I woke up sometime just before six, I had vague memories about getting back to the hotel, from bed I did a quick inventory check: trousers, wallet, glasses, phone, etc, and all seemed to be there, but someone had apparently emptied my wallet of all my money. Now I remember what I don’t do this any more. Saying that, I guess I had no more than six pints, probably five, but that was more than enough.
I lay in bed just enjoying the fact I could lay here all darn day if I wanted. I get up at eight, head down for breakfast, then think about what to do with the day. I decide to head down to Ribe, a fine old town with the oldest cathedral in Denmark, its just half an hour’s drive down the coast, and is good for wandering around with a camera. But the fine morning was already clouding over, and there was the promise of rain as I walked over to the car park and headed out of town.
Indeed, as I arrived in Ribe, parked up, it was already drizzling, however, it might pass, so I set off for the centre of town, and where the other visitors would be milling around. As I reached the main street, and it passed over the main river, I could see there was a festival in progress. Even with my limited knowledge of Danish, I read the posters advertising the fact too.
On the quayside, people were giving demonstrations of ancient crafts, making iron, arrows and making rope too. Always good to see rope being made. It was crowded, and I soon left the quay for the ancient cobbled streets around the cathedral. I went in again, this time with a better camera to get shots, it is a wonderful place, but then what cathedral isn’t?
I decide that I had got my shots, and once back outside the rain was falling heavier, I decided to head back to the hotel, and think about lunch. In fact, as it turned out, I wasn’t that hungry at all, which was odd. I mess around with photographs, and listen to the radio before thinking about lunch. I walk up the main street surprised to find that most of the shops had already closed.
I end up in some kind of Danish fast food joint, I order what is called a ‘snackburger’ which, when it came, seemed to be a small bun with a slice of ham and some salad in it. Not bad, and filled the hole before the evening main event: a bbq.
So, I walk back to the hotel to be in time to be picked up for the short drive to Varde, some 15km north. Ish.
Shelly arrived on time, catching me out flicking through a day-old copy of The Times in the hotel, I jump in the car with her and her two bi-lingual children. See, Shelly is Australian, married to a Danish soldier, and they have two children. So, it was all children related malarkey for most of the evening. The weather was not to kind, it clouded oer and threatened rain, so we cooked food outside and ate indoors as the rain came down harder.
We watch the end of the Argentina-Belgium game, and at full time, Shelly runs me back to town. That was nice. I realise that she was pretty much the first person I spoke to that day.
I travel in biscuits, getting me nowhere.
Sunday.
I wake up and all seems well. I have to vacate the hotel, well this hotel, and move into another in Ringkobing. As someone pointed out, sounds like a nasty disease. So, I go down for breakfast, and afterwards head back to the room to transfer the contents of the crap suitcase into the new ‘super’ wheely suitcase. So, all that done, at half nine I check out, settle the bill and load the car up.
I head out to Blavand, an area north of Esbjerg made of sand dunes and wide sandy beaches. It is a popular holiday area, popular with mainly Germand, whose cars I see everywhere, bedecked with flags ready for the semi finals in tow day’s time. I look for dune orchids, but find none as most of the dunes are covered by wild roses, that give the air a fine flowery aroma. I snap a couple of butterflies, but the rain returns so I head back to the car to head north once again.
I was following the sat nav across the Danish version of Sailsbury Plain, all cross-crossed with tank tracks and the occasional public roads. I pass small villages, some with churches, but I don’t stop. I follow the coast road up past Hvide Sande following the twisty road through the dunes which protect the large lake to the east. Round the lake, and into Ringkobing.
I drive round looking for the factory, once finding it, happy that I would know where to go in the morning so not be stressed. I head back to the hotel on the edge of town, park up, check in and go to my room thinking I might like to watch the grand priix from Silverstone. I find it on the TV, the race having just been stopped due to a crash. I wait for nearly an hour, but as soon as the racing begins, I am bored with it, so bored I turn it over and find Le Tour de Yorkshire nearing its end. But my attention fails to be taken and I mess around on the computer.
At seven I go for dinner, and from the slim menu: it has three main courses (two fish) and two deserts. I have steak and crème brulee and a bottle of beer and can’t even really people watch as there is just the one other table with customers. Food was OK, if a little bland, but then the company was paying!
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