Denmark
Or more to the point, the ferry crossing.

Denmark itself was lovely. First time we'd taken the Grooverettes abroad. Driving was a piece of cake, as there's not actually any other traffic on the roads outside of towns and cities. Highlights? Took a plane trip over Legoland and dropped a £200 SLR telephoto lens, smashing it into "very lots" of pieces, according to the youngest.

However, the ferry over was a different kettle of fish. Unbeknownst to us, the forecast was for the worst seas since Noah launched. It was like a millpond when we set off, but within an hour the swells were huge, and the outside doors were locked. (not that I had any intention of venturing out).

They just got bigger and bigger. The boat/ship/ferry didn't appear to be having any issues. However, its contents were. The youngest thought that everyone was drunk, because they couldn't walk in a straight line (like you on Fridays daddy), and no-one wanted their food, on account of it missing out the middleman and going straight from plate to floor. That which was digested reappeared at a rate of knots (nautical pun - did you see what I did there?), and despite the Bulgarian Dusty Springfield impersonator (You Don't Haff to Say You Loff Me!!!) no-one appeared to be enjoying themselves.

We'd also booked a bijou stateroom/small garage in the bowels of the ship with two bunkbeds and a loo). The experience of being thrown around in the pitch black for six hours with two crying, puking children still lives on in the memory.

The trip back was beautiful, but by then I'd been scarred for life.

Not been on a ferry since. Or back to Denmark.Twenty years and counting.
( The Lone Groover has mal des nuts., Fri 19 Apr 2013, 11:45, 1 reply)

Haff a click
for the Bulgarian Dusty Springfield.
(ubergeekian, Fri 19 Apr 2013, 11:57, closed)