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.