The week was spent kowtowing to the wind. It screamed in straight off the North Sea, loud and cold. No matter how brightly the sun shone – and it did shine for much of the time – the wind was bossier. At night, our little red wooden house creaked and shook. Lying in bed, you got the feeling the walls were still standing because the wind was in a playful mood, not an outright mean one.
A few times, we rugged up and headed out, put die Lüdde in a little backpack, her bobble hat bobbling to and fro. We went to a nearby town where even the main street, safely sandwiched between rows of shops, couldn’t escape the wind’s rampage. You always end up either ducking into and spending a disproportionate amount of time in completely random shops, or lasting ten minutes in a new town when the weather outside is being a bully. I was reminded of my famous ten minute jog through a freezing Sonderburg way back when, which left SG astounded that a planned day trip had been compacted into a brisk walk.
A couple of times, we took the cricket set out to the gravelly road and had a bash, losing the ball more than once in the long blonde tussocky grass. One Aussie and two Germans playing cricket in freezing cold Denmark. I must say, the Germans took to it like a duck to water. I was bursting with pride, even when bowled out. When we trooped back into the house after our first game, cricket received the ultimate seal of approval from the resident teen: ‘cooles Spiel.‘
On one particularly ambitious morning, we swaddled die Lüdde and ourselves and headed out to a particularly beautifully located old lighthouse. It was cold and clear, nothing but blue and green and German tourists for miles. We bowled around the circumference, faces taut and cold, and sucked the whistling frische Luft into our lungs.
But mostly, we padded about our little wooden house. Or I did, at any rate, because a few days in, die Lüdde’s nose took on a distinctly snotty look, ruling out more time spent in her backpack outside in the howling wind. And a day or two after her nose started running, mine joined in. Post lighthouse, we were officially out for the count.
We cracked out Monopoly on rainy afternoons. I finished a Jo Nesbo (imagine: reading Scando crime, in Scandinavia, clutching a cup of filter coffee … I essentially was Harry Hole but female and in Denmark and not pursuing a murderer). Morning cups of filter coffee gave way to afternoon pots of tea, and then cup after cup of hot lemon and honey. It was that kind of wifi-less week.
Back home now, the sun has been out everyday, and the wind is gentle. The trees are slowly turning green, some showing off a little and shaking out their glossy leaves well ahead of the others. Soon the forests will be thick again, and it will be time for Friday night red wine on the couch to be officially replaced with Friday night white wine out on the cafe pavements. We’re still snotty and all but out for the count – but the vitamin D and blooming magnolia trees are helping.
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