On our return journey we skipped the Öresund Bridge in favour of the ferry which runs, confusingly, from Helsingborg in Sweden to Helsingør in Denmark. This was the kind of short crossing where bikes aren't strapped down and you can, if you wish, stay with your vehicle on the car deck, although we chose to stretch our legs.
Due to regulations, during the 20-minute journey you can buy tobacco in Swedish waters and alcohol in Danish territory. We pooled our last kronor for a bottle of whisky and a cuddly wolf, since named Ingrid Bergwolf.
We hammered through the Danish flatlands, lashed by wind and rain and swerving on the motorway to avoid two pallets blown from a lorry ahead of us. We crossed a high bridge followed by a long section of road with the sea on either side, which I found less pleasant than I usually do.
We still made good enough time to leave the motorways for country roads towards the end of the day. These were pretty but dreadfully exposed, with sudden sidewinds that threatened to knock us into the path of oncoming traffic.
Flensburg in Schleswig-Holstein, near the Danish border, is famous for homing the German equivalent of the DVLA, which we gave a miss, and the greeting "Moin" for "hello", which I was overjoyed to hear at a petrol station the next morning. There's a church with a spire, a big C&A, and a waterfront with proper bierkeller-style pubs.
We ate at Hansens Brauerei, "Germany's northernmost microbrewery", where the pork joint 'for two' could have fed a family of six. We somehow finished all the roast potatoes, though.
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