THE FASTER LANE / TYLER BRÛLÉ
Distant lands
This week vaguely resembled a Norse saga: four adventurers charting a course around the outer limits of the continent hoping to find safe harbours, new peoples to trade with and some fine hospitality on the way. By chance, my crew were all of the right stock to make this tale somewhat believable. Ed, our Europe editor at large, is a wiry Englishman and would look good in a horny helmet (you know what I mean) and a matted sheepskin vest. Guido, Monocle’s ad manager in charge of Benelux, the Nordics and east Asia, looks like a Dutch conqueror and has a frame that would have had villagers fleeing for the forests and abandoning their livestock. And my assistant Julia’s Latvian roots make her look like she wouldn’t have been out of place tending the hearth in a longhouse while also managing the affairs of the chief.
On Tuesday our little group made landfall in the buzzy harbour city of Antwerp (in fact we all landed at Brussels airport but never mind). And while others went off to scout and forage I was invited into the castle of the local press baron to hear how he was creating ever-higher paywalls, with some success I might add, while also setting about conquering new lands. We feasted on delicious fish while the baron told me how there was more he wanted to do and that he was going after a big target in the neighbouring Netherlands. We discussed the problems of overly liberal newsrooms that fail to listen to the centre and the right, the need for greater investment in journalism and the opportunities to occupy more premium niches in other corners of Europe. Post-feast there was a bit of pillaging at Morrison (a wonderful Flemish retailer) and in the evening we met both locals and others who’d travelled from afar to purchase our perfectly bound volume on homes. Over Asian dishes at Camino we noted that the locals in the catering industry must be some of the most tattooed people in all of Europe, with all kinds of exotic creatures and inscriptions crawling up arms and from out of collars.
The following morning a small vessel took us from Antwerp up to Copenhagen, and along the way Guido pointed out his family house near The Hague. There was so much excitement with everyone peering out the window hoping to spot Guido’s family in the garden that I thought we were in danger of doing a barrel roll, but we managed to keep things level and 45 minutes later we arrived on Danish soil under slightly grey skies with a promise of sun.
Being in the home of the Vikings (is one allowed to make this claim?) does not disappoint – particularly when the sun comes out and layers are shed. Has there ever been a group that loves showing their legs any more than the Danes? And well-toned ones I might add! As the day improved it seemed as if all of Denmark wanted us to see how well they’d been maintaining themselves over these dark, dark months. By early eve the parks were packed, bronzed youth were jumping into the harbour and Copenhagen looked like the most attractive place to meet the locals and certainly to do a bit of commerce. At breakfast the following day we met a fabric trader who told us a fantastic tale about how to turn fabric into planks so stiff that you could build furniture with them. At lunch we met a young woman from the Faroe Islands who was so enchanting that her stories about the slaughtering of sheep and whales felt like they should be part of the territory’s tourism campaign. (You guide them into the bay and if there are any who stay too close to the surface or aren’t so fast, those are the ones you get!)
In the evening we ventured north to Hellerup to offer up more of our books to locals who were so hungry for stories from the outside world that we could have spent the whole night answering questions about what it’s like to venture beyond the horizon. “What happens in these far-off lands? Is it true that there are hairy, grumpy, one-eyed beasts that snort fire?” they asked. “Yes! Yes! The same people at airport security from a year and half ago are still there,” I explained to the wide-eyed crowd. “And is it difficult to be an adventurer and roam from one kingdom to another? We’re told it’s complicated and dangerous,” asked a tanned, leathery woman. “Oh no, no, no,” I said. “This is nothing more than an absurd fable about control. It is possible to leave your country, to roam, to trade and exchange – it’s just that many rulers want to scare you and make everything as complicated as possible. I’d encourage you to try it; it’s actually rather pleasant.” At this point the townspeople of the small Danish enclave cheered, reached for their phones and furiously started searching for places to escape to. And my troupe? Some of us were ready to journey south to the lands of the Portuguese but sadly the English had other ideas and put a stop to all the fun, so we had to abandon the plans. We’re very sorry we’re not tying up in Lisbon today but we look forward to continuing our world tour soon.
