I had led the Windy convoy through the toll booths, negotiating hard in my fluent Swedish. Ok, the Swedish guy wanted to practice his already perfect English, so I let him. With my 10 trip discount ticket secured, the rest of the rabble followed me through like a bunch of jostling school children.
As we approached the Island of Peberholm, I was beginning to wonder if the ticket I had bought was such good value any more. Bravely I let some of the more eager teams to overtake. Peberholm didn't hold much of a draw to be honest. Limited history, zero population, not even a parking space. 
Thankfully, I didn't have to explain to the others that we had been fiddled. The road disappears under ground and then under the sea to reach Denmark. An interesting bridge/tunnel combination.
Having arrived in Copenhagen, all following our own brand of Pratt Nav, the group bomb burst. 10 different variations of how to get to the same camp site 10 miles away. Of course, ours was scouring the area for Albanian Goat Tracks. Luckily few and far between in Central Copenhagen.
Camping Bellahoj is relatively convenient for seeing the city. I'm afraid any other descriptions of the place are going to be less favourable. It looks like some playing fields next to a housing estate. The corregated iron toilet block resembled a sheep shearing shed. Still, there was plenty of space. Lucas was able to drag as many teams as he liked in to a game of football. 
It seemed we didn't have a single kroner between us. Well, maybe some Swedish and Norwegian but not Danish. Thankfully the camp site is equipped to deal with such eventualities. I managed to purchase a large handful of bus tickets to get us in to the centre.
Tivoli Gardens, a World renowned attraction. More amusement park than gardens, but they do have plants and ponds. Lucas was happy with the rides. My wallet, less so. Jo took him on the Goldmine ride and managed to break it so got some bonus tickets given to her. 
Eileen dragged me kicking and screaming in to the man crèche and made me drink a small beer. 
Most of us linked up for dinner. Hercegovina found us space for 25 and we were entertained by some live Gypsy music. A bit of a shame our Tarmaccers had accidentally ordered food elsewhere, they probably would have enjoyed it. All you could eat buffet, a Bosnian style restaurant in Denmark with Romany style band playing American tunes. Never did Elvis Presley on the accordion sound so good.
Lucas was strangely able to persuade a good number of normally (relatively) sensible adults to try break dancing to gypsy music on a stage in the restaurant. We said a fond farewell to our Spanish contingent, Raquel, who flies to Madrid tomorrow. I hope we shall see her on a future Windy 500.
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