Our Prague Autumn

We’re half way between Berlin and Prague, and Pauline thinks a nice chicken sandwich from the buffet car would go down well for lunch. With both of us less than impressed by German food, and rumours of Czech food being similar, I wasn’t hopeful. But a chicken sandwich has to be pretty safe - some nice crusty fresh bread, slices of cooked chicken, a bit of cheese, lettuce and tomato. Not too hard, is it?

I suspect what we’re delivered isn’t from either Germany or the Czech Republic. It comes from some

deep and unpleasant abyss right on the border. Lobbed by Charon from the gates of hell, it materialises on our plate - toasted white bread with dry and overcooked chicken in the middle, served on a bed of cardboard fries. Things aren’t looking great as we continue our European culinary expedition.

AirBnB lands us in a ground floor apartment in the middle of town, and we set off to explore this Gothic wonderland. We can’t help but be amazed as we walk around the twisting, cobbled side streets, each turn revealing a Gothic spire, an old tower, a statue, a square bedecked with cafe umbrellas, dazzling Swarovski crystal shops, micro-breweries, or sadly at times, a Starbucks or KFC. Even Prague isn’t immune to cultural degradation.

First official stop is the Castle and St Vitus cathedral on the hill over the Vitava River by way of the pedestrian-only Charles Bridge.

Finished in the early 1400s, the bridge has seen its share of history as one of the key routes between western and eastern Europe. If you’d been here in 1621, you’d have seen the 27 severed heads of the Czech resistance leaders prominently displayed from the tower. Didn’t pay to mess with the Hapsburgs in those days.

Unfortunately the interior of the Castle itself is closed for “operational reasons”, so we miss out on one of the highlights. But there’s plenty else to do visiting museums of Prague’s early history, wandering the cathedral and strolling little back alleys and gardens.

My Czech isn’t very good,

but I think the sign reads, “Only wives can use these instruments to control wayward husbands”. I promise to be good!

There are hazards of course in wandering around tourist areas. We do the obvious by zipping up bags and pockets to guard against the light-fingered, but the real hazards are Asian tourists.

Stopping and turning at random in big groups for photos, you either trip over them, get taken out by their swinging Canons, or have an eye removed by an errant selfie pole.

Again the engineering aspects attract my attention. Flying

buttresses to transfer the lateral loads from the vaulted walls and ceilings to the ground, and drainage systems terminated by exquisitely carved gargoyles.

You can tell the artisans really had some fun with these guys, and their grotesque forms were accepted by the church in those days due to their functional and subservient role in God’s glorious creation.

Every hour a crowd gathers around the astronomical clock, and for good reason.  

The skeleton rings the bell to open the shutters, which reveal a procession of saints gliding past. 

 We carry on to the square in the heart of the Old Town as dusk falls. Performers are entertaining the kids by constructing huge soap bubbles. A busker is playing an Elton John medley. Pauline and I have a hug and agree the Proon’s going well. We drop a few korunas in the busker’s hat.

The Powder Tower near the centre of town used to be on an ancient perimeter wall, but as the town expanded it fell into disuse, eventually ending up as a gunpowder

store. Now it’s a place to extract money from tourists wanting to climb the 200-odd steps to the top. But the cost is reasonable, and the views at dusk spectacular (particularly of the twin-spired Tyn Church), so well worth the money. In case you’re wondering, the two spires aren’t quite symmetrical - representing the male and female sides of the world in Gothic times.

The cost isn’t so reasonable for the old Jewish cemetery and synagogue. Pauline’s been here before and says it’s really worth a visit.  But the entry fee is usurious, and I feel like I’m being ripped off, so we pass it by. I content myself with Pauline’s description supplemented by pics from Wikipedia, and don’t feel I’ve missed a thing. Toppled gravestones, religious iconography and reminders of the Holocaust aren’t really my scene anyway. Apparently the costs don’t stop once inside - you’re told the scenes make no sense unless you hire an expensive audio guide. Oh and by the way, you pay extra for the privilege of taking photos. Avoid this place like the plague unless you’re of Jewish heritage.

As opposed to Berlin, there aren’t too many reminders of the former Czechoslovakia’s post-war

Soviet domination and struggle for independence. Surprising as the Prague Spring led by Alexander Dubcek in 1968 and brutally repressed by the Warsaw Pact nations reverberated around the world. Perhaps we just didn’t visit the right museum, but we did find this sobering memorial of “missing” men in a local park.

The Czechs are more fond of Wenceslas, an early king infamously murdered by his younger brother (Boleslav the Cruel) for being generous, fair and even-handed. Wenceslas was raised to sainthood - the patron saint of Bohemia and subsequently the Czech state. His eponymous square in the heart of town is magnificent.

Legend has it that the equestrian statue of King Wenceslas will one day come to life, raise a sleeping army and slay those who dare to threaten the Motherland. Sadly legends are just legends, and the Warsaw Pact troops had things all their own way - until 1989 at least when the Prague Spring finally arrived.

Wandering around you’ll see we’re well rugged up. This is very much our Prague Autumn, and temperatures are just above freezing overnight. We wake up to fog, and as we stroll around in four degree temperatures we wonder if the sun is ever going to break through the cloud. Occasionally it does, but it’s rare to get to double digit temperatures. The special iPhone gloves Pauline gave me for my birthday really come into their own here - warm hands but still screen-friendly. Just a shame the fingerprint sensor doesn’t work.

So you have a brief to design a new building in the middle of Prague’s baroque heritage area.

Do you design something in keeping with its neighbours, or do you go out on a limb and design something radically modern? Needless to say, the Dancing House, generated a bit of controversy back in the 90s when it was constructed, but it’s now considered an icon of Prague.

The beauty of apartment living is we can buy our own food from the supermarkets and cook our own meals. Not only does it keep costs down, it lets us experience a bit more of what every day life for the locals is like, and what food choices they have available. Not surprisingly, Tescos in the middle of Prague is pretty much like any other supermarket - plenty of fruit and veggies as well as everything else you’d expect. So why the central European aversion to green veggies?

We do hit the local restaurants of course, trying to choose local cuisine where we can. Lunch at Il tri ruzi is a case in point.

A micro-brewery specialising in Czech food, the monastic-style unfiltered beer is superb as expected, and Pauline’s spicy sausage cooked in beer certainly tasty, though not a green supplement to be seen.

It’s the sort of place where you want to spend the whole afternoon - Led Zep’s Stairway to Heaven is playing as we arrive, football soon gives way to bike speedway on the TV, and the vibe is good. Even the walls are decorated in the style of religious frescoes, though instead of graphic images condemning sinners to hellfire and the faithful to lute-playing angels, here we have mirth and bonhomie associated with a frothy stein. Only the King and the jester seem a bit the worse for wear after over-imbibing.

Dinner is at Potrefena Husa, and predictably I order the Prague special - pork knee. Delicious of course, but the closest I get to a veggie is the bed of fried red onion, and a horse-radish sauce condiment. Like German food, this is tasty and warming, but lacking in nutritional balance and nothing to write home about. The beer, however, makes up for it, and also makes up the nutritional deficit through unique essence of hop. You just need to drink sufficient quantities for balance (watching for the subsequent lack thereof).

Time to leave Prague, and dispensing with our usual muesli and yoghurt for breakfast we head for the recommended Cafe Louvre. Out of sheer determination I order the Czech breakfast, while Pauline caters to her taste buds with the French breakfast. Pauline’s choice is of course the better, with her omelette and croissant far surpassing my boiled egg, breads and bland cheese.

The menu says “Service not included”, and it got that right. While the food arrives in reasonable time, the coffee doesn’t. Just as it’s time for us to leave, it shows up. Frustrating inattentive service, more stuffing around with the bill and we’re behind schedule to get to the train station. Not a feeling I like. Leaving a city should be a leisurely, reflective affair, not a rush to the station.

Hot and sweaty we collapse into our seats and let our blood pressure and heart rate subside.  Now it’s time for reflection.

There is no doubt Prague is a beautiful, romantic city, and a must-see if you’re in this part of Europe. You’ll be blown away by the architecture, the sights, and the vibe. It’s almost like living in the middle of a fantasy wonderland. Does anyone actually live and work here for real, unless to cater to the tourists?

But Prague isn’t without its less pleasant side. Excluding the cuisine which many will find perfectly acceptable, the big issue with Prague is the way motor vehicle traffic dominates what should be pedestrian precincts. Worse than that, motorists are very pushy and aggressive, parking on footpaths, running red lights, and trying to bully you even when pedestrians have the right of way at pedestrian crossings.

And don’t even think of cycling here - infrastructure is almost non-existent. I did spot one busy street with a sharrow marked on it, but even angels would fear to tread/pedal there. It’s so vastly different from Amsterdam and Copenhagen, and even Berlin. Looks like the further south we go, the worse it gets. Fingers crossed the Hungarians reverse the trend.

Finally there are the smokers. Cigarettes and cigars must be cheap, because unpleasantly the streets are full of foul-smelling second-hand smoke. In NZ we got rid of smokers from restaurants and bars long ago. Not so the Czechs, where there is only nominal separation.

So go to Prague. Sit in an open-air cafe, sip on a beer, and gaze in awe at the architecture. With a smile on your face watch the world slide past and call yourself a Bohemian. Just be sure to parachute into the cafe to avoid being run down getting there, sit on the windward side, and hope the waiter’s done a Kiwihost course.

A day in Potsdam

It’s Sunday 26 October, and the last of our full three days in Berlin. 

Why not go to Potsdam, on the south-western fringe? Doesn’t cost any extra with our Eurail Pass, and we get a chance to see a UNESCO world heritage area. Built by Prussian royalty as a holiday resort, it escaped the worst of

 WW2's devastation, then was sadly neglected for years in the DDR zone. 

But with many buildings now spruced up, it’s a delight to wander around the old palaces, parks and manors.

Sans Souci was Frederick the Great’s summer house. But bypassing the architecture I was more

interested in the workings of the old windmill. 

Spinning at a leisurely 4rpm, it was intriguing watching the wooden gearing and drive belts do their

thing. Well worth a visit, even if you have no interest in engineering.  The view from the top's pretty good too.

We stop for lunch at a cafe in the Dutch quarter for a genuine German meal.  

To be generous, German cuisine is hearty, nutritious, warming and filling. Does it excite the taste buds? No - but who cares. This is the stuff you want on an adventure ride. Just need that old BMW R35 now.

Our final leg of Potsdam takes in the New Park and Cecilienhof Palace.

Built in the style of an English Manor in 1917, this was Duchess Cecilie’s summer house. Nice being a royal in those days - at least until the 1918 revolution.

 Cecilienhof is noteworthy in that in 1945 Churchill, Truman and Stalin met here for the Potsdam Conference to decide how to carve up Germany between them (and France) after the war.  A sense of history is all around.

But as magnificent as the buildings are, one of the most distressing aspects is the amount of graffiti, including some on the more significant historical buildings. I can’t quite understand why the Germans tolerate it. To me it’s out and out vandalism, and as far as I’m concerned the culprits can spend a good amount of their custodial time removing it, ideally with their tongues.

Our final night in Berlin, and understandably we choose to not eat German again. Just round the corner from our apartment is Thai Isaan - just like home in Birkenhead. It comes recommended by our hosts, and not only is it relatively economical, I think it’s the best Thai food I’ve eaten outside Thailand. The “kleine aubergine” are a special addition, the size of a large pea, but with a bitter-sweet taste that really makes the dishes. Must see if we can get some at home.

But now we’re off to Prague. I’ve heard Czech cuisine is even less inspired than German. Hopefully there’ll be a few good ethnic restaurants around if that’s the case. Stay tuned.

Then we take Berlin

Pauline has a worried look on her face. Many of the seats on the Aarhus-Berlin train are already booked, for at least some of the journey. We haven’t booked specific seats, so settle in to a couple which aren’t reserved until Hamburg. Worst case we’ll be sitting on our suitcases for a couple of hours. “I told you we should have booked”, she says. I look a bit sheepish, and reassure her everything will be fine. A few people will be getting off at Hamburg…

We pull in to Hamburg. I’ve found a single seat for Pauline, without a reservation. At least she’s sorted. It’s a bit like musical chairs - as the train pulls away I spot a reserved single with no-one it it. I make a beeline for it and it’s mine. Ok, we’re not sitting together, but the sign of a healthy marriage is having a bit of quiet time on your own, isn’t it? Pauline buys me a coffee so no hard feelings - I just got out of that one by the skin of my teeth. Next international train perhaps I’d better book some seats…

Interesting observations as we travel through the German countryside at over 190kph. The signs on the train remind us just how much CO2 we’re saving by not flying, and as I look out the window I continually see wind farm after wind farm, with the odd solar farm thrown in for good measure. Sure the German economy demands much more energy than ours, but the Germans aren’t lax when it comes to rapidly proliferating renewable energy generation. Again I think how far behind NZ is, and how our nimbyism stalls a lot of wind farm initiatives. Yes I’m worried about changes to the RMA, but if it helps get wind farms built, I’m all for it.

We settle in to our apartment close to the railway station and handy to everything. This time our hosts are Jeremy & Celine, a Singaporean couple from California, if that makes sense. Jeremy’s a writer, while Celine, who we don’t meet till later, is a biochemist completing her PhD. Interesting the people you meet through AirBnB, and I’m more convinced this is a better way to go than using hotels.

Berlin’s had both a romantic and troubled past. Think Unter den Linden and the Brandenburg Gate and you’re taken back to the era of Prussian royalty, a victorious Napoleon, and in the 1930s

columns of marching SS troops.

The Reichstag is a spectacular monument with its newly

constructed glass dome. It’s sobering to think that back in 1933 Hitler used a fire in the building as a pretext to crush the communists in his rise to power, replacing democracy with dictatorship.

But it’s the remnants of the Berlin Wall that are the most poignant reminders of Berlin’s most recent pain. Built by the DDR in 1961 to stop the flood of East Germans fleeing to the west, it wasn’t until 1989 that it finally came down. I remember watching the scenes on TV in awe, thinking that finally the world saw its way past totalitarian dogma and oppression. We’re slow learners - now the cycle is starting all over again with

the dogma and oppression of religious fundamentalism.

There are constant reminders of the wall’s (former) presence. Checkpoint Charlie is perhaps the most obvious, but periodically you’ll stumble upon remnants, sometime cutting through the middle of a cemetery. 

 The white crosses?

A memorial to those killed in no mans land while trying to flee to the West. 

 

And every now and then in the middle of bustling Berlin you’ll

find a double row of inlaid bricks. Yup - that’s where the wall went.

Our accommodation is actually in the eastern zone, and while our block is modern, there are plenty in the vicinity that are drab reminders of the uninspiring Soviet-era architecture. Another reminder are the Trabants - poor quality East German cars that belched pollution from their 600cc 2-stroke engines and could barely pull the skin off a rice custard. They’re status symbols now, of course. We were just settling down into our table at a cafe when half a dozen immaculately restored ones went past in convoy. Still belching smoke though - there’s a limit to how you can contain the emissions from a two-stroke engine.

But its the Soviet era motor bikes and scooters that really catch my eye.

Completely by chance we wander a side street with a bike museum - I don’t give Pauline any choice on this one. I’d tried to book in to the BMW bike factory tour in Berlin, but sadly they were closed for maintenance during our stay. This is the next best thing.

Hmm - a picnic box. I’starting to get a few ideas for enhancements to the DRZ. I’ll be the envy of my

adventure riding mates if I show up with one of these. Even more of an envy if I show up on the bike itself!

But the highlight of the museum? After fruitlessly scouring

Denmark for a troll, I finally find one in Berlin! I’ve heard trolls are pretty strong, and this one’s no exception. Despite being 50 years old, he still has the power of 9 horses. Better not aggravate him.

Finally, you can’t go past an East German bike museum without

acknowledging that the dirt bikes and riders from that era were actually pretty good, with MZ winning the majority of the International Six Day Trial events in the 60s (hope I got that right, John!).

Our final wander in Berlin takes us through Alexanderplatz. The highlight for Pauline is a department store where she can finally buy a decent hat. Berlin’s a lot colder than Denmark, and her woollen

scarf just doesn’t cut it. With a jaunty European style, she looks like one of the locals. I, on the other hand, just look like an out of place old curmudgeon. Aggravated by the fact I’m sporting a head cold, I manage to embarrass Pauline by loudly exclaiming, “I need drugs!” in the middle of the store. 

 I do manage to score a coffee plunger, though. Surprising how many of our stays don’t have even the basics of coffee facilities.

It’s Neptune’s fountain in the middle of the Platz that has me intrigued. I’d just finished reading a TransportBlog article about how Auckland could do with more water features. After seeing this, I can only agree. Big open spaces, water features, surrounding shops and cafes - they’re a magnet for people. All we seem to want to do in Auckland is build in our open spaces, and run cars through what little’s left. We’ve still got a lot to learn about liveable cities.

Berlin’s still got a bit of grunge. There's a bit of rebuilding to do, for a quarter of the city at least, but it’s a great place to visit. Both the people and the temperature are cooler, traffic is faster, the cycle facilities not as well developed, but it’s showing promise. I could live here, but looking back on our travels to date, the Netherlands is still hard to beat.

Our final day in Berlin will be spent in the south-western suburbs.  Why?  Next post...

Aarhus in northern Denmark

When Birte left Southern Cross Medical Care Society a few years ago, she made the throw away comment, “Oh, if any of you are coming to Denmark, you must come and stay”. I’m sure she wasn’t expecting anyone to seriously take her up on the offer, particularly as she and her husband Kim live in Aarhus, a bit off the beaten tourist track.

Little did they realise that a couple of intrepid Kiwis did indeed want to visit Aarhus, and after an exchange of emails all was sorted. Birte was keen to catch up with the gossip, and as luck would have it I’d just kicked off a project at Southern Cross, and many of the old team are still there.

Birte meets us at the station and we drive out to their lovely home in the south-western suburbs. “What would you like to eat?”, Birte asks. Anything Danish! As we travel, Pauline and I resolve to immerse ourselves in the local culture, and that means local food (especially cheese), local beer, and where possible, local wine (though Denmark isn’t really renowned for its wines).

Birte serves up a traditional Danish breakfast of breads and cheeses, and there amongst the selection are a pair of fine Danish Blues - one medium and creamy, the other tangy and strong. Both are excellent, and another tick in the box for Danish attractions.

Checking the weather carefully, we make plans for our two days in Aarhus. The Moesegaard

Museum wins for day one. Situated near the coast to the south-east, Moesegaard has recently been redeveloped, and features a five km bush walk through old burial mounds and Viking houses. This is troll territory. 

 

I send Pauline and Birte in to scare them out, but to no avail. Guess

our visit to Denmark will end up troll-less.

The museum itself is magnificent. Built as a wedge lifting out of the

ground, it contains multiple levels featuring realistic and dynamic re-enactments of mankind’s history. 

This Neanderthal looks eerily familiar - like someone who came

to a BBQ in my student days and I’ve forgotten his name. 

 

Even bump into Stephen Hawking - a man who knows a lot about life,

the universe and everything.

Well worth a visit. It’s refreshing visiting a museum that tries really hard to bring history to life.

Birte and Kim’s local supermarket makes us feel really close to

home. Not sure if it’s named after the bird, the fruit, or the people, but their website claims they have an extraordinary focus on ecology, so perhaps they’re capitalising on our clean, green image? All we’ve got to do at home now is live up to it. Cleaning up our rivers would be a good start. I’m with Gareth Morgan on this.

Day two and it’s pissing down in Aarhus. Perhaps not surprising - we’re at the northern-most point of our trip, and further north than Edinburgh. We spend the morning researching Berlin and booking ahead while keeping a close eye on Accuweather. As the clouds clear we hop the bus into Aarhus,

and wander the Stroget (shopping street) and old town. Pauline’s so impressed by my Ecco Gortex boots she buys a similar pair for herself.

The ARoS art museum is spectacular, both inside and out. The trick is to go

to the top and circulate around the coloured rainbow, then make your way down through various weird and thought-provoking exhibitions. If the purpose of art is to stir emotions and discussions, this does it in spades.

Our final night and we plan to take Birte and Kim out to dinner to say thanks for having us. They’ve booked us in to a uniquely Danish restaurant, and recommend the platter for two, which they also have themselves. We start off with breads (and are cautioned not to fill up), then two types of herring (both delicious), prawns, smoked eel (excellent) and salmon. We’re starting to feel a bit full by now, and I’m almost weeping as the surfeit of food is whisked away. The eel! The salmon!

But that's just a sampler. Now the roast beef arrives. Given my previous experience with Danish beef I order very rare, and it arrives medium, still tasty though. I'm taking my time I get through it. Loosening the top button of my jeans I’m rather hoping the meal is over, but I’d forgotten the cheese course. The choice is either “old cheese”, or deep-fried Camembert. Of course I go with the Danish old cheese. Apart from goat, I enjoy strong cheeses, and am looking forward to sampling this one.

I’ve underestimated the Danes in being able to make incredibly pungent strong cheese. It takes my breath away, and I can only manage a mouthful. Both my taste buds and my stomach are crying out, “Enough!”, so with reluctance I leave my barely-touched cheese for the scrap bin.

It’s great talking with Birte, and Kim, who’s an economics professor. We get on really well, covering work, family, politics, religion, colonisation, international hotspots, and of course, cycling. Hopefully we can welcome them back to NZ one day, because we owe them one. Despite giving them lots of notice in advance that I’m paying for dinner, Kim steps in and settles the bill before I can intervene. All I can do now is to overpay the stamps for the postcard I’m sending off with my remaining kroner.

It’s an early start on Thursday morning, 23 Oct. The train for Berlin leaves just before 8am, so we’re up at sparrows getting ready. Needless to say, we don’t need much breakfast. Last night’s cheese is still repeating on me. Birte and Kim run us to the station, and after a hug good bye we’re on our way.

Love Denmark, both the people and the country. Fiercely independent and living in the shadow of a powerful neighbour, Danes share many characteristics with Kiwis and Canucks. Love to beat our neighbours at sport, love to take the piss out of them at every opportunity, but begrudgingly accepting their influence and economic power.

And now we’re venturing into the powerhouse. The last time I was in Germany was 1981, eight years before the Berlin Wall fell, so I never visited the city. Now it’s time to make amends.

A few days in Copenhagen

Our sleeper from Utrecht to Copenhagen is novel to say the least. The handbasin swings both ways - either left over the shower, or right over the loo. Hmmm. We settle in to our bunk beds and resolve to try the shower in the morning.

The shower’s hardly worth bothering about - no water! “Sorry - technical difficulties - try again in half an hour”, says the Guard. Pauline gets through the shower ok, then it’s my turn. Just rinsing off and… no water. I send Pauline out to resolve the technical difficulties. Aeons pass. I finish my rinse with mouthwash conveniently located above the swinging handbasin, and don’t suffer any tingly ill-effects.

Sleepers are an expensive option - more than a typical overnight accommodation, so we won’t bother doing it again. From now on most of our trips will be up to four hours, and it’s much better to travel during the day and look at the scenery out the window - a luxury given I’m not driving.

It’s Friday 17 October. The train’s running late so Nikki gets to Maria’s apartment first (she flew in the night before), and greets us at the door. The weather’s a bit miserable with cloud and showers, but after setting in we resolve to start exploring.

Think of Denmark and what comes to mind? For me (in no particular order) it’s Hans Christian Andersen, trolls, Vikings, cycling, wind turbines, Great Danes (the doggy variety), Danish Blue (the cheese variety), Apple Danish (and various Danish pastries), stylish furniture, herring, Hamlet, and the Snake Bridge.

So how to map out an itinerary that includes all these? First up, let’s exclude Great Danes. I’m not a doggy person, and they should be called German Mastiffs anyway - their naming arising from the same wartime sensitivities that caused German Shepherds to be called Alsatians.

Vikings are first on the agenda, and we make our way to the National Museum via Copenhagen's sights.

A lot of fascinating pre-history to get through first, but at last we get to the descriptions and video presentations. Attacking, thieving and extorting not just England’s east coast, the Vikings also penetrated Ireland, France and Germany. The Danes are clearly a bit sensitive about their brutal past. While not quite excusing the “rapine and slaughter” at Lindisfarne (according to the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle of 793AD), the Danes are at pains to point out that these accounts are not quite fair, noting, “The Vikings also founded a network of flourishing towns in northern Europe”. One wonders just how enthusiastic the original inhabitants of these towns were to see the flourishing Vikings arrive.

The Hans Christian Andersen link is easy. Stories such as The Ugly Duckling and The Emperor’s

New Clothes are salient lessons embedded in western culture. Perhaps a little less known is the story of The Little Mermaid who saved a handsome prince from a shipwreck, then sat forlornly on a rock in unrequited love waiting for him to notice her. She’s now immortalised in bronze near the fort at the northern entrance to the harbour, and you can’t help but shed a tear as you look at her sad face. At least - if only all the bloody Asian tourists with their fingered V signs would get out of the way.

We wander past the Tivoli amusement park. No sign of trolls, but the witches and pumpkins are out in force. Who says Halloween is an

American import? Maybe pagan, maybe Christian, the idea of using humour and ridicule to confront the power of death is universal. The Danes certainly get a lot of fun out of it anyway.

We stop for lunch at what looks like a pretty authentic Danish cafe, and brilliant - pickled herring is part of a lunch plate offering. I’d heard horror stories of this foul-tasting fishy concoction, but I’d heard rave reviews from others. Perhaps it’s a bit of an acquired taste - like raw Bluff oysters. I gingerly grab a forkful, and to my surprise it’s not too bad. I wouldn’t have it as an entire course, but as a complement to other snacks it’s fine. The steak on the other hand is cooked to a cinder - at least they get the herring right.

We found a troll outside a souvenir shop, but even on casual inspection it’s quite obvious it’s a fake. 

Everyone knows trolls don’t wear Viking helmets. Our search for trolls continues, and I’m staying well away from the Internet on this one. Perhaps the burial mounds of Aarhus will be a more fertile hunting ground.

On the engineering side, the Danes are famed for their wind turbines and cycling infrastructure. It’s interesting while travelling to see wind turbines everywhere - in farm paddocks, shallow estuaries, and in the heart of Copenhagen, interestingly juxtaposed against a thermal power station. No nimbyism here - the Danes are cleverer than we are when it comes to sustainable power generation wherever it’s needed. Give me an elegant and slender turbine tower over a smokestack any day.

Like the Dutch, the Danes are also clever when it comes to cycling infrastructure. Bikes are everywhere, and the “Copenhagen lane” style providing a buffer of parked cars between cyclists and motor vehicles predominates, But the Danes are at their cleverest when they realise that a strategic cycling linkage between two suburbs separated by a broad canal is missing, so they promptly build an elegant and functional cycle bridge - the Snake Bridge. Makes you weep when you think that for 50 years walking and cycling Aucklanders have been waiting for their own elegant harbour crossing bridge, and even now its

progress isn’t assured. And when we get it we’ll be tolled to use it.

It’s pissing down on Sunday, Nikki’s got a bug and chooses to stay in the apartment, but undeterred Pauline and I head out to brave the elements. Intrepid travellers don’t let a bit of rain put them off. But as the wind and rain get steadily heavier, we figure the local mall constitutes an excellent tourist attraction. We’ve now educated the Dutch on flat whites, and now it’s time for the Danes to understand there’s more to coffee and milk than lattes and cappuccinos. To our surprise the cafe in the mall has Flat White on the menu - a rarity! And they do a good line in Danish pastries too. An enquiry re an Apple Danish gets a blank look, so I figure this must just be a Sarah Lee special.

My waterproof hiking shoes I specially got for the wet and cold of Canada many years ago are letting me down. As we splash through ever-deepening puddles I feel the level of dampness around my toes steadily increase, and now there’s a definite squelching sound. For weeks I’ve been looking for new boots without success, but now the time is nigh. As luck would have it, we pass an Ecco store with some nice hiking boots with Gortex liners - just the ticket. A bit embarrassing peeling off my wet socks to reveal gross black-stained feet, but I hasten to reassure them I haven’t just flown in from West Africa. With the new boots, it’s like walking on air getting back to the apartment.

We start thinking about our trip north, and Kronborg Castle.
To go or not to go, that is the question.
Whether tis better to spend a day in Elsinore, or proceed north to Aarhus as planned. 

(Apologies to Bill).

We decide on the latter. It’s been great staying in Maria’s apartment, even with the dodgy lights, intermittent flatties, and their barking (mad) cocker spaniel with the enormous feet and sad excuse for a tail.

We have our good bye hug with Nik on a street corner. She’s off to the airport and back to Amsterdam, both to recuperate from her cold and hopefully pass an international law exam.

Pauline and I choose the playground route to the railway station. The main route down the Istedgade takes us through the less than salubrious red light district. Not quite like Amsterdam’s with the ladies in the window, but the graphic sex toys are a bit off-putting.

We board the train to Aarhus and reflect on Copenhagen. Another very liveable European city, despite the damper weather, being located further north. A bit more grunge than Amsterdam. A few more beggars, a bit more graffiti. But what a place to bike in!

So what have I missed? Classy furniture? Yup - saw that in lots of shop windows. Pretty blonde girls? Yup - plenty of those, though they weren’t on the list and of course on my honeymoon I’m not noticing. Proper trolls? Danish Blue? Guess they’ll have to wait till Aarhus. The train speeds through the rolling Danish countryside just touching 160kph. We’ll be there soon.

A Tiki Tour through the Netherlands

“Why Enkhuizen?”, you may ask. What’s there? Indeed! I pondered the same question myself until Pauline patiently explained (again) that one of her intentions while in the Netherlands was to visit her roots. While it’s all a bit nebulous, her forebears may have come from the Maastricht district in the south-east, staging at Enkhuizen in the north before departing Holland for South Africa in the mid-1600s.

After a speedy train trip we settle in to our BnB (hosts Gerjan and Dieneke) and set off to explore Enkhuizen,

with the Zuiderzee Museum the obvious place to start. In a novel approach to reliving the past, the museum assaults our olfactory senses as we explore the forge, the pharmacy, the pig sty, the prawn shelling, and of course the herring smokers. Really does bring the 16th century to life, and Pauline has a better appreciation of how her ancestors lived.

We also get an appreciation on how difficult it is to build houses on

waterlogged soil. Many of the houses we see in different parts of the Netherlands are on a decided lean, and many rely on their abutting neighbours to prevent toppling right over.







But really, the Netherlands is all about bikes. Our hosts have a couple of bikes we can borrow, and cycling the perimeter walls of Enkhuizen as dusk approaches is absolute magic.

Gouda, on the other hand, is my choice. A stop at the Mercer cheese shop is obligatory when travelling SH1 back home, with their aged Gouda my favourite. So much so I have to visit the town itself where it all started.

After copious samplings I have concluded two things. The very best

Gouda is aged for three years (not a year more, not a year less), and it’s made with unpasteurised milk. It has to be made by an expert practitioner of course, but we’re lucky in NZ that waves of Dutch immigrants have brought their cheese-making skills with them. All we need now is for the Government to relax the food safety laws so raw milk can be used commercially.

Our accommodation in Gouda was at the Best Western Hotel - we were a bit slow off the mark booking ahead with AirBnB. Maastricht is a different story, and on arrival host Mehrdad meets us at the station and introduces us to his trendy modern apartment.

Whether Enkhuizen, Gouda or Maastricht, these Dutch towns are a delight. It’s fun just wandering

the cobbled streets, looking at the architecture and hydraulic engineering, poking your nose into interesting shops, or sitting at a cafe watching the world go by. If this is what being on holiday means, give me more of it. All you’ve got to watch out for are the bikes, which own the cycle lanes. Trespass into one as a pedestrian and you get a tinkled bell pretty quickly.

Tuesday 14 October is a bit more energetic though. With a couple of electric-assist bicycles we set off on a round trip - Maastricht - Margraten - Termaar (country village) - Gulpen - Termaar (suburb) - Valkenburg - Maastricht. About 50km all up. Termaar was the primary objective, being

the original location of Pauline’s forebears (as best as records can tell), but which Termaar? Better cover our options and see both.

No problems with the distance, even for Pauline. Beginning to get a bit of sweat on your brow pedalling up a hill? No worries - just hit the electric boost button and start flying. These things are great.

Utrecht is the final leg of our Dutch tiki tour, and this time AirBnB lands us in Elly’s house boat. Variety is good! (Oops - not talking

women here). Utrecht’s old town follows the same familiar pattern of the others, and I know I’m going to miss these Dutch towns, and the Netherlands as a whole.

Thursday morning sees our first bit of rainy weather, but it doesn’t matter. Our train to Copenhagen doesn’t leave till 7.30pm, and we have all day to see the last corners of Utrecht. We sleep in and bum around till the weather clears.

Pauline’s lamenting she hasn’t eaten Indonesian since arriving in the Netherlands, and as luck would have it we find a little restaurant in Utrecht doing a great lunch. The Dutch East India Company mightn’t have won a lot of friends, but it did an excellent job bringing Asian spices and cuisine back to Europe.

Another Dutch delight are the little vending machines that serve up a croquette or similar tasty morsel

with just a euro or two in the slot. I’d remembered them from my previous time in Amsterdam in 1981, and they’re just as good and convenient 33 years later.

Suitably snacked and with sandwiches for dinner, we settle in to our sleeper. When we wake up we’ll be in Viking country. Looking forward to Hagar and Helga’s BnB.

Catching up with Nikki in Amsterdam

We don’t return on the Maglev to Pudong International. At 8am we wouldn’t be flavour of the month trying to squeeze onto Shanghai’s crowded train system with two large suitcases. Hailing a cab is easy, and this time it’s our turn to be the pushy perpetrators as we fight our way through dense traffic to Pudong International. Our failure to register at the Police station in town hasn’t fazed the authorities, and in no time we’re seated on our KLM plane. A long but uneventful flight (skirting north of the Ukraine) sees us in another continent and another timezone. Our body clocks still haven’t fully adjusted from NZ, and we’re dead on our feet at 6pm on arrival.

In a few minutes flat we’re through customs & immigration, validate our Eurail passes, and hop on

the train to Amsterdam Centraal. Nikki’s running a few minutes late (nothing new there!). It’s great to see my little girl again after so many months apart, and to see that her knee has pretty much healed after her canyoning incident in Interlaken. Nik gets us on the bus to David’s apartment (another AirBNB booking) near the Jordaan, and we lug our suitcases four floors up a narrow near-vertical staircase. Yes, this is a typical Dutch apartment!

I’ve done some background reading on Amsterdam and start setting out an itinerary - the Heineken

experience, the torture museum, the dungeon show, the hash museum, a few coffee shops, the red light district, the prostitution museum, the sex museum and the erotica museum. Pauline looks down her nose at me.  Guess when you're travelling with others a few compromises have to be made...

The Begijnhof is a delightful spot in the heart of town. As the Protestant

Reformation swept through northern Europe in the late 1500s, a small enclave of Catholic nuns was allowed to remain, and to this day 100-odd single women continue to live in this inner court of historic buildings.

We visit the Stejdlik Museum of modern art, cycle Vondelpark and Westerpark,

and stop in at De Kaaskamer for a fix - a wedge of three year old Gouda. All I can say is, “Blessed are the cheese makers”, and especially the Dutch ones who emigrated to NZ long ago, and brought their skills with them.

The view of the Oude Kerk steeple inadvertently draws us past a bunch of windows where girls are lounging around in their underwear. Whatever could this be? Must have wandered into some sort of lingerie fashion show. A tug on my hand suggests Pauline is anxious to move on.

Our travels are frequently interrupted by visits to cafes. It takes a bit of explaining what a “flat white” is, but we’re gradually educating the Dutch about the proper way to serve coffee.

But don’t try this in coffee shops, or they’ll look at you blankly, likely because they’re half stoned. Buy a joint? No problem. I wander in to a coffee shop for the experience (and a cheap second-hand high), but Pauline’s moving on, and if I linger too long I’ll never find her again.  There was a time you could buy magic mushrooms in the coffee shops too, but they’ve cracked down on that after a couple of tourists over-indulged, threw themselves in a canal, and promptly drowned.

You’d have to say the Dutch are a remarkably liberal and open-minded people. Desire a “soft” vice, whether caffeine, cannabis, tobacco, alcohol or the fleshy kind? Just go ahead and buy it openly.

Makes a mockery of the double standards we have in NZ where multi-nationals sell tobacco and alcohol for vast profits with our Government’s blessing, yet growing and smoking a weed in your back garden brings the law down on you like a ton of bricks. Ah - click! - that’s why it’s illegal - the multi-nationals can’t make money from it! Excuse my cynicism - but to me soft drugs are a public health and education issue - not a law enforcement issue.

There’s a little cafe in the southern part of town called Bakers & Roasters, and its claim to fame is

catering to Brazilians and Kiwis. An interesting combination, but Nik didn’t care - her eyes were too busy lighting up over L&P on the menu. They even know how to do flat whites!

We visit Nik’s student accommodation, and head out for our final dinner in Amsterdam. It’s been great catching up, but it’s not yet time for tearful goodbyes - she’s joining us in Copenhagen next weekend.

Pauline and I head for Centraal on Saturday morning and hop on the train to Enkhuizen. Time to reflect on Amsterdam. It’s been over 30 years since I was last here, and I love the place as much now as I did then. The canals, the architecture, the art, the people, the vibe - all combine to make this a really liveable city.

But as a cycle advocate what gets me is the ease by which ordinary people in ordinary clothes just hop on a bike to go anywhere. Pauline did it and loved it, but she wouldn’t dare at home. Auckland’s got a long way to go to catch up to Amsterdam in this respect.