round the corner.

There is a distinct smell of engine oil and stale cigarettes as I stray accidentally into a private area. I am immediately verbally accosted by a man who looks to be a hundred years old and could easily have come second or third in an Uncle Albert lookalike competition.

So, rapidly fleeing the scene whilst Uncle Albert shouts insults - “Røvbanan!”, “Klaptorsk!”, I was too far away to hear the rest, though one of them may have been “Skidespræller!” Nice to meet the locals. The next part is a nice gentle stroll along the harbour front. The boats to my left swaying in the gently undulating current. Those to my right could only be described as ex-boats, some still battling a lost cause of impersonating something that might float for a while if you’re very lucky. Wear your rubber rings to be on the safe side.

About half way we come to yet another cycle bridge, about which etc., etc! The second half of this stage becomes decidedly more civilised, and demonstrably less interesting. A harbour front that ought to be thronging with activity: bars, café’s, etc., is mostly empty. No bars, a couple of rather expensive looking café/restaurants, a pissoir, and little else. There’s a place to swim and a thing to dive off. Whoopie!

Which brings us to a rather disappointing ending. Anyone would think that the Danes do not like to have fun, which is not true at all. But boy do they have to work for it.

Next time: I’m making no promises.

Weather: It’s getting warmer. I don’t like it.

Reflections: Boatyards are great.

Coffee: Slusens Café. Flat White 6/10. 30kr Average. Not enough, as usual.

Distance: 4.36km

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