South Florida Sun-Sentinel (Sunday)
Ærø: Denmark’s ship-in-a-bottle island
Aswe’ve had to postpone our travels because of the pandemic, I believe aweekly dose of travel dreaming can be good medicine. Here’s one ofmy favorite European memories froma tiny Danish island— a reminder of the fun that awaits us at the other end of this crisis.
Fewvisitors to Scandinavia even notice Ærø, a sleepy little island on the southern edge of Denmark. It’s a peaceful and homey isle, where baskets of strawberries sit in front of farmhouses — for sale on the honor system. Its tombstones are carved with such sentiments as: “Here lies ChristianHansen at anchorwith his wife. He’ll notweigh until he stands beforeGod.”
The island’s statistics: 22 miles by 6miles, 7,000 residents, 350 deer, no crosswalks, seven pastors, three police officers, and a pervasive passion for the environment. Alongwith sleek modern windmills hard atwork, Ærø has one of theworld’s largest solar power plants.
Ærø’smain town, Ærøskøbing, makes a fine home base for exploring the isle. ManyDanes agree, washing up on the cobbled main drag inwaves with the landing of each ferry.
With lanes right out of the 1680s, the townwas the wealthy home port to more than 100 windjammers. The post office dates to 1749, and cast-iron gaslights still shine each evening. Windjammers gone, the harbor now caters to German and Danish holiday yachts. On midnight lowtides, you can almost hear the crabs
playing cards.
Taking a 15-mile bike ride, I piece together the best ofÆrø’s salty charms. Just outside of town, I see thefirst ofmanyU-shaped farmhouses, so typical of Denmark. The three sides block the wind to create a sheltered little courtyard and house cows, hay, and people. I bike along a dike built in the 1800s to make swampland farmable. While theweak soil is good for hay and little else, they get the most out of it. Each winter, farmers flood their land to let the saltwater nourish the soil and grass, in the belief that this causes their cows to produce fattier milk and meat.
Struggling uphill, I reach the island’s 2,700-inchhigh
summit. It’s a “peak” called Synneshøj, pronounced “SeemsHigh” (and after this pedal, I agree).
Rolling through the townof Bregninge, I notice howit lies in a gully. I imagine pirates, centuries ago, trolling along the coast looking for church spiresmarking unfortified villages. Ærø’s 16 villages are built low, in gullies like this one, tomake them invisible fromthe sea— their stubby church spires carefully designed not to be viewable frompotentially threatening ships.
Alane leadsme downhill, deadending at a rugged bluff calledVodrup Klint. If Iwere a pagan, I’d worship here— the sea, the wind, and the chilling view. The land steps in sloppy slabs downto the sea. The giant terraces are a clear reminder thatwhen saturatedwithwater, the massive slabs of clay that make up the land here get slick, and entire chunks can slip and slide.
While the wind at the top seems hell-bent on blowingmeoffmy bike, the beach belowis peaceful, ideal for sunbathing. I can’t see Germany, which is just across thewater, but I do see a big stone that commemorates the return of the island to Denmark fromGermany in 1750.
Back up on the road, I pedal downa treelined lane toward a fine 12th-century church. Like townchurches throughout the island, a centuriesold paint job gives the simple stonework a crude outline of the fineGothic features this humble community wished it could afford. Little ships hang in the nave, perhaps as memorials to lost sailors. Aportrait ofMartin Luther hangs in the stern, making sure everything’s theologically shipshape. The long list adjacent to the portrait allows today’s pastor to trace her pastoral lineage back to Dr. Luther himself. The current pastor, Janet, is the firstwoman on the five-centuries-long list.
Fromthe church, it’s all downhill back to Ærøskøbing. The sun is lowin thesky, so I coast right on through townto the sunset beach— where a rowof tiny huts lines the strand andwhere so many locals enjoyed a first kiss. The huts are little more than a picnic table withwalls and a roof, but each is lovingly painted and carved— stained with generations of family fun, memories of pickled herring on rye bread, and sunsets. It’s a perfectly Danish scene— likeÆrø itself— where small is beautiful, sustainability is just commonsense, and a favorite localword, hyggelig, takes “cozy” to delightful extremes.
Rick Steves (www.rick steves.com) writes European travel guidebooks and hosts travel shows on public television and public radio. Email him at rick@ ricksteves.com and follow his blog on Facebook.