Part 1

Day 1 - bike trip from Husum through the Wadden Sea & Nordstrand peninsula

Time of the year: September

Husum lies on the North Sea coast of Schleswig-Holstein, Germany, tucked into the Bay of Husum (part of the larger North Frisian Wadden Sea). It sits just inland, with a tidal harbour that breathes with the sea and has a climate with salty air, strong breezes, shifting skies — the kind of weather that can swing from mist to sunshine in an hour.

Husum is the capital of the Nordfriesland district, balancing its role as a cultural-literary town with being a gateway to the Wadden Sea National Park.

Details of the route: mostly, more than 95% has an asphalt surface, some max. 1,5 km in Husum is paved with cobblestone. This route is a relaxed ride through the North Frisian landscape, combining open views, fresh sea air, and quiet village paths.

Out beyond the town a little, the Husum Bay (Husumer Bucht) connects the town to the Wadden Sea, which in turn is part of the UNESCO World Heritage zone.

The Wadden Sea is an intertidal zone in the southeastern part of the North Sea. It lies between the coast of northwestern continental Europe and the range of low-lying Frisian Islands, forming a shallow body of water with tidal flats and wetlands.

The windmill in Süderhafen is regarded as the defining landmark of Nordstrand. Today, it houses a café where guests can enjoy coffee and cake before continuing their exploration of the island’s windswept North Frisian landscape.

You roll over rustic paths: gravel, compacted earth, grass in the middle. To your left: vast marshes, dotted with sheep. To your right: glints of the Wadden Sea beyond low dunes or dikes.

From Strand Fuhlehörn, you can follow a walking path across the mudflats at low tide to the island of Südfall, which also has a restaurant of the same name. The distance is about 7 km one way. The path is only accessible at low tide. Always check tide tables before starting. For safety reasons, most visitors join a guided Wattwanderung (mudflat walk). Guides know the timing and safest route.

You pass salt-tolerant grasses and little channels where water flows quietly. You hear wind, distant birds, sheeps and water lapping.

The main challenge is the North Sea wind, which can make even flat ground feel like a climb.

The final part of the ride through Beltringharder Koog before reaching Husum. Beltringharder Koog is one of the largest nature reserves on the Schleswig-Holstein North Sea coast. It was created in 1987 after a new dike was built, reclaiming land from the sea.

For the bike trip for next day an acommodation in Denmark, in the city of Højer was chosen.

Day 2 - Bike trip through Sylt island - List auf Sylt - Ellenbogen - Kampen - Westerland

Time of the year: September

Højer is a small town on the Danish west coast, right by the Wadden Sea National Park (UNESCO World Heritage). Højer is famous for its large sluice (Højer Sluse) and dike system, built to protect the low-lying marshland from storm surges. Standing here, you really sense how much life depends on holding back the sea.

Højer’s history is shaped by the battle with the sea. The great flood of 1634 destroyed entire villages in the region.

Højer Windmill: Built in 1857, it’s one of the tallest in Northern Europe and now houses a museum. Most of the mill’s original features have been preserved, giving you the opportunity to experience how the mill once operated and learn about traditional milling methods.

Until 1920, Højer was part of Germany. After a referendum, it became Danish again.

From Rømø to Sylt by Bike:

Your bike trip to Sylt begins on Rømø Island. Along Havnebyvej, you’ll find several free parking areas. From there, it’s about 8 km by bike to the marina (Rømø Lystbådehavn), where the ferry departs. Rømø is connected to the mainland by a 9 km causeway built in 1948.

Sylt can only be reached by ferry or train, so it’s a good idea to plan ahead — especially during the busy summer months. In early September, however, the ferries are usually less crowded.

Fares (as of September 2025):

A round-trip ticket from Rømø to List auf Sylt costs around 24 € per person with bicycle.

List is Germany’s northernmost town. From here you can see across to Denmark on clear days. Once a simple fishing village, List grew thanks to herring and later tourism.

Heading north towards Ellenbogen, which is a narrow, curved peninsula — privately owned but open to the public. It feels remote, with dunes, beaches, and grazing sheep. Cars need a toll ticket here, but bikes go free — the perfect way to enjoy the quiet landscape.

The Sylt island landscape is strongly shaped by dunes, heathland, salt marshes, and tidal flats. These habitats are rare in Central Europe, but on Sylt they still exist in larger, near-natural areas.

Ride all the way to the northern tip — it’s as far north as you can get in Germany.

Leaving List, the northern tip of Sylt, the bike path soon winds into a rolling sea of dunes. Here, the landscape feels almost otherworldly: long ridges of sand, shifting with the wind, dotted with tufts of hardy marram grass. The air carries a salty tang from the nearby Wadden Sea, while on the other side the North Sea roars against hidden beaches.

These dunes aren’t just beautiful — they are alive and always moving. The grass keeps them in place, protecting the island from storms and tides. Between the sandy hills, heathland stretches appear, glowing purple with heather in late summer.

As you head south towards Kampen, the dunes grow taller and steeper, giving occasional glimpses over the “Rotes Kliff", the red cliffs that drop sharply into the sea. Every turn of the path reveals a new perspective: sometimes wide open skies and grazing sheep, sometimes narrow sandy cuts where the wind whistles through.

The shoreline here is backed by long rows of Strandkörbe (woven beach chairs), which stand like colorful guardians of the beach.

Cycling south from Kampen, the dunes begin to soften and open into the wide, family-friendly beaches of Wenningstedt. Here the landscape is gentler: sandy paths lead straight to the sea, while behind the dunes small lakes and reed beds shimmer in the light. The place feels both lively and calm — beachgoers, kite flyers, and walkers mix with cyclists rolling past.

As the path continues south, the rhythm of the ride shifts: suddenly you arrive in Westerland, Sylt’s bustling “capital.” The soundscape changes too — from the wind in the dunes to music drifting from the seaside promenade. The promenade is busy with cafés, shops, and spa culture — a reminder that Westerland has been a seaside resort for more than a century. 

To round off the day, take one last short ride — about 15 km back and forth — from the docking station to Rømø Sønderstrand, the perfect spot to watch the sunset.

Day 3 - road trip through Juttland and bike trip through Hvide Sande

Time of the year: September

From southern Denmark we continued north towards Thy National Park, making stops along the way in Tønder, Ribe, and Ringkøbing. From Ringkøbing, we set out on a bike trip through Hvide Sande and across the Holmsland dunes — a route that combines coastal scenery with the raw beauty of the North Sea.

The Schackenborg Castle sits in the flat marshlands just outside Tønder, surrounded by canals and farmland.

Tønder is Denmark’s oldest market town, first mentioned in the 12th century. Once a thriving port, the sea slowly retreated due to land reclamation, leaving Tønder inland.

Wandering through the old center feels like stepping into a storybook. Painted houses line narrow streets, each with its own quirky gable. The Tønder Museum and the Art Museum at nearby Schackenborg showcase both heritage and modern creativity.

The town’s riches came from lace-making — Tønder lace was prized across Europe.

Beneath the charm lies engineering. Dikes, pumps, and sluice gates are the silent guardians keeping the town dry. The marsh is always waiting to return. Without these defenses, Tønder would be more water than land.

Once upon a time, ships could sail right up to town, but land reclamation has pushed the sea away, leaving rivers and canals as reminders of its maritime past.

Heading further north, Ribe sits on the Ribe Å (River Ribe), where the marshland meets the sea. It’s Denmark’s oldest town, yet the setting is as alive as ever — tidal waters rise and fall, reshaping the edges of the river, while the flat marshes stretch endlessly around. Standing on the riverbank, you feel both sheltered and exposed, like the town has always known how to live with water.

Founded around 710 AD, Ribe was the Viking gateway to Europe — ships sailed in loaded with amber, hides, and furs, and sailed out again with glass, silver, and exotic goods. Later, in the Middle Ages, Ribe Cathedral rose as a landmark of stone and faith, visible for miles across the flatlands. Today, half-timbered houses lean into narrow alleys, each one whispering centuries of trade, fire, and flood.

Ribe is like an open-air museum that hasn’t stopped living. You can sip coffee in a crooked house, follow the night watchman’s lantern through cobbled streets, or climb the cathedral tower for a sweeping view across rooftops and marsh. In summer, the Viking Center recreates longships and crafts — a living nod to the town’s origins.

For all its history, Ribe is still battling nature. Sluice systems and pumping stations work constantly to keep the town dry. The dikes protect it from the Wadden Sea, but flooding remains a risk — Ribe has always been a balancing act between land and water.

Heading further north until Ringkøbing, a city on the west coast of the Jutland peninsula, in the Region Midtjylland, Denmark.

The route follows the Ringkøbing Fjord, a shallow lagoon (really more lagoon than fjord) that runs roughly 30 km along the coast. The fjord is sheltered from the open North Sea by a long sandbar / dune system called the Holmsland Dunes (Holmsland Klit)

Leaving the cobbled streets and red-brick houses of Ringkøbing, you roll out of the town with the fjord glittering just to your left. The water is shallow here, a broad lagoon hemmed in by sand, with reed beds trembling in the breeze. Fishing birds skim the surface, and you can already feel the salt in the air, though the open sea is still hidden by dunes. The further you pedal, the more the town’s bustle softens, replaced by wide horizons and the rhythmic calls of gulls.

The route carries you toward Hvide Sande, a working harbor town balanced between fjord and North Sea. Here you encounter the great channel, where engineers cut through the barrier dune to let the lagoon breathe. Fishing boats and leisure craft crowd the docks, and if you pause, you’ll catch the clank of rigging against masts, the smell of tarred nets, and the voices of fishermen hauling the day’s catch. It’s a place where human effort and natural force visibly wrestle: sluice gates, locks, and bridges keep the fjord’s shallow waters alive while holding back the surging sea.

Beyond Hvide Sande, the road stretches along the Holmsland Dunes. On one side, the vast North Sea breaks in rolling surf; on the other, the fjord lies calm, its glassy surface shifting only with wind. The dunes themselves form a living wall of sand, tufted with marram grass that bends like bowstrings in the relentless breeze. Riding through this landscape feels like balancing on a thread between two worlds: wild ocean to the west, gentle lagoon to the east. The wind here never really rests; it whistles in your ears, shoves at your back, or pushes against your chest, a constant reminder that this is Denmark’s weather-beaten edge.

Moving away from the path near the main street, the paths become quiet and go along reed beds, low embankments, occasional canal or drainage ditches.

Passing through Årgab, the landscape shifts to a scatter of summer houses and fishing cottages. Their walls are sun-bleached, their windows storm-tested, yet there’s coziness too — sheltered gardens with flagpoles, the faint scent of smoked fish drifting out. Life here seems simple, held close to the rhythms of the sea.

From Haurvig to Bjerregård, the dunes open wider, and the sense of isolation deepens. Here, wind and sand dominate. The grasses grow sparse, the houses fewer, and the sea feels ever closer. In the distance, you might glimpse kitesurfers carving arcs above the water or hear only the roar of waves and the rush of air in your ears. It’s a wild beauty — less polished, more raw — where you feel both the grandeur and the loneliness of this coastline.

As Ringkøbing reappears on the horizon, its church tower wider at the top than the bottom, you glide back into cobbled streets, where the old market square greets you with the warmth of red-brick houses, cafés, and the soft echo of a town watchman’s song.

In earlier centuries, Ringkøbing was the only significant harbour on Denmark’s west coast (protected by those dunes) and thrived as a trading center.