The Wild Wild Coast
Top of Denmark has stunning seascapes, pretty towns with yellow
houses and nature at its furious best
A low howling sound accompanied bursts of cold, gale-force winds
as they swept through small, sandy mounds, waxing and waning periodically. More
than the noise however, it was the sand they picked up from the ground and
hurled at dizzying speed that was painful. The particles turned into dangerous
abrasive projec tiles and pricked any exposed skin or eyes.
But the winds met their match in the sea: the water churned and
the waves rose sev eral feet, seething and foaming, and then hurled themselves
against the beach.
There was more drama, though. In the distance, two seas, one
bluish-green and the other bluish grey, clashed violently against a thin finger
of sandbar that stretched out for a bit and then completely lost the battle. At
Grenen, considered to be the northernmost part of Denmark, it seemed as if
nature loved to put on a phenomenal stage show.
Grenen was like the little cherry on the ice cream. It sat at
the pointed end of Denmark's Jutland Peninsula, called the Top of Denmark, a
stunning area with wild seascapes, pretty towns with brilliant yellow houses,
museums and a plethora of other interesting sights and sounds. But nature's
fury was unmatched. Huddled inside a hoodie, I walked along the water towards
the edge of the sandbar. My feet sank in the soft sand and the blustery gusts
of the wind sometimes propelled me a few steps now and again.
The beach eventually began narrowing and ended in a little
sliver of a sand bar that was lashed by the two seas, Skagerrak (North Sea) on
the left and Kattegat (drained by the Baltic Sea) on the right, a line clearly
visible where they met. It did not just seem like the northernmost tip of the
country, it looked like the end of the world. Predictably, it was even more
tempestuous here, raging winds sweeping in from both sides. The violent
clashing combined with the noise of the waves and the wind was all too
tumultuous against the serene backdrop of pristine blue sky packed with puffy
white clouds. And yet, there was a sort of wild, elemental beauty to the whole
scene, something I recognised all too well from evocative paintings I had seen
earlier at Skagen, Denmark's northernmost town and about 10 minutes away from
Grenen.
Modern
vs Vintage
Remote and seemingly far away from the capital Copenhagen,
Skagen (also referred to as The Scaw) began life as a fishing settlement and
remained unheard of till the mid-19th century when Danish impressionist
painters stumbled upon it.The turbulent seascapes, the ruddy, weather-hardened
fishermen and Skagen's unique evening light drew them by the droves and a group
of Impressionists called Skagen Painters rose to fame.When I arrived in Skagen
earlier in the day, it seemed to retain much of the charm and romance of the
previous century. It was full of winding roads flanked by beautiful yellow
houses with red roofs, some of them half-timbered but all of them far too
adorable. The houses were fronted by lawns and gardens enclosed inside white
picket fences. They were complemented by little patches of public gardens and
lawns.
Almost in the centre of the town was the Skagens Museum, a
slightly modern building added on to an older existing building. It was here
that I got acquainted with the Skagen Painters, especially Anna and Michael
Ancher, and Maria and PS Kroyer, who stood out for their stunning depictions of
seascapes with elegant ladies dressed in gauzy long dresses, fishermen
portraits and slice-of-life paintings. I got a more vivid glimpse into the life
and work of Anna and Michael at the Anchers Hus, their residence which had been
converted into a museum.
Snatches of the paintings came to mind as I stood on the
sandbar, desperately trying to avoid the minor sandstorms that they were
whipping up all around me, even as a lone seal kept bobbing up its head at
regular intervals. Evening was long gone, but it was almost summer and the sky
was suffused with a magical light.However, the winds picked up substantially
and threatened to fling me into the sea, so I headed back, battling the rushing
sand and howling winds.
By the time I was fed and ensconced in my room in Skagen, it was
almost 10 in the night but a different drama was playing out. The sun was
inching towards the horizon and the sky was painted a stunning shade of deep
orange, almost vermilion, and clouds dotted the sky, adding a counterpoint to
the blue and orange. It stayed like that for a few minutes and then gradually
darkened, before the sky turned a beautiful shade of inky blue and stayed that
way almost the whole night. Compared with Skagen, Saeby (pronounced seb-yu),
about 60 km to the south along the east coast of the Jutland peninsula, seemed
tiny. It was almost like a toy town, a a miniature version of Skagen. The
houses were the same ochre yellow, but much smaller in scale. There were many
more half-timbered houses, with beautiful doors, their front steps and yards
adorned with pots spilling over with colourful flowers. The town was also very
quiet: the roads were deserted and not a soul stirred. At the centre of the
town stood the Saeby Kirke (church), also called white church, gleaming white
and stark amid the sea of yellow. Going back to the 15th century, it was
strangely unembellished and simple.However, the inside made up for the simple
facade. The ceiling was covered in frescos and chalk paintings, liberally
drawing from the Bible as well as anecdotes from the life of Mary.
In contrast to the town's pristine, and almost picture-perfect
prettiness, the seaside was all wild beauty. The waterfront and pier were
packed with boats and yachts of all sizes and lined with lovely buildings,
cafes and seafood restaurants. Right at the tip was a towering white stylised
statue of a woman facing two ways -towards the sea as well as the town. It was
studded with little ceramic tablets made by local schoolchildren and was
inspired by Norwegian playwright and poet Henrik Ibsen and his work The Lady
from the Sea, which he is supposed to have written here.
In fact, local guide Ingrid Mork said Saeby had always been such
an idyllic place and utterly peaceful that a lot of writers, novelists and
intelligentsia gathered here from time to time. Ibsen was the most prominent. I
could well imagine why as I wandered along the seafront. On the other side from
the pier, a narrow, sandy path ran parallel to the beach and was lined with
gardens and vegetable patches on the other side amidst which stood little
houses and cottages. It led to a large park filled with colourful flowers,
shady trees and rolling lawns.
The next day was an altogether different story. Sitting at the
border of what was classed as Top of Denmark, Aalborg was a buzzing city and
not without reason. A university town, it was as if the whole place was run
over by youngsters. It was also a curious amalgamation of beautiful old brick
buildings and halftimbered houses, and chic modern buildings.The 14th century
Budolfi Church and the 15th century Aalborghus Castle rubbed shoulders with
concrete, chrome and glass. But it was only when I saw a massive building with
dramatic curving roofs on the Aalborg waterfront that the penny dropped and I
recognised it as the Utzon Centre. This was where Jorn Utzon spent while
growing up and commemorated it with the centre as a space for architecture
students. The legendary architect, who designed the iconic Sydney Opera House,
probably holds sway in subtle ways and was evident in the spectacular designs
of some of the newer buildings that dotted the city's skyline.
Musical
Burst
Much as the buildings, both ancient and new, were alluring, it
was quite something else that enchanted me no end. Almost in the heart of
Aalborg was the Kildeparken, a sprawling lush green park with walking paths,
sculptures and a fountain in the middle of a water body. In the northeast
corner of the park was a section with rows and rows of young oak and cheery
trees neatly spaced out. In front of each was a short black pillar with a
button and a few words. Called the Park of Music in English and The Singing
Trees in Danish, the project began in 1987 when legendary musician Sir Cliff
Richard performed in Aalborg and then planted a tree. In his honour, a medley
of some his songs were inserted and could be played at the press of the button.
Since then more than 90 visiting musicians and bands have planted trees and
have their music inserted in the pillars.
Early in the morning, the park was deserted and the rows
stretched out for a distance. A fresh sappy aroma filled the air. I flitted
from tree to tree, merrily pressing button after button, ecstatic when the
music burst forth clear and loud in the silence. The recorded segments were
accompanied by the chirping of birds and the chomping of grass by an occasional
hare. There was no method to the sequence. Sir Cliff Richard, Elton John,
Sting, Prince, London Philharmonic, Bryan Adams, James Blunt, Guns N' Roses,
Paul Simon, Andrea Bocelli, Bob Dylan, Rod Stewart, Kylie Minogue, BB King...
it had to be the most eclectic playlist ever.
But what really overwhelmed me was the pop opera quartet II Divo
whose rendition of Hallelujah dramatically rang out in the air. And it was so
apt that I came away as the line “How sweet the sound“ from their performance
of Amazing Grace swelled and filled the entire park.
Jul 30 2017 : The Economic Times (Mumbai)
Anita Rao-Kashi
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