Day 15: 24.06.24
Sometimes the only way to get around is to hop. That’s how I feel right now. Since I arrived at my sleeping place, I’ve been bubbling over with joy and happiness.
Now I’m going for a walk in this heath landscape. Unfortunately, I can’t pronounce the Danish word for it, but I really like it. The woman who filled my bottles for me in the early evening (and gave me a free lemonade) advised me to use this heath as a place to sleep.
It took me a moment to get over the idea of cycling another 40 kilometres. But then I remembered why I was doing this in the first place. Not to break speed records. I am proud when I cycle 160 kilometres in a day, but the much more colourful and fuller stories are the ones I find along the way when I stop. I want to follow what comes up instead of what I think I have to or should do. So I turn off and make my way to this place to sleep.
The cold water that I pour over my body feels like four litres of pure happiness. There are no showers here. I fill my water bag and stand naked in the evening sun, letting the water wash away the dirt and sweat of the day.
In Denmark, there are shelters, small huts that you can find on a map and in which you can stay overnight for free or for a very small contribution. Some are really just a small wooden hut, others have toilets or even showers. I assumed that this experience would be lonelier than my last days in Germany. I’m almost grateful that wild camping is banned in Germany and that I’m forced to interact with people if I’m not prepared to pay €20 for a campsite.
My evening was certainly not lonely. I was a little curious about the two ladies whose campsite I had passed. And so, during my ramble through the campsite, I more or less accidentally passed by them. I wish you a good appetite. They invite me to sit down with them. I am served steak, potatoes and red wine.
Their two horses never leave their sides. If one moves, the other follows immediately. The two women seem to go through life in a similar way. They met when they were seven and are now 63. They married, had children, but with or without children they travelled together almost every year. Often to the shelters. They tell me how they once got caught in a hailstorm with the horses. Shivering and with their teeth chattering, they stumbled across a castle. They and their horses were taken in for the night.
They have made themselves right at home here at the campsite. There is a tablecloth. Flowers from home. They have even grown their own potatoes. The two of them are (or were) farmers. Both of them always have a wonderful grin on their faces. I was even invited to breakfast. I was even asked how I like my eggs cooked.
Before that, the day had been fairly uneventful. I drove, bought food and drove on, eating again. The heat was getting to me. It was supposedly only 22°C, but I still reached my limits on the asphalt. Grandma is right when she says that you would have to mix our temperature perceptions to get a halfway normal person. For her, that would be the first temperature at which she might dare to take off her woollen jumper.
I can hear the cuckoo in the distance. I just met a mouse, and the sky is slowly turning red. The sun has disappeared behind the hill. I have neglected my duties at the camp a little today. The laundry is not done yet, nothing is set up. Nevertheless, I am quite calm.
