Happiness is a Lego brick

And who said Denmark was flat?

We had no intention of diverting from our route. It was nice, if a little dull. Denmark was consistently an uneventful combination of flat riding, pleasant weather, Viking centres and cabins available on campsites at the end of every day. But then we bought a vanilla slice at a bakery near Middlefart. On the back of the empty paper bag was an invitation we couldn't resist. Actually, it was an invitation we couldn't read. Something about a child going free with an adult if the adult joined the Krummiclub. But the picture on the back was clear. There was a family, and they were all having fun. We hadn't had any real fun for a while and if there was some on offer, we were going to sniff it out. First we had to find out what a Krummiclub was and if we were eligible to join. Then we had to find out how on earth to get ourselves to Legoland when we had to be at a ferry in Esbjerg in three days time to return to the UK. But how could we not go to Legoland, on our tour of the country where Lego was born? 70% of the bright plastic blocks are still produced there and our kids love Lego.

Once we changed our route, the terrain changed with it. It started to get very hilly. After two days of climbing and dropping, our legs were tired. On a road leading to the town of Kolding, we were still going up, and we stopped at a Best Western hotel to have a drink and a rest. It was getting dark, and time was of the essence, because if we didn't reach the campsite soon it would be closed. Even a drink at the hotel was more than we could afford, so we made a secret picnic behind the bikes on the gravel drive and hoped that no one would notice. A man sitting outside the hotel noticed straight away. "Just a few more hills to Kolding," he said. "This is the hilliest road in Denmark." Stuart slapped some salami into a piece of bread. "Of course it is," he muttered.

The hilliest road in Denmark soon turned in to the hilliest town. And the campsite was two miles out of town, up another hill. It was dark. We were exhausted and the fact that we were now two paid up members of the Danish Krummiclub didn't ease the pain. Perhaps this was partly because we still had no idea what a Krummiclub was. In the morning, the hilliest town in Denmark soon turned into the most confusing town as we got lost and circled around and around it. Then someone turned on the wind.

We knew we were getting close when we came across these

We limped towards Billund and the Lego village just outside the town centre at dusk. The children soon cheered up when they caught their first sight of a giant size Lego brick, eight feet of white plastic. They climbed onto it for a photograph. Behind them, the factory stood silent, stacked to the roof and windows with thousands of packs of new Toy Story kits, ready to be shipped out for Christmas.

If Lego is a symbol of playful Denmark, then none of its cheer had rubbed off on the Lego village campsite. We reached the reception at nine minutes past seven after two days and a hundred kilometres of hard slog. It was almost dark and about to rain. Although it was clear we were in need of help, the receptionist wouldn't open the doors.  It shut at seven. Then when she came out to go home a few minutes later and headed to her car, she wouldn't hear our sorry tale. "We are open at nine o clock tomorrow," she told us. "It's a bit late then to get a bed for the night," I said, exasperated, as she shrugged and climbed into her car. "You can put up a tent if you want to," she said, before driving off. We stood in the dusk in a deserted lego village. "I'm cold,"said Hannah. "I'm hungry," said Cameron. We were past the point of wanting to put up a tent. We wanted a bed, and some warmth.  "There's a hostel in the Lego village, I'll go and check it out." I said. Unfortunately the hostel closed at seven o' clock as well. "How can an entire tourist village at one of the world's most famous theme parks shut down at seven o clock in the evening?" said Stuart in despair.

Phoning the official Legoland hotel was more a last ditch attempt to rule out all the options before we camped than a realistic solution. But the man on the phone said they had a room. And the price included breakfast, and tickets for Legoland. And we could afford it…at a push. We put it to the children. But instead of grabbing the idea with both hands, they were cautious. "It is a bit beyond the budget," Matthew finally admitted.  "And we've joined the Krummiclub now," said Cameron., "we really should use that deal." "The hotel is a long way!" cried Hannah. But Stuart was captain for the day. "We passed the 2000km mark today and we are going to stay at the Legoland Hotel."             

Hotel Legoland, Billund

It wasn't difficult to spot. The massive Lego clock outside gave it away. And the tree climbing up the centre of the hotel, and the train going through the middle, and the pink throne outside the toilets, and the giant lego bricks sticking out of the wall, and the Lego Mona Lisa in her frame, and the water pipes filled with blocks. And the tubs of brightly coloured Lego bricks absolutely everywhere.  At the check in the man was welcoming, and remembered speaking to me earlier.  "Yes, I have a room for you. Two adults and two children?" he confirmed."Three children," I corrected him. His face darkened. "I thought you said two. I'm afraid the price I gave you was wrong." He got his calculator out and was half way through the calculations, before he stopped. "It is late. We wouldn't sell that room anyway. And your youngest child is very small. I can let you have the room at the price I quoted." He punched in our details and five shiny cards for the Legoland theme park spewed out. "Now, would you like an adventure room or a room overlooking the park?" Would we like an adventure room? 

Even the corridors were something of an adventure

We followed a long corridor, with flickering lego fire torches on the wall. We stepped over the bugs and spiders and snakes woven into the carpet, and counted the numbers on bedroom doors painted with hieroglyphics. At the end of the corridor, next to two mummies, was room twenty five. We opened the room and walked into the world of Indiana Jones. A carved column of the sun gods in the centre of the room had a TV built into the top. The beds were painted with ancient codes. The mini bar was    cased in a treasure chest and there was a giant treasure map in the wall. A huge monkey made out of Lego presided over it all, while Lego butterflies, parrots and lizards hung from the walls and ceiling. Next to the beds was a safe. A note to the children announced that if they cracked the code they could find the combination and open it. They counted the legs on bugs and the wings on parrots and soon got into the safe. It was full of presents; kites and dolls and Lego sets and luggage tags. Another two notes informed them of two treasure hunts around the hotel. Two big boxes of Lego had also been put in the room to facilitate a daily competition to make a Lego creature. Matthew went to work and made a dog. Cameron went on a bug treasure hunt around the hotel. He won it and was handed a brand new box of Lego to keep. Stuart and I had a beer and relaxed for the first time in days.

The Lego theme park was a treat for everyone. Our hotel led straight into the heart of it, and we swapped bikes for water chutes, rollercoasters and pirate boats. By six o clock, everyone was happy and exhausted. Back on the bikes on our way towards Esbjerg, the ferry home and Stuart's mum, the children chattered about their favourite rides, and all the inspiration they had picked up for getting creative with their Lego pieces back home. Matthew was particularly animated. "When I get to school I can tell everyone I've been to Denmark, Finland, Latvia, Lithuania, Estonia, Germany, Alaand, Moominland and Legoland. That's nine countries in all!"

I've been to nine countries including Legoland 

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Things that go bump in the night

In Odense you can act out fairy tales of all kinds

The starchy collar, old top hat and overcoat helped me feel the part but it was the cane that really got me attention. Thwack! It made a great sound when it hit the desk. Yes! I liked the part of evil schoolmaster.

"Now get back to your desk boy," I bellowed, "School's not finished for you yet."

The cane certainly made Cameron sit down and pay attention but we both knew it was just make believe. Not just because he did as he was told but because he was dressed as the back end of a pantomime horse.  Matthew disappeared when he saw the cane, dismissing himself to go looking for a beanstalk.  Through the schoolroom window I could see Kirstie on stage, dressed as a chicken, dancing away under a sky of pink fluffy clouds, with Hannah trailing behind dressed as a Princess, searching for a golden egg.

We probably had our fairy tales mixed up but it didn't matter, for this was the Fyrtojet in Odense, a fairy tale centre where adults and kids can dress up, read, paint, play-act and explore fairy tale worlds and characters with fairy tale sets, costumes, lighting, music and props; participation and exploration are the name of the game and we were all well into it.

In the witches' kitchen, Kirstie and I enjoyed fifteen minutes with the kids as slaves. What simple joy to have them at our beck and call; to have them wash dishes, scrub floors, peel vegetables, stew rats and live under the kitchen sink or be cursed to live forever as a toad or worse.

What fun to be the cobbler, to snip and sew and tack a pair of magical shoes for Cameron; shoes that stuck to his feet, tied themselves and would never wear out.

This really is a fairy tale world... 

What pleasure to sit in Granny's parlour, in her old rocking chair, to pour golden tea from a silver teapot and sip it from china cups, to eat knitted muffins and read Hannah 'Father is Always Right'.

Odense is the birthplace of Hans Christian Anderson and gripped by the idea of a fairy tale theme day we'd made quite a detour to go there and learn more about him and his work. But beyond the town, things were not quite so rosy.  I'd been having trouble getting hold of mum on the phone and after three days without reply was getting worried something was wrong.   Between museums I sent a text to my brother in the UK asking him if he'd go around and check on her.  At the end of the day, as we left, I received a text back, composed as a rhyme, assuring me he'd go take a look.

We rode to a campsite 10km west of Odense, keen to get back on track towards Esbjerg. It was dusky when we arrived, the sun already setting ahead of us. Reception was in what seemed like a small garden centre shop that specialised in gnomes. The shelves were filled with dozens of them in every size, colour and pose including a large Father Christmas collection.  A blond haired woman appeared from a door behind the counter, wearing a stripey woollen hat with a small peak.

"Hello," she said, greeting the children with a beautiful smile, "you look like you need a place to stay."

The noticeboard behind her was decorated with children's drawings and paintings of cabins, a lake, ducks and gnomes and letters saying 'Thanks' for 'the best campsite in the world', 'a magical summer', 'this little bit of paradise.'

With rain forecast overnight Kirstie decided we should take a cabin. The lady agreed it was a good idea, pulled out a pretty hand drawn map of the site and circled a little house marked with the number 7. With the children entranced she sketched three little smiling faces next to the number 7 then, one by one, asked their names and wrote them down next to the faces.

The magical map to a magical cabin

"This is a special cabin you know," she explained taking them into her confidence and adding a few swirls and flowers to the drawing," for at half past one the gnomes come and do some magic." She handed over a purple key. "But of course you will be asleep then won't you?" They all nodded their heads. "You must sleep on the top of the kids bunk beds. Then if you aren't asleep at half past one you must taste the roof like this." She swiped her finger through the air and into her mouth.  "For they sometimes turn the roof into sugar candy." The kids looked at each other. "This is me…," she said, finishing the map with another little face, drawn next to the shop, "..my name is Angelica…," she added a peaked hat to the face, "…and if you need anything you find me and let me know."

Hannah took the  map, led us through an arch in a hedge, down towards the lake and over to a little wooden version of the gingerbread house, complete with red checked curtains, flower baskets and inside, the kids bunk beds, two up, town down.  "We want the top bunks" announced the boys, keen to be within reach of the roof.

A magical cabin? 

I was woken later by my phone beeping to announce an incoming text. The phone clock said 1.24am. The text said my brother was at mum's house and going to investigate a flickering light.  I'd just put my head back on the pillow when the most almighty thump startled me. Kirstie sat bolt upright and Cameron began to cry on the floor beside me. In the dark it was hard to make out what had happened but it didn't sound like sugar candy. It was a boy falling out of bed. 

As Kirstie and I tended to Cam, searching his head for signs of damage, another rhyming text arrived; there was a body on another floor, and medics bashing down a door. What nightmare was this? And what could I do from Denmark but worry?

 "I've got a headache," said Cameron groggily giving me something else to focus on as we sat on the floor in the dark underneath the kids bunk beds. I checked his speech, vision and movement again but they seemed OK so gave him Calpol from a spoon, then sat quietly in the gloom.  I worried about mum, Cameron drifted back off to sleep and Kirstie worried about Cameron, comforting herself with the fact he was not being sick.

2am and another riddle on the phone; 'Mum's awake and confused, unbroken but bruised'. What relief! For a moment.  Cameron stirred and sat up, "I feel sick now."  This night was far from over. Kirstie fetched a pan from the stove and Cameron filled it until he felt better and she felt worse.

"Look up vomiting and head injuries on the internet," she said. "And see if you can find out where the nearest hospital is."  While searching away on my internet phone, more incoming rhymes brought the latest from home; mum was being taken to hospital for care and observation.

"My headaches gone now," said Cameron as I tucked him in tightly into the lower bunk bed having reassured Kirstie and myself that a little vomit after hitting your head was not unusual or cause for concern.

I climbed up into the top bunk and lay in the dark, Kirstie and Cameron still awake below. The clock said 3 o' clock.  I swiped my fingers through the air, across the roof and into my mouth. It wasn't sugar candy.