What’s rotten of course is not something that’s occurring in Denmark, but rather the stench coming from my home, the United States. It’s the smell emanating from the rogue band of outlaws about to ride roughshod across America’s political, social and moral landscape. It’s justifiably setting off all sorts of alarms, creating new cottage industries, including countless articles on how to survive the coming apocalypse with titles like 10-Transformative Tips to Prepare for a Trump Presidency and Coping Tips for a Second Term.

For me, travel is the best elixir for all that ails about American politics. A stocking cap, my backpack and a wrinkled map is just about all I need. And the map, that’s optional. Somewhere I once read that a good cleanse of the soul could be had by just getting on a random tram and taking it to the end of the line. I’ve done that with good results many a time.

Alternatively, I love hopping a ferry to just about anywhere. My thick-treaded shoes can make a visit to a city park a memorable adventure. Sure, walking the 500-mile Camino de Santiago is guaranteed to help you leave Trump and his acolytes so far in the rear view mirror as to make them as small as their actual moral stature. But just to be clear, you don’t have to leave your seat to do some traveling. A gaze out the window tracing the flight of your local swallow works just fine.

Oh, and about Denmark…”‘Farewell, farewell,’ said the swallow, with a heavy heart, as he left the warm countries, to fly back into Denmark. There he had a nest over the window of a house in which dwelt the writer of fairy tales. The swallow sang ‘Tweet, tweet,’ and from his song came the whole story.” You don’t need a boat or plane ticket to get to Denmark. Just get a hold of a book from the author of that quote, Hans Christian Andersen, himself an amazing traveloguer.