Getting Bored....

With Norway, because every corner you turn reveals another stunning view, either of a torrential waterfall or grand vista, (or should that be a panorama Joanna?)

We left Flam and drove over to Bergen in a fairly easy drive along Sognefjord and through the surrounding country. This was waterfall number 680 below. It does have a name but I couldn't pronounce it or remember how to spell it.

We stopped for morning tea and a comfort break at a well vegetated roadside cafe. Lots of Norwegian sheds, barns and sometimes houses have sod roofs and most people don't seem to get up there too often with the lawn mower to keep them in shape. This particular cafe owner had been even more remiss than most in trimming the vegetation, unless he was on a personal crusade to replace the lost Brasilian rain forests.

 

You could make a fortune peddling weedkiller here!

 

 

381 major waterfalls and countless vistas later we arrived in Bergen, (or close anyway, as the nearest campground is about 10km out of town). We decided to spend the afternoon in the town as it was a pleasant day. It only took about 35 seconds before we had experienced all the charms of the camp and Iris had analysed the sewage disposal options fully, (not up to her usual expectations was the instant report).

 

We caught a bus right outside the camp and this took us to a nearby light rail that ran into central Bergen every 10 minutes. As we sat on the train we made the inevitable comparisons with Auckland Transport, while bemoaning the fate of Auckland's tram service that was ripped out and not replaced in the 70's.

 

It was also interesting to compare the way that the local authority in Bergen, (or whoever is responsible), went out of their way to make the city centre an attractive place to visit and spend time. The public centre is a pedestrian zone and was literally 60 seconds from the light rail and bus termini and was full of people of all ages enjoying themselves. All of this in a climate that is nowhere as benign as Auckland or other places in NZ.

 



 

 

 The whole street was crowded with people playing chess, backgammon, table football, table curling (yes, that's a mini version of the one where people hurl granite blocks down ice rinks), and other assorted games.

There were also some pretty good American buskers (father, daughter and daughter's partner), although they quit shortly after we arrived (they obviously spotted that we wouldn't be contributing to their ill gotten gains). I could swear that we'd seen them somewhere before but I'm blowed if I can remember where. Any clues on their identity please let me know.

 

 

The port area itself was also very lively, with seafood restaurants and bars pretty thick on the ground. I thought that I'd spotted a bargain meal in a place advertising Fiske Suppe for 66 Krone but alas it didn't translate as "Fish Supper" as I thought but as "Fish Soup"and there was no way I was spending 9 Euros on a cardboard cup of soup.

 

 

A view of the harbour

 

 

 A building that shows Bergen's links to the Hanseatic League, a powerful trade bloc centred mainly on North Germany and the Baltic in the 14th-16th centuries.

 

The day before, when we were travelling on the Flam express, we saw our first reindeer in a field next to the railway line. At first I thought they were sheep (from a distance), then cows and then when I saw the horns realised what they were. Didn't manage a photo though.

 

However when we got to central Bergen.....

 

This tasty looking offer was very economical by Nordic standards but somehow I couldn't reconcile myself with the thought that I might be eating Rudolf or another of Santa's finest!

 

Iris also spotted a place selling whale meat and if she hadn't been on her best behaviour could well have set up a Greenpeace style demo on the spot.

 

The next day it was au revoir to Bergen and on to more fjords and fells. The trip north included our first Norwegian ferry trip across Sognefjord, a voyage of about 4km. Two ferries criss-crossed the fjord constantly and so even though we had just missed the boat when we first arrived at the terminal, it was only a 10 minute wait for the next one.

 

 

An old, disused ferry crossing on Sognefjord.

 

 

And the real McCoy! (The ferry not Iris).

 

Shortly after disembarking the ferry and resuming our drive North we were nearly forced off the road by an enormous truck coming the opposite way down a very narrow stretch of road. There was a minor scraping sound and I thought that the rear right had caught a low rock wall. Very luckily we found that when we stopped and checked, that the exhaust had scraped the wall and there was no damage.

 

 

Not a bad place to stop and check for damage.

 

After our close call we drove on slowly and carefully to a town called Forde where we decided to stay the night (being unable to Holden any longer, (apologies for the dreadful pun aimed at Kiwi audiences)).

 

The town of Forde was quite a boring and featureless place except for the house built on top of a stream.

 

If you look closely, you can see the small stream and the culvert just above the small bridge. Given the way that small streams turn to mega-torrents in Norway I'd be a bit dubious about living there.

 

Finally, a cautionary tale. At one of our stopovers a few days ago we spotted a very military looking woman striding purposefully around the campsite, knitting furiously as she went. For some strange reason this re-kindled Iris' desire to knit and today in Forde she went and bought two knitting needles and 6 balls of wool, (3 lime green and 3 light blue), with the intention of knitting me a scarf.

 

Well the progress this afternoon and evening has not been inspiring. Suffice to say that we have cast on and cast off more times than the Sognefjord ferry did today and at present I am looking at bare needles. To be fair, at one point there were almost 3 complete rows before my dream scarf was again dismantled. I'll keep you all updated as the scarf lengthens.