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.
