Anders Lindstrøm

Surrounded by the fishing industry and a nature reserve, 21-year-old Simon Guldhammer has had a youth and upbringing that only the northwestern outskirts of Denmark can offer. Now, adulthood is approaching, and most of his peers have moved from Hanstholm to various big cities. Soon, only two childhood friends and he himself will be left.

"If you saw how it's put together, I don't know if you'd want to ride in it," barks Simon as he wrestles with the roaring V6 engine. He grins and points toward the gearshift. The sun hangs low, and the smell of saltwater and fish lingers over everything at Hanstholm Harbor. He pulls out onto the long pier and revs the engine. The 50-year-old Ford Mustang has been a prized possession since Simon was 18. He restored it himself. Now, it's time to take it for a spin in the spring breeze.

With a friend. Or alone.

In recent years, there have been fewer people to cruise the "harbor route" with. That’s what the local youth call it when they pick up friends and drive slowly through the harbor and along the coastline—no more than twenty to forty kilometers per hour. But now that Simon and his friends are a little older, many have moved to big cities, either with partners or to study. He enjoys the quiet of driving alone, even if it’s just to clear his head and take in the sea view.
"Being able to be alone with yourself is an important skill—especially out here," he says.

Hanstholm resides just over 2,000 people. That means everyone knows each other—across generations and social circles. For better or worse. The local community also becomes a mirror for self-reflection.

According to Simon, it's nearly impossible to maintain a fake persona when everyone knows who you are. He explains firmly:

“You're kind of forced to be yourself—and just accept who you are.”

One of Simon’s childhood friends recently bought a house in Hanstholm. The other is about to move temporarily to Aalborg with his girlfriend, who’s starting university there. He’s promised to come back.

Simon has also toyed with the idea of moving, but he’s skeptical about forming new friendships in the city when he thinks about the bonds he has with his childhood friends.

“Surrounded by all those uni students, I’d always feel like the working guy from the west coast,” he says.

“…And now that Elias has bought a house and all that, it wouldn’t feel right to leave him behind, now that we’re the last three left.”

Besides that, Simon works full-time just ten minutes from his parents’ house. As a tought metalworker, he has a varied job that also allows him to travel to visit the company’s different branches. That brings a lot of adventure, Simon thinks. He recently returned from northern Norway, and he’s also been to Canada previously.

Among Simon’s peers, it’s mostly just the guys who are left in Hanstholm. His friend Elias, 23, has already bought a house, but Simon is still waiting for the right one to come along. For both of them, finding a girlfriend to share it all with is tough. And it’s only going to get harder. According to a population forecast by Thisted Municipality in 2023, the number of 17- to 25-year-olds in Thy is expected to drop by 17.8 percent over the next ten years. With most local young women having moved to the cities to study, it’s already difficult in Hanstholm.

As young people on the northern west coast, Simon and his friends usually head to Aalborg or Thisted for a weekend night out—if they go out at all. It’s easier to meet new people there, but it’s often fleeting and superficial.

“I’ve never brought a girl home to my mom,” Simon says quietly one day in the car, on the way home from work.
“… Never had a girlfriend either.”

Convinced that good things come to those who wait, Simon isn’t in a rush with life. He simply enjoys the rare occasions when someone his age stops by the local pub — even if he never sees them again. Although the many people moving away can be frustrating, he just shrugs it off.

“It’s just some  nonsense with those girls,” he says with a gentle smile.