Harboøre 2009

Ye red dot marks the spot

Or Harbo-oere as it would be spelled in English, and Harbo-ur as it would be pronounced. This years holiday was a humble affair compared to last year. We stayed on the west coast of Denmark in a summer house on the outskirts of a small town called Harboøre where the landscape is all flat, sandy and wind swept. The whole of Jutland's western edge is pretty much the same, and it could be called quite monotonous if one were to be honest. The monotony is idylic however, and also very beautiful if one takes the time to appreciate it for what it is.

Even the thousands of old German bunkers that dot the coastline don't ruin the effect, for their spartan, abstract forms, slowly rotting their concrete bodies into oblivion, seem right at home amongst the dunes and sunbleached grass. Denmark is still a favoured destiniation for Germans, and there were many German tourists staying in the summer houses around us. I often wonder how they feel when they look upon the bunkers their grandparents left behind.

The weather was not fantastic, but considerably better than the weather forecast had foretold, and better than most of the rest of Denmark. Some days we had rain, but for the most part it was dry and tolerable, and on Thursday I even got to swim in the sea without freezing my nads off.
Freja had a good time, though she has been very needy. Not having any one her own age to play with was obviously a problem for her, as was sleeping in a strange bed.

The Snoos and some friendly trolls outside the Coastal Museum

We visited a few museums. Freja and I went to the Coastal Museum (whilst the others went window shopping) which consisted mostly of wave machines that demonstrated the science behind waves... it sounds boring, and I found it rather dull, but Freja had a great time, runing from one machine to the next with gleeful anticipation of what the next button might unleash. The museaum also had some glass boxes with local animals trapped inside, but though I was very enthusiastic about the snakes and lizards, Freja was largely indifferent and distracted by a machine that spat out bouncing balls in exchange for a coin.

Things went different the next day when Freja, Mette and I visited Jyllands Aquarium. This was the most down at heel place you can imagine, crammed with all kinds of junk and flotsam and yet it was great fun. They had lots of fish and Freja ran from one tank to the next. Of particular interest was the crab exhibition and the 'stroke a shark' tanks. It was interesting, but some of the fish seemed almost aware of the shabbiness of their surroundings. The place was packed, and I wondered why the Coastal Museum which was just across the road, and which charged twice the admission fee, had such a huge great modern building when it had attracted far fewer guests. I smelled a state, or EU sponsrship...

Later we all went to the beach and then Freja went on a treasure hunt, and found a 'pirate treasure' of gold and silver coins, crabs claws and various diamonds, rubies and emeralds. We even found a dead baby crab that was no more than a cm across.

Looking for trouble

Magne spent most of his time asleep or kicking up a fuss. He has learned several tricks, including how to throw a napkin on the floor so his uncle will pick it up, how to always vomit on his Dad's trousers and how to always roll off any carpet or rug when lying on the floor. He also spent plenty of time voicing his discontent when ever it was time to eat. He has a hoarse cough and we suspect a sore throat so he was off his food, much to Mette's intense discomfort.

There was a sad aspect to the holiday also. One which has plagued my mind for the last few days. In the summer house next to ours, was a small girl of 9 years old on holiday with her mother and grandparents... no Dad in sight. She and Freja played together, despite the disparity in age, but the girl was really too old for Freja to understand well and her attempts at teaching us card games didn't go down well with the Snoos. The sad part was, this girl had an obvious father fixation and wouldn't leave me alone. I had taken some cheap water pistols with us, and when Freja and I were having a laugh, I gave one of the guns to this girl whose name was Natasha. As the game progressed, Natasha became increasingly physical, eventually hitting me and pulling off my soaking wet T shirt. I took refuge in the house.

Each time Natasha came by, I found myself being grabbed, stroked, fondled and generally molested in the most disturbing way, not least because it was pretty obvious that she wasn't really aware of her own actions. Freja didn't like it either, and I found myself constantly having to balance the emotional states of two young girls, one of whom I am totally responsible for, and the other I didn't want to hurt.

The appalling part of it is, nothing I did could help Natasha in anyway. Being nice was the only viable option, but in doing so, I was giving her license to act in ways which I found quite upsetting. Not for myself, but on her behalf. There has been a lot of debate during my life about the responsiblities of fathers, but nothing has ever made me understand just how valuable a father is, than the obvious yearnings for my attention of one nine year old girl.