The boy Dane good
Esther Halligan and son build a trip to Legoland, brick by brick
We opened the magic portal and Lego heaven lay before us. A playful family world of 50 rides and 75 million bricks.
And even better... that secret hotel door meant no queuing to get in! Before my nine-year-old disappeared into the world of rides and adventure – I took a wristband from a stack at the hotel entrance to Legoland, and fastened my name and number to him.
Armed with a map of the park, we flew down the water slide on the Vikings River Splash (I held on for dear life while he waved his hands in the air; we both came out drenched). We sieved for gold in the mines; looked on in wonder at the intricate Miniland models of Lego towns and boats; and Otto soaked alarmed onlookers with the water guns at the Pirate Splash battle.
Otto and I headed to Denmark for a break at the end of the summer season. Danish children are back in school by late August and the park was quiet. A glance at the cars in the hotel car park revealed Norwegian, Polish and German visitors made up the majority, although we did bump into a few British families during our stay.
The Laser Maze is great for those who are agile and enjoy a challenge (I struggled!) and the Sea Life aquarium is fantastic while you are recovering from roller coasterinduced nausea.
But Otto’s highlight? The Traffic School! You do have to book in advance because it’s tremendously popular, and drivers communicated furiously on the roundabouts by beeping their horns at each other. I didn’t see one mini electric car stop at the crossroads, although staff do intervene before any big bumps. Somehow every driver passed their test and the kids proudly displayed their licences. Our room at Hotel Legoland looked out on to the park. The theme park music filled the air from 9am and we set off full to the brim from the hotel’s breakfast. It’s a help yourself affair, brimming with salmon, ham, cheese, fruit and of course, bacon. Our Lego beds were comfortable and Otto disappeared each night after dinner into the hotel’s Nintendo room where kids seemed to congregate. If Legoland doesn’t satisfy the dedicated brick builder, then the Lego House in Billund will. The centre boasts 129,167sq ft filled with the brick and visitors are encouraged to stay as long as their creations take them. Hours fly by, I found out, when building Lego. There were families building together, groups of kids or even adults alone, immersed in their creations. There was a magnificent Lego tree that spanned staircases to each floor and a cafe where robots deliver lunches in Lego boxes.
Lalandia is an indoor activity centre with an ice rink, skiing, bowling, climbing and a tropical waterpark. Holidaying with a child means I didn’t even see the sauna or the spa but the waterslides were terrifying. I refused a second go on the Twister ride, telling Otto that Danish rules mean everyone has just one go. Ha.
The problem with Billund is that kids don’t want to leave. It’s a veritable paradise for the under-16s.
But the real Denmark is out there, somewhere past the wave pools and cave pools and the Flying Eagle, and Ninjago’s, ominously named, The Ride. We headed to Kolding, a small, seaport city on the east coast of the Jutland peninsula.
An imposing castle, Koldinghus, sits on top of a hill; families stroll or
cycle around a scenic lake and the Viking theme runs throughout. We got around like the locals – on bikes – pausing at pølsevogn, the hotdog stalls in every market place, more times than I’d like to admit. The expansive network of cycling lanes meant I could relax, as Otto surged ahead.
For Viking history, the very small town of Jelling is unbeatable. The Viking Kings museum is full of animated displays (in English and Danish) that take you on a timeline from Pagan Nordic warrior life to Christianity.
Interactive displays with holograms keep the kids enthralled; and there are clever animations to show how the various tools were used. After buying (yet another) Viking helmet, we walked around the 10th-century Jelling stones – the area was made a UNESCO world heritage site in 1994.
Nicolai was recommended by locals we got talking to when eating hamburgers al fresco. It sounded like they were describing an art lesson and Otto, rather rudely, pulled a face. But he could not have been more wrong. Think of an art room equipped with everything you could ever need or think of. But unlike art at school, there’s no teacher or instructions (except directions given to us, on arrival: “Take your shoes off, tidy up after yourself and have fun”).
You can make or create, as you wish. I thought I’d have a cup of tea and watch, but within minutes I was drawn in, operating the glue gun like a pro. I had no idea art could be so relaxing.
Otto attempted a boat made from old plastic containers and topped it off with a Danish flag. We headed to the city’s Slotssøen (lake) where he excitedly loaded up his boat with bits of bread and pushed it at the ducks and swans, before thinking about how he would retrieve it.
Luckily, in addition to board games and laptop wires, our self-catering accommodation lends guests everything you might ever need – including fishing nets.
The polite Danes making their way home after work tried not to giggle or stare as we knelt on the bank, swans hissing at us, me delivering the “I won’t come in after you if you fall in” speech. We stayed at Kolding Apartments – a cluster of modern, glass-walled flats with an open-plan kitchen and living spaces. They made for an easy, convenient base to explore our surroundings.
For one last hurrah, we stopped off at Wow Park – an outdoor play area. I enjoyed the forest and coffee and lying in a hammock while Otto ran wild through the miles of treetop nets and screamed his way down Scandinavia’s tallest slide – it’s 66ft of horrifying freefall (wowpark.dk from £25.59).
The one drawback to Denmark? The expense. Hamburgers and fries with soft drinks (one adult and one kids meal) cost us £55. But with self-catering accommodation and a quick Lidl trip, our money lasted the week. For a stressed-out, middle-aged mum and a son with energy to burn, the Danish way suited us more than we could have realised.
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For Viking history, the very small town of Jelling is unbeatable