About an hour’s drive west from Aalborg stands Bulbjerg Knude, the only cliff in the whole of the Jutland Peninsula. The road from Aalborg roughly follows the fjord that cuts through Jutland, separating Northern Jutland as an island. The presence of saltwater transforms the landscape into a hybrid of farmlands and seaside towns, and the fishing boats docked on water still like glass give the illusion of lake towns.
A turn to the right, and the asphalt ends. The terrain changes suddenly; miniature sand dunes spring up around the unpaved road that leads towards the cliff. Behind them, wide grasslands stretch all the way to the coast, gradually shifting from green to gold. Finally, when the land meets the sea, the sand acts as a barrier, a golden line stretching far into the distance, curving towards the south.
Above
We exit the car at the parking lot above the cliff and look over the horizon; not a single rock to be seen. The sea stretches without interruption, and calm but never-ending waves paint its surface. Just like the waves, the wind is calm but constant, demonstrating its mercilessness not through intensity but consistency. The sun is deceiving, its warm presence nullified by the winds of winter, and the cold slowly seeps into our bones.
Inside
We go down a wooden staircase, where a World War II bunker built into the cliff overlooks the horizon through a thin opening in the concrete. One of the many bunkers built on the west coast of Jutland, it serves as a reminder of the constant paranoia that must have possessed those overlooking the seas towards the west, awaiting the appearance of fleets and air forces. Eighty years later, the walls are decorated with tourist guides covering the history, geology, and biology of the place. Rust bleeds from the iron ceiling, and the floor echoes with our footsteps.
Below
The process of erosion is almost immediately visible. A few days ago, the rock might have looked quite different. Pieces of it fall off and dissolve, while the waves eat into the bottom of the cliff. Upwards, the grassy side of the cliff that we came down from seems to have a steep pathway leading to the beach. But beneath, where the grass abruptly ends and the cliff is stripped naked, the rock is painted darker, as if somebody just splashed it with water. What seems like a pathway is a water slide that has cut its footsteps into the hill. Down on the beach, white, table-sized rocks lie sunbathing. Around them, all kinds of pebbles are scattered on the sand—black as coal, red as kidneys—and we pick up as many as we can.
and beyond
A small dune half-covered in grass hides a long field stretching along the beach. The wind is quieter here as well, and the sudden disappearance of the sound of waves exaggerates its tranquility. An uneven pathway leads through the field that exists between the sea and a small forest that abruptly ends on top of a hill. Along the pathway, some peculiar bushes give a hint of purple, without which the field wouldn’t be quite what it is.
Humans at Bulbjerg Knude
So glad to read about your good time in Denmark! Vozdra Mirde!