Monday 19th May Just one more day at Burgstaaken, finally cornering tradesmen to pay what we owed, cycling into Burg - an attractive and vibrant town providing almost everything you could wish for which even at this early stage was buzzing with holiday makers, then saying goodbyes to people we had got to know. I had learnt that shaking hands with Ernst the crane-master had the same effect on the bones in the hand as an iron vice but you know what I mean, there's no way around it is there.

Last night a Dutch yacht with a husband and wife crew came in to the box alongside us and there was one of those accidents which was not so bad as might have been when the wife went overboard. We all three managed to get her back onto the pontoon where partly immobilised by her inflated lifejacket she resembled a large red seal sloshing around in unwelcome surprise. I would like to say that the reward of doing ones duty is enough but they entertained us for tea and the cake was very really good.

Our next plan - well I have said that the plan is to have no plan - is to get to Rugen, the last outpost of the former East Germany but a half way house sail up to Gedsor on Falster Island made more sense due to the wind direction. A brilliant day and perfect wind tacking up past the Danish wind farms, hundreds of them which have an odd fascination as different rows slowly come into line on passing. Not many yachts around but a good number of cargo ships to compute and miss as we crossed the busy shipping lanes between the two countries. At the end of a long day the motor went on for the run down the narrow ferry fairway to Gedsor harbour but unhappily - or I suppose happily whichever way you look at it - I noticed the engine overheating and as there was no option, we had to enter a rather difficult navigable channel with several bends under sail alone - a bit stressful. Of course, at that very moment, a ferry appeared coming up fast behind us to add to the problems. The fact that you are reading this surely means we survived.

I will not go into how it is dismantling bits of engine at my glorious age but that was my pleasure for the next morning. The marina at Gedsor is probably the best aspect of this glum, downbeat little town which has few attractions other than its location as since the Cold War came to an end, a thriving ferry service runs between Denmark and what used to be East Germany, so while grass grows down most road in Gedsor and window shutters rustily swing like they do in Clint Eastwood movies, there is one gleaming four lane highway which terminates in the gaping mouths of the waiting ferries.

This morning with a cloudless Wedgwood blue sky - you know, that kind of sunlight when it is not yet hot but you just know it will be, well the cuckoos were already loudly calling from the shore side wood not a stones throw away, as we breakfasted. Why are they all here and so few in England.

Reluctant to sketch even more boats it was not easy to find a subject with interest and so resorted to focusing on a small crane at the far end of the marina - boys stuff really, drawing machinery but it was the only way of disguising the boats in the harbour.

On the following day, having used up all the major attractions available, we made an early move, left the cuckoos and motored clear of the ferry channel on route for Klintholm on Moen island about 40 miles North and famous for it's white cliffs which really are very impressive - there is a photo on last year's blog showing the scale so I shall not do another, you will just have to keep up.

There is a saying with those who sail which goes like "if you have to tack, you are going in the wrong direction" meaning why make life difficult by trying to sail upwind. However this day the wind was kindly on the beam and increased in a controlled way so that we absolutely flew across the water going faster and faster and all we had to do was sit back and play "I Spy" for some hours - this can become tedious, it is true, particularly as Jane and I each know the other's game strategy.

There is a difference with many Danish marinas - they often have a wonderful pastoral quality being set away from largely populated areas, maybe with a sprinkling of Summer Houses. Such is Klintholm where on walking a mile or so along a fine sand beach you may meet one or two other couples who always stop to talk because there is all the time in the world to do so. It took a while to spot the birds scolding us so melodiously from the bushes at the top of the dunes but finally we saw the culprit - a Whitethroat perch atop a twig waiting for the next insect for lunch and singing his heart out with every trick in the book and just over the dunes, you enter the most peaceful rural scene which has been unchanged for centuries, rich low cattle fields and a farmstead partly hidden in the trees - but no matter how remote a house is in this country, there will always be a flag pole to fly the long tapered Danborg - the national flag - there is a pride here which would not go amiss elsewhere. Having said all of that, the couple on our neighbouring yacht returned from a walk along the dunes today and were lucky enough to photograph a magnificent adder on the path - quite large with the most vibrant characteristic zig zag pattern along it's back, how smart he looked.

We have been to this harbour a number of times before so it felt like coming home in a way. There are only a handful of yachts here, mainly Dutch or German with our neighbour from Åland which is half Swedish and Finnish but neither really except they fly a Swedish flag but hide the fact by disguising it with a red cross - lovely people though. Once again our red ensign confused the locals who all believe we are Australian because we are not flying the Union flag and lengthy history lessons have to be given by way of explanation.

Probably off to Rugen tomorrow 24th May.