Sitting on the Ferry from Denmark

I've just had a very pleasant week in Denmark and Sweden.

The reason for the journey was Magnus' wedding to the lovely Helene in Kiaby, Sweden. I'll post a full entry on the wedding once I've had a chance to sort out the pictures. For now I'll just talk a little bit about my impressions of the countries that I've visited.

Denmark Part 1

I left England on the ferry between Harwich and Esbjerg in Denmark. The ferry operator was DFDS. It's an overnight journey arriving at lunch time. I had an excellent meal on board and fell asleep in a comfortable little cabin. I rolled off the ferry and pulled over to make my headlights legal for the journey - an useful feature of the TT is that the headlights are 'pan-european' so once you get into the housings there is a useful little switch that changes their focus.

With that acccomplished I was on my way. My first night was to be in Copenhagen so I had to drive the breadth of Denmark by check-in at 6pm local time. My route was incredibly simple sticking to the E20 the whole way the on ly complexities being some of the junctions with other motorways, remembering to drive on the right and making head or tail of the speed limits.

My first impressions of Denmark were of a neat, well organised country, the green gently rolling countryside looking very autumnal under a crisp blue sky. The towns and farms consisted of neat, low buildings with peaked roofs that, despite being completely modern, put me in minds of the long houses of old. Along the motorway were frequent places to stop, relieve yourself or even supply yourself with petrol and food. All was clean and pleasant.

Before long I had settled into a steady cruise at an indicated 110 kph and enjoyed smooth, clear motorways populated with some of the politest drivers I had ever encountered. They all understood that the overtaking lanes were precisely that and only stayed out for as long as it took them to get past the slower vehicles. My only run in with a rude driver was an idiot in a Beemer who tailgated me as I overtook a stream of cars including a police car and then roared into the distance as I pulled back into the inside lane. It was with great satisfaction that I watched the police car turn on its lights and give pursuit. I passed the Beemer soon enough sat on the hard shoulder with an irritated looking Danish policeman having words.

In a surprisingly swift journey broken by paying a toll and crossing a magnificent suspension bridge from Zealand I reached Copenhagen with a couple of hours to spare before check in and came off the motorway at a sign post for the O2. The O2 according to my map was the main way into the centre of Copenhagen where my hotel was and I was dreading a drive through a capital city. Once again I was pleasantly surprised, the drivers were marginally more aggressive than those I had encountered on the motorway but were still courteous to a poor Brit abroad.

Between my maps and a reasonable sense of direction I made my way to the hotel and found somewhere to park. The only flaw that I had discovered in an otherwise well ordered country were that Copenhagen's street signs were not always very visible from the (very) wide main thoroughfares. Parking was a doddle, finding a parking spot just around the corner from the hotel and using my credit card in an on-the-road pay machine (with a button for english instructions) to get a ticket. Prices were not exactly low as one would expect from the centre of a capital city.

The Imperial Hotel took up most of the city block and despite the huge sign on the roof had a relatively modest entrance nestled among the shop frontages. On entry I was greeted courteously first in Danish and then, when I exercised my phrasebook to explain that I spoke no Danish, in excellent English. After a short constitutional to familiarise myself with the area I had a delicious meal in the elegant 'Imperial Grill', chatting to very professional yet friendly staff. I retired to bed to prepare for the next push to Sweden an Kristianstad.

Sweden

Getting to Sweden involves crossing the Oresund Bridge. Oresund translates roughly as 'The Sound' - I'm going to assume that you all know the nnautical meanings of 'Sound'. The bridge was opened in 1999 providing a link between Sweden and Denmark. Malmo and its outlying area was relatively financially depressed but is now coming along in leaps and bounds since it is now less than 30 minutes by road from Copenhagen. Even so the bridge has yet to meet expectations for volumes of traffic, thanks in no small part to a relatively high fee for crossing. The crossing is a very impressive piece of engineering spanning more than 20 miles by tunnel, causeway and suspension bridge. Unfortunately there is nowhere to stop to take photos and as it was a grey day with poor visibility, there was no chance of photos from the shore.

The most immediate visible change on crossing to Sweden was the road signs. Instead of a white background there was a yellow one. Less obvious was the fact that the quality of the motorway road surfaces was just not quite as good as Denmark, in fact on several occasions I felt like I was driving in Britain. Past Malmo I had to come off the E20 and join the E22 which would take me directly to Kristianstad. The E22 was only a motorway for part of the way it became single carriageway on a number of occasions and frequently the speed limit was dropped to 70 or even 50 kph for a town or village that we passed through. The towns and villages looked very similar to those in Denmark, perhaps largely because this area had historically been under Danish control. The place was still very neat, but with a little more wear and tear visible than in Denmark.

Preparing for the journey I had read up on driving in Scandinavia and had read all the warnings about running into wildlife. It wasn't until I saw a warning sign followed by a brief glimpse of a rather large elk that I realised quite how serious they were. Unfortunately I was never in a position to take a photograph of this rather magnificent creature. Then again I should be rather happy as it meant that I was less likely to have one come through my windscreen; something that I understand is almost invariably fatal.

I made Kristianstad just after 1pm local time and made my way to the local hotel that Magnus had booked for me. The Hotel Hertigern was a pleasantly modest hotel just across from the station and next to the frankly magnificent brick-built 17th century main church. After a brief skirmish where I discovered that Magnus had made the booking in his name I dumped my bags in the room and wandered off to explore my first Swedish town and find some food.

I discovered the main shopping area very easily (it was started just behind the church) and shivering in the now much cooler atmosphere I went in search of education and just a little food.

Kristianstad is a lovely little bustling town. The shoopping area was packed with interesting shop fronts and they were just gearing up for Christmas. While there were many brands known to me (H&M, MacDonalds, Burger King and Electronic Boutique) I was pleased to see many small shops and businesses that appeared to be local. What I did not see was anywhere to eat except small cafes selling sandwiches. Consulting my guide book I found that Kristianstad had several restaurants - however only a few of them seemed to still exist and those that were still there were not open for lunch. Eventually I found an open restaurant - a chinese offering a lunch buffet. The staff were only too delighted to see a tourist and speak English to me. I had an excellent meal, though I was disappointed not to be able to eat 'Swedish' food. After a little more walking around the centre of Kristianstad I took myself back to the hotel and called Magnus who had kindly offered me dinner on this, the day before his wedding.

Magnus was just on his way back by train and promised to pick me up from the hotel once he had got back to Kristianstad and an hour later he appeared at my door. Magnus proposed that as Helene was working hard preparing for the wedding we should get takeaway. A few minutes later we walked into a Thai takeaway, my first two meals in Sweden were to be oriental. Interestingly the Thai food was sweeter and less spicy than I was used to in England and the Chinese food was much more savoury.

While we waited for the food Magnus and I caught up. He was working hard at Sony Ericsson and very content with the conjugal direction that his life had taken him. I told him the trivia of my life since last we talked.

The food arrived and, still talking, we walked to his flat that he shared with Helene and her two children. The flat was of a lovely design enlivened by Helene's enthusiastic dog bouncing a greeting. There was noone else there. I think that Magnus was a little surpised that we were the first ones back, but we continued talking as Magnus watered a magnificent array of houseplants and fed the dog. Eventually we worried that the takeaway was going to get too cold to be enjoyable and after failing to get through on the mobile we decided that (as Magnus put it) 'The mountain should go to Mohammed' and set off to take the food to the parish hall where Helene and her friends were setting up for the wedding.

Before we had got more than a couple of minutes from the flat the phone rang and Helene told Magnus that she was home.

We had a very pleasant evening where I met Helene's children and her best friend Mele.

I did my best to offer help with the preparations but was only able to offer a little bit of chopping before I made my way back to the hotel for a good night's sleep.

I awoke and after a pleasant breakfast faced a significant and important goal - I had to work out how to get to Kiaby before the wedding started at 4pm. I had noticed a tourist bureau the previous day and so made my way to it and within 5 minutes I had a free local map and directions from the (very pretty) girl behind the desk. I also had the impression that I now knew how to pronounce Kiaby (sch-ee-ah-bee).

A bit more time spent wandering around Kristianstad and taking photographs left me with a very favourable impression of the place and I finally found a good restaurant offering something like Swedish cuisine open at lunchtime!

After lunch I adjourned to the hotel and prepared myself to venture off the main roads and attend my first ever Swedish wedding.

Thanks to the directions that I had been given Kiaby was easy to find and I pulled up outside a simple whitewashed church with a tower that looked quite modern. Beside it was the parish hall where the reception was to be held. It was already dark, the temperature had dropped and rain was starting to fall so I was very happy to enter the well lit entry to the church.

On entering I realised that my first impressions were quite wrong. The church was much older. Inside was beautifully carved stone and wood, painted with motifs and frescoes. Already many people had gathered and I approached the lady handing out the hymn books and orders of service and there my luck let me down. She didn't speak any English! Fortunately Helene's mother appeared and told me to sit anywhere I like. As I walked past the first pew, I was surprised to be greeted by an English accent and to discover that I was not the only British person present. Sally was an old friend of Helene's mother and had also come over especially for the wedding.

Having chatted briefly and promised to talk more at the reception I wandered off to find myself a place to sit and ended up about half way down the aisle. I passed my time puzzling over the decoration and wondering why the board showed that we were to sing several psalms including 903. I hadn't realised there were that many psalms. It wasn't until much later that I realised that 'psalm' as a word was used in its original sense of 'hymn'. I was left wondering however how they differentiate between the psalms in the bible and the hymns sung from a hymnal.

The wait was enlivened by the arrival of some of the more unusual friends including a girl in full Japanese costume despite looking entirely European and a range of interesting hairstyles and colours.

The priest appeared at the front of the church and spoke to the congregation in Swedish. I knew that Magnus and Helene approved of him greatly and I certainly felt that I liked what I heard and saw of him. To this day I still have no idea of what he said but it caused the congregation to nod and laugh.

Before long the Maid of Honour (Melinda), the Best Man (Helene's brother), the bridesmaids and the pageboy appeared. I had pointed out to Magnus and Helene the night before that in the past the Maid of Honour and the Best Man were there so that if either the bride or groom were absent a marriage would still occur...

Then Magnus and Helene started their walk down the aisle, Helene on Magnus's arm. Apparently the Swedish church had decided that having the father of the bride give here away was too chauvinistic so they were discouraging the practice. I personally feel that they should have said that either the bride isn't given away or the groom's mother gives him away too.

Magnus was (disappointingly) not in a kilt, but was in a very elegant morning suit. Helene was radiant in a beautifully simple strapless wedding dress with a vestigial built-in train. A sheer wisp of charcoal fabric draped over her shoulders and a simple floral headdress.

Magnus and Helene both looked tired but very, very happy as they walked down the aisle arm in arm. It had been a long day, apparently they had only managed a few hours sleep before getting up at 6.

The service started and I dumbly stood up, sat down and kneeled at the same time as everyone else. Mercifully the service was short and I was largely able to follow the structure of the service (momentarily dazzled by flash photography at the 'You can now kiss the bride.').

After the service we stood outside and many, many photographs were taken before the weather forced us into the parish hall for the reception. Unfortunately any seating plan was kicked into touch by the outbreak of a virus that had prevented ten people from attending. However Sally and I were looked after and an English speaking table was instituted.

The reception was a blast - everyone was very kind to the poor benighted English speakers and I really, really enjoyed myself. Thank you to everyone.

The food was excellent including two cakes. One of the cakes that was very similar to a Lithuanian one that I had tried that effectively was an immensely tall meringue cone that had been cooked on a spit over an open fire.

After the food was the inevitable disco - of which the less said the better. If you can imagine all the most mainstream, turgid pop of the early to mid eighties...

Eventually, replete on good food and good company I adjourned to the Hertigen.

TBC

Milk and Paprika Fried Chicken with Citrus Sauce

One of my recipes that my sister has wanted for ages.

The ingredient list is per person and can be scaled up appropriately.

• Chicken Breast
• 1/2 pint of milk
• 50g Corn Flour (Corn Starch in the US)
• Seasonings
• 1 tsp. Paprika - Smoked for preference.
  
• 1 pinch Salt
• 1/2 tsp Dried garlic powder.
  
• Alternatively use Schwartz Season All - 1 1/2 tsp.
  
• 1/2 lemon
• Good quality vegetable oil (sunflower or avocado are good)
  

Chop the chicken breast into strips and marinade at least overnight in the milk in the fridge. You can marinade for up to 24 hours but take care past that.

Remove the chicken from the milk shaking off any excess liquid. The milk will have sweetened and tenderised the chicken due to an interaction between the enzymes in the milk and chicken.

Pour a goodly amount of oil into the bottom of a frying pan and start to heat.

Put the corn flour and seasoning in a plastic bag, shake. Add the chicken pieces and shake until they are well coated in the corn flour and seasoning.

Take the chicken pieces out allowing the excess corn flour to fall back into the bag.

When the oil in the frying pan has got hot enough to have a shimmer above it (but not catch and burn) add the chicken pieces. Cook them for about 5-10 minutes depending on how large they are so that the outside is crisp and the chicken cooked.

While the chicken is cooking it is time to make the sauce.

Put the marinade into a saucepan and heat. Bring it to the boil and you will notice it start to clump. Add the juice of the lemon and a little zest and bring back to the boil. Reduce the heat so it simmers gently.

The sauce will curdle further.

Finally, depending on how thick you want the sauce, take some of the coating mix from the plastic bag, add a little water to form a smooth emulsion and add to the simmering sauce. This adds the flavours of the seasoning to the sauce. Allow the sauce to thicken. If you want a smooth sauce - blitz it. I personally quite like the texture of the sauce as is without blitzing.

Serve the chicken on a bed of noodles with a crisp side salad and pour the sauce over the chicken and noodles.