The Svostrup Kro, where we stayed in the tiny village of Svostrup, was a Danish version of an inn from Don Quixote. It consisted of four thatch-roofed stucco buildings around a cobbled courtyard. I half expected to have my bike led away by a stable hand. Unfortunately, the morning brought rain again. And Stephannie had developed a pretty nasty throat infection. So the plan for the day was that I would ride into Silkeborg and meet Stephannie (who would take a taxi) at the train station for a train to Arhus.

As I rode toward Silkeborg, it started to rain lightly. By the time I got into town, it was pouring, and I couldn't find the train station. After asking around and getting very wet, I finally found it, and Stephannie showed up a little while later. We took the train to Arhus, the second largest city in Demark and a university town. It seemed to be a pleasant city, but we didn't see much of it. In the middle of the afternoon, I went out to an English language used book store. I got copies of The Tempest and The Waste Land and other poems because they were slim, and would be easy to carry. The Tempest proved to be a much more appropriate choice. From the Eliot, I read "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" and "The Waste Land," both of which were as depressing as hell, and did not help my mood any. April may be the cruelest month wherever Eliot wrote "The Waste Land," but I'll wager that it has nothing on a rainy July in Denmark.

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