Four people, a road bike and the Danish version of Sylt

By now, quite a few readers of this little Copenhagen diary are probably feeling a bit fed up.

More social observations, yet again. More things that somehow seem more relaxed, practical or pleasant here. Always this ‘everything is different in Denmark’ feeling, which for people who are quite happy living where we come from will probably eventually take on the charm of a very long lecture on heat pumps.

So today: something completely different.

A classic travelogue.

By ferry.
Against the wind.
With pizza.
With ordinary photos. And with a road cyclist who, naturally, can’t just sit still even on a short break.

Bornholm – or: the Danish Sylt with cliffs

Our destination: Bornholm.

An island in the Baltic Sea that is actually geographically closer to Sweden than to the rest of Denmark and which, in May, apparently decided collectively to show itself exclusively from its best side.

Booked on the spur of the moment. As a birthday present for a family member.

Three people in the travel group simply hop on the bus called the “Bornholmexpressen”, travel to Ystad and then continue by ferry.

The fourth person – for data protection reasons, we’ll call him “the road cyclist” – naturally can’t just be a normal person, but books a road bike as well.

That works too.
But not on every bus.

So the road cyclist travels separately. Like a keenly athletic outsider in a Scandinavian family drama.

The romance of the ferry and initial over-enthusiasm

The journey there goes surprisingly smoothly.

The ferry glides across the Baltic Sea, the sun is shining, the air is clear, and somewhere amidst the water, the wind and the cries of the seagulls, that feeling begins to take hold: that all the problems of everyday life probably just stem from not having enough of a sea view.

Bornholm then welcomes us with its idyllic village charm.

Colourful houses. Small harbours. Quiet streets.
And everywhere, that slightly surreal light that makes people immediately start googling property prices.

The road cyclist, on the other hand, isn’t Googling property prices.

As soon as he arrives, he cycles the length of the island.

100 kilometres.
Almost 1,000 metres of elevation gain.

Because apparently, simply arriving on a beautiful island isn’t enough. You also have to physically exhaust yourself. And given this road cyclist’s condition, this distance is enough.

At least one thing becomes clear: Bornholm is significantly hillier than expected. And bigger, too.

The coastal roads, however: a dream.

Views of the water. Cliffs. Forests. Small fishing villages.
And that peculiar Nordic combination of tranquillity and wind, which leaves you feeling both relaxed and energised.

Holiday flat with a farmhouse surprise

Shopping at Lidl in the evening.

Just a few bits and bobs, as there was already an astonishingly good buffet on the ferry. In fact, Denmark doesn’t seem to view the ferry as a means of transport, but rather as an opportunity to instantly stabilise people emotionally with hot food and plenty of chocolate.

Then the holiday flat.

From the outside: a slightly run-down farmhouse with the charm of a former country doctor’s surgery.

From the inside: a Scandinavian interior design dream.

Large living room. Huge sofa area. Wooden parquet flooring. Long dining table. Board games.

Among them: ‘Matador’, the Danish version of Monopoly, only with a bit more hygge and presumably a more direct critique of capitalism.

Plus a bedroom with a small conservatory veranda that looks so cosy you immediately start lighting candles in your mind.

The kitchen and bathroom are rather plain. I mean, really plain.
And suddenly you realise: it’s only when there’s no dishwasher that you understand just how deep your own relationship with dishwashers really is.

The Coastal Cycle Route and the mathematical reality of gradients

On Saturday, we’ll pick up our hire bikes at Rønne harbour.

The plan: a leisurely cycle towards Hammershus.

The bike hire guy cautiously mentions that it’s ‘a bit hilly’ over there.

The road cyclist nods knowingly.
The other three of us seriously underestimate the situation.

At first, everything is wonderful.

Enchanted forests.
Coastal paths.
Small harbour towns.
Glittering stones on the beach.

Bornholm in May has something almost audacious about it: everything is already in bloom, the rapeseed fields glow yellow, yet at the same time the island is still pleasantly quiet, as the main holiday season is only just beginning. Many cafés and smokehouses are only just reopening fully, as if the whole island were collectively emerging from hibernation.

Then come the climbs.

Up to 21 per cent.

After the fourth climb, the mood among exactly 75 per cent of the tour group takes a slight turn for the authoritarian.

So, a break.

Beach. Harbour town. A deep breath.

The Quarry and the Question of whether Tripods are required

On the way back, we take a footpath.

Cycling there would be more of a theoretical concept anyway.

And suddenly we find ourselves in a quarry that we’d already seen in the guidebook. Dramatic cliffs, a bridge over the gorge, stunning light – it’s all very photogenic.

Perhaps too photogenic.

Because apparently all the other visitors have professional cameras and tripods with them.

We start to wonder whether it’s even legal to be here without an SLR camera.

No one speaks to us.
But for a moment we feel like people who have accidentally ended up in a nature documentary.

It tastes better going downhill

Our spirits rise rapidly again on the way back.

Firstly: going downhill.
Secondly: drinking water.
Thirdly: ice cream.

An emotional combination that has saved many a family holiday. In our family photo on a cliff, a bumblebee disrupts the harmonious picture of the four of us. Flies right into the middle of it. Tssss.

Back in Rønne, we have pizza and chips in a simple restaurant.

And rarely has anything tasted better.

Perhaps that is the most important rule of travelling of all:

After enough wind, sun and exercise, even an average portion of chips becomes a spiritual experience.

In the evening we play Matador. The junior version. A sort of Monopoly in Danish. Presumably linked to the Danish series of the same name, which is said to explain Danish society so well that you’d pass any citizenship test straight away afterwards. It’s just a shame that the series seems to be available only in Danish. But we’ve made a point of watching it. Because others have recommended it too.

Farewell with roe deer

The next morning, the road cyclist naturally sets off on a short farewell ride.

50 kilometres.
‘Just’ 300 metres of elevation gain.

Bornholm shows itself once again at its most beautiful:

Hares.
Deer.
Sheep.
Lakes.
Fields.
Gentle hills.

And everywhere, this peaceful, open countryside that both grounds you and makes you wonder straight away whether you might not want to move to the countryside at some point – until you remember that there’s probably no decent flat white within walking distance.

The journey home, still in love

The bus driver secures the road bike to the bike rack with that mixture of Nordic nonchalance and latent disinterest that immediately tells you: It’ll do the job.

The ferry is much fuller this time.

People in hiking boots. Families. The over-60s. Lots of outdoor jackets.

And as the island slowly disappears behind us, it becomes clear:

Bornholm is not a spectacular place in the traditional sense.

No huge attractions. No big entertainment. No non-stop programme.

Instead: sea. Wind. Light. Peace. Movement.

And that is precisely why we are probably heading back to Copenhagen, still a little bit in love with this island.