Getting Back On The Road Again

You could say it started with a PBS show, American Epic, running during pledge week on WVIA. Just a few minutes of music featuring a circa 1927 recording device and I thought “Francis would be fascinated”. It was days later, we sat down to watch the full show and were enraptured with the story of the first recordings of truly indigenous American music.

To wit: In 1927 music agents went to rural Bristol, Tennessee and put an advertisment in the local papers: $50 for anyone who came to town and recorded themselves. Among the first folks to show up was A.P. Carter, with his wife, Sara, and his sister-in-law, Maybelle; another group was a gospel choir led by Elder J.E. Burch, from Cheraw, S.C. The legacy of the Carter Family is well known but the names of many of those recorded have faded into obscurity. Elder Burch and his church choir were an influence on Dizzy Gillespie!

Research revealed that Bristol was an interesting place in its own right. The VA / TN state line runs right through town, one side of main street is VA and the other side is TN! There were two museums dedicated to American Roots music, one in each state. In addition, on Saturday nights, a roots music concert was held at the Carter Family Fold, the site of the old Carter family farm. We decided that we would make a pilgrimage to Bristol the keystone of our upcoming RV camping trip from PA to FL, determining our schedule around that Saturday night concert.

Driving for days along route 95 is about as boring as travel can be. It is disconcerting too, as enormous tractor-trailers and doubles speed by you in the slow lane creating wind turbulence. Our travel mantra is avoid the major highway full of big-rigs and semis if so ever possible. On our previous trip in our first RV trailer, we went as far East as we could, using bridges and ferries to hop from one barrier island to another along the coast. Through the deep South we followed the secondary highways, pausing along the way to explore the historic cities of Charleston, Savannah and St. Augustine. This time we would head West with a route from the Blue Ridge into the music scene, then down through the Smokeys into the Cherokee homeland, before heading to the flatlands.

About the RV: We had purchased a boxy 20” trailer and made the ubiquitous cross country trip, spending a Winter in residence in FL. Sadly Francis had unpleasant associations between the trailer and my illness and the half the trailer floor rotted away due to water infiltration in just two years. While I would have thought it worthless, this tuned out to not be the case. A Craiglist posting and the next day a couple came by with cash in hand. They were living on a 20” boat with their Granddaughter. A 20 “ trailer provides much more space and privacy than a similar size sailboat! In a week they had replaced the rot and were ready to roll on the road. Enhanced karma for all concerned.

We stayed off the road for a year, until Francis expressed a renewed interest in RV camping. Me, I love travel on ANY kind. 'Just wanna' see new places, on foot, on the road, foreign or domestic. The first RV purchase was determined by Francis' criteria that it be under 20” and have walk around queen size bed. There was only one trailer on the market which met those conditions! This time he agreed to accept the more common cozy bed, a queen bed ran across the trailer width. After much more research than we had made with the first RV, we decided on an R-pod. You can't walk around the bed but it is just 18” long and the roof is a rounded, a seamless teardrop. The contour one-piece roof design results in less potential for leaks and much better aerodynamics, better resistance to that buffeting from big trucks! It has a tiny bathroom, a kitchenette, a queen bed, a dining area that converts into a full bed. It hauls like a dream and is too cute to boot.

We negotiated a good price from a large dealer, Meyer's Superstore, in Rochester, New York. Since I wanted to see Niagara Falls, Rodchester headed us in the right direction. We would proceed North to Niagara Falls for a shake down cruise before driving back to PA. We would make one stop on the way home, to visit a friend and show off the new mobile residence. That aerodynamic curved roof really does make a difference. On our way home, heading further West to visit our friend by Harvey's Lake, PA, we drove through a tornado, through the mountains in a tornado! The rain and winds were so strong we had to slow our pace but the little trailer pulled smoothly. Arriving at out friend's home, we realized we had left the RV windows open and no rain had come inside!

Back home, we prepped the little trailer for the big trip South. This tends to be a separate but equal process; while I make the inside cozy and research tech upgrades, Francis fusses over the power systems and installs upgrades. The sole defects from my perspectives of the tiny RV were a dark interior color scheme, lack of storage and no rear view. Changing out all the interior fabrics and installing a myriad of wall pockets took care of the interior. A wifi camera hooked to our GPS will provide a rear view.

This Rpod, like many RVs, comes ready for solar power. Just in case you ever wondered - - solar only powers the 12 volt battery, DC, which in our case would be the interior lighting and bathroom fan. The fridge and furnace can run on the compressed gas tank but the TV, radio and outlets are AC, regular house power. No music, no laptop & no phone charger! We are still working on a converter to pull the DC charge into more useful AC power.

For luck we added every international symbol we could think of, from the Sicilian Trinacria to the Lenne Lenape turtle medicine wheel to a Feng shui Toad to Saravasta and a travel mezzuzah, we are taking no chances. 

An aesthetic issue for me is labels. Commercial logos and labels I immediately remove. In the case of the RV, the brand name with it's charming frog in a canoe were replaced with custom Asian dragon, phoenix and good luck bats. The dragon and phoenix are related to the ying yang, a balance of male and female principles for a balanced household. Five blue bats symbolically circle around the household eliminating bad luck, just as bats swoop down from the sky removing biting insects. Inside and out, mechanically and aesthetically, we were ready to roll.

Reykjavik

Upon arrival, the first stop was retrieving a rental car. The greeter was late which caused a little anxiety. When he finally appeared he piled several arrivals into a van and off we drove toff the airport to the rental agency. Our vehicle of choice was to be a Fiat 500. Given Francis Italian heritage and my inclination to rent the smallest vehicle available, it was the perfect option.

We had to wait for our turn with staff. Next door to the car rental agency was a camper rental. Ingeniously packed into a tiny four-wheel drive vehicle was complete camping setup. Opening the rear hatch, you found a series of drawers containing a stove and all the gear you might need for rural explorations. The seats would fold down to permit rolling out the provided mattress and linens at night. When it was our

turn at the car rental, there was a brief but intense attempt to up-sell us for a larger vehicle and more comprehensive insurance. As we had no plans to venture off-roading or to the hinterlands, where were warned sandstorms would damage the vehicle, we said nope. If that was our plan, we should have gone next door in the first place.

Finally departing the airport vicinity, the first impression, the most notable thing is the color gray: light gray seas, dark gray basaltic stone, bluish but still gray sky. There are white capped gray mountains and gray concrete buildings in the distance. It is a harsh monochrome landscape just occasionally broken by scrub pines and the bright shock of yellow dandelions. The noxious weed of rolling lawns is a visual delight here. The occasional spray of dandelions has the effect of hillsides of Forsythia in early Spring bloom in the mid-atlantic states. Oh yeah, hardy folks colonized this place, you would need to be a Viking!

The second impression is that you will need a Viking interpreter. Reading the street signs, there are enough strange looking symbols that you know you won't say the word intelligibly. How does one pronounce a letter which looks like a stone hammer or a backwards P with extra serifs? Hardy folks with a lilting language. We could read the directions towards Reykjavik. The issue began when we arrived in town. All of the residents we stopped for advice spoke English but none of them had any idea where the indicated address was located. The B & B owner's advice that it was easy to find right down from the Church, turned out to be rather ineffective as there are three churches! The most notable structure being a huge towering gray granite edifice surmounting a hill. 


We made a quick sweep of the other liturgical options and opted for making broader and broader gyres around the large granite monument. Finally we spied the name of the B & B owner on a door! It was clearly their private entrance but the general entrance had to be nearby!

A few feet away was the public entrance, too discreetly marked to be visible from a car driving by. Oh well, better late than never. With great relief we found the key-code and entered an old fashioned boot room. Shelves were provided for one's outdoor shoes and slippers available for interior wear. Other shelves had an interesting assortment of books. Subjects ranged from self-help to the classics, in both English and Icelandic. Adjacent living room had more shelves filled with art and classical literature and a small study alongside was similarly lined. It was no surprise when we discovered the proprietor had been the Headmaster of a well-known British Public School. His Wife was Icelandic, Daughter of a traditional fisherman. The family had come to Iceland during his Sabbetical year and decided to stay, opening the B n B. They had thoughtfully provided us with a large cozy room on the ground floor. Just off the main living room, we had a nice view onto the street.

I immediately wanted to explore the town. It was Sunday and I was warned shops would close early. Off I wandered, getting good and lost on foot this time. Eventually having established my bearings I realized we were just a few blocks from the main streets of Reykjavik. A city of low scale buildings, many with bright gardens and creative wall decor. Managing to find a food store open I purchased some local specialties, breads and yogurt the likes of which I'd never seen and an unusual ready to heat casserole for Francis. 

The Icelandic climate is not suited to growing wheat, but rye, oats and various seeds thrived. Viking breads were similar to Scandinavian rye toasts but often made without any wheat. The crucnchy cracker like bread would be rolled and baked in circles with a hole in the center. The rings would hang suspended from cottage rafters. More unique were steamed rye loaf breads, cooked in the fumeroles and hot springs which abound due to the techtonic plates. The rye slowly caramelizes into a sweet pudding like texture. [At some point I shall try replicating the effect in a crock pot.] Skyr is a kind of yogurt, naturally non-fat, mild and sweet. Recently I have seen it in our US grocery store. On rye and skyr with a side salad, I could happily survive.

Aside from the usual tacky tourist souvenirs, Iceland is renowned for its sheep and wool. Beautiful Icelandic woolens lined the shops downtown, competing with hiking and camping gear. My souvenir would be a few balls of yarn. The stark dark grey basalt, topped by pale grey glaciers, was immediate inspiration to knit Francis a cap. Large blocks of knitted stitches giving was to smaller and smaller formations, just as the basalt mountains degrade down into the sea. The cap's apex in pale grey wool, like the angular glaciers sloping the peaks.

We spent most of our days in Reykyjavik exploring the museums, learning about the past and present cultures. The Maritime Museum was high on the hit list. This one featured fishing, with an emphasis on how fishing formed the Icelandic ethos of dedication and cooperation. For thousands of years, most of the population had been subsistence farmers and fishermen. During the Winter the farmers went to the shore to fish, during the Summer the fishermen went to the farms to labor. On both farms and fishing boats small group worked intensely and collaboratively. During the twentieth century a conflict developed between the newly independent country or Iceland a Britain over fishing rights. After a bitter turf war, Iceland prevailed controlling the fleets in its local waters. The conflict further intensified the collective identity of Icelanders as self-sufficient socialists.

Next door to the Maritime Museum was a most interesting tourist trap. Nominally, a museum of Viking History is was more a wax work of Viking atrocities. Walking through a dimly lit labyrinth, there were tableus of dramatic events in Viking history. These events were primarily on the order of: Eric the toothless seizes power from his uncle Eric the noseless by removing the rest of his uncle's head. Think of Madame Tussaud does Grand Guignol. While the waxworks were probably historically accurate, a more well rounded impression of that era was presented at an Icelandic history museum housed by the University. There the highlight, albeit also presented in low light, was an actual Viking roundhouse. The ruins found in an archaeological excavation were laid out in situ along with cutting edge computer recreations of the full facility and explanations of the use and function of recovered objects. Once again the importance of fishing, mutual support and cooperation was evident. A day at the art museum revealed not only beautiful traditional handcrafts but also interesting modern works exploring the concepts of time and land use. Photos and CAD depicted human effects and potential change. By the shoreline in downtown Reykyjavik is the fascinating and dominating Opera house, literally and figuratively it represents the Icelandic landscape. An angular wall of mirrored honeycomb effect rising up from the harbor, reflecting the rock and water,. It is conveniently accessible to all and features performances of every genre. Even in the fine arts, the cooperative influences are present.

A culture coming from a most violent past to a peaceful present. Even during the most tumultuous times the Viking met annually to work out their issues and grievances. Beginning in 930AD they met in a natural amphitheater former by the rift boundaries of two tectonic plates. The new land formed as the American and Eurasian plates move away from each other. A low marshy plain in a ravine, waters fed by warm underground streams. Called Thingviller, it is dramatic and beautiful. This was my prime incentive in going to Iceland, to stand between the plates on the newest exposed land on the earth.

We took a long drive out of Reykjavik to Thingviller, past isolated industry and villages. The road weaved past small farms with herds of shaggy sheep and equally shaggy icelandic ponies. It was not until we reached Thingviller that we realized we had been driving along the cliff edge of the American plate for miles. Looking across the sunken plateau we could see the Euroasian plate in the far distance, with a broad marsh, crossed by streams, dotted by little lakes and featuring the largest lake in Iceland, all with mossy islands surfacing through the water.

The annual meeting was called the Althing and was led by a Lawspeaker. The Lawspeaker was elected for three year terms and was expected to recite the entire cycle of law from memory over the course of his term! He presided from a natural platform called the Law Rock. While the exact spot of the Law Rock was not recorded the general location is identifiable from the terrain. From 930 to 1798, laws were made and disputes settled by consensus. During the Viking era, prior to 1300, if the dispute could not be settled peaceably, the combatants moved off to one of the little islands and duked it out, often a fight to the death. Just another example of the cooperative yet pragmatic Icelandic culture.

We had a wonderful introduction to a unique place and culture but it was soon time to get back to the US. Even our car rental return revealed Icelander's determination. We stopped at what appealed to be an public area along the shore. The day was cold, rain and sleet was falling. Looking out over the grey skies and seas, I figured out the sign on the building. It was a golf club! Looking farther out across the plain adjacent to the shore, we realized there were people out playing golf, dressed in slickers they were hauling their bags of clubs across the wet ground despite the downpour. Now that is hardy dedication! There was more to explore in Iceland. We never got as far as the extinct volcanoes or inside a glacier. A return trip is definitely required.

Copenhagen

Another city of boats, barges and canals in a country known for progressive attitudes and great public transport. Our new berth would be on a restored barge turned house boat moored in a quasi industrial area on the outskirts of the City proper. The area was across the river from the city proper on Amager Island at the end of Revshalen. In advance, we had obtained Copenhagen Cards, which gave us unlimited use of all the public transit options and most of the attractions and museums. For simplicity, we took a taxi from the cruise ship to the house boat but immediately observed both conventional bus and water bus stops in sight of our house boat.

On a cruise they feed you morning, noon and through the night. On the houseboat we would be on our own. We met our hostess, Jette, with her advice, after unloading our baggage, we proceeded to the local market by bike. Thereafter we would take the bus. Although we were out of town at the end of the line, the bus shelter was outfitted with a time of arrival display. Buses ran every 10 minutes, one was coming our way. We displayed our Copenhagen Cards and hopped on board.

On our fifteen minute trip, we crossed waterways with paddling ducks, small but lush grassy meadows with scrub woodlands and red brick houses, passed by the Opera House, through a college complex and noted two more waterbus stops before arriving at the market. It was lovely; here we were in an industrial zone, on the outskirts of a major metro area and everything was clean and green with NO TRAFFIC CONGESTION!

Confession: I love a foreign grocery market. This is how folks really live. What is the selection? What is popular? What is affordable? What new product can I try? The little market did not disappoint. Copenhageners like rich food. Particularly they love meatballs! There were more varieties of meatballs than I have ever previously seen. The dairy products were labeled with the exact amount of butter fat. Not just non – low – full but the precise percentage, staggered by half-percentages. Copenhageners do not prefer non-fat or low-fat dairy. Forget about milk substitutes, they want the real deal. The sole alternatives were goat and sheep milk. There were ample varieties of cheeses and pastries but few prepared foods, aside from the plethora of meatballs. The wide variety of beautiful vegetables came in small packages, no bulk purchasing going on here! With a load of bread, wine, produce and dairy we headed back to the houseboat.

Our houseboat accommodation was the bow third of the barge. When there were no rental, it was literally, the mother-in-law apartment. We met Mom upon our arrival. The owner's family of four resided in the main stern portion. Our section consisted of a small living room with a ladder down to a small kitchenette, bath and adjoining bedroom. The owner had rebuilt the boat using recycled materials. No surprise as he operated an architectural recycling company! While the random and slapdash carpenter, distressed Francis' fine woodworker sensibilities, I found myself impressed by the wit and ingenuity of some of the modifications. The bedroom door was a steel boiler-room hatch! White walls, ample portholes below and a windows above kept the small spaces from feeling cramped. A window wall formed the bow of the living room, when we weren't exploring Copenhagen I would watch traffic on the water and activities all around the dockside

Our houseboat was in an enclave consisting of an interesting mix of moored barges, functional vessels and stable houses on pilings. At the end of the pier was the waterbus stop, which was surrounded by large scrap metal sculptures, and the opposite side of the pier was a permanently flooded dry-dock, home to a partially surfaced submarine! On the other side in the navigable waterway was an impressive series of red brick buildings housing a nautical military school. Every evening at sunset they fired off a vintage cannon.

At the very end of the cove was a small Italian Bistro. The Bistro itself was tiny, just a kitchenette with three rustic tables, in which the chef owner and his girlfriend prepared beverages, plus the option of a single daily meat, fish or veg entree. While internally tiny, externally the Bistro had it's own floating docks and a handsome wooden barrel-stave sauna, than the Bistro itself. The sauna was a small rotund cabin with a glass wall facing toward the waterside. Throughout our stay we could see happily sweating young people through the glass partition in the sauna. Quite unselfish-conscious, they would strip off their clothes before entering the sauna naked or in minimal underwear. After warming themselves, they would jump into the very cold water of the cove. The good food from the Bistro augmented by liberal quantities of beer and ale appeared to fuel the process. The action on the water was just as entertaining. Boats of every size and power came into the cove along with aquatic birds. There were scullers by day and sailboats at dusk. Ocean kayaks shared the waterway with immaculate wooden lap-stakes and well-worn functional fishing skiffs.

On into town

Down to the waterline, the waterbus barges came about every 45 minutes. We were the next to last stop on the waterbus. It was slow trip into town, not only because a ship moves more slowly through the water but also because the waterbus seemed to be first choice of families with strollers. Every stop had them loading and unloading, carefully negotiating the slippery mesh ramp into the ship. Often the parents would them have to carry the stroller down a few steps into the seating area, or face the wind and spray from as we proceeded through town.

While our location was industrial with a makeshift loading dock and found scrap metal sculptures, the rest of the stops were in established, historic or upscale locales. We rode across the river to a stop which we discovered was just behind the royal garden and design museum. Our return trip would make a circuit from the museum, to the new ultra modern opera house, a fancy touristic shopping district and the historic Nyvern canal. Why take the high priced and crowded canal boat tours, when you can ride the waterbus with the locals?

Housed in the former royal Library building a surrounded by small royal garden, the Danish National Design museum was everything you expect of Scandinavian design. Francis who loves chairs, was delighted to discover a hall of chairs, displaying both seating from ancient cultures juxtaposed with the modern designs they inspired, fascinating. My favorite Hans Wegner Wishbone chair was, no wonder, sitting next to a Chinese bow-back. A main presentation was a retrospective of Danish influences on industrial projects, beautifully made toothbrushes, vacuum cleaners and audio equipment. It was Ikea at MOMA. There was also a retrospective of less practical but quite whimsical modern designs, ranging from an all wood bicycle, one made of bamboo, a sculptural face dress of woolen knit and a chair of newspaper. Upstairs were examples of 15^th through 17^th century Danish porcelains and enamels. A bit ornate for my taste but exquisite never the less.

Next door to the design museum was a sponsored artist's workshop. Each month a craft artist would would setup a pop-up workshop in the space. Explaining their techniques and selling their product. This month it was a screen-printer, making lovely hand printed linens for the home. Delicate florals and woodland grasses loosely spread across natural fibers in gentle colors. Very Danish design. The excellence in design extended to the manhole covers on the street. They were not plain utilitarian metal but were cast with interesting Copenhagen motifs.

Energized by a boat ride and eyes filled with beauty, we wandered off in search of a good but inexpensive place to eat. Hmm, the latter can complicate the issue. When we found a small outdoor bistro on a quiet street serving regional specialties, we deemed it perfect. Even more ideal, there was yarn shop across the street! My perfect souvenir, a skein of real Danish wool milled in Denmark from Danish sheep and it was in shaded tones that resembled the deep blue sea and lighter waves on the Atlantic. While on the cruise I had modified a wave lace pattern to make Jette, our Copenhagen hostess, a scarf; now I could make myself one.

The tables faced a fantastic carved water butt of spouting dolphins and other sea creatures. There was very little auto traffic but we could watch the people ride by on bicycles. There are more bicycles than cars in Copenhagen. Older individuals on three-wheelers with large capacity rear baskets. Mothers on tall street bikes, guiding their children alongside. What is better than a scenic view and people watching to go with your lunch? A charming and helpful waiter is bonus. He not only advised us knowledgeably about our meal options but chatted about his travels in the US, on both the East and West coasts. He was finishing his degree programs and would soon shift from waiter to therapist.

Our boat ride back to the houseboat turned out less calm. Upon disembarking the water-bus I realized that my phone, my new phone, had slipped from my pocket. After having our hostess try to call the office, we found it was closed. The office was located adjacent to our wharf. Biking over only to find it was predictably shut. Back to the water-bus pier, to wait for the next boat. It was a different vessel. There were three in circulation. Explaining my plight, the captain said he would radio the other captains. By this time, I was mourning the loss of my lovely brand new phone. Losing such an article on any U S public transport, it would be long gone, picked up by another passenger. Never the less, I returned to the pier for each subsequent water-bus. After all I had nothing further to lose! Hours later the same vessel I had ridden, pulled in. As they docked the first mate approached smiling. He said in a teasing voice “Are you missing your baby?” and handed me my phone! Oh my, that would not happen on the Staten Island Ferry!

Royal Horses, Kitchens and Costumes

We tended to take the regular bus as it ran so frequently. The next day we walked past the Tivoli Gardens but our goal was the Maritime Museum and Royal Stables. As it turned out the stables were their own virtual palace and were adjacent to the actual palace with fascinating royal kitchens and theater open for inspection. A historical retrospective of carriages, saddles and royal riders were on display but the most marvelous part of the royal stables were the royal horses. Beautiful mellow white mares and stallions, pressing their soft noses against the barricades in hope of a friendly scratch. They would turn their heads to give their admirers better access - - a little bit behind the ears, if you please. There were signs advising not to touch the residents but neither the four footed nor their two footed visitors were having any of that.

The royal kitchen was set up to resemble the preparations for a 1937 gala. In the huge vaulted cavern of the royal kitchen proper, hung series of copper pans shiny bright and the massive ovens glowed roasting mock tenderloins and poultry for the feast, while the original menu and recipes were posted at the various work stations. In an adjacent storage area, a video documentary narrated by the current chef and assistants described how modern banquets are prepared and served for state dinners. The royal theater was dwarfed by the kitchen but the extraordinary costumes on display more than made up for lesser proportions. The theater was still in use. Now presenting plays for the general population not just the royal family.

Francis was most interested in the maritime museum. This was a study in contrasts, military armaments clashed with the plight of refugees. While it seemed more oriented to conflict in general than seafaring in specific, Francis did find the souvenir for which he had been searching. A “monkey-fist” is a complicated ball-like sailor's knot which he wanted to use as a keyfob. In full size the monkey fist would be a throwing weight on a ship's heaving line. The museum gift shop had a supply of diminutive “monkey fists” perfect for this application. He was satisfied with his find. The next day we would take the train to Elsinore, where there was a new maritime museum built into a former dry dock.

Elsinore

Our Copenhagen Passes gave us free rein on the local trains. The bus from Refshaleven stops right in front of the Copenhagen train station. It was nearby the Tivoli Gardens, Through the Gardens fencing we could see brightly painted structures and rides. It was not a season of full bloom but it still was a colorful atmosphere. Catching our bus downtown to the main station, we found the platform for Elsinore. The train was right on time, a nice commuter style diesel with comfortable bench seats. We settled in for the hour train ride through suburban and exurban towns along the coast. Everywhere the environs were tidy, very little trash along the tracks, light industrial developments gave way to clustered houses and then larger seaside structures. Modern architecture contrasting without conflict with older traditional Scandinavian buildings. Both styles seemed perfectly sited in their environment.

Arriving at the end of the line in Elsinore, the train station was a Victorian gingerbread edifice at one end of town. Surrounding the station were kiosks of flower sellers and small shops leading to a warren of small streets into the town proper and off towards the harbor, Kronberg Castle and Sweden. Right across from the train station was a guitar shop. We wandered in and discovered the owner working on some guitar electronics. He was clearly a heavy metal fan, judging by his background music. Striking up a conversation, we found out he had lived in NYC for decades and now spent his Winters in the Florida Keys. We traded contact information, amazed at the small world coincidence.

Our primary destination, the new maritime museum was very modern in architecture and focus. It concentrated on the 19^{th and} 20^th centuries. Exhibits ranged from media portrayals and images of seafarers to a dreamy video by Peter Greenaway about the loneliness and sexuality of the sea. One of the most interesting and evocative exhibits was a series of ship models of sunken vessels. Ships models usually show the pristine ships as they would have appeared in dry dock. These models depicted a wide variety of ships sunk during war times and enumerated the lives lost with the ship. The hall was darkened and somber as was appropriate to the subject matter. Large pedestal display cases had individual spot lights highlighting the ship models which were shown at odd angles to reveal their method of destruction.

A the end of the corridor of loss was the Greenaway video. Entering a room filled with ships heads and sailor's romantic memorabilia, you passed into a multi-media showcase outfitted with cots for seating. A screen featured interviews with sailors of various ages, races, genders and gender preferences talking about their isolation. The interviews were interspersed with short films of swirling schools of fish and similarly swimming underwater naked men and women. After these strangely meaningful displays I felt the need to clear my head and decided to take a walk around Kronberg castle. How could I go to Elsinore without seeing Hamlet's Castle? While Francis watched ships passing the harbor I wandered towards Sweden.

While best known now as Hamlet's Castle from Shakespeare, Kronberg was of strategic military importance being an outlet to the Baltic Sea and the closest point to Sweden across the Oresund. In town a few interesting street sculptures echo the Hamlet theme and tours of the castle proper are conducted by Horatio, billed as the sole survivor of the play. Walking the ramparts looking towards Sweden, watching hardy Danish sunbathing along the rocky coast and the ferry running between the two countries, I was indeed transported back to prior centuries.

We caught a bus back to the train station, where all the flower stalls had shut down for the evening. Our return train ride was as pleasant as the trip out but we were ready to return to our cozy houseboat. We had one more place to explore in Copenhagen, Christiania.

Christiania was a former military barracks taken over 50 years ago by hippie squatters. After attempts to remove the inhabitants, the city fathers threw up their hands and with typical tolerance let them stay as a "free" city within Copenhagen. Residences in Christiania are still not bought and sold but distributed by a resident council based on need. While Copenhagen overall is immaculate; Christiania is full of graffiti and trash. The particular attraction of the area being that recreational drugs are illegal in Denmark, in Christiania they are sold openly on Dealer Street. On card tables a wide variety of products ranging from loose leaf, to hash buds, to pre-rolled joints are displayed. There is a huge kitch T-shirt and head-shop market as well. Many small stands selling vegan and vegetarian carry-out line this impromptu commercial area. 

 After just a few days in Copenhagen, it was time to repack our possessions for our next destination, Iceland.