The Mighty Mountains of Denmark
The second weekend of my summer course, I had the opportunity to explore Nationalpark Mols Bjerge in the center of Jylland [Jutland]. Provided it didn’t start pouring rain, we would be dropped off at one end of the park, hike three kilometers through the park, have lunch on the top of the mountain, and be picked up by the bus on the other side. The week prior, our instructor Torkild had gone on and on and on about how majestic these mountains were, and the tallest hill I’d seen in Denmark so far was the sand dune on the beach outside my hotel, so I was pretty excited to see them.
The Danish coastline from the bus. If you look closely, you might see my reflection in the mirror.
We took the long way to the the national park, through acres of farmland and forest and then along the beautiful Danish coastline. Along the way, we drove through a farming “town”, which consisted of a church, a few houses, and a couple narrow streets that the bus should not have been able to fit through. In fact, to turn around one corner, the bus driver had to execute no less than a 12-point turn! Situated at the entrance of the park was a miniature Stonehenge-type arrangement with a lean-to of rocks that six or seven people could sit inside of. It was too short for most people to stand inside of, but I fit quite nicely. At this point, we had been sitting in the bus for an hour and a half, so two other girls and I wandered 20 meters away to find a toilet — and when we returned, the group was gone (as was the bus)! Torkild had told us which path we were going to be hiking along, and to catch up to the group when we were done, so we hurried along that way, but we quickly came to a fork in the road. There was a large path that ambled off to the left, and a smaller path that cut through the forest. We had no internet, patchy cell signal, and nobody’s number, so when we saw another group go to the left, we decided to follow them for awhile. A few hundred more meters down the path, it split again — and then again, and again. Realizing we’d never find the right way, we turned back. Luckily, the group had sent back a convoy to rescue us. It turns out the group had turned right into the forest… and then right, and then left, and then right again.
When we finally caught up, the group was at lookout over a glacial valley carved out in the last ice age. It was an impressive eighty or so meters above sea level; but, since Denmark is so flat, we could see all of the Mols peninsulas, considered the hillbilly part of Denmark. Torkild, who was born and raised there, told us several Danish folktales based on Molboer, people who live in Mols.
For instance, there is the case of the magic kettle: while travelling through Denmark by boat, a few Molboer spent a night camping on a beach with another traveller. This traveller was boiling water in a kettle over a fire, and offered to cook for them. When he took the kettle off the fire, the Molboers were amazed to see that the water continued to boil! They were convinced that this kettle was magical, that it could boil water without fire, and asked to buy the kettle for their travels. The traveller seized this opportunity, and the Molboers forked over all their remaining money for the kettle.
Satisfied with their purchase, the Molboers got back on their boat to go home. The next night, they pulled the kettle out to cook some food. While they were trying to figure out how to “turn it on”, they dropped it into the sea! Determined not to lose their precious cargo, one brave Molboer dove down to fetch it. They others eagerly awaited his return. And waited. And waited. And after about an hour, the diving Molboer did not resurface. The remaining Molboers became confused — where did their friend go? Why did he not return with the kettle? One of the Molboers suggested that maybe the diver had found the kettle, but did not want to return to share it with them. He was probably walking along the bottom of the sea back to Mols to keep it for himself! The others agreed this was probably the case, and decided to go back to Mols and try to intercept him when he emerged from the water. But, before they left, they wanted to mark where in the sea they had dropped the kettle, in case he did not have it. So they carefully marked a giant “X” on the side of the boat where they’d dropped the kettle, and blithely sailed home.
Torkild told several more of these stories before we continued on to the peak. It was another hour or so hiking to the top, and we were hungry, so marched onward. When we were almost there, we ran into some sheep peacefully enjoying the tall, abundant grass we were struggling to walk through. Our Polish friend Patryk found them very amusing and decided to catch one. Leaping after a flock of them, Patryk chased them up and down the hillside, much to their dismay. Eventually he tired (and probably realized he was hungry) and returned to the path.
The sheeple Patryk chased.
The view from the top was spectacular. The peak is only 137 meters, but from it, we could see all the way back to Grenå and Århus and for kilometers in every direction. The weather was perfect and clear, so we dragged out lunch as long as we could, absorbing the view and taking hundreds of panoramic pictures.
Unfortunately, our bus was impatiently waiting on the other side of the hill, so we couldn’t stay too long, but as we ventured back down, we agreed our short time in Nationalpark Mols Bjerge was definitely worth the effort.
