On a rainy Sunday, I found myself in Copenhagen’s Nordhavn (North Harbour) area, standing in front of Captain Nalle. The giant troll sculpture looked tired from dragging his boat on a rope. I could relate; I was jetlagged and still recovering from Covid fatigue. I was in need of some unwinding in nature, determined to embark on a few Nordic friluftsliv adventures and find a little peace and rejuvenation.
Norwegian playwright and poet Henrik Ibsen popularised the term “friluftsliv” in the 1850s to describe the value of spending time in remote locations for spiritual and physical well-being. It literally translates to “open-air living”, and today, Scandinavians value connecting to nature in different ways – something we all need right now as we emerge from an era of lockdowns and inactivity.
During the pandemic in Denmark, Danes were lured outdoors in an inventive way – by trolls. World-renowned recycle artist Thomas Dambo created 10 new sculptures around the country in a project he called The Great Troll Folk Fest (trolls were an apt subject for Dambo, who’d placed a series of “giants” around Copenhagen in 2016 and 2017). His goal was to encourage Danes to explore nature through a troll treasure hunt, complete with a troll map.
“I don’t think I would have made trolls if I didn’t come from Denmark,” Dambo said, noting that trolls are used in Danish folklore to explain the unexplained. “My sculptures, they pull people outside. For me, that’s what my project is. It gives people an opportunity to explore.”
Disappointed by the cancellation of his scheduled projects around the world due to the pandemic, Dambo started planning The Great Troll Folk Fest instead and went dumpster-diving for materials as a way to lift his own spirits and also to reconnect with Denmark’s great outdoors. With no budget, he posted about the project on social media and received help from unexpected places, including donated materials and a plethora of volunteers.
“We had a little bit of the Forrest Gump running across America,” Dambo said. “More and more people just joined in.” The end result is a series of whimsical giant creatures hidden in forests, tucked between trees, next to bridges, and even fishing in a river.
To hunt for Dambo’s first pandemic troll, I took the M4 metro to the last stop, Orientkaj, and walked through industrial areas filled with shipping containers to an open area. The old harbor of Copenhagen is undergoing commercial development, and a highway tunnel will be built in the area where Dambo’s old workshop is located, not far from Captain Nalle. In a fairy tale in Dambo’s book, Trail of a 1000 Trolls: The Trolliefolkyfest, Kaptajn Nalle wakes up from a long nap to discover that while he was sleeping, urban development caused the harbor to fill up with rubble and now the shoreline moved three miles out. “That is why Kaptajn Nalle is pulling his boat back to the shore,” Dambo said.
After finding Kaptajn Nalle, I could tell that there was something to this friluftsliv – I was already feeling energized by exploring outside and allowing myself to be surprised and delighted by what I found, including connecting with other troll hunters. So, the next obvious step was to leave the city and delve deeper into Denmark’s nature.
I headed south via train and a bus to spend some time on the Østersøruten (Baltic Sea Cycle Route), the longest national cycling route in Denmark, at 820km. On two wheels, I crossed over the bustling Queen Alexandrine Bridge to the rural island of Møn, where cows were my companions instead of cars. Surrounded by an open landscape, I felt my body exhale.
An hour of pastoral riding was so restorative that I almost didn’t want to stop, but the promise of an outdoor shower and expansive views at Bygagergaard, my home for the night, suggested there were more ways to experience friluftsliv than on a bike. The 1861 farm has been recently revamped by Anna Falch to include glamping tents, al fresco showers and baths, and an old circus wagon that has been converted into a sauna.
“Taking away some of the luxuries invites connection to yourself, nature, and other people,” said Falch, who opened a yoga studio in Copenhagen before moving to the island five years ago.
Even at night, Møn provides visitors with a way to connect to nature. This island and the smaller nearby island of Nyord were the first places in the world to simultaneously become both an International Dark Sky Community and an International Dark Sky Park; the former designation protects the developed part of the islands, and the latter the wilderness. Sheltered from light pollution and surrounded by the Baltic Sea, Møn boasts some of the world’s best stargazing – usually.
That night, however, cloud cover concealed the heavens. Nevertheless, biologist and Dark Sky guide Susanne Rosenild, from Naturguide Møn, took me on a walk to the Ulvshale (“wolf’s tail”) forest on the Ulvshale Peninsula in Møn’s north-western corner to experience natural darkness.
It was nearly pitch black; I heard waves crashing, but soon, there were only forest sounds. Crickets sang the loudest; it was mating season, and males vied for attention from females.
“The life we are living today, we have artificial light with us all the time,” Rosenfeld said. “So our eyes are being used to orient where we are. When you cut off that sense, you will naturally sharpen your other senses to be able to orient yourself. Your feet will start showing you the way.”
Rosenfeld shuffled her shoes on the gravel path into the woods so I could follow her with my ears. I stumbled a few times, and bumped into her heels, anxious to keep up. It was deeply unsettling not knowing my surroundings; I couldn’t even see outlines of trees overhead.
“Our hormonal system and our senses are adjusting to the actual natural darkness,” Rosenfeld explained. “People with stress, really enjoy coming into the wild forest. The whole system reboots.” When we emerged from the forest, I felt incredibly present and alert. “People experience an intense being, right here and now,” Rosenfeld said.
During the day, one of Møn’s biggest draws is its famous chalk cliffs, Møns Klint, which rise 128m above the sea; they’re also a Unesco Biosphere Reserve. Even though I’m slightly scared of heights, I came here because I couldn’t miss seeing one of Denmark’s most striking natural wonders, a testament to the powerful forces of nature that shaped the country.
“This chalk was created 70 million years ago,” said Louise Purup Nøhr, a guide at the GeoCenter Møns Klint. She explained that the chalk layer underlying Denmark was created by microscopic algae that had shells; when the algae died, their shells sank to the seabed and helped form the chalk layer. The cliffs are one of the few places where you can see the exposed material.
No one told me about the steps. There are five steep staircases leading down to the beach at the base of the cliffs. The main staircase has 499 steps, but Nøhr said the water level was too high and we wouldn’t be able to walk there, so we opted for another staircase further into the woods. This one still had 474 steps – I counted – with messages written in chalk on the railings along the way: MIND OVER BODY; IF YOU THINK IT CAN’T GET ANY WORSE; REMEMBER TO BREATHE.
When we finally reached the beach, Nøhr showed me some fossils of sea urchins and sponges. Seeing the remains of the distant past against the backdrop of the majestic cliffs and the expanse of the sea reminded me of our relative insignificance. I was humbled.
Exhausted, I was reluctant to get back on my bike, but I craved a long rest in one of the wool-insulated glamping pods at Egn Bed & Breakfast, which opened in 2021. Google Maps showed the fastest biking route had a section along the sea, and I opted for that scenic and expedient way. However, when I reached a field, I paused; there were bike tracks in the grass, but I couldn’t make out any clear path. Feeling intrepid, I rode on into higher and higher grass. After a few minutes, though, my wheel caught on a trampled fence wire and I tumbled into stinging nettles. Ahead was a thick wall of greenery.
I recalled something Dambo had said about his troll hunt: “Of course, they will find my sculptures, but they will also have to try to find their way, and then they will find a lot of other things on that journey.” In this case, I discovered a dead end; sometimes you need to figure out another way. Retracing my path through the field and back onto a bumpy gravel road, I eventually found Egn, where a warm welcome and a hot shower made me feel like a new person.
Before departing the next morning, I visited that nearby beach where the biking path was supposed to lead, a stretch of pristine sand with clear, tranquil water that shimmered under the open sky. Nøhr’s words echoed through my mind: “You have to get lost in nature sometimes to find the really beautiful places.”
Slowcomotion is a BBC Travel series that celebrates slow, self-propelled travel and invites readers to get outside and reconnect with the world in a safe and sustainable way.
