Hamlet? Schmamlet!

Goddag

How I love hard rain when I’m safe inside, warm, dry and well fed.  It’s pouring, and I’m not out in it.  Lovely!  I’m fascinated by water falling from the sky.

But not all my experience of rain today was indirect.  Yes. I was out in it.  I went to Helsingor.

The Danish Monarchy has amazingly bad luck with castles. Every single one of them that I have visited so far have been destroyed by fire and rebuilt.  So it is with Kronborg.

Hamlet supposedly takes place at the Kronborg at Elsinor.  Evidently there’s some historical truth to the tale of a young prince taking revenge for the murder of his father by his brother who then married the widow.  Mostly—as usual—Shakespeare is making it up.  The incident took place in Jutland, and the Bard seems to know nothing of the Kronborg guarding the Oresund—the narrow strait between Sweden and Denmark.
That doesn't stop the folks of Helsingor from bringing up Hamlet at every opportunity.  On the way to the castle, I passed Hamlet cafes and the big Hotel Hamlet.

Even in the pouring rain the castle is well worth visiting.  The state rooms are certainly not comparable to Christianborgslot because the Crown handed over the castle to the military long before.  Visitors walk through sparsely furnished but grand rooms with views commanding the Oresund--you know just in case some ship tried to sneak by without paying the toll that made the Kings of Denmark (and that also meant Sweden, Norway, and aspirations to own a lot more) rich.

Alas—from the Danish point of view Sweden became independent.  Denmark had to share the Oresund, and Helsingor was no longer the center of the kingdom.  The royal family turned the fortress over to the military, which abandoned it to the public in the late 1950s.

In addition there is the spooky fun of prowling around the dark casements or foundations of the castle. It really is dark down there.  Apparently one can rent a flashlight, but I didn't figure this out until I was downstairs.  Beware! Footing is uneven.  I stuck close to a German speaking family to find my way.

During a brief break in the weather I clambered around the bastions and ramparts and looked across the strait to Sweden.

Then the weather returned.  The kind of weather I experienced in Helsingor is termed a “storm” where I live. It rained hard, and the wind roared.  I always carry my umbrella, which goes up at the merest hint of a raindrop, and I was wearing my coat.  I still got soaked.  But what floors me is the seeming indifference of the Danes to weather that often causes alarm and horror at home.  Few carry umbrellas.  I saw a child sprawled on a rock by the beach simply soaking up cold rain as if it were sunshine.  Danes parade around in shorts, sandals.  Oh yes, they scurry rather than saunter through it but yike.  If this is high summer what must fall and winter be like?

The city of Helsingor is charming and colorful.  I found it more appealing that Koge, but that’s probably because it was easier to get to and I was in a better mood.  A short ferry ride can take you to the unappealing Swedish shore, but most of the traffic, as it happens, is toward Denmark.  I came  upon the booze market set up for Swedes looking for comparatively cheap liquor.

So I have finally found a Danish beer I really like.  The others I’ve tried have been merely ok.  The sojourn in Amsterdam last summer with the best of the Netherlands and Belgium, plus the expertise of some friends has spoiled me rotten.  But a brand called Thisted Classic is dark and rich—dark amber colored—ooh! just like my eyes. I’d been out a long time, and by the time I got home I was cold, tired and hungry.  The beer tided me over until I could change my clothes, etc. and get the pasta cooking.

Farvel