Last Thursday, it was time again: our annual trip to Grenå.
This day has become a little holiday in our calendar. One of those days where you don't start looking forward to it just in the morning when you get in the car, but really much earlier than that. You know it will come again, and just the thought of it puts you in a good mood weeks in advance.
And yet this time it felt a little strange. The past year had been so full of work, my tours, encounters, activities and all the things that shape our life here in Denmark now, that it actually felt to us as if it had been just yesterday when we last visited our dear Dorte at her little summer house near Grenå.
And yet a whole year had passed.
Dorte was our Danish teacher in Karlsruhe. Back then we sat with her and learned this language, without any idea what significance it would one day have for our lives. And we certainly couldn't have imagined that this class would eventually lead to a friendship that would accompany us all the way to Denmark many years later.
Today, Dorte is no longer simply our former Danish teacher. She has become an important person in our lives.
And that's why this special day really begins for us with the drive to see her. And every time, something happens that we probably would have smiled at a little ourselves back then: Our heart skips a beat when we leave Vendsyssel.
As soon as we drive through the tunnel under the Limfjord and emerge on the other side, we're actually leaving our island.
Many people don't even know that northern Jutland is geographically an island. Vendsyssel-Thy was once firmly connected to the rest of Jutland. Only a massive storm surge in February 1825 broke through the narrow strip of land to the North Sea at Agger in the west. This gave the Limfjord an open connection between the North Sea and the Kattegat, and the entire northern part of Jutland was separated from the rest of the mainland.
Since then, we have been living, strictly speaking, on an island.
In everyday life, of course, you hardly think about it. There are bridges, tunnels, roads and railway connections, and you just drive across. But for us, this moment has actually become something special.
When we leave Vendsyssel, it feels for a brief moment as if we're leaving our home. We're so connected to this part of Denmark now. With Frederikshavn, Strandby and Skagen, with the wind, the light, the vastness and this very special north.
But this little wistful feeling doesn't last long, because the anticipation of seeing Dorte is already in the car with us. Kilometer after kilometer we head south on the E45. Aalborg disappears behind us, later Randers, and eventually we turn off the main road and head out towards Djursland and Grenå.
And there the landscape changes. Everything becomes more rural and peaceful. The traffic decreases, the roads get smaller, hay wagons are on the move, harvested fields lie to the left and right, and between trees and meadows, small farms and houses flash into view. Suddenly the hustle and bustle of the Danish "big cities" Aalborg and Randers feels far away.
The further we drive towards Grenå, the more the light changes too. It's hard to explain, but we believe we can actually feel when we're getting close to the sea again.
The cloud formations become different, the sky seems wider and higher, the blue brighter and more open. Eventually the sky almost begins to merge with the landscape. You can't even see the sea yet. But you somehow know it can't be much further.
And on these last kilometers, the anticipation takes on a very special quality of its own. Of course it's been there the whole drive, but now this tingling comes, this feeling: We're almost there.
And then comes this wonderful hello. As we drove over the little bridge at the Kattegatcenter and covered the last stretch, we could already see Dorte from far away. She was standing at the garden gate waiting for us.
I would have jumped out of the moving car if I could. Barely had we stopped when there was no holding back anymore. We fell into each other's arms, hugged tight, held on, and in that one moment the whole year between us simply disappeared. It was as if not a single day had passed. And that's perhaps one of the most beautiful things about a real friendship: You don't have to pick things up again, start carefully anew, or first check where you left off. You're simply reconnected with each other right away.
So began another one of those wonderful days at Dorte's place in her little house right on the harbor of Grenå. We sat together and talked. About what had happened in the past year, about our experiences, about people we had met for the first time, and about people we all knew together. Old stories came back up, new ones were told, and of course there was all that which you only discuss with people where you really feel safe and held.
There was so much to catch up on, so much to report and so much to share with each other. And at some point laughter and tears were very close together again. We held each other, laughed, were moved, and remembered things that connect us to each other. Perhaps that's exactly what's beautiful about a friendship that has grown over years: You're allowed to bring everything. The light and the heavy. The funny and the sad. The old and the new.
Of course, another tradition couldn't be missing. As every year, Dorte served us her wonderful Stjerneskud, and of course there was also the delicious pastry from the local bakery again. It's these little things that eventually become a fixed part of such days. You sit together, eat, talk, look out towards the harbor, get up between times to fetch something from the kitchen, start the next story and at some point realize that you no longer feel like a guest there.
With Dorte it just feels familiar. Maybe that's why we look forward to this day so much every year. It's not just Grenå. It's not just her summer house on the harbor. It's not the Stjerneskud and not the pastry from the bakery either. It's this feeling of arriving at a person with whom you don't have to explain yourself. And like every year, this afternoon passed far too quickly again.
Just when you felt like the whole day was still ahead of you, suddenly the light outside became softer, the afternoon slowly turned into evening and you knew: We should really be leaving soon. Of course you try to delay this moment a little. Just one more story. Just one more sentence. Just one more hug. And eventually you have to say goodbye.
We drove back through this beautiful area of Djursland, which we have meanwhile come to know and love as well. Past fields, small villages and farms, back towards Randers, back on the E45 and finally heading north again.
And as we drove back, it was actually already clear: Next year, this day will again have its fixed place in our calendar. Our little holiday. Our Grenå day.
