We headed the short distance to the West coast and boarded the ferry for the 12 minute trip to the island of Fanø. We wandered around the little village, admiring the tiny cottages and the shops and cafes so cleverly presented as to charm the money out of mainlanders' pockets. All the older houses, and many of the new, have thatch roofs. Some of the really old houses, and there are quite a few, have the door lintel at 5 feet and an internal stud of about 5 foot 4 inches, so their modern inhabitants are always bent or sat. Proof indeed that we are generally much taller than people 200 years ago. This island is famous for its amber jewellery, amber that is found on the beaches. The other thing that Fanø is famous for is its kite festival.

We started to drive to the Southern end of the island where we were playing but got distracted by the most amazing sight to the West. In the distance we could see many colourful kites in the sky. This was the week after the kite festival but clearly many of the participants could see no good reason why they should go home. We headed out to the wide, flat beach that seemed to go on forever. We couldn't quite believe what we were seeing. As far as the eye could see the sky was festooned with a thousand kites of every shape and size. Giant squid and fish and cartoon characters sauntered eerily above us, kites holding up other kites in stacks, kites so big they had to be anchored by vehicles, bird and box kites that shimmered and swayed, ground kites that hopped and hovered, kites of every colour and hue speckled the bright blue sky. No photo could do it justice but we zoomed and panned and snapped for nearly an hour.

The village of Sønderho was no less picturesque than the northern one we arrived at. Our hosts, Marjan and Peter, were gracious and businesslike. This gig had been booked by Peter Urbrandt, the famous Danish jazz and folk fiddle player (and local thatcher by trade) who toured NZ with Færd last year. We were looking forward to catching up with him again but learned that he was playing in Copenhagen that night! The next small problem came when Peter had thought that Peter was putting us up and Peter thought that Peter was - on the contract it just said "Peter" and Peter was the only Peter left on the island (because Peter was away in Copenhagen), it had to be him. We set up in Peter's restaurant.

The restaurant was small and the stage was in proportion. A solo performer would've been cramped. We sorted the sound system out (although 'system' might be overstating it somewhat) and found places we could stand on the board-covered beer crates. Gig time: the place was full - a good sign we thought. Not so.

By the time we started playing the patrons were in high cheer, it was noisy, smokey and hot. There were requests for Merle Haggard and Amazing Grace and dedications to Jean from 5wansea. Fat cigars astride pointed fingers were waved threateningly in our faces for non-compliance. Having played in pubs for years I'm physiologically pretty smoke-tolerant even though I hate it, but here there were times when I opened my mouth to sing and no note emerged. We could not be heard or seen from halfway down the room.

Now I have to say that I enjoy a bit of mayhem at a gig. I love trying to find the song that will get them on side or singing along and chuck a bit of friendly abuse around. But to quote Ranger Doug (from Riders in the Sky), "That might be the easy way, but it wouldn't be the Cowboy Way." We did it hard. We did it the Chaps way and we did ok. We met some nice people too.

The next day was an early start for the ferry and a midday gig in Fredericia, a place that holds some fond memories for us.

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