Oslo, Opera, and Osteo-accidents

“Well, it's nice to know that the Trolls made it this far south,' Ulath said. 'I'd hate to have to go looking for them.'

'Their Gods were guiding them, Ulath,' Tynian pointed out.

'You've never talked with the Troll-Gods, I see,' Ulath laughed. 'Their sense of direction is a little vague - probably because their compass only has two directions on it.'

'Oh?'

'North and not-north. It makes finding places a little difficult.”

-  David Eddings, The Hidden City

At Myrdal we switched trains and rode on to the capital city of Oslo. Our train stopped at the old station (which has been made into a shopping mall but fronts on to a lovely square – with a large golden statue of a tiger in it). Our hotel was within walking distance so we quickly checked in and still had most of the afternoon and evening to explore.

We walked up and down some older streets of Oslo, thinking adamantly that we did not want to eat at a particular restaurant that advertised whale meat, seal meat, and reindeer meat meals. We then walked down into a park that was bordered by a fortress and a busy wharf.  And here we started to see the ubiquitous bicycles that we would continue to see more and more of as we continued on our Scandanavian journey. As Barry said, now instead of riding them we were trying to avoid them as we trespassed innocently into bike lanes and across bike traffic.

We then wandered over to the cruise ship docks, scouting out where our overnight ferry would be leaving from the next day. Just as we were returning from the port, I took a bad fall – smashing my knee and cutting my face. We slowly (due to my hobbling) made our way back to the hotel. Our strolling (after only 8 km) was done for the day.  With ice packed on my knee, numbed with pain killers and wine, and eating the sandwiches we had picked up earlier in the day, we watched the BBC (about the only station we could understand).

The next day we had reservations to see the phenomenal Opera and Ballet House, across the street from our hotel. I was in no shape to be climbing up and down stairs, or hobble along on marble floors so Barry went by himself and I stayed behind. He helped settle me in the foyer of the hotel and I made myself comfortable with a cappuccino and my notebook – quite happy with a morning of people watching. This is why I love people watching:

A man from Nairobi, approached the front desk near where I was sitting, to check out.

“Thank you for hosting me,” he said to the clerk. “I had a lovely time, you are nice people. But I am missing home. Home is where all of me is. Home is where I can wear my feet bare in the dust.”

He laughed self-deprecatingly.

“But thank you again for hosting me. Your country, Norway, is very green and fresh. But I am used to different colours. Good bye, kwaheri.”

That afternoon my knee was numb enough from rest and pain killers to venture a slow walk up the central pedestrian-only section of the area around us. We stumbled upon the National Theatre (which was a joy to find) and wished that we were closer to the Edvard Munch/Van Gogh exhibit that was on so we could see it. We found interesting statues in a park and I took pictures of people taking pictures.

Later that afternoon we walked ourselves and our luggage back over to the port (I was more than a little paranoid about falling again and stared intently at the sidewalks the entire way). Once we finally boarded and stashed our luggage into our (very small) cabin, we found our way around the ship and enjoyed the view as the ship lanquidly made its way through the islands and channels out to open sea. From the ferry we were able to see the Opera House from the other side - looking like a ship sliding into the water, much like the sculpture of the sailboat beside it. 

During the night I woke a couple of times as I was practically being rolled out of my cot by the heave and swell of the North Sea.  We had only one small porthole but I was infinitely happy for that. What with my claustrophobia and the tossing I was glad to be able to see out, even it was just to see the dark night, and the even darker water below it.

The next morning we would dock in Copenhagen, Denmark.

Of Huldras and Fossegrimmen

“Even in terms of fiction, nothing in their lives became them like the leaving of it. King Fjolnir rose in the night to make water, fell into a vat of mead and drowned instead; Sveigdir ran after a dwarf when drunk and vanished into a boulder; Vanlandi was trampled to death by a nightmare; Domaldi was sacrificed for good seasons; Dag was struck on the head with a pitchfork when seeking revenge for his sparrow; and so on down to the fifth century.”  Gwynn Jones (on odd deaths and Vikings)

We boarded a small ferry in Gudvangen bound for Flam. The ferry would bring us along the Naeroyfjord, the narrowest fjord channel in Europe. The weather was cold and rainy but the mountains were high, the water deep, and waterfalls plentiful. 

We disembarked at Flam, the only village with a train connection. Flam is surrounded by steep mountains, deep valleys, and the ubiquitous waterfalls. We even saw a couple of Fjord horses. Population of Flam is only 450. However, over the course of a year, it receives almost 450,000 visitors, primarily due to the huge cruise ships that ply the fjord. Over recent years, villages like Flam have become alarmed at the consequences of such high tourist traffic. The number of people puts a huge strain on the village’s one public toilet (such that visitors use other means upsetting to the village folk) and the heavy oil/diesel pollution in the once pristine fjord is reaching alarming heights. Ships are also allowed to dump their greywater when docked in Flam and the locals talk about how the fish have disappeared from the waters. Flam receives over 160 cruise ships a year so it is easy to see how problematic that can be.

 The next morning we boarded the train. The Flam line between Flam and Myrdal is 20 kilometers long. However, because it is one of the steepest railway tracks in the world and because it uses a system called ‘spiralling’ to ascend the mountain, it took us an hour to complete the trip. A railway spiral rises on a steady curve until it completes a loop, sometimes passing over itself as it gains height. It was a little disconcerting to see ourselves going as we were coming. And it was high, snow and ice was still in abundance.

At one point, the train stopped and one of the conductors ran up to the front of the train where he changed the shunt tracks by hand so that we and an approaching train would not be on the same track. That was a little disconcerting too, admittedly.

At another point, the train stopped again and allowed people off to take a photo of a magnificent waterfall. A Metallic Voice on the overhead intercom warned that the deck could be wet. An understatement! Barry went out (in pants and t-shirt only) to take a photo. I noticed that several people were donning rain coats, hats, and boots such that they looked like fishermen on a Newfoundland fishing boat. Barry came back a short time later, completely soaked. “The deck is more than a little slippery”, he dryly commented. Apparently the force of the waterfall is such that it washes great gouts of spray and surge completely across the deck, causing its own mini rainstorm in the process. The more prepared people had obviously either ridden this train before or had more informative trip guides than the information that was given to us.

We also noticed a phenomena that repeated itself over and over again on this trip. There are people that take photos of scenery, or landscapes, or buildings, etc.; and those that take selfies of themselves in front of the subject, reducing the spectacular to background. Strange, we thought.

As we chugged further into the deep forests and steep mountainsides, Metallic Voice told us of the existence of the Huldra. Norway is rampant with trolls of one kind or another, but Metallic said that this troll is particular to that area between Flam and Myrdal. The Huldra is a troll-like woman living in the abundant woods on the steep mountainsides and in the valley. She is un-troll-like in that she is fair and beautiful, but is wild and has a long cow-tail. She is a lonely, lost soul, doomed to live underground. She tries to tempt human passersby to remain with her so she won’t be alone anymore.

As we passed yet another series of waterfalls, pounding their way from the heights to the floor of the valley, Metallic Voice told us another story. This one was of the Fossegrimmen (also known as just Grim as that is the Norwegian word for waterfall). The Grim is a water creature. He is a young, handsome man who sits naked under waterfalls, playing the fiddle. He plays the music of nature itself; the sound of the water, the wind in the trees, it all comes from his music. He is said to teach humans how to play if they secretly brought him a stolen piece of meat. Torgeir Augundsson, better known as Myllarguten, was a famous fiddle-player from Telemark, Norway who was so good it was rumored he had sold his soul in exchange for Fossegrimmen’s skills.

So lots of trolls, and the Huldra, and the musical Fossegrimmen, but I have noticed a decided lack of wildlife in our travels so far. While out driving with Martin in Italy, we saw one lone deer – quickly, briefly. Martin’s excitement is indicative of how rare an occurrence this is. While climbing on the train through the Flam valley and mountainsides, I expected to see some sort of wildlife. However, though we passed enough ponds, pools, and lakes to slake the thirst of the world, there were no ducks bobbing on the surfaces, no animals drinking at their shores, no moose, no deer, no wolves, no mountain goats. We saw, instead, a few flocks of sheep. Perhaps a cow or two, and two Fjord horses. Nothing more through all that tangle and tumble of wildness. 

Martin had told me, in explanation of how exciting it was to see a deer, that Europe is particularly bad for having pushed all of its wild things out – due to agriculture or development. He admitted that in those parts of Europe that humans found too challenging to live in, the wild may still be found. But certainly not in Tuscany, and sadly, it appeared also not in the mountains and valleys of Flam. That being said, there is no doubt that this part of Norway is one of the most beautiful places on earth. 

Extreme Sports in a Bus

“One learns more from listening than speaking. And both the wind and the people who continue to live close to nature still have much to tell us which we cannot hear within university walls”. – Thor Heyerdahl, Norwegian explorer and adventurer.

The next day we walked down to the train station in Bergen to catch our train to Voss. Voss is a small village. Until 1964, when it incorporated a number of neighboring villages, Voss’ population was less than 5,000 people. After the German invasion of Norway in 1940, Voss was the main mobilization point for the Norwegian Army. Voss was bombed late in April of the same year and sadly, it completely destroyed the old wood-built town centre (houses and guilds much like what we had seen in Bryggen). They then remained occupied by the Germans until 1945.

In the winter, the village is an Olympic sports centre, being an ideal place for biathletes, and alpine, Nordic, and freestyle skiers to train. A lot of our fellow passengers on the train were heading off on several days of hiking once they disembarked at Voss. The village is surrounded by mountains with snow slumped on their shoulders; thick, ominous forests, and more white water rivers than I have ever seen in one place. In the summer, it is home to rock-climbing, hiking, paragliding, and white-water kayaking. But we were there merely to board a coach bus.

However, as the bus travelled to Gudvangen quay – where we would be taking a ferry up the Naeroyfjord to Flam – we were to experience our own kind of extreme sport. That of negotiating hair-pin turns. Thirteen hair-pin turns to be exact. In the rain. And did I not mention the fog. 

This road is called the Stalheimskleiva, considered one of Europe’s most dangerous roads. It is only open during the summer and closed to traffic in the winter. As we inched and lurched the large bus around truly the tightest turns (all downhill) I have ever experienced, I had not to wonder at all as to why they closed in the winter. It is one of the steepest roads in Northern Europe (built between 1842 and 1846). It is a very narrow and one-way (down).

The views over the side of the road and down to the valley bottom (the Naeroydalen valley, stunning and another UNESCO World Heritage site), and down to where waterfalls dropped from incredible heights was – interesting. Truly enhancing the feeling that though we sat in cushy seats in the comfort of a large bus, we were surely still having a hair-raising adventure.  On one side is the Stalheim waterfall (126 meter drop) and on the other side of the road the Sivle waterfall (142 meter drop). Even had it not been raining and foggy, we would have gotten wet.

It was with a sigh of relief (but also a shiver of thrill) that we came to the bottom and pulled into the quay. We disembarked from the bus and queued for the ferry.