Getting to know wonderful Karen Blixen is Danish trip's final gift

Our exploration of Denmark beyond Copenhagen was a journey of discoveries. They were all delightful, but none was more unexpected than my new-found admiration for Karen Blixen.

If the words "I had a farm in Africa..." prompt any reaction from you, you may already be a bit familiar with Blixen, who originally wrote under the pen name Isak Dinesen. Her best known novel provided the story for the Academy Award-winning film Out of Africa. One of her short stories became the Oscar-nominated Babette's Feast. After Hans-Christian Andersen, she's probably Denmark's best known writer, though I suspect very few non-Danes read her any more. Her novels seemed like appropriate holiday fodder for me, especially since her home and now museum is walking distance from the cousins we'd be staying with for part of our trip.

I was amply rewarded for my decision. Blixen is a magnificent writer, particularly gifted at spinning short stories and with a lyrical talent for description. Though Danish born and resident there for most of her life, she wrote in English first then translated Danish versions. Thus no interpretation or stylistic additions from translators. Her straightforward, informal style ... often imbued with beautifully poetic phrases ... is all her. I fell in love.

Babette's Feast is perhaps the best story ever written about the magical power of food and wine to transform and elevate people. The film is readily available online. Though the book is set in Sweden, the film moves to Northern Jutland. We watched the download while snuggled up at Ruths Hotel in Skagen. While the area is now a bastion of high-end tourism, the stretches of wind-whipped dunes and moorland made it easy to imagine tougher times here, and to put the extraordinary story of a gourmet chef surprising the austere residents into brilliant context. The original story is short enough to read easily on the flight from Heathrow to Copenhagen; highly recommended to anyone en route to Denmark.

Out of Africa is a bigger beast, though still pleasantly easy to get through. It's essentially a collection of short stories, and Blixen's personal, informal style feels very modern. And while all the key plot points are there (though you have to read between the lines for some), the book is very different from the film.  The text is not the epic love story you might expect, nor does it proceed in a straight line. Rather, it's a series of insightful observations about life in Kenya in the first third of the 20th century, and devotes far more time to the stories of the native peoples than the Europeans.

This might present issues for politically correct types. Blixen was, after all, a privileged white woman living amongst "natives". But any sensitive reader will quickly pick up how unusual Blixen must have been, taking time to get to know the Kenyan tribes, Somalis and Indians as individuals, caring about them and becoming a part of their lives. Essentially an autobiography drawn from her letters home, you feel her growing and learning from the people and land around her. She starts, for example, as a hunter keen to shoot and stuff one of everything that roams. She ends as someone content to wander into the bush to sit quietly and watch the natural world. She's a tough, likeable woman who feels very much ahead of her time.

She's significantly different from the character Meryl Streep gave us in one big way: Blixen was only 28 when she went out to Africa. A sheltered, upper-middle class girl, thrown onto a coffee plantation with no experience and few close neighbours, whose marriage quickly collapsed and who never had enough money ... yet battled through and was a respected pillar of the local community for 18 years. Thus the book also gives us a touching coming of age story that the film doesn't have time to deliver.

Having only known the films until this trip, I didn't realise that Blixen lived a successful and very social life from the time she returned to Denmark in 1931. The end of the film version of Out of Africa has us imagining her descending into a depressing, rain-sodden, impoverished exile. Instead, she became established as a writer, travelling, entertaining and gaining a fair amount of fame until her death in 1962. A visit to her home and museum at Rungstedlund happily dispels this gloom.

The two long, low-slung, connected buildings are typical of Danish farm houses. Inside, you'll find a raised ground floor with high ceilings, big windows, pale colours and tasteful decor. To the back are forests and fields now given over to public park, where you'll also find Blixen's grave. Closer to the house, volunteers maintain Blixen's flower gardens and cut them to provide fresh arrangements for the house; something the writer herself was passionate about. To the front, just over the road, a charming harbour ... these days mostly full of posh pleasure craft ... and a lovely view of the glittering waters of the Øresund with Sweden visible on the horizon. Central Copenhagen is just 15 miles down that main road.

Like most house museums dedicated to an individual, Rungstedlund would be pleasant but not particularly exciting without reading Blixen's work. Once you have, it's fascinating. There are a couple of museum rooms, where you can see original manuscripts and precious objects from the author's life. Perhaps most interesting are photos from her time in Africa, putting real faces to the characters you got to know in her book. The main living rooms of the house are much as she left them, with their dignified mix of late 19th century Danish furniture spiked with colourful memorabilia from Africa. There's ample space for entertaining.

In later life she was famed as a mentor to young writers, with her house becoming a much-loved literary salon. Any writer will peer into Ewald's Room (above right), where she did most of her work, and sigh with satisfaction. The walls bear a collection of reminders of Africa, the furniture is comfortable and the windows look out on a soothing scene of garden, sea and sky. Her home, like her books, paints a picture of Karen Blixen as a person you'd be keen to spend lots of time with.

Sadly, we can't accomplish that in person any more. And you might not be able to get to Denmark any time soon. A few seconds of download time, however, and you can start your acquaintance though her books. I recommend them highly.

Zealand's royal north is packed with noble sights

It was a shock to be back on the beaten tourist track.

After 10 days in Denmark without crowds, and with few other foreigners, we were sharing car parks with tour buses. East Asians with high tech photography gear clustered for the best camera angles. I heard more American accents over one lunch at Frederiksborg Castle than I'd noted cumulatively across the rest of the holiday. Welcome to North Zealand, home to a clutch of notable tourist attractions all less than an hour from Copenhagen.

Thanks to an affluent ruling family fond of building projects, you could cover most of the 35 miles between Copenhagen's suburbs and the north tip of the island that houses the capital without leaving royal property. From blockbuster palaces to hunting grounds and summer retreats, this verdant landscape within easy reach of Copenhagen has been a royal playground for centuries.

Kronborg

The most famous of these castles, however, had a much more serious purpose. Kronborg dominates the town of Helsingør ... you might know it as Elsinore ... on Zealand's northeastern tip. The castle overlooks a narrow straight separating Denmark from Sweden. The other shore is so close, it looks easily swimmable on a fine day. This is the narrowest point on the sound that provides the most direct access between the North Sea and the Baltic; early kings built Denmark's prosperity on controlling this pinch point and charging "Sound Dues" on trading vessels coming through. 

In the late 16th century Frederik II decided to transform the basic defensive castle here into a magnificent Renaissance palace and renamed it the "Crown Castle", or Kronborg. It's a smug, over-the-top statement from a blatant show-off celebrating more than 150 years of his family exploiting a geographical quirk to make a fortune. While the motivations might be less than attractive, the architectural result was exquisite.

It's an enormous rectangular building with a courtyard in the middle, set upon a moated island and surrounded by star-shaped defensive battlements of earth and stone. This could be quite grim were it not for a decorative garnish of fancifully crowned towers, green and gold roofs and enough opulently-carved friezes, window surrounds and gables to tip the whole thing into wedding cake territory. There's a substantial progression of rooms to explore inside. The decorations and furnishings in the 16th century rooms are a bit sparse, getting more opulent as you reach a suite laden with tapestries and furnishings from the 17th and 18th. The most jaw dropping interior is the chapel, bristling with polychromed carvings, inlaid wood and chequered marble. Don't miss descending into the casemates below the courtyard to see the brooding statue of Holger Danske. This legendary, ancient Danish prince ... a bit like King Arthur ... is supposedly suspended in an enchanted sleep, destined to return in Denmark's hour of greatest need. He may not have woken during World War II, but a brave group of resistance fighters used his name. They're commemorated here, too.

Of course, it wasn't a Dane who gave this castle its greatest fame, but an Englishman. Yes, it's that Elsinore. Most tourists make there way here to see the setting for Hamlet, irrespective of the fact that the sketchy legend of Prince Amleth ... Shakespeare's only tie to anything resembling Danish history ... pre-dates the castle by centuries. Instead, it's more likely Shakespeare chose the setting because the castle, newly-built in his time, was a currently-famous symbol of a wealthy, powerful monarch. No matter. Kronborg's caretakers know the value of a tourist hook and have been playing on the link since they fixed a monument to the English Bard in the outer courtyard wall in the 19th century. Since then there've been successive Shakespeare festivals, live performances and Kronborg-set film adaptations. And, for the past two summers, a chance to interact in "Hamlet Live" as a small troupe of players present key scenes around the castle. 

We were enchanted, trailing the actors from Hamlet's first confrontation with his father's ghost ... cunningly engineered to hover in an archway in a dark cellar ... to his death by duel in Frederick's enormous ballroom. (When built, it was the largest in Europe.) This was not a straight performance. Practicalities don't allow for bringing in a full cast every day, so we made due with Hamlet, Claudius, Polonius, Laertes and Ophelia. Gertrude should have been there as well, but she was ill. Lacking the full cast of characters, some adjustments need to be made ... like the play within a play becoming a puppet show delivered by Hamlet. The players take some liberty with the text, ad libbing to draw the audience in to the action and improvising in the down time between their scenes. 

Which is how I ended up reading Shakespeare's sonnets aloud with King Claudius in his private apartments. I know, he's a murderer, but he was much sexier than his weedy, angst-ridden nephew. 

The closer we got to the climax, the closer they stuck to the text. Some visitors were content to bump into the action as they stumbled upon it in their exploration of the castle, while a smaller bunch ... of which we were two ... followed every scene, dashing up and down staircases, in and out of courtyards and playing the role of courtiers when asked. For any fan of Shakespeare, this was extraordinarily good fun. I was particularly delighted to see a handful of keen children in the core group of fans; what an incredible way to get introduced the classics.

"Hamlet Live" has been such a success since its 2016 launch that it looks set to become a regular feature; I would plan any trip to Kronborg around it. (Eat lunch before the action kicks off; once you're in the castle proper there are no dining options.) Andrew Jeffers, who played a stolid and likeable Polonius, told us it's been such a hit that museum directors are looking at introducing this interactive theatrical model to other attractions in Denmark. Yet another example of how the Danes are leading the way in bringing culture to life for a new generation.

FrederiksborgWithout the Shakespearean link, Frederiksborg is the castle to seek out for history, art and magnificent interiors. Built by Frederick II's son Christian IV, there are a lot of similarities: moats, fanciful towers, baroque decoration. But where Kronborg's grey sandstone walls and line of snarling, Swedish-directed cannon maintain an air of pragmatic usefulness, Frederiksborg's mellow brick walls and formal gardens tip us solidly into fairy tale territory. It's a mood reinforced by the fact that most of the interiors are courtesy of a lavish 19th-century restoration funded by the Carlsberg Brewery magnate. Perhaps not historically accurate, but it's an eye-pleasing jewel box to linger over for hours. I wrote more about the interiors on my last visit, which you can read here.

This time, I wanted to explore the gardens. My introduction to Frederiksborg had been in January, when the windows looked over an icy lake and a snow-covered expanse undulating with bumps that only hinted at formal horticulture. Now, they were at their best. And, delightfully, they're free to enter. (There's a charge to tour the castle.)

The gardens follow the grand French model of bushes artfully clipped into parterres, elevated walls created with pleached trees and grand arboreal allees. That's all dignified with classical statuary on hefty plinths, water features and gates of lacy iron work. It's a garden that trumpets man's mastery over nature, though woodlands and park area on the outskirts are designed with a later, more naturalistic style. Get the big picture looking down at them from the castle, or wander amongst them to get lost in their detail. These gardens are particularly striking in the way they're cut into terraces going up the steep hill across the lake from the castle. Grass-covered banks more than a storey tall, cut at a 60 degree angle, provide comforting green enclosures and a puzzle. How do they mow grass on such a steep slope? My only disappointment: few flowers within the parterres. This is a place for greenery and structure, not blooms.

Fredensborg

You can say the same about the gardens at Fredensborg. More allees, pleached trees and architectural hedges, but on a much grander scale. Frederiksborg's gardens remind me of Loire Chateaux; here you're solidly in Versailles category. Minus the fountains. And, on the day I went, minus any people. Though family who live nearby assured me it's packed with locals on weekends, on a Wednesday afternoon in August I wandered much of the park by myself. In that respect it reminded me a lot of Windsor Great Park which I used to wander on weekdays in splendid isolation when I lived down the road.

The comparison is valid in other ways. Like Windsor, Fredensborg is still a favourite retreat from the capital for the current royal family, and they live here for chunks of the year. Thus the palace and the private gardens are usually closed and patrolled by bearskin-topped soldiers. But the formal baroque pleasure gardens radiating out from the palace and down towards Lake Esrum are open to all. And free to enter.

These gardens are about a century on from those at Frederiksborg, and though they're still full of artifice and formality, you can see the Romantic movement coming. Allees are longer and look a bit wilder. Formal sightlines open up to "borrowed", wild landscape. Paths between formal elements wind through wilderness. I even spotted a couple of grazing muntjac. 

The palace's name celebrates an end to wars with Sweden; "fredens borg" means "peace's castle" and the gardens are full of fascinating monuments I can only assume are dedicated to this episode in history. Obelisks and columns with a variety of ornamentation sit in carefully manicured groves, on islands amongst lily ponds or guarded by screening walls. Sadly, there's no information on site about the monuments and little to be found on the internet. 

Only one gets much attention. The Valley of the Norsemen features 70 almost life-sized statues of Norwegian and Faroe Islands fisher folk. (Norway used to be part of Denmark, the Faroes still are.) They are arranged in three concentric, terraced circles, staring down at a central obelisk. This is a striking way for a monarch to celebrate his common people, and it's a beautiful amphitheatre set amongst fields and woods. But if you're by yourself, it's also more than a bit creepy. The statues are a bit too lifelike, and they all seem to be staring your way. I did not linger there long.

Gilleleje

Not all of North Zealand is royal, and it's not all on the beaten track. There are plenty of beaches ... those on the east coast are more crowded due to their close proximity to Copenhagen. In fact, much of this Eastern shore from Copenhagen to Helsingør feels like one continuous, affluent suburb of the capital. The great and the good live on the waterfront here ... I suppose we could consider them modern royalty ... and architecture fans will enjoy a drive up the coast gawping at the houses. Numerous harbours along the way have switched from fishing to yachts and upscale dining.

Things get more rustic if you spend half an hour crossing to the other coast. The village of Tisvilde is swimming with quaint charm and the long, sandy beach beneath it is a top bathing spot. Head up from there to the very northern tip of Zealand and you'll find the fishing village of Gilleleje.

It's easily passed by if you don't know its history. Knowing makes it worth a stop. Gilleleje was the end of the line for hundreds of jews fleeing Denmark in 1943, when the Nazis switched their three-year-old "protectorate" into a full occupation complete with ethnic cleansing policies. Denmark is full of heroic stories of people working  to get their Jewish neighbours out, but nowhere sees a concentration like this little port town, where local captains packed their boats to get Jews 15 miles over the water to Sweden. Then returned to Nazi condemnation. Sadly, not everyone made the boats. In the race against time, 80 were left behind, hid in the church and were captured when the Nazis closed in. (You can learn more here.) But the brave sailors of Gilleleje saved almost 1,600 souls in their efforts.

Gilleleje doesn't shout about this. The Danes are a quietly modest people. If you visit the church, you'll find a small monument. You can imagine the fear. Even as bright sunlight spilled through clear windows against brilliantly whitewashed walls, I felt the sadness of the place. A short stroll to the harbour and you'll find a beautiful, simple wooden monument curved like the prow of a Viking ship, with a small plaque in Danish. 

Fortunately, there's plenty to cheer you up once you finish your somber contemplation of Gilleleje's history. The buildings around the harbour are rich with half timbering, cheerful colours and thatch. There are plenty of restaurants, including a fish stand right by the water that cooks the fresh catch to order off the counter of the fish monger next door.  The adjacent picnic tables are a great place to grab a beer, watch the boats bob at anchor and contemplate the world. It was both irony and a reason for joy that most of the tourists in the Gilleleje that day were German. Past not forgotten, but put in a salutary place. As we eat fresh fish and ice cream in the sunshine and build a better world. One hopes.

Agrarian South Zealand is a gentle retreat for the soul

Travellers without personal connections would probably never venture into the region south of Copenhagen. It lacks the blockbuster sites that stud the landscape north of town. It is, rather, a quiet place dense with charming thatched cottages, picturesque fishing harbours, traditional farmhouses and agrarian landscapes.

It's also home to generations of the Bencard family, so I've been fortunate to explore with locals.

By the time you've put 40 miles between yourself and Copenhagen, the island best known for Denmark's capital becomes resolutely rural.  Wide, open roads follow the lines of broad, arable fields bordered by wildflowers or thin lines of woodland.  Everything about the landscape is gentle, from the roll of the hills to the sleepy cows to the nodding hollyhocks that seem to dance above every garden wall. In late August, towering hay scarecrows advertised the harvest festival while combine harvesters brought in the crops. (It had been an unusually wet summer; they were fighting to harvest during a short outbreak of clement weather.) The landscape was green, gold, blue, white and grey: Foliage at its high summer peak; wheat fields bright as burnished metal; waters of the Øresund shimmering from so many views ... all stretching beneath the kind of big skies filled with towering grey and white clouds you only get over islands and peninsulae.

Even the cliffs look gentle. You can meander along 11 miles of Stevns Klint, where brilliant white chalk walls hold back the sea. At their highest, they stand 130 feet, but they never seem particularly menacing. Even though their crumbling swallowed the 13th century Højerup Old Church. Visit the reconstruction, complete with medieval wall paintings, then enjoy a leisurely traditional meal at
Traktørstedet Højeruplund next door. The thatch, low ceilings, beams and long-serving regular staff mirror a traditional menu of classics like hearty soups, fried fish and schnitzel.

Down at the nearby Rødvig harbour, small fishing boats and pleasure craft are temporarily dwarfed by industrial vessels currently in port to help lay power cables to offshore windmills. There's no question this is a working port; your wander around the harbour skirts lobster cages and piles of nets in for repair. Local fishmongers there to clear the day's catch made me wish I had time to take over one of the family kitchens. Instead, we savoured ice cream from the harbour's snack shop (liquorice ice cream is a must for any visit to this country) and watched cormorants air their wings on the breakwater in the golden rays of the late afternoon sun.

This was a region of vast aristocratic estates; many of the farmhouses you see were once tenant properties linked to great houses. One of these that's partially open for tourism is Gisselfeld Kloster. The romantic moated manor house's greatest claim to fame is a link to Hans Christian Andersen. He was a frequent guest, mentions the place in his autobiography and they claim it's where he came up with the idea for The Ugly Duckling. It's also Denmark's fifth-largest estate. Gardeners will be intrigued by the grounds and greenhouses. Indeed, this is what's open to the public regularly to explore. Mostly a landscape park, people in search of flowers should head to the greenhouses. If they look familiar, it's no surprise: the 19th century owner had them shipped over from England. The house is rarely open, but the exterior .... Renaissance, red brick step gables rising from a reflective moat ... is a scene worthy of contemplation.

Taking the slow route along the coast on the 265 will provide an effortless wander through one picturesque scene after another. Civilisation rarely intrudes on the picture with anything bigger than a cluster of thatched cottages or the proud, white, step-gabled tower of a traditional church. The most regular nod to modernity is the profusion of high tech windmills, but they slide easily into the landscape as their calmly-spinning blades mirror the sails of their oft-spotted 19th century predecessors. The Øresund isn't a constant companion. Rather, the island-dotted seascape swims in and out of view as you skirt forest and field. You might get caught behind some lumbering farm equipment, providing an excuse to slow down even further to better enjoy the view. (If you're in a hurry, you could zip down the E47 motorway in a fraction of the time.)

Eventually, the road leads to Kalvehave and the short bridge to the island of Møn. This 84 square-mile island is even sleepier than South Zealand, with just one main town, Stege, and boom times that were last seen when it was a top herring fishery in the early 18th century. It never really recovered its cosmopolitan prosperity after being a casualty of wars between Denmark and Sweden. The consequence for modern tourists is lots of historic buildings and few chain stores or restaurants. Locals are making the most out of their island's independent, old-style spirit: stop for lunch at the local butcher (slager) Stig, where they run a restaurant quite literally on the side, lifting meats out of their counter to prep for your plate.

Of course, you don't even need to get out of your car to take in the mix of historic architecture on Stege's high street, the jaunty gate tower at the town's eastern end, or the venerable Elmelunde Church, oldest on the island. You'll probably be driving by them to get to the most famous place on Møn, Møns Klint. If you lingered in Rødvig Harbour, you might have seen these cliffs gleaming across the water. They form the island's eastern edge, glistening white and towering at three times the height of Stevns Klint at their tallest ... making them visible for miles. They're very similar to England's Beachy Head, with one significant difference: The landscape leading up to the cliff edge is heavily forested. The whole area is now a park, criss-crossed with hiking and biking trails. At the end of the road (literally) you'll find a car park in front of a modern geological museum. 

From here you can stroll along wooden boardwalks that lift you above the forest floor. While the feeling is magical, it wasn't done for your benefit: there are several rare varieties of orchid native to this chalky soil that nobody wants your feet to disturb. The energetic can follow a long chain of steps all the way down to the beach, while the more leisurely can skim the cliff tops to reach a lofty observation point. Even though most of it is forested, the drop is still impressive as the eastern side of the boardwalk holds you in the highest branches of the whispering beech trees. The forest here is spectacularly beautiful. Experts claim that the pale chalk below reflects upwards, giving the whole place a spring-like glow even in the fully-grown depths of summer. At the viewpoint, we paused to watch scores of butterflies feed from clusters of wildflowers. The water below took on almost Caribbean hue as it mirrored the bright white cliffs above.

I wished I had my mother's skill at water colours. Møns Klint, like so much of this part of Denmark, inspires quiet contemplation. The whole region a great place to restore your soul.

Aarhus' exceptional Restaurant Domestic dishes up one of my top five dining experiences ever

There are few restaurants so spectacular I'd recommend scheduling a trip just to eat at them. Domestic in Aarhus is one of them. This Michelin-starred gem tucked away in an old industrial building in Denmark's second city immediately vaulted into the top five restaurant experiences of my life. It's extraordinary on every front. If you want a magnificent, off-the-beaten-track culinary weekend, get Domestic on your list.

Why?

The food, as you'd expect from that Michelin star, is exceptional. Embracing all those elements of Scandinavian cuisine that have taken the world by storm, but without fuss, molecular gastronomy or the "pushing people out of their comfort zone" that's always put us off seeking a reservation at Copenhagen's famous Noma. Just great food. Exquisitely combined, prepared and presented. The atmosphere is fantastic: casual yet elegant, modern yet refined, with plenty of room between tables to give a sense of intimacy despite the big industrial space. And what a staff! We had our main server, Morten, and five others presenting our dishes, several of the secondary team coming straight from the kitchen to bring us what they'd just prepared. Every dish and each accompanying wine came with a story, and the whole team was happy to chat. I felt more like the visiting auntie of gang of 20-something foodie hipsters keen to entertain me rather than a paying guest at a restaurant. On every count, Domestic was magnificent.

You can choose from a four- or eight-course set menu, with matching wine or juice flights. We, of course, did eight and eight. Plus the eight snacks that serve as amuse bouche and a glass of bubbly to go with those. All of which sounds like an obscene quantity that should have seen us bursting, Mr. Creosote-like, before the first desert. But so well-judged and delicate are the portions that we emerged feeling full, brimming with comfort and satisfaction, but not stuffed. As to the effects of nine glasses of wine, some with top ups? In our defence, the experience did stretch over more than three hours...

Those "snacks" are masterful, tiny demonstrations of culinary excellence. They fire a warning shot across the bows of your expectations: we are wildly creative artists, obsessed with what's in season,  with a great sense of fun. A single potato chip "dressed" with garlic mayonnaise and grated veal heart. A finger-sized buckwheat taco filled with smoked mackerel. Tiny rolls of beef tartare in a celeriac wrapper. A skewered cube of smoky pork belly on a bed of freshly-cut, warmed juniper branches sending out an extraordinary scent. These delights went with a remarkable discovery: sparkling apple wine.

Andersen Winery is a local operation dedicated to using Champagne's methode traditionelle with Denmark's best fruits and berries to create something completely new. Their Sigrid 2015 Brut was mind blowing: the toasty, small-bubbled elegance of the best champagne with the apples sliding the flavour profile someplace new. It's so subtle you might not be able to pick up the apple in a blind taste test, but magnificent. If this was available on the open market I might never go back to bubbly grape juice. Sadly for all of us, their production is almost exclusively purchased by top restaurants in Denmark, so you'll have to go there to partake of this delight.

An hour in to this extravaganza, it was time for the main show. Kicked off with "ravioli" the size of a two-pound coin, made from an outer shell of celariac, filled with soft cheese and floating on an intense, green herbal sauce. A flavour explosion. On to the seemingly bizarre mix of pickled green strawberries, lobster and samphire. The strawberries dominated the lobster a bit, but the combo was fantastic. Next a little piece of cod on a foamy mussel sauce. I hate mussels. It didn't matter. Here, they'd been reduced to an umami essence; a complementary backnote rather than an independent element. Next up: potatoes. Small pieces had been de-hydrated, re-hydrated and cooked, served with slivers of white asparagus, fresh lovage and a grate of parmesan. The interesting preparation had completely transformed the vegetable into something new, with a different bite and texture than any other potato preparation I've had.

The two main meat courses were simple and perfectly balanced. A slice of succulent pork, tender and still pink as you can do with confidence with top quality meat, in a herby black garlic sauce with three elegant cups of onion. Next a slice of beef. Caramelised bark on the outside, mouth-meltingly rare inside, with a blackcurrant sauce and a parsley-studded salad. Yet another example of how the Danes use fruit in unexpected ways in savoury dishes. This may be the No. 1 thing I bring back to my own kitchen.

The two puddings show the Danes' delicate touch with desserts. Strange, perhaps, for a country known for its pastries, but the meal-ending sweets here tend to be much lighter and fresh-fruit based ... shown off at the most sophisticated level at Domestic. We started with a dollop of thick buttermilk that was almost like yogurt, dressed with herbs and honey. Yes, herbs. I've never had a pudding that was so strongly vegetal. And delicious. More herbs in the second desert, as sugared granules of tarragon and wildflowers elevated a circle of plump blueberries. We could have opted for an additional sweets course that might have brought more sinful pleasures, but that was an excess too far.

Instead, we retired to a cozy wine cellar over coffee. At least ... my husband had coffee. Here's your biggest clue that they don't see many Americans in Aarhus. No decaff options at all. The coffee smelled exquisite. But even a perfect meal is not worth the sleepless night that caffeine at 11:30pm would have given me.

We floated back to the Ritz Hotel through Aarhus' broad, elegant streets. By that point they were throbbing with young people out for a good time. This is, after all, home to the largest university in Scandinavia. Much to our surprise, two lads called out to us, offering to sell some cocaine. I had a good laugh. I'd already had my high for the evening; no drug could beat the art and tastes of Domestic.

Aarhus: Europe's 2017 capital of culture deserves plenty of time

Like so many of the destinations in our recent trip to Denmark, I left Aarhus feeling I wanted more time there. Our two-day introduction was enticing, but we really needed three.

This busy port on the east coast of Jutland has been thriving since Viking times. It's now the second largest city in Denmark and home to Scandinavia's biggest university. But size is relative. Even with all those students, population for the whole metropolitan area is less than 400,000. These factors combine to give Aarhus the creative buzz, prosperity and ethnic diversity of a big city, with the cozy dimensions and laid-back style of a small town.

As you'd expect from a bustling port town, Aarhus has more modern architecture and less immediate visual charm than other towns in Jutland. Though the town's status as 2017 European City of Culture triggered a lot of restoration work, there's only so much you can do to make an industrial harbour attractive. Any lack of physical charm where the city centre meets the waterfront, however, is amply compensated for in a city park holding one of Aarhus' biggest attractions: Den Gamle By (the old town).

History preserved
This open-air architectural museum essentially re-creates a town from 75 buildings brought here from all over Denmark. Its origins go back to the early 20th century, when Aarhus' renaissance-era mayor's house was scheduled for demolition to make way for modern buildings. A local teacher, Peter Holm, saved it and arranged for it to be re-assembled as a cultural attraction. A large merchant's mansion from Aalborg followed, and by the inter-war years this became the default way to save endangered buildings from across Denmark. It became the first, and biggest, museum of its kind.

Today you can wander through three eras of history. The largest, original part of town is a picture-postcard collection of buildings from the 16th - 19th centuries. Most are furnished and open for you to explore, allowing you to poke into the lives of the craftspeople and merchants (almost all of the stories shared are from real people) who lived and worked in these spaces. All of society is here, from the humble widows living a genteel existence to the rising affluence of the tailor and the clock maker to the gracious gentility of the mayor's house. There are historic gardens, a handful of historic shops (the bakery being the best, of course), several restaurants and employees wandering around in period costume. There's a smaller section from the 1920s and a few streets ... still under construction ... from the '70s. The bakery and the little grocery store in this most modern section transported my husband back to his childhood in Copenhagen; it was great to share that with him. The 1970s TV and electronics shop made us both feel very, very old.

You could easily spend a full day here. We limited ourselves five hours, in line with the free parking you get on the neighbouring streets. (You could probably walk here from most city centre hotels.) Resist the logical temptation to visit in historic order and head immediately for the 1920s. Turns out there's a film and several exhibits on Aarhus' history that put everything in context. Sadly, we were at the end of our time and energy when we discovered this feature.

So much more
I'd expected the sprawling Den Gamle By to be well outside the city centre, but it's sandwiched hard between modern glass towers and the city's botanical gardens on the other side. The Moesgaard Museum, which tourist literature had led me to believe was in the city centre, was a good 15-minute drive beyond in a large park of rolling woodland. This was my other must see, and another place worthy of a full day. I wrote more about it here.

That left us with so much more we would have liked to have explored. The arrow-shaped plaza in

front of Aarhus cathedral was sparkling and tidy like a freshly-cleaned house, lined with dignified 18th and 19th century buildings housing upscale shops and restaurants. Tables spilled onto the pavement; an attempt at a Mediterranean feel, assisted by the blankets provided for every table. Surrounding streets had been pedestrianised to form impressively broad shopping avenues. The town has a strong reputation for music, especially jazz; there are lots of music clubs here and a well-known annual jazz festival. There's a river walk lined with more restaurants, a well-regarded Viking museum and an art museum topped by a striking example of installation art.

The "rainbow walk" tops the ARoS Aarhus Kunstmuseum like a multi-coloured crown, its shades fading from one to the other through the sequence of the rainbow. It's both fun and a striking sight: though we didn't get a chance to get inside, it provides a lovely sight from many parts of town ... and has a valid cultural link as well as just being beautiful. In Viking mythology, the rainbow bridge linked the land of humans with that of the gods. In two days of variable weather, I also discovered that it actually looks better against grey skies than bright blue, which I suspect is a useful design feature in this part of the world.

The Aarhusians are even making a stab at foodie stardom with their much promoted new Central Food Market. I was hoping for a Scandi version of Barcelona's Bouqueria. Sadly, the Aarhus market is merely a food court with a bar in the middle. Most nights it's only open until 8pm (Thursday - Saturday they stretch to 10pm) so not a reliable option for relaxed, lingering dinner. Booths presented an unremarkable global collection of Chinese, Italian, Sushi and bbq options, with a few Danish traditions like pastries, hot dogs and open-faced sandwiches. The most memorable discovery was cocktails on tap ... specifically a gin concoction with carrot and apple juice ... recently invented by a Dane. Look out for them at a bar near you.

Aarhus deserves foodie fame on another front, however: its Michelin-starred restaurants. Read about our exceptional experience in the next story.

Where to stay?
Aarhus has some interesting inter-war architecture, most notably its striking 1941 city hall. Just across the street is the Ritz Hotel, part of a whole complex of art deco buildings put up following a new train station in the 1920s designed in what was then the cutting edge style. The Ritz had also been a meeting point for the Danish resistance in WWII (a special interest of my husband). It transitioned from being part of an international chain to positioning itself as an independent with a boutique focus in 2014, and as part of that had undergone a top-to-toe renovation. Exactly the kind of points that tick the Bencard hotel wish list.

Alas, reality was not as charming as the description. The lobby is small and quite humble, with few places to lounge. Given that Danish hotel rooms tend to be sparse and practical, comfortable lobbies are important. I was hoping that a historic hotel would provide larger rooms with more charm. Sadly not. Other than some styling in bathroom tiles and fittings, nothing in the room shouted "art deco" and the limited space was the functional set up I've come to expect of Danish hotels: two twin beds pushed together; separate, excellent quality duvets atop each; square pillows; one functional but not particularly comfortable chair with a bit of desk space. More unfortunately, our room was on the first floor at the back of the hotel, overlooking a massive inner courtyard providing parking and services for all the big buildings around a large city block. Which meant that each of our two mornings we were woken early by delivery vans, rubbish bin collection, workers arriving for their jobs, screaming children in a school's courtyard and ... most bizarrely ... a flock of shrieking seagulls who I assume spotted breakfast in the moving rubbish. The traffic noise at the front of the hotel would have been more soothing.

Given my realisation that, whatever your price range, most Danish hotel rooms are likely to have the same identikit functionality, in city centres I'm now more likely to go for location than anything else. In Aarhus I suspect we should have chosen the Cabinn instead. Modern, completely charmless, cheaper, but sitting at the corner of the gorgeous cathedral square.

Skagen: The most surprising beach holiday destination you've probably never heard of

It's no secret that I prefer my beaches with palm trees, tropical fish and balmy swims. Perhaps as a any beach beats a landscape without one. Even the coldest, cruelest of coastlines ... like the brutal sands of Vik, Iceland ... stir my soul. So I knew I'd find plenty to like in Skagen, Denmark.
consequence of coming from a profoundly landlocked place, however, I also believe that

Better than like. I loved it. Even in one of the coldest, wettest summers that Denmark's had in years, I immediately saw the appeal. By the second of our three days, I was eying up holiday cottages and speculating on prices. 

It's no wonder that Scandinavia's finest artists made this their summer hub in the late 19th century. (The image above shows P.S. Krøyer's painting of the beach in 1893 on top, and the same spot today on the bottom.) The sand is the consistency of finely-milled flour. Where shingle lies atop it, the stones are rarely more than egg-sized, polished to a smooth curve by ancient glaciers. They glisten in a bewildering variety of colours, seductive as semi-precious stones when slicked by the tide. Most of the beach is screened by dunes often as high as a three-story building, covered with grasses that undulate to mimic the waves of the sea they face.

Acting as a screen to civilisation and a barrier to access, the dunes ensure peace and quiet. Though there is relatively flat and easy beach access from a car park at Solnelgangen, walk a hundred meters in either direction and you can be almost alone. The place is reportedly packed in late June and early July, but by mid-August ... with Danish kids back to school ... I could spend a couple of hours reclining in the sun-trap of a hollow carved in the side of a dune, looking down at a spectacular stretch of beach that featured no more than 15 walkers during my whole time at rest. There are compensations for being too cold to swim.

More than a beach, Skagen is the northern-most town in Denmark, located on the eastern side of a narrow spit of land ... the Skagen Odde ... that extends from the tip of Jutland. There are just over 8,000 permanent inhabitants of Skagen, but more than 2 million tourists a year. Though there is still a working fishing port here (which can send unpleasant smells over part of the town centre's shopping area if the winds are right), tourism is obviously the main industry. From the car park at the town centre, the main road leading north is lined with galleries, gift shops and dining spots. This includes a large boutique for Skagen watches and accessories; though the company is American, its Danish-born founders named it after the beauty they remembered from this part of the country. Don't miss Krages Bakery, where I had some of the finest pastry I've yet to taste in Denmark, and Slagter Munch, a butcher famous for a beguiling line of sausages, salamis and cured meats. They also sell plenty of gourmet goodies to take away for beach picnics. There are several museums here, covering everything from local history to the Skagen artists to teddy bears.

Though there are plenty of modern buildings on the outskirts, the tourist centre is almost exclusively traditional architecture. Most are a distinctive mustard yellow beneath red-tiled roofs, leaving Skagen much the way it would have been in its first flush of fashionability in the early 19th century. Royalty and aristocracy followed the artists, and throughout the 20th century this was the place to be seen in the summer. Most of the homes in the immediate area are actually holiday cottages. Both the population and tourist numbers have been declining steadily in the 20th century, however, presumably in line with cheap flights to exotic, warmer beaches. Plans are afoot, however, to build a jetty for deep-water cruise ships onto the harbour. This will, no doubt, transform the economy ... but may destroy Skagen's old-fashioned charm. Go now, before the floating hotels arrive.

Land's End
Salt marshes and dunes clad in grasses and heather, coming into glorious purple bloom in August, provide several miles of barrier of between the town and land's end. The final point is called Grenen. There's a large car park here from which you can explore. Everyone will be heading for the sand spit on which Denmark ends. The North Sea and the Baltic crash together here. Head all the way to the
end of the sand and stand ankle-deep in the frigid surf and you'll get an unsettling sense of walking on water as big waves crash close at hand and shipping traffic glides by in a steady stream.

The walk here from the car park is about a mile, or you can pay a modest fee (DK 300) to hitch a ride to-and-fro in the Sandormen (sand worm), a glass enclosed carriage pulled by a heavy tractor. Given how strong the winds often are up here, the sheltered transport isn't just for the lazy! The dunes here are pockmarked with German bunkers from WW2; no surprise when you look at a map and see how vital this narrow shipping lane is. Most are abandoned, or used as storage for holiday cottages, but one near the car park holds a small museum. There's also a restaurant (only open seasonally) and a tourist hut with gifts and ice creams to provide distraction.

Holiday headquarters
We stayed a similar distance from the town centre, but to the west, in an outlying village called Højen. Also known as Gammel (old) Skagen, the cluster of long, low, yellow-walled cottages huddled against the dunes looks so uniform, and is so daintily pretty with colourful gardens and gaily waving Danish flag pennants, you could be forgiven for assuming that the whole place was built by a modern developer as a single holiday resort. But these were indeed once the homes of fishermen and shepherds, with records dating back to the 10th century, and the bleak dunes stretching away from town hint at how hardscrabble life must have been for them. The gentrification started with those Skagen artists, and now it appears all the dwellings are either hotels or holiday homes. There are only a few shops and restaurants, and everything lies within old buildings with very subtle signage, giving Højen a quiet, restrained elegance. (Anyone in search of nightlife would clearly need to head to Skagen centre.) Though you can hear the sea, it's mostly blocked from view by those grass-covered dunes. Aside from the grass, the most prominent local flora is the wild rose, with hedges of the stuff carpeting much of town with dusky blooms and ripening rose hips. Like the architecture, nature here is beautiful in a quietly restrained way.

We stayed at Ruths Hotel. Its 1904 founding doesn't make it the oldest in town (that distinction belongs to the 1888 Jeckels across the street), but it's clearly the best known, has two highly-regarded restaurants and an indoor pool and spa. It's much easier to take a benign view about blustery weather and the North Sea's unswimmable temperatures when you can relax in a glass-walled pool pavilion complete with fireplace and mood lighting to create the requisite sense of Danish hygge. 

The hotel is comprised of several different cottages spreading out from the main building, now subdivided into individual rooms. The original architecture can lead to some quirky floorplans: our bedroom would have been much improved if it could have incorporated the entry hall that divided it from the bathroom, but I suspect that centuries-old dividing wall was structurally significant. Walking between buildings to get to the restaurants, lounge and spa could be a challenge in the off season, but even in the rain we weren't bothered by the quick dash.

Because there's little in the immediate area, most of Ruths' guests seem to be on dining packages. A room with dinner in the brasserie will set a couple back about £300 per night. Upgrade to the gourmet package, which moves you in to Ruths' small, modern fine dining room, and you've reached about £400 ... before ordering drinks. Ruths' pricing definitely puts it in the resort hotel category and was the splurge of our trip. It's a splurge best appreciated if you're not going to stray far from the immediate area, and really enjoy your food. If we returned for a longer stay, economic realities would force me to look at the other hotels or at renting a cottage for a week. But as a luxurious introduction to the area, Ruths was ideal.

A fishy excursion
One outing did entice us more than a few minutes from our luxurious bolthole. The Nordsøen Oceanarium is the largest aquarium in Northern Europe, about 40 minutes' drive away on the edge of the town of Hirtshalls. It's well worth the drive. Most aquariums I've visited focus on the showy dazzle of the coral reef. This, place, as you'd expect, turns its attention to life in the seas outside its door. Its 1,200,000 gallon central tank is a jaw dropper, built to enable schooling fish like mackerel and herring to swim en masse. They put on a mesmeric show. In other tanks, we watched plaice and turbot slide down rocks and across sandy surfaces. It's one thing to understand the concept of a flat fish, another to actually see what that means. One of the delights for both of us, in fact, was seeing so many fish we eat on a regular basis in their natural habitat. It increases our respect for them, and when you've frequently filleted something you can understand more about the living animal.

Check times in advance for feeding: we didn't and missed the excitement in the main tank. We did, however, make it in time for the seals. This merry community lives in an outdoor tank complete with a glass tunnel below it, so you can inspect their jolly antics from every perspective. All of the exhibits are in both English and Danish and, like so many of the Viking attractions, manage to strike a great balance between fun for the kids and worthy info for adults.

Though the fish were enough to lure me away from Skagen on my first visit, I doubt I'd bother on a second. More time on the beach, exploration of other local restaurants, a deeper understanding of the offerings from the Skagen Bryghus (Brewhouse) ... all reached on a bicycle borrowed from the hotel. That's the return I'm dreaming of.

Dining at Ruths

Meals here were uniformly delicious. The breakfast buffet was standard Danish fare: yogurts, sliced meats and cheeses, fruit, pastries and some fabulous home-baked breads. You could also order a broad range of hot dishes cooked to request, included as standard. The high-ceilinged breakfast room with big windows overlooking the dunes, cool colours, early 20th century portraits, Georg Jensen silver accessories and burning candles (yes, even at breakfast) was a picture of Nordic elegance. One of my favourite things about Danish breakfast: the assumption that everyone drinks coffee. It's there, already waiting for you when you sit down, rich and hot in a fat-bellied Jensen thermal carafe. Bliss.

The main hotel building wraps in a C-shape around a courtyard, where you can enjoy meals or drinks in fine weather. We managed one lunch and afternoon drinks there, but the evening chill drove everyone into the hotel's brasserie for dinner. The profusion of windows, high-gloss white woodwork,  touches of blue, brass and nautical accessories give the place a beach vibe. It was packed every night with a convivial, mostly Scandinavian crowd; the only anglo-saxons in the place were, like me, with Danish partners.

As I've come to expect from any good restaurant in Denmark, the food was locally sourced, seasonal

and beautifully presented. Ruths' menu is Scandinavian with a heavy French influence. Favourite dishes included a cured halibut fresh from local waters with a fresh cucumber and creme fraiche sauce and a magnificent salad notable for the inclusion of ice salad. Most Danes were astonished that I'd never encountered the plant before and considered it wildly exotic. This small, leafy herb grows wild beside the sea and protects itself from harsh sea spray by covering itself with tiny bubbles of salt water that sparkle like ice in the sun. The taste is remarkable: extremely green and fresh, both sweet and salty, leafy yet with a crunchy bite. It's fantastically good with seafood. Duck turns up a lot on the menu (no surprise given all the wetlands on this peninsula), we had it paired with a rich red wine and cherry sauce.

If you're staying more than one night (or only one), I'd recommend upgrading to the gourmet menu. Our five course menu of local delights with matching wine flight would have been our best meal of the trip, were in not for an extraordinary Michelin-starred outing in Aarhus (story to come). The restaurant is hidden in a back corner of the main building, so subtle you could stay here for days and not realise it was back there. The night we ate there only four other tables shared the room with us. Service is attentive and intimate, with lots of discussion about local sourcing and the logic of the mostly French and Italian wine matches.

We enjoyed local scallops, and given that we both hate mussels were delighted that the "mussel fume" beneath them was remarkably subtle ... just enough to give the dish an extra umami kick. I was even more delighted to find some more ice salad. A second fish course brought turbot, the king of flat fish, beautifully paired with some grilled cucumber (a preparation I must try at home, as it brings out a more sophisticated side to this kitchen staple). Dried duck breast with truffles and lightly pickled black currants gave us a chance to try Slagter Munch's production. If not for the fruit (Danes love incorporating fruit into savoury courses) we could have been in Gascony. The main course was a classic veal in mushroom sauce. We saw veal on almost every menu and I suspect this is more proof of the Danes' love of seasonal eating: spring-born male calves surplus to the Danish dairy industry's requirements would be reaching a tasty maturity for the table about now. Dessert was strawberries with "caramelised grains" ... a bit granola-ish, with the grains becoming almost meaty yet sweet and almost fermented as I suspect they'd been soaking in something. It was an ending that felt distinctly Danish ... much like everything about this charming beach resort.

Follow the Vikings, see the Danish gift for bringing history to life

When he’s feeling particularly proud of his Danish half, my husband likes to argue that but for a few quirks of history, the Danes … rather than the English … would have expanded a maritime empire to world domination.

This isn’t that preposterous an argument. If you tip your world view up a bit and start with the North and Baltic Seas as the centre, Denmark suddenly becomes the spider at the centre of a critical trading web. It once counted England, Norway, Sweden and the American Virgin Islands as part of its domain. In the early Middle Ages, you could find Danish influence as far afield as Russia, Constantinople, Sicily and Normandy. The early grasp for world domination, of course, all started with the Vikings.

You don't have to leave Copenhagen to get a taste of Viking culture, of course ... the National Museum has an amazing collection (see the story here). Heading for Jutland, however, will take you deeper into the Viking heartland, while the Vikings offer a great historic theme to bind your wanderings together. The following three stops will also show off how, whether using the latest tech or hands-on experimental archeology, the Danes do an amazing job of making the distant past vivid and exciting.

Jelling

Today, it's a small village off any main route. In the 10th century, Jelling was the seat of King Gorm and his son Harald Bluetooth, the Viking monarchs who unified Denmark, used the country's name for the first time and introduced Christianity.  For both its artistic and historical significance, Jelling is a UNESCO world heritage site.

Gorm and Harald built an enormous wooden palisade here ... now marked out with towering metal posts like a vast modern sculpture ... around their great hall, two earthen mounds and a buried stone ship. The ancient burial traditions that show plenty of pagan influence sat side by side with the new religion. The most significant artefacts left to see are two monumental stones carved with runic writing and symbols. They're still in their original places between the mounds, but now enclosed in glass boxes to limit exposure to the weather. King Gorm set up the smaller to honour his wife, "Denmark's adornment", while the larger is their son's statement. It's the more impressive, with runes claiming the Christian conversion on one side, a dragon-like creature on another and a crucifiction on the third.

The colours that once decorated the stones are gone. Without stretching your imagination, the site might not be that exciting. It's the museum here that brings it to life. The experience centre is the single best example I've encountered of using technology and storytelling to bring the past to life. It's magnificently designed, and equal fun for both children and adults. It's also free.

The first room sets the stage. You enter a dimly-lit Viking great hall with an empty throne at the far end, seats along the sides and fires playing down the centre on video screens. Pause to listen to the disembodied bard's voice tell stories of conquest in English and Danish. While exploring the Viking world you'll encounter hands-on exhibits like a body fallen in battle, pierced with axe, sword and spear. Grasp a weapon's handle and the display will tell you about the injuries inflicted and how long the victim took to die. Kids loved it. In "the burial chamber", clever three-dimensional video projections take small fragments found in the mound excavations and build upon them, restoring them to their completed former glory and then pulling out to show how they would have fit into clothing or the accessories of life.

 In one particularly spooky and effective room you can journey to Valhalla. A camera reflects your image into a screen at the far end of the room. As you walk towards it your body is struck down in battle, burns in a funeral pyre, then crosses the rainbow bridge into the warriors' afterlife. In another room, hanging screens shaped like the roots of a tree and shadowy projections on the walls, constantly rotating in dim coloured lights, conjure an image that you're cradled in the roots of the tree of life, Yggdrasil. Grab a dangling listening device to hear tales of gods and heroes. Eventually you make it to the roof terrace, with spectacular views of the whole site. Don't miss the binoculars, where rolling the focus button super-imposes images of what the site would have looked like at various periods from the 10th century onwards.

The experience centre operates on standard attraction admission hours (check their web site for seasonal fluctuations), but the monuments outdoors are accessible 24/7 and the stones are lit at night. The contrast of night lighting accentuates the carvings and brings them to their best. Now that I've visited once, I realise the ideal would have been to spend an afternoon in the centre, stay at the neighbouring Jelling Kro and explore the monuments after dark. Next time.

Moesgaard

This is one of the highlights of any visit to Aarhus. Though its collection has been around for generations ... sort of a Danish version of the British Museum ... the 3-year-old main building is an architectural jaw dropper. Dominating a sylvan woodside a few miles from town, a vast triangle of concrete and glass sleeps under a sloping grass roof; it's as if Thor's lightening bolts had embedded and fossilised with a view of the fjord. The collections come to life in a magnificent mash-up of design, storytelling and technology. Galleries feel like entering atmospheric movie sets. Experts blink, shift or sigh on life-sized video screens, like portraits in Harry Potter's world, "waiting" to be asked questions. (They'll answer in Danish or English.) Throughout, there are chances to interact with the exhibits to learn more: put on 3-D goggles to see how a pre-historic village developed; stick your head inside a vast caldron to see funerary items; take the rudder of a Viking ship to sail the world. With huge kid appeal and deep content for adults, you could easily spend a day here, breaking your time up with lunch purchased from the restaurant and consumed on the grassy slopes of the roof.

The interior is like a roofed mountainside, with a vast staircase linking four stories. (There are lifts, too.) Wander down it to come face-to-face with incredibly life-like models of our pre-human ancestors. The star exhibits are on the lowest floor, as those ancestors become fully recognisable as people like us. The Viking section is the most modern down here, and invites you to follow various individual stories by grabbing a model of an artefact associated with him or her. Place it on screens throughout, and you'll hear explanations of what you're looking at from the perspective of "your" guide. This means you could actually come back multiple times and have a different experience. Though the storytelling is great, the artefacts themselves don't comprise that impressive a collection of Viking stuff. Spend time with the Viking ancestors for the best experience.

In the Bronze Age galleries you'll see exquisite artefacts (jewellery, weapons, armour, etc.) that show how the patterns and designs we think of as Viking came down in a straight line from the sophisticated people who lived here between 1700 bc and 500 bc. You'll enter a streamlined take on a burial mound to come face-to-face with some of the best preserved mummies in the world. Move on to the Iron Age (500 BC to 800 AD) where the objects get even more beautiful and there's another ancestor to meet. The Moesgaard's bog man makes the one at the British Museum ... tucked in a corner in his dusty old case ... look a very poor relation. This one,  in an even more astonishing state of preservation, forms the centre-point of a two-story gallery, surrounding him with objects and tales from the world where he lived and was probably a human sacrifice to the gods. Upstairs, as you approach an opening from which you can look down on him, the flooring changes to spongy stuff with a bit of spring, to echo the peat bog in which he was found. This is the kind of thoughtful design you find throughout the place.

In the gallery next door, you're thrust into the middle of the massive battle of Illerup Adal, in 205 AD. History has left no trace of who the warriors were, or what they were fighting for. Thanks, however, to a tradition of sacrificing the defeated enemies' armour ... in this case, throwing it into a lake ... you can wander amongst a dazzling array of swords, spears, axes, and armour for humans and horses.

Ribe
Founded at the very beginning of the 8th century, Ribe is the oldest continuously occupied town in Denmark. It was a major port throughout the Viking Age and was the first Danish town to have a cathedral as the country became Christian. By the 17th century the port had silted up. Business and government moved elsewhere. Today, only about 8,000 people live in this ridiculously quaint little town centred on a gorgeous square surrounding a rare romanesque cathedral. It's a place caught in time, much like Bruges, Venice or Mont St. Michel. Though it's like those places in its reliance on tourism, visitor numbers are much smaller (and mostly German ... it's a short jaunt over the border), meaning you can still wander quiet streets and revel in a sense of discovery.

There are two significant Viking attractions here. If you're serious about the topic, it's worth your time to do both.

Start at the Museet Ribes Vikinger, an old-style museum a few minute's walk from the cathedral. After Jelling and the Moesgaard, the collection of artefacts in glass cases with explanations on labels is a bit of a shock to the system ... especially when only the headline information is translated into English ... but it's worth ploughing on. There are some beautiful artefacts here, my favourites found in case that holds a mask of Odin and an early Christian communion cup. Contrasting religions duelling via silversmith. I was well aware of Viking craftsmanship with metal; the finds displayed here show off an impressive skill in glass, as well. Though you're likely to come here for the Vikings, there's an equally interesting section of the museum on the Middle Ages/Early Renaissance, thanks to a great fire in 1580 that trapped evidence of that period in ashes. There's also a great gift shop here with a particularly good selection of Viking-inspired jewellery.

Once you've gotten the more academic grounding at the museum, it's a short drive across the flat coastal plains around town to the Ribe Viking Centre.

There are no artefacts here. Instead, you'll find a Viking village re-created and lived in by properly costumed historical re-enactors. (Ironically, when we went, many of them were German on back-in-time summer holidays.) There are a couple of classic long hall houses, divided with sections for animals, work and living, all under an elegantly curving roof crafted like the hull of an upturned Viking ship. Explore a farm stocked with historic breeds. Wander through thatched houses stocked with the tools of the craftspeople who worked there; at many, they'll be practicing their trade. Watch the craftsmen building a Viking ship, or others working on the new Christian church. There was a marketplace with the tented encampments of visiting re-enactors, some of them selling hand-crafted wares like knives or pottery in the Viking tradition. Children can head off to an arena to train as Viking warriors.

The Viking Centre is probably a bit more intriguing for kids than adults, since all the activities are geared towards them. I was expecting the re-enactors to be employees tasked with delivering a rounded experience. Discovering that they were volunteers explained why most of them quietly went about their work, only speaking when you prodded them with questions and often not having the answers we were after. Given that entry was DK120 (about £10) and that the Center is probably the most widely-advertised Viking-themed attraction in Danish tourism, I don't think it was too demanding to expect a bit more for our money.

Try Jutland for an easy, off-the-beaten track summer holiday

We’d been toying with the idea of exploring Denmark beyond Copenhagen for years. Then circumstances demanded that we take our holidays in August. As childless people we’d always been able to avoid the limited availability and the jacked-up prices of the school holidays. Even if we succeeded in finding an option with heat, sun and sand, I realised we’d be surrounded by children. Even staying in the UK would be tricky; by the time I started planning in late June everywhere I called in Devon, the Lake District and Scotland was booked.

The fates … or, more appropriately for this story, the norns … were clearly calling us to the Bencard homelands. Who, takes summer holidays in Denmark? (Other Scandinavians, Germans and a few Italians, it turns out, but not in any great numbers.) Flights were reasonable. Almost all the hotels I called had availability. I booked a table at a Michelin-starred restaurant with less than a month’s notice. Despite the reputation of Copenhagen as a fabulously expensive city, hotel and restaurant prices on Denmark’s main peninsula of Jutland were in line with or a bit below English prices. There would even be the possibility of a beach.

Of course, there were drawbacks. The temperature would rarely top 20C (70F). Sunshine alternated with pounding rain, and the wind never let up. (Admittedly, all the locals have said it’s been a horrible summer.) The rain had a strange way of descending when we walked out to dinner. Danish hotel rooms tend to have a monastic austerity that discourages lingering within them, and none have bathtubs. Most companies charge a phenomenal premium to hire an automatic car (not, thankfully, Europcar). The country has an old-fashioned approach to Sundays; without advance planning you’ll find yourself with little to do and nowhere to eat.

These are minor irritations in what turned out to be a fantastic holiday choice. And an exotic one. Go to a specialist travel bookstore and you’re likely to find just a single guide to Denmark beyond Copenhagen, while neighbouring shelves groan beneath the weight of Italian, Spanish and French titles. Almost everything we did felt like a real discovery. We found museums at the cutting edge of using technology to bring their collections to life. A world-renown aquarium. Dramatic landscapes. Truly spectacular food. An independent micro-brewery in every town and high streets that have far more boutique shops and independent restaurants than chains. All in places that almost nobody I know has ever set foot.

Go North, tourist!
We started with a week exploring Jutland. This is the thumb of land that sticks up from the European

continent. (The rest of Denmark is comprised of an archipelago of more than 400 islands, meaning that you get to cross some spectacular bridges ... most notably the Great Belt Bridge, above, which covers the longest span of any bridge outside Asia.) We’d go all the way to the northern tip of the country at Skagen, then work our way back down.

Skagen is the last town at the northern tip of the country. This fishing port and critical guardian of
shipping lanes was “discovered” by a group of 19th century artists who did for this part of the world what the French impressionists and post-impressionists did for Provence. Thus you’ll find picturesque 19th century cottages clustered behind dramatic grass-covered dunes, linked by bike paths and quiet, sand-dappled roads. Once you clamber over the dunes, the sand is smooth as finely-milled flour, scattered with pebbles fascinating in their variety of colour and scrubbed smooth by the power of ancient glaciers. Most gloriously, even in the middle of the summer holidays you can have vast tracks of beach to yourself once you walk a few hundred yards from the main access points. It’s a beach resort from the imagination of Hans Christian Andersen, distilled for holiday makers with a Disneyish flair. Half an hour along the coast in Hirtshals, the Nordsoen Oceanarium shows off how vibrant life is in the waters off those sands.

About an hour further south, Aalborg was underwhelming. We’d hoped to tour the eponymous distillery here, maker of the country’s most famous and widely exported line of aquavit. Akvavit (also called snapps) in Danish. It’s a requirement at any traditional family meal, particularly when pickled fish is involved, and a mainstay of the Bencard bar in a variety of flavours. Though both Aalborg’s web site and Trip Advisor talked about tours and a museum of Danish akvavit, a walk around a dilapidated and very quiet factory complex told a different story. Not a tourist sign to be seen. Eventually we found a local who revealed that the museum and tours had shut down a couple of years ago and the distilling had moved to a new factory on the outskirts of town. The picturesque 19th century complex had been sublet to other businesses. This is, admittedly, the kind of occasional disappointment that comes with the risk and adventure of going off the beaten track.

The distillery’s evolution is a fitting metaphor for Aalborg itself. It feels like a town past its prime, shrinking through a long, dignified and never-ending recession. Once a manufacturing powerhouse and a key port on a fjord, now a lot of businesses have moved elsewhere and it feels a bit of a backwater. There are some pretty buildings in the centre of town and an impressive promenade along the fjord that would have been excellent for a bike ride. There’s a dignified town square hemmed by half-timbered buildings and dutch gables and a community centre by the fjord designed by the same guy … a local … who created the Sydney Opera House. It has an interesting roofline but doesn’t make it into iconic architecture territory. Aalborg is a pleasant place to wander around, but there appeared to be nothing to hold your attention for too long. It’s worth a day and a night, but probably not longer.

Far more significant is Aarhus, the 2017 European capital of culture and Denmark’s second city. A mix of sprawling port and major university town, it’s obvious that money has poured in here over the past several years to get things ready for this year’s honour. (It appears some improvements didn’t meet deadlines, as there’s still plenty of construction around the harbour.) There are new museums and attractions, long stretches of pedestrianised shopping streets and a river walk lined with restaurants. The square around the cathedral is bright with freshly-restored historic buildings … and a few new ones … filled with hotels, shops and restaurants. The town also boasts two Michelin-starred restaurants, one of which became a highlight of our trip. Our two nights here could have easily been three.

Viking heartland
Continuing south, almost to the major highway that heads east towards Copenhagen, Jelling is well worth a detour. A picturesque drive through forested hills leads to a small village with some Viking burial mounds and a couple of carved rune stones beside an old parish church. This might not sound like much, but the former palace and and family funerary complex of Harold Bluetooth is one of the most significant Viking sites in Denmark, and a discovery centre is arguably the best I’ve seen at using technology to bring ancient stories to life. There’s not much beyond this, so it’s probably not worth more than half a day, but there is a tempting-looking inn called Jelling Kro I’d consider booking if I wanted to start or end my day there.

Anyone with children would naturally head from here to Billund, Lego world headquarters and home of the original Legoland. Those in the know told us that, unlike Disney, it’s really not a place that offers anything for adults without children. So, as tempting as it might have been for the husband to revisit scenes of childhood delight, we headed for a different scene of his youth.

Back in the ‘70s, my husband understandably thought that watching experts scraping away at selected dark patches in a field of mud while your uncle tried to explain how Viking archeology worked wasn’t as much fun as getting your Lego driving license. Year’s later, the fact that the uncle ran the excavations in Denmark’s oldest city, uncovering the history that makes Ribe one of the best sites to visit for a Viking experience, is exciting. The legacy of Mogens Bencard’s work is a fine little history museum in the centre of town (much more old school than Jelling, but filled with interesting stuff) and a Viking Centre just outside of town where they take the “experiential archeology” approach to let you wander through a very authentic Viking village peopled by re-enactors. Ribe is also unbelievably pretty, with a small Romanesque cathedral surrounded by streets of charming shops and houses. It looks like one of Denmark’s museums of historic buildings … yet it’s still a working town. My biggest planning mistake was only allowing one night here; we clearly needed two.

Jutland is popular with Germans, particularly Ribe which is a charming excursion not far over their border. I heard a few Italians who I assume, as with their visits to Scotland, like heading here to get a respite from their hot summers. We encountered only a handful of Brits and Americans and, with the exception of one American family, they were always travelling with someone with Danish connections. English is widely spoken here, so you’d have no problem getting around,but Jutland is clearly an undiscovered country for those groups. In the coming stories I’ll offer a bit more detail on our Jutland adventures: the glories of Skagen, the Viking trail and a validation of Danish high cuisine’s heady reputation.