POSTCARD FROM | CABANA TRAVEL | WORLD OF CABANA
Wonderfully stuck-in-time and just three hours from Copenhagen, the historic, little-known Danish island of Ærø is a fascinating spot full of timber-framed houses, colorful beach huts, fairy-tale charm and postcard-perfect views. It's the sort of place where doors are left unlocked, and there’s a mutual understanding that bicycles are to be borrowed and eventually returned. Chloe Frost-Smith explores.
BY CHLOE FROST-SMITH | CABANA TRAVEL | 28 MARCH 2025
The Baltic Sea becomes a close and constant companion from the moment I set foot on the ferry from Svendborg and gently cruise across the South Funen archipelago to the little-known Danish island of Ærø. The sun reflects off its steely-blue waters, which cradle fishing boats and sailing yachts in the sleepy marina of Ærøskøbing.
There’s not a ticket booth or vending machine in sight for paying your way; instead, a friendly harbour master cycles over the cobbles whenever a ship approaches and greets every passenger personally. Although only three hours from Copenhagen by train and boat, this remote outpost can only be reached by water.
Sweeping my wind-whipped hair off my salt-sprayed face, I succumb to the island’s coastal charms and snail-paced rhythm. Tracing a sandy track towards Vesterstrand’s shingle, through fields grazed by bleating sheep and free-roaming horses, the colorful beach huts which hug the shoreline come into a postcard view.
Painted in brilliant shades of sky-blue, sunshine-yellow, and a deep crimson resembling the Swedish falu red, I take great pleasure in imagining which cabin I would call my own if I were one of the lucky locals to pass such an heirloom down the generations. Some are panelled with nautical stripes and built on stilts, primed for dipping your feet into the cooling shallows, others have thoughtfully-angled porches to watch the sun rise or set as Midsummer bonfires flicker or eggs are boiled on the waterfront during Easter holidays.
The plots on which these historic huts stand are rented indefinitely, with strict clauses designed to prevent even the smallest changes—no extensions, no additions, and no modern installations (including running water and electricity). They’re exactly as they have always been, sheltering sea bathers for the last 100 years.
The same story goes for much of this wonderfully stuck-in-time island. Some parts of Ærøskøbing are over 750 years old, where timber-framed houses retain every inch of their fairy-tale charm thanks to preservation orders in place throughout the 18th-century town. Each front door is ornately and individually decorated, so much so, that if you somehow manage to stumble across two that are alike, rumour has it that you now have rights to the property. Never has there been so much enticement to house hunt.
One of the most striking examples is the 300-year-old oak door of Prior’s House, which was last painted in the 1700s with oxblood and oil — a traditional and resourceful combination used by locals to produce the rich color which doubles as a natural preservative in these weather-beaten parts. Across the linden tree-lined town square from this small, Schleswig-style townhouse is Hammerich’s Hus, also known as the Red House to Ærø’s 6,000 residents. On the corner of Brogade and Gyden, the holiday home of Danish sculptor Gunnar Hammerich is a time warp in every sense of the word.
Many hours start to slip by as my eyes absorb every intentionally cluttered nook and cranny, taking care while clambering up and down narrow, winding staircases, and stooping beneath the low, beamed ceilings hung with mugs crafted for every overnight friend of the house. Packed with antiques, including an especially lovely assortment of 17th-century Dutch tiles, Hammerich’s collection is displayed according to the artist’s meticulous instructions in his deed of gift to the town upon his death in 1977. Stated simply for posterity, “the collection must be preserved as it now is and exists”.
Stopping to admire yet more aesthetically pleasing façades and peering through prettily arranged windowsills—many of which are curiously adorned with pairs of ceramic Staffordshire dogs, said to be part of a secret lovers’ language when local sailors were away at sea—on the way to Hotel The Monica, I turn what should have been a 30-second stroll into almost another hour. Yet more miraculous time travel.
Owner Monica Conradsen chose Farrow & Ball’s Danish Lawn—a vivid green—to paint her door, and worked with local artisans to restore the original terrazzo flooring and shop front window’s iron and wood framing from when the three-bedroom guesthouse began life as Ærøskøbing’s butchers. Conradsen’s personal curation of Nordic cashmere, hand-loomed coats from Rejkjær, and marbled pottery by Copenhagen-based ceramist Erik Bendtsen has replaced fine cuts of meat in the window display.
Inside, the house springs entirely from Conradsen’s imagination and impeccable taste—the former Danish model even sketched the designs for the open kitchen herself, which is where you’ll invariably find the hotel’s affable host, taking coconut macaroons or Valrhona chocolate cake out of the oven, adding hand-written notes to the pages of cookbooks stacked high on the shelves, or seasoning her signature lamb dish with herbs from the garden. Upstairs, there are two bedrooms and an art-strewn library, and the third bedroom—wallpapered in bespoke stripes by Danish textile designer Helene Blanche to match the valance—is squirrelled away in an orchard-facing outhouse.
A bespoke-striped bedroom at Hotel The Monica on Æro, Denmark.
Candles are lit come evening, the wood-burning stove flickers, and we plot tomorrow’s cycling route to encompass wild sand dunes, marshlands, and a northern patch home to Denmark’s highest concentration of wild orchids. It’s impossible to pedal past the grassy moraine cliffs of Voderup Klint without pausing, before following the clay terraces and wooden steps down to a pebble beach. Squinting through the late afternoon sun beams, I just about make out the silhouette of Germany in the distance.
Far from the mainland geographically, and in mentality, Ærø is the sort of place where doors are left unlocked, and there’s a mutual understanding between neighbours that bicycles are there to be borrowed and eventually returned to the rightful owner—after trundling down quiet country lanes to the nearest market, and filling the basket with apples and figs, or flowers to plant in the backyard. Even Ærøskøbing’s gardens act as portals into the island’s maritime past, where mouth-blown glass floats and large seashells brought by visiting ships as ballasts are now nestled between hollyhocks which climb cottage walls. There’s so much to be treasured on this time capsule of an island, I spend the rest of my sojourn half expecting pirates to appear on the horizon.
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