he field felt not ready yet to show itself to the travellers' eyes, at that July day sunrise: while making up its face it surrounded itself with a low fog screen, hiding the still humid ground, but allowing the first, slowest rays of the impending day to filter through confused trees shadows and the Nordic horizon unknown colours.

Our travel had started twenty or so hours before, after storing a luggage wagon into the van rented to the need, and having found some space to the seven passengers who composed the expedition as well.

We were driving by turns in two, not very wisely trying to reduce the stops to a minimum, and the tiredness was inevitably growing.

But the irresponsible not-smoking travellers fortune is to have on board a guest who can't give up, occasionally, to a pure nicotine lungful, compelling the driver to additional stops; double luck, then, for the one of them suffering the “crown collecting” insane disease.

The motorway lay-by remain by now, in Europe, one of the few places where you can still find bottle caps dropped down to the ground, even if reduced in desperate conditions, so that the bag containing the dirty objects increased its volume at every stop.

The mania had irremediably contaminated the other two male members of the group: armed with extensible magnet they plunged into the spasmodic search, reconnoitring far and wide every single corner, ignoring the surrounding world usual curiosity and careless of the family women caught by shame crisis.

But the most desired prize, once arrived to destination, was the soft hug of the bed that sheltered our surviving enthusiasm, and some well deserved rest hours brought us back to nearly normal conditions.

This was the third time I came to Denmark, joining useful (a visit to my wife's sister) to pleasure: in Randers, as in the other towns of the Country, an incredible beer and soda crowns amount wink at you, left in the grass near the sidewalks, eager to rise to a new life into collector archives.

TUBORG GRÖN was clearly the most drunk beer, but many were the local THOR brewery founds as well, and the beautiful, historical building of this plant was in fact my favourite destination: my former visits had been received with great kindness, and I had scraped a lot of about thirty varieties samples (beer or sodas caps) together, in a warehouse strongly reminding a Crown Factory samples-room. I'd also visited its interesting museum, displaying wonderful old unique pieces, among which oldest fabulous crown corks that I vainly tried to get as a present.

But this, unfortunately, was the first disappointment: in 2004 the beer production had been moved to a more modern (I suppose) plant, not downtown anymore, rather in a place I had no time nor way to locate; I went, instead, with great excitement, to a micro brewery in the district, RAASTED BRYGHUS, whose precious ambrosia seal was a nice cap I'd never seen before, finding the factory closed for one vacancy week, of course…

Up to my last visit to Denmark the production and sale of canned beverages wasn't allowed, to bottles vantage, but even this laudable regulation was now repealed, and ill-famed tins appeared more and more, over the stores shells and hanged down, empty, beside the pavements.

We stayed in Denmark only five days, before taking the road again toward the North: we were going to Sweden !

For the first time I was plunging into the wonderful, relaxing lakes and pools embroidered inside conifers and birches forests, in a moss and resin scents triumph, being very careful not to collide with any reindeer (?!?), but mainly not to exceed the severe speed limits ordered to the quiet Swedish traffic.

This was the short period in which the climatic rigours were living space to a lovely tepidity that, for a couple of months, subtracts the Country to the cold vice, but, looking around me, I thought to the beauty those places should have in winter time as well, whitened by snow and ice.

The town roads, here, present much less crowns, even, I presume, owing to the impossibility of buying alcoholic beverages in supermarkets, in which you can find beers and cider not more than 3.5° alcoholic strength only; I could get a fair spoil anyway, by asking in pubs and hotels.

As a tourist I've enjoyed the great Stockholm fascination, beautiful city rich in historical buildings, facing a wide channels plot which modern boats free-and-easy divide with Viking ships, by the many visitors happiness.

Then on the road again, toward the nice Goteborg: a furtive visit to the city, waiting for the ferry which would have brought us back to Kiel, and down, diving along the German and Austrian motorways, having some more stop in the parking areas, up to our arrive in Italy.

An unforgettable raid, to recommend warmly if in intimate friends company, as in my case, but with a warning: 5600 Kilometres in 12 days are really too much!

Lorenzo