A week or so after our drip to Dragør, Annemarie and I went a bit farther afield, to the neighboring island of Funen, and it's main city, Odense.
Odense's main claim to fame is as the birthplace of H. C. Andersen, famed as a writer of fairy tales, along with multiple other lesser-known talents (poetry, paper-cutting, theater come to mind). And though he didn't live his whole life here by any means, he's everywhere in this town, starting from a sculpture across from the train station, where a trio of H. C. Andersen figures play a mystical game of twister surrounded by a variety of motifs from H. C.'s original stories.
Of course, there are other things in town besides the fairy tales, but I, at least signed up for the journey in order to go to the H. C. Andersen Museum, in what may or may not have been the building in which he was born. O.K., truth be told, I used to work in Fredericia, which is on the other side of the island of Funen from Zealand, the island where one can find Copenhagen, and my house. Which is to say that I passed through Odense multiple times a week for many months...without ever leaving the train there. And it seemed time to see what I had been missing. And I was, in fact, missing lots of H. C. Andersen imagery.
Even Hans Christian himself is there, waiting outside of a big hotel, always ready to talk to visitors. Here he is schmoozing with Annemarie. I got to schmooze with him as well, but we'll save that photo for another day, shall we? I have the idea that he is sitting there still, waiting for you to visit me, so that we can together make the pilgrimage to pay homage to the man directly, where you and he can sit a spell and converse.