The fish layer, Keats and Cold War relics...just one of those days.

It is less than 100 miles from where we are staying in the Copenhagen suburb of Brøndbyoster to the Rødbyhavn ferry to Puttgarden in Germany. We were in no hurry, our planned return date still well over two weeks hence, time to relax. We need to relax, by our standards at least it's been an intensive trip. Yesterday was day 45, during that time we have stopped in 29 different spots; twenty of those were one-nighters. We found a campsite site near Stege, on the island of Møns, with an Acsi discount it was about £20 per night, inexpensive by Scandinavian standards, we decided to head there and rest for a few days.

On the way we stopped for lunch at Stevns Klint, this part of Denmark has a world renowned chalk landscape, the sea cliffs in particular have a unique dark stripe running through the pure white rock face. This marks the 'fish layer' created by billions of fossilised sea creatures from a moment of rapid climate change around 65 million years ago caused by a large meteorite striking the earth. The mass extinction that followed wiped out the dinosaurs and most other animal life. It created the space that mammals filled. It seemed like a must see place.

At first sight it seemed the car park at Stevns Klint was full, then we spotted a grassy overspill area behind it. We headed there. The car park was busy for a sad reason, a large crowd had gathered outside the little church by the cliffs. Parked outside the church gate was a row of gleaming motorcycles, Harleys, big Hondas and trikes. A biker's funeral. I reflected gloomily that avid bikers probably attend more funerals than most people, apart from priests and undertakers.

We had lunch and then followed the way marked paths along the cliffs. From the viewpoints the thin dark stripe running through the chalk face is plain to see. It is only visible because of glaciation and the changes in sea level that followed. We live on a very dynamic planet and the predominance of our species is a mere moment in its long history. I don't think we can cope too well with that stark fact, denial of it is writ large through much of our mythology.

The 'fish layer' is the dark line below the overhang

The top soil is a mixture of chalk and clays, it results in a more densely wooded landscape than you find on the downs and wolds of England. Even the cliff tops had scraps of woodland nestling in the more sheltered spots.

Coastal footpaths run north and south from Stevns Klint. We opted to walk north towards Tommestrup, we could see the tip of its lighthouse peeping above a low ridge. We like lighthouses.

The path ran between cornfields and the cliff edge. Wild flowers edged the fields, long houses and barns among the copses that dotted the landscape looked so familiar, the resemblance to Suffolk is uncanny.

As we meandered through a thicket of woodland we heard a nightingale. Nightingales on a shadowy afternoon in early summer, it was exactly this which prompted Keats' famous poem as he sat in a friend's garden in Hampstead exactly 200 years ago. His nightingale....

" In some melodious plot

Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,

Singest of summer in full-throated ease."

So did ours.

Would it be taught in a GCSE English class these days? I doubt it, the focus is on poems that are relevant, but poetry is not journalism, relevance is not the point, it should be absorbing, unsettling, immersive, enriching - something that stays with you for life.

We reached the lighthouse. Information boards explain in detail why this remote spot was significant. The straights are narrow. Sweden is nearby, so close that the Oresun bridge is plain to see and Gill's phone locked into a new network 'Welcome to Sweden' it texted as we stood under a Danish flag.

A couple of local volunteers act as guides. We learnt how the first lighthouses were staffed by young women who were felt to be more reliable than men at tending the lights. Later when the place was taken over by the military the light was automated, a diesel generator from the 1950s (British built!) is still in working order - we were able to press the starter button and the thing clattered into life - an ear splitting din.

As well as the lighthouse there is a small radar mast on the headland. It is an insignificant spot with a significant history, as the plaque explained.

I like the idea that the first person to realise that nuclear catastrophe had been averted may not have been a CIA analyst or Pentagon chief, but some lowly Danish soldier sitting in a draughty wooden cabin staring at blips on a snowy radar screen.

How long were we at Stevns Klint? Two hours at most. It had been absorbing, far more interesting than we could have ever imagined, which is why we travel I think, to stumble across the extraordinary that is hidden amongst the mundane.

It was now too late to reach the camp site at Stege. Another harbourside parking beckoned, this one a few kilometres south of Stevns Klimt at Rødvig.

These places are delightful, this one had all the usual facilities, but a marina book exchange into the bargain. The harbour bar looked tempting, but we cracked open a couple of craft beers we'd bought in Copenhagen.

As well as being interesting to drink many have quirky designer labels, including one that was distinctly Dionysian, or Sapphic perhaps.

This morning we had been in Copenhagen, it had been an eventful, interesting day. We were in bed by 10.30, soon after the music from the local bar came to an abrupt halt. All was quiet, just the lapping of waves, barely audible. A little earlier we had wondered, it is beautifully peaceful here, but what do young people do, there seems little in the way of youth culture in rural Denmark.

The DJ session at the nearby hotel began a few minutes before midnight. It continued until around three, I remember thinking at some point, half asleep, perhaps that is what is meant, technically speaking, as a big fat baseline.