Tag: bike touring

Des Lille Havrue

Tent set up, I was back on the bike, and off in search of a bar to watch the European championships, England were already a goal down against Slovakia, and at risk of going out, so it seemed like some unmissable drama might unfold! Having only caught the last half hour, I was pleased when the game was forced into extra time by Jude Bellingham’s sensational last gasp equaliser, quickly ordering myself a Philly Cheesesteak, to accompany an enjoyable locally-brewed Yakima IPA, whilst watching extra time.

After a restless night, largely spent regretting my decision to bring a lightweight 2-season sleeping bag, I finally made my way out and about for the day – I was allowing myself one day of sight-seeing before getting underway, so planned on having a quick cycle around the centre of Copenhagen before jumping on the train over the Oresund Bridge to Malmo, in Sweden.

Hitting the cycle paths once more, I made for the coast, and Copenhagen’s most iconic sight, Des Lille Havrue, Edvard Eriksen’s ‘The Little Mermaid’ sculpture – whose diminutive size didn’t stop the tourist hoards visiting en masse, although it has been pointed out to me that singing crabs might make it more appealing…

Continuing inland along the side of the harbour, I noted that the word for harbour was havn, aligning closely with the name of the city, København, and also prompting the belated realisation that an Icelandic town in which I’d stayed, Höfn, was also derived from their local word for harbour.

Passing the sorry looking remains of the Borsen building, and noticing the clear path to reconstruction that was underway, I was relieved to see that not all countries treat their culturally significant buildings with total disrespect. I’d like to think that funding to restore Glasgow’s Mackintosh Art School building might be sourced eventually…

Hopping onto the train, I was quickly (and smoothly) whisked across Oresund on ‘The Bridge’ and in ‘The Tunnel’(?). I didn’t really expect to see much difference between two Scandinavian cities so close together, but I was wrong. Copenhagen had felt like a significant capital city and major tourist hub, whilst the Malmo Dock-side felt like a low-key backwater – the end of a land-mass, which I guess it was.

After enjoying a leisurely stroll around the bustling town centre, and a ‘pizza donut’, I made my way back to the train, ruing having left my phone adapter on my bike at Copenhagen station: my power bank was fully depleted and my phone was at 2%, when I returned to Danish soil once more.

The final order of business for the day was to scale the external spiral staircase of the Church of Our Saviour, but the ticket for that was on my phone, so after an extended visit to McDonald’s for some sustenance, and more importantly a power boost, I rushed over to the church, well after my allotted slot, and just in time for closing, but thankfully I was permitted access, and, making short work of the 400 steps of the tower – both inside and out – I was blessed by some stunning views.

Copenhagen – ?…

I’d only booked my flight some 36 hours before, and here I was looking forlornly out of the window at the rain as I deliberated where to build my bike at Copenhagen Airport. The weather had been better at home. But I was here now, so I had better make the most of it, I thought, as I emptied out the contents of the battered cardboard box, now a veteran of two campaigns – having successfully made a return trip to Jordan, it was now ending its service here, having deployed me at the start of a new adventure.

It was raining lightly as I set off into town on Copenhagen’s overwhelmingly extensive network of cycle paths, I meandered through pleasant suburbs and was pleased to get Reykjavik-vibes before a striking church gave me a taste of something new.

Crossing the Langebro bridge into the city offered up lovely views of the distinctive harbour-side buildings, reminding me that the last time Copenhagen had entered my consciousness had been news reels of the awful fire at the historic Borsen building, and I wondered if that event – back in April – had somehow subconsciously led to me being here today.

I was intrigued to see what appeared to be a funfair further along the road, so carrying on along H. C. Andersens Boulevard to take a look, I soon realised that it was the famous Tivoli Gardens, and that I’d previously seen it, in a Michael Portillo Travelogue.

Across the road lay the fine Radhuspladsen square, the city hall sitting proudly between Burger King on one side, and McDonald’s on the other…

Other than booking the flight, I had managed one other piece of planning before setting off, and that was to check out campsites in the Copenhagen area, in the end deciding on Bellahoj Campsite, for the sole reason that it was big enough that you didn’t have to book…

It was 4.5 km across town, so I carried on in that direction, pleased to inadvertently receive some guidance on Danish cycle-lane etiquette from a young boy who was pedalling along in front of me. Right arm out to turn right, left hand up to stop, and to turn left, cycle across the intersection and pull over and wait in the cycle lane on the right hand side, then wait for the signal to change before continuing to the left. It was strange to be picking up riding tips from the locals – on trips like these, I’m usually the only one on a bike!

Are you ready for another adventure?

Am I ready for another adventure is perhaps the more pertinent question…

Before I’d left work on Friday I was asked where I was going on holiday, and for once I was at a loss. I was just about to start two weeks of annual leave, and I currently had nothing planned. What I did know was that – having looked at the forecast – staying at home would likely begin with good intentions to cram in all number of hillwalking and cycling trips, and end with me watching Wimbledon while looking forlornly out of the window at the rain.

But, having successfully completed challenging and logistically stressful tours in Iceland and Jordan in 2023 and backed those trips up by visiting Egypt earlier this year, my mental stamina was feeling somewhat depleted, and I was keen to not have to worry about flying home with my bike on this occasion.

So, the hunt was on to find a flight to somewhere that would be within range – after two weeks of cycling – of a ferry back to the UK, and preferably in a country I’d never been to before. Copenhagen was looking like a strong contender, and, when I mentioned my plan to the sales assistant in Halfords – while picking up some bike supplies – and he said that he loved Copenhagen, that he’d been before, and was going back in a couple of months, that was good enough for me.

Then, when he told me that Malmo in Sweden was only half an hour away by train, and I could add a second new country into the equation, that was the deal sealed completely!

The King’s Highway: The Aftermath

Having not eaten a great deal all day, I stopped off for a post-sunset late lunch before heading to the hotel. Ordering falafel, hummus and fries, I was slightly overwhelmed by the amount of food that arrived. How could I finish all of this.


As I ploughed through as much as I could – to avoid looking too wasteful – I looked up the bus times between Aqaba and Amman, and realised that there was one leaving shortly, at half past 6 in the evening. That was in ten minutes time, did that mean the ticket office might still be open?


The overall success of the trip could depend on this moment. I’d seen anecdotal evidence online that the JETT coaches might accept bicycles without the need for a box. I hoped so, as that was my masterplan for returning to Amman, to pick up my bike box and fly home.


Discovering that the bus station was only 5 minutes away, I raced over, and was relieved to be allowed in. The attendant confirming that I could indeed travel with a bike and booking me onto the bus at 11 am the next morning. All the way back to the start for 10 JD, and in 4 and a half hours.


After a pleasant breakfast at the Bratus Hotel, a new build just on the edge of the town centre, I made my way to the bus. All that was required was for me to remove the wheels and place the bike in the storage lockers with all the other luggage. I then boarded a very full bus, I was glad I’d booked.


Following the rapid transit along the desert highway, and a short pedal down into the centre of Amman, I returned to the hotel. I didn’t recognise the man at reception, and he seemed quite sceptical about my ad-hoc booking that had been cobbled together the week before. Possibly conceding that I may be telling the truth, he checked me in.

Wandering through a busy downtown bazaar, I stopped at the barbecue restaurant Shahrazad for a fine mixed kebab. Having felt comfortable at arriving back in Amman after my time travelling through the country, I was reeling again at the reaction I’d had at the hotel, and what this meant for my airport transfer the next day, I had no idea.

After a restless night during which I was sure that there would be no van coming to pick me up, I got up before my 5 am alarm, and watched the road outside the Roman Theatre from my window, would there be a taxi if I needed one, and could I possibly fit my box in the back? It seemed to me like 6 am on a Sunday morning was a problematic time to find a new solution.

When I checked out, shortly before 6, another receptionist seemed even more dissatisfied with my claim that I’d already paid, than the one the day before, repeatedly asking how much I’d been charged, and seeming to think that I should have paid more, perhaps because the listed room price on the wall behind him was 35 JD a night, whereas I’d reserved the first two nights online, before I’d arrived, at 32 JD in total. Did the ‘manager’ who’d served me the week before even work here at all, or was it an elaborate hoax?

But then, at 2 minutes to 6, a van pulled up, and it was the man who’d collected me from the airport a week prior. ‘You’re lucky, he’s usually late’ joked the front desk receptionist, as he held the door for me. I would be going to the airport after all, what had I been worrying about…

Arriving at the airport, at just gone half past 6 in the morning, I now had plenty of time to spare before my 9 o’clock flight, the morning’s stress levels slowly starting to dissipate. Now finding myself flush with the money that I’d kept back in case I needed to make some alternative last minute travel arrangements, I decided that there might be just enough time for one last Shawarma for the road. And, maybe partially buoyed by the now almost certain success of my trip, but even from an airport fast food counter, before 7 in the morning, it tasted pretty good.

Thanks for reading,

Michael