To talk about the modern Danish village established with childhood with concepts – about the same thing that I am trying to describe Apricot with the words of an old joke: "Keyotock know? That’s very unlike!" Leaving card comparisons, it is better to sketch the scandinavian landscape graphics: Hills sinusoids, leaving the horizon of the fields of fields, white circus winds and anthracite of highway lines – all this, highlighted with a stingy shine of steel heavens, carries something from 3D animation.
We live in Central Denmark (try to find a center from a country of five hundred islands), in the town of Sshill, located between the same with the gardening names – Crupe and Quidward. It would seem, one sound of these names is enough to dismiss the hunt here to settle. When we went to the future Cocutton, Russian friends looked at us with pity, and Copenhagen journalistic brethren put an eyebrow house: to aunt? in the wilderness? In Pampasy?
The first night was disturbing: the rustle of gravel and the steel on metal was heard outside the window. "Kerosene pull, bastards!" – flashed through sleep evil thought. In the morning, everything explained: a lonely walked in the yard, casting pheasant rust.
– Yes, you have meat here! – The Israelief of Sanya was amazed then. Hunting instincts of the former Odessans made a rack: Fucking a backpack, Sanya disappeared in the direction of the forest, but soon returned to the stunned scaffolding.
Now all this is already in the past. On the Pheasans, and equally random the goal of Blood of the day and regularly surprisingly from the neighboring farm of Ostrich nobody reacts – there is enough of her worries.
Rhythm of life settled. After the communal taxi takes the Chado to school, the work day begins. Sitting for a computer by the window, I already know what will happen next. At eight on the alley there will be a torn fat-neighbor with a poodle. Later, they walked on bicycles high school students. And finally, at exactly ten hear a snort of diesel mailers.
. Slapped the door, flashed the postman in Aloma jacket, and a van with the royal mail of the royal mail rolls on. Morals in the village are simple, and do not be at home, leave the parcel right on the porch.
And I have time to go to the store for bread. A rural supermarket has an intriguing Focus sign. Prices – roadside, an order of magnitude higher than the usual. Supermarket to the same refueling, mail, drug delivery service and the totality of all – the center of cultural life. Fights a bearded asher. Oh my turn:
– French bread, please.
The name is entirely on the conscience of Danes. Familiar Parisan Olivier argues that he learned about the existence of such a bump truck only here in Denmark. Jumping shop lettuce called "Russian", I understand it now.
The path is back lies by a complex of rural school and kindergarten buildings, connected by the gallery, – life constantly flows from one half to another. Children with extinguishes run to the overall with reoxoites game room, and kindergartens are watering on the gymnastics in the school gym.
Near the school there is an artificial pond, from which swans periodically slip and demandingly pull the neck: Bread brought? Ragnar’s school breeding at this time cuts circles on the mini-tractor. The buzzings of the swans do not scare, as well as the race schoolchildren. Life in school does not subside late: in the evening the surrounding granny to wave into badminton, knead the bones in the recreation group or just chat for a cup of tea.
Bow of the city and village
A distinctive feature of the province has always been her remoteness from major cities. But for compact Denmark, with its perfectly developed network of communications, this is not a problem. I sincerely wish you to sit in an ordinary rural bus whose sterility leads to the delight of the Texan tourists, Chinese graduate students and other different Swedes entering these edges. His Majesty the Standard dominates in Denmark everywhere, forcing transport workers to climb out of the skin, but keep the brand: the routes are docked so that it is almost awaited by transporting more than five to seven minutes. Same with trains, and in general, these two types of transport merge so much that the ticket for the train is valid in the city bus.
I reread and wondered: adding negative – no, I can not. Not to do what, except for the prices: public transport here is the most expensive in the world. But the service is worth.
All Denmark is divided into 273 communes, and our number of 11 thousand inhabitants, the same name with the district center – the town of Ring, in which exactly half of the inhabitants of the commune lives. At the same time, the pure city does not stand out among themselves similar: church, shops, couple-triple banks and "Pedestrian" – Street, closed for highway.
On the central square there is a single power symbol – a monument to Prime Minister Erika Eriksen, the local native. The cast-iron prime minister went out with an increase from the teenager and in the evening it can scare a haunted person to Ikota. In the afternoon it is not visible in the crowd, and once a week, Eriksen are generally folded with cesses with tomatoes: on Thursdays on the square – market day.
On the contrary, in an old glukelka, a cozy rural pharmacy, where, if you press the button, the tumbler will crawl with the number (because there is no queue in Denmark), and the air measurements for allergy sufferers hang on the wall.
After a couple of houses – the district library, in which it is extremely rare to obtain a refusal. If what you need is not available, the library sends requests to other repositories. Some books come marked by Kongelig Bibliotek (Royal Library). But this is not the limit. Somehow I urgently needed a pre-war year church books in Armenian. In the library I was knocking, asked to give time to the wanted, and the days after five came the parcel from Sweden – the required literature was found there. Is it worth saying that all these services are absolutely free.
Drive belt democracy
The mansion is performed from glass and concrete masterpiece: Department of the regional newspaper Fyens StiftTidende. The provincial Danish Edition is something special: the hedgehogny multicolor honeycomb quality of printing causes a burning envy. The content is responsible for the principles of Akyn Stalsky: we will see what we see.
The headlines are enough for the heart: the kidnapper of the bicycle, Fru Hansen – Forty years beyond the desk, revolutionary principles of treating hemorrhoids, and in the room – flea markets this week, how to lose weight in a dream, the recipe of the day. Separate notebook – finite of capitalist production. Heroes of the day with poor physiognomies are branched against the background of the bakery, in front of the bank. Provincial delights caused me a smirk until the Danish Danish journalist didn’t get into the house "feathers". Sobcar tortured for a long time that he thinks about Danish life, Russian mafia, and finally sat down on the sofa, he prevailed "Moscow News" with actor Ulyanov on the cover and coupling "CES!". The number sent by the next room, I refer me to the deepest embarrassment: "Denmark – Cemetery for journalists and paradise for normal people! – declares a journalist from Russia", was scored by a large font, and the photo came out, as if we were trying to look together in the door pepper.
House with the ghosts
As it should be all self-respecting provinces, our also have something to show the world. Next door to the village is the castle of Egueskov – the only one of the medieval castles in Europe, preserved almost perfect. The building stands on the water, more precisely – on the oak stilts go into the marsh block, which they gave the castle name: Egeskov in Danish means "Oak forest". During the reconstruction under the roof of the castle, they found a wooden doll, which lies there and now: belief says that if it is touched from the place, then in the Christmas of Eguez with all his six thousand piles immediately go under the water. Judging by the fact that the castle costs the desires, the risky hunter has not yet found.
The castle is famous for its ghosts, an extensive collection of ancient driving, floating and flying equipment, a chapel with a Dracula in a coffin (I never found the strength to approach a closer – malicious Romanian rises and laughs), as well as bait for tourists – Bamboo labyrinth. The shield in front of the entrance notifies that you can get out of here in 15 minutes, but smart people usually spend much more time. Below attitudes: "If you are still lost, you should not worry – every fall we clean the labyrinth".
In our Selmage occasionally you can see the owner of the castle, old countess. Basketball forms The middle-aged woman in the blazer, throwing into the cart of the Coca-Cola box, politely greets and stands together with everyone in line (in "Focus" This is the usual thing). Leaving, we will travel from the Countess in different directions: I’m on a bicycle, it is on the ink "Daimler". I note the edge of the eye that the door of the car is messed, – this detail for a moment unites us no worse than the democratic Coca-Cola. On the other hand, what other proximity signs we need – we are neighbors. And in the village it is more than relatives.