Ice slams into the brine. An avalanche follows like poured powdered sugar. A wave breaks with the boom of cannon fire. Moving to the safety of more remote waters, we survey the trauma from afar. The glacier growls once again.
28.11.2023 - 10:37 / nationalgeographic.com
The mainsail knows how to put up a fight. “Keep pulling!” calls Helene Moodie, the co-captain on deck, as I battle against its weight. I cling onto the hoisting line tight enough to feel every fibre, and look up, tracing its course along the mast to the sail, 90 metres tall and like a stage curtain waiting to be lifted. “Keep pul-ling!” she instructs again, bringing my attention back to the task at hand. I heave with as much force as I can muster, throwing my entire body back. A last yank, and the show begins. The sail catches the wind, billowing full like surging swells. We’re on our way, fast and proud.
I’m spending six days onboard the Aron, a 98ft, two-mast tall ship dating from 1906, sailing with a handful of other guests around Denmark’s South Funen Archipelago. Located in the Baltic Sea off the mainland’s southeastern coast, it’s a compact group of 55 or so islands, some home to colourful, immaculately preserved port towns, some so diminutive you could walk their length in an hour. But as charming as the scenery is, it’s sailing a traditional boat that’s the main draw, and we’re letting it chart our course, drifting quite literally wherever the winds take us.
“Promising we’ll go here or there limits the sailing experience,” says Helene, now relaxing against the railing, the white cockle shell on a silver chain around her neck catching the light. Below her is a flat expanse of steely sea that stretches to the horizon, broken up occasionally by low-rising emerald isles. Her partner and co-captain, Gorm Bødker, is at the helm, the perfect image of an experienced sailor — gold loop earring, salt-bleached, wind-tousled hair and tanned skin that shifts to red on his nose and cheeks. “We’ll take it as it comes, and that’s part of the fun,” Helene adds.
The other part is getting hands-on with it, joining this two-person crew to man the ship, no matter how inexperienced with sailing guests are. Even for a beginner like me, there’s always a line to coil, a knot to fasten. While the vessel is now fitted with an engine, the aim is to sail whenever the wind allows it, cruising in the morning and exploring on land in the afternoon. We set off from Svendborg, the quaint capital of the archipelago and a historic maritime hub, and now on my second day at sea, I’m already starting to learn the ropes: thick halyards lines are for hoisting a sail, slimmer gaskets for stowing it in place.
It might seem like jargon, but it’s this lexicon that sets apart schooners like Aron, built in the local port of Marstal. They’re vessels with sails set parallel, rather than perpendicular, to the keel, which helps make them fast and agile on water. Easy to manoeuvre, Marstal schooners from the 18th and early 19th centuries were
Ice slams into the brine. An avalanche follows like poured powdered sugar. A wave breaks with the boom of cannon fire. Moving to the safety of more remote waters, we survey the trauma from afar. The glacier growls once again.
Rich cultural heritage combined with forward-thinking cities and a growing commitment to sustainable tourism make Denmark a curious destination for travelers across Europe and beyond.
To be in Copenhagen in December is to experience truly exhilarating tastes of Christmas. The air is heavy with the scent of caramelised almonds that are sold in red and white striped paper bags, while stalls on the harbourside at Nyhavn are dispensing glögg, mulled wine with almonds and raisins. And there’s Julebryg, Tuborg’s Christmas beer, delivered to bars across Copenhagen by horse-drawn wagons.
Weaving your way through wooden stalls on a reindeer-drawn sled, savoring the aroma of roasted almonds, and sipping on gløgg—the region’s twist on mulled wine—are just some of the highlights of a visit to a Christmas market in Scandinavia.
Norway will soon get a ground-breaking new museum. On May 11, 2024, Kunstsilo, located in Kristiansand, Southern Norway, opens its doors. Set inside a meticulously restored grain silo, Kunstsilo boasts three floors of immersive art and is a fusion of the Southern Norway Art Museum and the prestigious Tangen Collection.
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SAS intends to convene an extraordinary general meeting of the Company’s shareholders, to be held in January 2024, to approve the contemplated step-up mechanism within short order.
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The first snows have fallen on the sharp ridge below the 700-metre summit of Víkartindur. Walking the village path towards Saksun, we looked across to the ridge of peaks that run along the spine of the neighbouring island of Eysturoy. The jagged landscape was bathed in golden winter light and in the distance the Atlantic was a giant silvered mirror.
What are the world’s most expensive cities to live? Singapore and Zurich, Switzerland have tied to secure the top spot, according to the Economist Intelligence Unit’s Worldwide Cost of Living survey.
The line for croissants forms early outside Lannan Bakery in the Edinburgh neighborhood of Stockbridge, where the self-taught baker Darcie Maher has been whipping up intricate pastries since the end of July. The name Lannan comes from a Gaelic word meaning “house,” and Maher’s choice of baked goods is intentionally nostalgic. Staples include an apple-and-custard-filled croissant and a custard slice with pink sour cherry icing. “Growing up, we made a chocolate sponge with little crunchy flaked almonds for birthdays,” Maher says. “We’d pour ganache over the top and I thought it was the most amazing thing to see it drip down the side.” (The chocolate cake at Lannan is now made with buttermilk and rye.) Maher, who grew up in the Scottish Borders with an artist mother and a scientist father, appreciates the way baking fuses creativity and precision. It takes three days to produce all the laminated dough pastries in preparation for the bakery’s Thursday through Sunday open hours. After the pain Suisse or crème brûlée Danishes disappear, inevitably by around 9 a.m., out come the cakes (from fig leaf sponge to quince Bundt), jambon beurres and finally a few sliced-up Roman pizzas and oatmeal raisin cookies.