An extraterrestrial land stretches a few kilometres along the west coast of Denmark, just an hour’s drive from Aalborg. Rubjerg Knude, a sight known for its desert-like terrain, is an unexpected visual surprise this far north of the equator. Amid the hundred-metre-tall sand dunes, a lighthouse appears—shrouded in a story of its own, a story fundamentally connected with the ground on which it apparently stands still.
Yet the ground is not still, and it is not solid. It moves and shifts, albeit at a pace slower than we can perceive. Erosion has endangered the red-capped lighthouse, located dangerously close to the sand slopes, slowly but surely guaranteeing its fall. An ingenious rescue plan was devised to move the lighthouse further inland, away from the slopes. The ground around the lighthouse was dug up all the way to its stone foundations. Gigantic roller skates were placed on the sand, and the lighthouse was moved 12 metres per hour—a total of 70 metres further from the sea.
The story becomes a fundamental part of the place, ever present in the hundreds of bricks that lie where the lighthouse once stood. Many of them rest on the slopes, rolling all the way down to the beach. As for the bricks, the only way for humans to get down to the beach is to roll, slide, or run down the sand slopes. The slopes seem dangerously steep, but we estimate there might be a way. So, we sit on our butts and gradually lower ourselves to the beach.
On the beach
The beach stretches south alongside the sand dunes above it. They seem like miniature mountains from a desert planet, and above them in the sky, the waxing gibbous Moon stands against the backdrop of a clear, blue sky. On the ground, seashells are scattered everywhere, in various colours, sizes, and shapes. We take our shoes off and start collecting shells. Covered with sand particles, we go to the seashore and wash them in the shallow remnants of waves. This is where the life of the wave ends, and who knows where it originates. It travels miles, takes various forms, until it reaches its end here in the cold northern sea, as a small wrinkle on the water’s surface.
It doesn’t take us long to put our shoes back on; the apparent sunrays are deceiving, and the sand beneath our feet is painfully cold. For a long time, we are the only humans on the beach.
Now we see a human figure walking toward us in the distance. As we move closer to each other, we recognize a short, older lady marching in hiking boots. It comes naturally to greet each other, and as she approaches, she starts speaking almost immediately. It’s hard to hear her, as she turns and speaks into the wind, standing side by side with us. I’m confused by the way she stands, but my brain automatically assumes she is a lone hiker, not used to human interactions.
-“I’m hiking my way from Løkken,” the lady says. “I’ve passed a few kilometres already. I walk here every day.”
-“Do you live here?” we ask her.
-“I’ve lived here for 30 years now, but I still feel like a stranger among the locals. I was born and grew up north of Aalborg, just next to the airport. Oh, that constant noise—it was horrible. That’s why I moved here. Here, it’s peaceful, and you can have time and space to rest.”
– “Aalborg airport is quite small,” I think to myself. “Still, it’s probably annoying to listen to every day.”
– “Do you know if there is a way back up to the dunes nearby?” I ask the lady.
– “Yes, there are stairs about half an hour further south. But be careful along the way—there’s quicksand.”
– “Quicksand?”
– “Yes. One time, I sank into it up to my knees. I was alone and very afraid. And remember, never drive down to the beach. One German, it’s always those German tourists, he came down with a car and started driving. At one point, he got stuck in quicksand. I was nearby, so he asked me if I could call someone with a tractor. In the end, two tractors had to pull his expensive car out. Never bring a car here.”
After a few more words, the conversation ends. We wish each other a safe trip and head off in opposite directions along the seashore. Rarely do such interactions happen in a city. Paradoxically, and against the statistics, they occur more often in these remote settings where we might see only a person or two. Do we become numb and insensitive to each other in cities, and do we appreciate others more when there are fewer around? Is a person’s value determined by the number of others?
We forget about the quicksand and the lady’s warnings. About 20 minutes later, we are both standing with our feet stuck in a mud of grey clay. We get out easily but continue walking more cautiously, aware of the terrain beneath us. To our left, the colours of the cliffs shift as the material changes—from the gold of sand to brown, to earthy red, to the grey of clay. I go closer to a cliff and grab a fistful of clay. Mushy and sticky, it’s the perfect material to form various shapes. I bring it closer to my nose—it has no smell—and I throw it back on the ground like a disappointed kid.
We reach the stairs that climb up the steep sand cliff. They are wooden, and from a distance, barely distinguishable from the sandy background they are constructed on. Long and steep, they don’t seem particularly safe from the bottom, but as we climb, their wooden structure feels solidly stuck deep into the sand. Still, the ascent makes me feel uneasy, though I try to hide it and play it cool in front of Mia.
– “You’re afraid, aren’t you?” Mia pokes me. Even though I walk behind her, she has a way of sensing it.
Back up
We climb up just as the sun touches the horizon; a deep pink paints over the horizon line, separating the blue of the sky and the blue of the sea. There is a wooden bench, and we sit for a few moments to watch the sunset. Now she is the one scared, not of the height but of the dark that is descending. Now it’s my time to be brave; as always, I act overconfidently in navigating, finding our way back to the car.
I walk slower than her, as always, but this time just to prove a point; there is no reason to worry. Following Google Maps, we turn left from the sand dunes onto a narrow path between fields upon which darkness descends quickly. In the distance, we barely notice the red-capped lighthouse, hiding behind the sand dunes as if they were the closing curtains of a theatre stage.
As we reach the asphalt road leading back to the parking lot, only an occasional car passing by lights up our walk in complete darkness. Now the fields turn into small patches of forests; shadows of pine trees tower above the side of the road we walk on. Suddenly, our eyes look forward in the same direction, noticing an animal figure moving in the distance. Without making a sound, it comes out onto the road, stops for a moment, and seemingly looks toward us before running back into the forest.
“Is a person’s value determined by the number of others?” – zanimljivo. Primijenit ću Anamarijino matematičko objašnjenje što ga je dala za neki drugi slučaj… Ako nas je u selu 100. Jedna osoba na sto. 1/100. Ili ako nas je u gradu milion. 1 osoba na milion. 1/1000000.
Koji je veći razlomak? 🙂😁