Orchards, Waterfalls, and a Very Good Driver

A spontaneous road trip this morning.  We needed milk for the chowder, a 15 minute drive to a little store, but when we zoomed past the Kiwi convenience, I knew we were in for another adventure.  

Norway has a way of making you very aware of the terrain, especially on highway 7. We wound our way along narrow mountain roads, climbing and descending, curving around rock faces and valleys, with enormous trucks and buses occasionally coming toward us. For the most part, though, the traffic was remarkably light, which was just as well, because some of those roads don’t leave a lot of room for error when two big vehicles meet.  And through all of it, Dave was completely calm and in command. He handled the mountain roads with the sort of quiet confidence that makes the passenger relax. No drama, no white-knuckle moments, just steady speed, careful positioning and an apparently unshakable ability to judge exactly where the car belonged on the road. Even when a massive truck or bus appeared around a bend, Dave simply dealt with it.  And benevolently ignored my right foot that kept seeking the invisible brake pedal.

I have to admit, there were moments when I looked at the road ahead - sheer mountain on one side, spectacular drop on the other  - and thought, really? We’re driving up here?  Dave, meanwhile, was probably working on a complex NOK to Canadian dollar equation.

This is apple growing territory, and the trees were heavy with crimson apples.  We stopped at a roadside stand and bought a heavy bag of mixed apples, all perfect and juicy and sweet.  Munched what we wanted, sent the cores to the deer, and will leave the rest for our hosts.

And then there were the tunnels.   We have come to love the strange magic of Norwegian tunnels because every time you emerge, you seem to be in a different country.  Surprise!  You disappear into darkness and a few minutes later come out into completely different weather and topography. Rain can become sunshine. Grey skies become brilliant light. Lush green slopes give way to bare rock. A narrow mountain pass opens suddenly into a broad valley. The temperature seems to change along with the scenery.  It’s like there are landscapes stacked one behind another, and the tunnels are the doors between them.  Norwegian Narnia.

Today one of those landscapes was particularly spectacular - a huge mountain face streaked with waterfalls, the water running down the rock in dozens of long silver veins. It wasn’t one famous, designated waterfall - just the mountain itself seemingly leaking water everywhere.  I wish I knew the source of these bursting waterfalls, it is the only time I have wanted to employ a drone.  

We could not curb our curiosity and so pulled over at Dale, a small village that has provided exquisite winter Olympic sweaters to the competitors for at least 75 years. And they were stunning, all of them, made with the kind of quality one rarely sees.   My enchantment took a tumble when I did the conversion.   My favourite one was $600 Canadian.   Instead, I zipped up my coat so that my Temu sweater was no longer visible, and marched penuriously out of the building.

By the end of the day, it wasn’t really any particular destination that stood out. It was the whole experience: the orchard and its apples, the mountains dripping with waterfalls, the giant trucks and buses sharing impossibly beautiful roads with us, the quiet stretches where we seemed to have Norway almost to ourselves, and my brother steering calmly through it all.

One more full day in Norway.  Tomorrow, we will explore north.   Or south.  Who knows.

Fjellheim

 

It’s true.  The rugged, majestic beauty of the mountains and fjords here adds a kind of reverent perspective to one’s life.  The vast parts of Norway are wild and untamed and have not changed much over the centuries.

We had a delightful evening last night with our hosts.  They were open and friendly, and our dinner  conversation touched on many subjects and was seasoned with genuine laughter and kinship.   Dave cooked Italian, and they were enthusiastic in their compliments and second helpings.  The evening ended with a small shot of Maria’s homemade mountain ash berry liquor, or as she explained, when she doesn’t have enough room to preserve so many berries, she just pours vodka on them and leaves them on the shelf for a few months.  It was delicious and just the right libation to cap off the night.  And then there were these:

Those who know me understand that I consider chocolate a complete food group.   These delectable creations are the finest I have ever sampled - made in Norway using only Norwegian ingredients.  They were as delicious as they were beautiful and it took all my willpower to prevent my hand from reaching for a third. Especially after the shot of berry vodka.

Rain continues, as one might expect from the rainiest area in all of Europe.  Today and tomorrow will likely be more sedate and afford us more planning time to flesh out the rest of the trip.   We have nearly hit the halfway mark and the time is slipping by too quickly.

Friday we will leave this beautiful fjord, return the car to the Bergen airport, and board our flight to… 

….. stay tuned!

Cruising Naeroyfjord

I was not awarded my Mensa membership today.   Thankfully, things worked out and it turned into a grand day, despite my pre-dawn mental hours spent rounding up the mental monkeys who were busy taunting me because Mastercard did not post a rather important purchase to WestJet 4 days ago.  Traveling is not for the cowardly.

Miscalculation #2 involved over-padding what should have been a 2 hour car trip, extending it to 4 hours.   I was intimidated by warnings of construction, duly warned by CHAT and Google.  Except, delay was about 3 minutes.   So we ran a healthy few hours ahead of schedule and that resulted in quite a pleasant stop for a latte back in Voss.  Even still, the driver was not thrilled to start his day a few hours early.  I even bought him a cookie.  Ahem.

We arrived in Flän with half an hour to spare.  This, despite the navigator’s error combined with Google maps not catching up after an 11 km tunnel, necessitating a few extra km and a creative U-turn.  (So, not my fault, really).

We boarded a handsome ship in the tiny harbour with about 375 other enthusiasts.   About 370 of them were Chinese tourists, and boy, were they ever excited.  Specifically, to have their pictures taken, one by one, by holding the flapping flag at the stern of the ship (where we were seated).  

We sailed through a part of this beautiful planet that was timeless and rugged.  There were too many waterfalls to count, and the intense green of the pastures where tiny villages and farms were located made a striking contrast to the stark peaks that soared over us.

Fläm in the rear view mirror

We did get a sprinkle of rain, but not much more than that.  Sadly, the light was kind of flat so the pictures do not do justice to the breathtaking landscape.  You can see how narrow the fjord is in the photo with the flag in it (in the nanosecond that it was not populated by the aforementioned group.)

I had booked us on a bus back to Fläm from Gudvangen after the cruise ended.   We found the proper bus stop quickly and stood in line with the throngs and eureka, 5 minutes later the bus appeared.   First in line, I proudly presented my E-ticket and that’s when he said…. Oh sorry, you bought a ticket FROM Flän to Gudvangen.  Not the other way around.

Huh.  Go figure.  My face fell into my boots.  Dave cleared his throat.  We were advised to step aside and let the others board.  So we did, looking like the two embarrassed Canadians that we were.  I fixed my eyes on my feet.  Held up the line and everything. For sure did not look at Dave.

After an endless, suspenseful wait, the bus driver consulted his iPhone and announced that he had four unbooked seats, and he would overlook my tactical error and let us on the bus.   I could have kissed him, or at least offer him a dozen of my prized peppermint lifesavers.    Instead, we boarded and grandly took the best seats up front and then enjoyed the 25 minute shuttle back to Flän.   Where our faithful car awaited us, and the perplexing problem of the paid parking instructions.  Since none of that was my fault (finally), I won’t go into details there.  Not interesting.

And, for those who haven’t nodded off during this diatribe, let it be known that I managed to get through to Mastercard and they confirmed that indeed, Paris will receive me with open arms on October 3.

Hopefully I’ll sleep tonight.