I slept with the window open and got plenty of fresh air. The departure of a couple of tour buses heralded my return to consciousness. The watch claimed eight hours of good sleep, which was good because I’d need every scrap of energy today: I had to climb 870 meters up, along 10 kilometers of road. That’s about 3000 feet of ascent in a little over 6 miles.
How do they know when a bridge like this has gotten too damaged to use?
How do they know when a bridge like this has gotten too damaged to use?
But before the hard part, I had a couple of easy miles following a river. I passed a grand waterfall called Åsafossen, a lake called Eidsvatnet, and a couple of kiosks that proudly declared a philosopher named Ludwig Wittgenstein had lived in the area:
Ludwig Wittgenstein is important around these parts.
All about Ludwig Wittgenstein (English taken directly from sign)
Wittingstein (born 1889 in Vienna: died 1951 in Cambridge) changed the entire direction of philosophy twice during the 20th century. On both occasions, central parts of his work emerged during his stays in Skjolden. Upon his upbringing in one of the wealthiest and most talented Jewish families in Vienna he left for studies in Berlin, Manchester and Cambridge, becoming acquainted with some of the foremost thinkers at the time.
Philosophy was not an aim in itself for Wittgenstein, but a way of dealing with life and existence — most importantly by developing new ways of thinking about them.
Comparing philosophy to both poetry and architecture, he found asking the right questions more important than offering decisive answers.
In 1922 Wittgenstein published his Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, a short, yet very complex work. His text was the result of pondering problems throughout four years of war as well as important preparatory work in Skjolden in 1913-14. “What can be said at all can be said clearly; and whereof one cannot speak thereof one must be silent.”
His second main work was published in 1953, after his death: His Philosophische Untersuchungen (Philosophical Investigations) was largely a critique of his first book.
Some of the most famous sections were written in Skjolden in 1936.
Wittgenstein in Skjolden (English taken directly from sign)
Wittgenstein visited Norway on six occasions between 1913 and 1950. After his visit to Oystese in the Hardanger fjord in the summer of 1913 he returned in October the same year — this time to Skjolden, exiling himself in order to concentrate on his work.
Wittgenstein commenced building his own house in Skjolden as early as 1914. He acquired land on a ledge above the north end of the Eidsvatnet lake. Due to the war he didn’t return to Skjolden until 1921, a brief stay which also saw him work at the local lemonade factory after having given away his entire inheritance. He came back for a few weeks in 1931; but his longest stay in Skjolden was during the years 1936-37, and for a period of 15 months he lived in his house at the Eidsvatnet working on his philosophical questions. In 1950, the year before his death, Wittgenstein visited Skjolden one last time.
Local church and local mountains, seen from ground level.
In a few miles I beheld the Fortun Church. Very pretty! Just beyond it was the beginning of the very steep part of my route. I poked a map in case there was a café and the “Fortunsdalen Besøkssenter kafe” came up, but alas it was closed. The only thing I could do was make a right turn and begin ascending the mountain.
Google Maps describes this highway (Sognefjellsvegen) as “The National Tourist Route: A steep, narrow road from Luster to Lom, passing lakes, snowfields, and craggy mountain peaks.” And I can attest, that’s pretty dang accurate.
At the first turnout, probably 500 feet up from the valley, I stopped to rest my knees and eat a snack.
Looking over the railing at the town where I’d been a few hours ago, I realized I could see the same church. Now I was seeing it from above, between shoulders of mountain dusted with snow, on a road that I had been climbing all morning and would continue to climb all day.
I found that astonishing, and beyond that I was also astonished that I remembered the list, which I’d written over seven years ago. I could still remember the moment: I’d been soaking in a bathtub back home in Oakland, after a long workday in a long procession of workdays, asking myself “How did I get here? How did I get from being content with what I’ve already done, to being desperate for something more?”
It’s funny – in a grim kind of way – that seven years later I’m on a bike trip mostly because my job wasn’t right for me. Not the work itself, but the job: The conditions of the employment. The flexibility to travel really is that important to me, apparently. I hungered for it then and I still do now.
A car pulled in next to me and three older people got out. Two of them posed at the railing while the third took their photo. I volunteered to take a photo with all three, and they gratefully accepted.
The oldest of them asked a few friendly questions in halting English about my bike and my trip, then pointed at his friends and said, “These are from Kirkenes. On the border with Russia. They have never been here to see the mountain park.”
“Oh,” I said. “Are they from Finland?”
He shook his head, then gestured for me to look at his phone. He opened a map and scrolled it north. There, at the very end of the skinny tail of Norway, was a chunk of border that reached over the top of Sweden and Finland and connected directly with Russia. I had no idea the two shared a border.
I told the man so, and he smiled, then made a kind of grimace and glanced at his friends. “They are worried about war with Russia. I am showing them other places; maybe they will move.”
I nodded, and said a few sympathetic things. He shook my hand, then they all bundled into the car and continued down the mountain.
Do I look like I’m enjoying the climb? Actually I kind of am…
Do I look like I’m enjoying the climb? Actually I kind of am…
Up, up, up I went, swapping between podcasts and my Norway/Sweden playlist. The looming clouds threatened rain but didn’t quite deliver, for which I was grateful.
In many places, the road didn’t bother switching back to keep the grade reasonable, and just plowed straight up the mountainside. On one of these I had an odd encounter with some sheep:
It looks like there’s one sheep braver than the others, and it’s leading the rest of the flock down the side of the mountain in search of fresher grass. Where would they end up? Who can say.
Meanwhile, I kept going up, and up. I embraced a habit of holding the brake with my left hand and grabbing the guardrail with my right, so I could take a breather without climbing off the bike — always an awkward maneuver on steep hills.
Progress was very slow, but I had nothing to do except climb. The only choice I could make was between resting my knees and using them some more, so I concentrated on balancing that. I was glad I had plenty of podcasts to catch up on, and enough cell coverage to trade little notes with family and friends.
We have funny ways of mixing being totally alone, and always connected, in this wacky modern world…
In the late evening I reached a little spot called “The Four Waterfalls”:
Another hundred feet upward I could see a bend in the road with a hotel. I wanted to get indoors and maybe find some dinner, but I carefully avoided rushing.
The mist was swirling as I parked and went inside…
The clerk at reception couldn’t find my reservation. I looked in through my notes, then through my emails… Oh dear; this wasn’t the hotel I booked at. The hotel I needed was another 2000 feet up the mountain!
I told the clerk about my error, and she went poking at her computer again. “Our rooms are fully booked for a wedding, but you can stay in the hostel. If anyone asks just say you’re with the wedding party.”
I gratefully booked and paid for a hostel bed. “I don’t suppose your restaurant is still open?”
“No, we closed an hour ago, but let me check something…” She walked into the back, towards the sound of clanging pots and pans. A minute later she emerged. “We still have soup! I can heat you up some.”
And so, I sat in the lobby of the hotel, next to some canoodling wedding guests, and devoured a bowl of fish soup and a couple of rolls. Twenty bucks was a lot for soup but I was grateful to have it.
Not sure which I’m more curious about: Cluedo, or Norge Rundt.
Not sure which I’m more curious about: Cluedo, or Norge Rundt.
I also called the other hotel and left a message, saying that even though I’d booked two days I would only be arriving for the second one. They pointed out that they had a tough cancellation policy where I still owed them 70% of the cost of the room even if I didn’t show up, and I shrugged and said I didn’t have a choice. To keep pedaling as it got darker and colder would be dangerous.
The hostel bed turned out to be a bunk bed in its own room, so I had more privacy than I expected. I sipped a root beer I’d been carrying since Balestrand and poked at photos for a while. My schedule had tomorrow labeled as a day off, but now I would need to keep my legs moving to reach the “actual” hotel and stay on schedule. I felt embarrassed: I don’t usually mix up map markers or confuse locations, and this was the second day in a row of that. Arrr!
Shortly after I woke up, a young woman barged into the hostel cabin, asked who I was without introducing herself, asked a few perfunctory questions about where I was going and why, picked up the trash bins by the counter, and left the building. A minute later I realized she was an employee, and definitely a native Norwegian with the trademark “direct” style that could easily be seen as rudeness.
She came back in and asked me to remove the sheets from the bed I’d used. I had already done that, and packed my bags, so I just motioned up the stairs as I left. Apparently I’d done too good of a job by re-folding the blanket because when I came back for the rest of my bags she was at the bottom of the stairs, and asked which bed was mine. I walked back up to the room and pointed. Finally she went from terse and grumpy-sounding to friendly, and said, “Oh; thank you for folding the blanket. I wish you luck on your ride!”
When the bike was loaded, I pushed it over to the little store that was part of the farm. The woman was behind the desk, and I handed back the English pamphlet I’d used on yesterday’s walking tour, then bought three bottles of juice and a jar of jam. This time she asked questions about my route and actually seemed interested in the answers. Seems that being a customer with money and almost no demands is the key to Norwegian politeness. I’m joking. Perhaps.
The day was amazing! Clouds hugged the far side of the fjord. In less than an hour I would take the ferry across.
I was quite irrationally excited to see the church, partly because of my computer geek history…
But first, I had time to buy a few snacks, and say hello again to the official cat mascot near the dock! This time he actually sat on my lap for a few minutes.
The people on foot disembarked along with me, then the motorcycle and cars followed. Once the boat was empty, a crowd of other tourists walked aboard and started milling about. Then about a minute before the boat was due to leave, three more tourists in their mid-60’s came jogging awkwardly down the hill, sweaters flapping, and pressed into the crowd.
Looking back at Solvorn after finishing the crossing.
Someone’s unfinished repair. Check out the zipties.
The steep land of Ornes was fertile, and covered mostly in well-established fruit trees. I knew the church gave guided tours every hour, and didn’t care which hour I arrived, so I took my time climbing the hill.
You can go on a cute kid-oriented interpretive walk.
Agriculture In Ornes (English taken directly from sign.)
The oldest evidence of agriculture in Ornes is most likely from the transition period between the Stone Age and the Bronze Age, approximately 1900 years BC. Today, agriculture is the most important industry in Ornes. In order to continue with the agricultural tradition and maintain the historical and cultural frameworks relating to the world heritage site, we need your help, and we encourage visitors to show consideration to the agrigultural industry.
Fruit and berries can be bought from the local farmers. If people help themselves, it negatively impacts the livelihood of the farmer. People and dogs wandering around the cultivated areas, goes against the hygiene requirements relating to food production, and can expose the plants to foreign sources of infection. Excessive walking on the grass also affects the farmers’ grass production.
Klyngjetuns – Farm Clusters (English taken directly from sign.)
A «klyngjetun», or farm cluster, is an old way of arranging farms and farmhouses without any specific pattern. The farm cluster was surrounded by woods and fields divided into small parcels belonging to the users. The population increased rapidly during the 19th century, and small strips of land were divided into even smaller parcels. This system became increasingly more challenging to maintain.
Through public land reallocation the properties were divided again.
Today the farm cluster in Ornes consists of two farms and the buildings are characterised by newer and larger barns, storage buildings and farmhouses. These are on a different scale and dimension compared to the previous buildings in the farm cluster. Some of the small houses still exist, making it possible to understand the dimensions of the old cluster, which around 1865 amounted to about 65 buildings.
Activity Trail For Kids! (English taken directly from sign.)
Take the trip along the activity trail and get to know the village of Ornes better. Along the way, you meet Fortimus, the children’s mascot of the National Trust of Norway, who teaches you a bit about runes, archaeology, trees, and cultural heritage. Here at the ticket office, you can try your hands as an archaeologist in the digging box outside. Go inside and borrow the excavation tools. Maybe you will find some treasures?
The activity trail is a roundtrip, it consists of 4 sections and is about 2,1 km long, rising 100 meters.
The trail is suited to families with children but can be walked by anyone. At the end of the trail you can test your knowledge with the activity trail quiz.
Eventually, after much shoving of the bicycle, I beheld the church. Wow!
I grabbed a ticket for a tour. The young lady behind the counter said the next one would start in five minutes, and I was the only person who’d showed up for it, which was quite a contrast to the large group that went through an hour ago. I remembered all those folks rushing to get on the ferry…
After finishing the tour I walked through the museum and got additional info and pictures from there. Then another tour was starting, with a different guide, so I tagged along with that group and got a whole additional pile of info. The following is a combination of both tours, plus what I saw in the museum:
“This church was built in 1130. The National Trust bought it in 1880, and before that it was a private church for the area. As of 1979 it’s currently a part of UNESCO. There are very few of these churches left, only 28. We lost many of them because during the 1800’s the population was growing, and stave churches are usually small, so many were demolished to build bigger ones.”
Map of the walls of the previous churches that existed on the site.
Artists rendering of the temple that was probably on the site before the church, with the existing carving in context.
“This is actually the 4th church built on this spot. The first was built around the year 900, even though Norway isn’t considered to be a Christian country until about the year 1000. In 900 this area was more populated because there were many people traveling by water: The fjord was basically the main road. So, Christianity arrived here relatively early and the first church was built.”
“But there was a problem with the first church: It was constructed with wooden columns that went right into the earth, and the wood rotted very quickly. It wasn’t very long before they had to build a second church here, and the second church had the same problem. By the time that one rotted, they improved their technique and laid a foundation of stones, then built the third church on top, which kept the wood dry. That one lasted much longer. All of the wood is pine.”
Carved panels on the northern wall, re-used from the temple. Note the old doorway.
“The third church was probably a bit smaller than this one, and had a lot of intricate carvings all around it. You could technically call it a temple just as easily as you could call it a church. When they built the fourth church, which is the one in front of you, they re-used some of the wooden walls from the third one. That’s why the tour starts here, on the north side of the church. If you look at these panels closely you’ll see that the two on the right actually form a door between them. See the arch near the top? This doorway was the entrance to the third church. They sealed it off and used the whole section as part of the north wall. The wood is dated to around 1070, just a bit older than the rest of the fourth church. It was common to re-use wood like this at the time.”
“In the carvings here you can see serpents, and this other animal. It’s kind of mysterious, but we think it’s a lion. In the year 1000 the artists had to imagine what a lion looked like, based on descriptions, like from the Bible. It’s described with a long thin tail, a mane, and sharp teeth, and it’s used as a symbol of Jesus, like “The Lion Of Judah”. So, we’re guessing it’s a lion but no one truly knows. Also, at the tails of the serpents we have these flowers, which are lilies symbolizing salvation.”
Detail of the old carved panels on the side of the church.
Detail of the old carved panels on the side of the church.
“The black color of the church — it’s very dramatic isn’t it? It’s actually tar. It’s painted on the church about every five years to preserve the wood. It makes it look like the wood has been burned, but it hasn’t. That’s just the texture of the tar.”
Drips of tar, from when it melts off the side of the building in the summer.
Drips of tar, from when it melts off the side of the building in the summer.
“Also, the roof is newer than the rest of the church. Over the years the roof has usually been wood, but for a while we know that stone tiles were used. The shingles have been replaced over the years. There are some examples of the oldest shingles in the museum.”
“We also added rain gutters to the building, to help with preservation. You’ll notice there is kind of a river of tar in them. That’s accumulated over many years. The tar is constantly washed off by the rain and snow, and in the summer the tar also melts a little on hot days and runs down the outside very slowly.”
“The south side of the church gets more sun so we have to paint that side more often, about once every three years. In recent decades we’ve had to do it more because the climate has been warming.”
“Let’s go around to the front of the church, shall we?”
One of the oldest grave markers exhumed from the cemetery, dating to somewhere around 1200.
You’re being watched! And illuminated! And potentially yelled at!
“The cemetery is actually still in use. We re-use graves here, which is a common practice. You don’t actually own your spot by the church. You sort of rent it for a while, and then you get moved somewhere else. Then we take the tombstone out. If you don’t take it with you, it’s used for construction. Many of the stones in the rock wall around the church are old tombstones. That’s not unique to this church; it’s done all over Norway. You might see a tombstone in a wall anywhere, many miles away from a church.”
Detail of tar preservation on an exterior decorative column.
“You can see some interesting carvings on the door, including some graffiti etched in runes. If you haven’t thought about it before, now you can see why the runic alphabet is made almost entirely of straight lines and half-curves. There is nothing like the letter ‘O’. That’s because it’s very hard to carve a circle, and very easy to carve straight lines.”
“A lock was added to the door later. I have a copy of the key. If you want a photo I have to cover part of it of course, so no one can duplicate it with the photo.”
“Now that you’re inside, take a look at the other side of the door. More graffiti. This side was generally hidden from the priests because it faces the wall when the door is open, and a bored person could get away with carving it because it was pretty dark in here most of the time. Also there’s some old ironwork. That little iron figure above the handle might be holding a hammer, which is not a Christian symbol but obviously important to Vikings.”
Ring on the inside of the door. Note the figure at the top that appears to be holding a hammer?
“The first thing you’ll see that’s different is the wooden columns on both sides. We call these columns the staves, which gives the name ‘stave church’. They’re the main structure holding up the building. Each is as important as the others.”
“You’ll also notice that some of the staves near the back have been cut off, which was done after a few hundred years when they added the new space in the back for the altar. It caused the whole building to slowly lean to the left, which is why they added those crossbeams you see going diagonally.”
“A few hundred years after this one, people lost the knowledge of how to build stave churches. Also they didn’t care as much about the aesthetics, more about the practical side. This one — you can see they cared about aesthetics.”
“They took most of their inspiration from stone churches in Europe. For example the arches between the columns. An arch would be an important shape if you were using stones, but not wood. They could have just used straight pieces but they wanted to evoke a European design.”
“Also the carvings near the top of the staves are interesting. Most of them are animals; some of them are from Greek and Celtic mythology. Lions, birds, a dragon, a hippogriff, a manticore — which is a human-eating creature by the way. Some of the carvings are in shadow on the other sides of the staves, and we have pictures of them in the museum if you want a clear look.”
One of the staves, with a carving near the top of what appears to be a man forcing open the jaws of some creature.
“So, the interior has changed a lot over the years. In Catholic times when the church was new, there weren’t any seats here. The room was almost empty and people stood, which was fine because the service was relatively short. The priest would read a piece of scripture out loud in Latin. No one understood a word. You would get communion, then you would hang out with your neighbors for a bit, and go home very drunk because it was your one day off. In fact, during the Reformation when Norway became Protestant, the services got much longer but otherwise that pattern didn’t really change.”
“Protestant services actually got a little too long. Priests were a bit self-important and could talk for as long as they liked, and eventually the king got fed up and passed a law, saying church services could be no more than three hours. The seats were designed to be uncomfortable – you were not supposed to be comfortable in a Protestant church – so after three hours you can imagine the pain people were in.”
“Anyway, before there were seats, this was open space, and there was a baptism font near the door. Children were baptized as they entered the church. We don’t have the font here any more, but hidden in the corner is the top of it. That’s all that’s left, for some reason.”
“On the wall across from the font there used to be a woven tapestry. We found pieces of that under the church. There also used to be two statues near the front, one of St. Olaf and one of Mary, but during the Reformation there was a rule saying you were not allowed to have statues of saints in a church any more. So those statues were removed. They still exist, but they’re in a basement in a closed museum in Bergen and the museum refuses to give them back. Museums don’t like returning things…”
Two statues that were removed from the church and sequestered elsewhere.
“This was carved and painted in 1150, so it’s about 900 years old. It shows Jesus as a very strong, kingly figure, instead of the much later depictions where the emphasis is on suffering, with all the blood and the crown of thorns. This Jesus has the crown of a king, painted with golden leaf, and he’s also wearing this clothing, painted in a blue color derived from a rock called lapis lazuli.”
“At the time when it was painted, this rock was only to be found in Afghanistan. Everyone knows about the Vikings sailing around to England and Greenland, but they also had trade routes – and even conquests – going very far east and south.”
(For example Harald Hardrada, who fought battles in Jerusalem and Mesopotamia, and eventually made a run for the British throne.)
This chair looks like it was partially weaved, but is in fact entirely carved. It weighs a lot.
This chair looks like it was partially weaved, but is in fact entirely carved. It weighs a lot.
“Also from the second half of the 1100’s, is that chair you see in the altar room ahead. It’s solid wood, carved in a way that makes it look a bit like weaving. It’s much heavier than it looks. Some people thought it might be from the 1500’s, because then they had a carving technique that would spin the wood, called ‘dreiebenk’ – in English, a ‘lathe’ – but they did chemical analysis of the wood and it was much older.”
“And from the same era, the candleholder on the altar — in the shape of a ship of course!”
The relatively recent (400 year old) added altar. Note the boat-shaped candelabrum.
“The candleholder is from the 1100’s but the altar it’s resting on is from later. This whole little room was added in the 1600’s. The figures painted on the walls are the apostles. The baptismal font is from 1640, much newer than the old wooden one. You can see how Jesus is depicted differently on the altar. Much more vulnerable.”
“Some other things from the 1600’s: We have this altarpiece on the wall, with a prayer written on it in Danish which was the writing language at the time.”
“Here in the main room, the pews were also added in the 1600’s, and then people could sit. Men were put on the south side, women on the north side. The staves on the south side have little hooks on them — those are for the men to hang their hats. Women wore head coverings, usually a shawl or sometimes a hat if they could afford one, but they didn’t take them off during the service.”
“As I mentioned, the benches are made to be uncomfortable. But if you did fall asleep, the man who rang the bell would come down the middle and hit you with a stick. Part of his job. His other job was to collect gossip for the priest, so he would know who to talk to, about an unexpected pregnancy or a fight for example.”
“With the benches, there were also some little walls added to make private booths, which were for the rich families. One family per booth, and each booth was named with the family name. It’s not written on there or anything, just known historically. The writing you see up there along one of the beams is not related – it’s the names of some wealthy donors.”
“The largest booth you see is actually not for a rich family, but reserved for pregnant mothers and mothers with small children. It had access to a side door so if a child started crying the mother could sneak out.”
“And the donation box that’s on the booth by the door … that’s very recent, but with the UNESCO funding it, uh, matters less.”
“Since the rich people had their booths near the front, it was actually very hard for them to see the priest when he was delivering the sermon. The people standing on the balcony near the back actually had the best view. But displays of status don’t have to make sense…”
Detail on the fitted wood and peg construction near the ceiling.
“With the people sitting down, services got longer. People got tired of sitting in the dark, so in the 1600’s or 1700’s some bigger windows were added. The original windows are quite small, and didn’t let in very much light because the windowpanes were not glass, but very thinly carved animal horn.”
One of the windows near the roof. Added relatively recently (400 years ago).
“To add light they used plenty of candles. One of the finest objects in the church was a silver candlestick. It’s been moved to a museum, but we have some pictures of it here.
A silver candlestick, not currently in the church.
“I should also point out that the inside of the church was used as a burial ground. The closer you were to the altar – to Jesus – the better, so wealthy people were buried in the ground under the floor, with the wealthiest near the front.”
Floor of the church. Note the wooden pegs alongside the nails.
Floor of the church. Note the wooden pegs alongside the nails.
“During services, especially in the summer, the smell of decomposition would flow up into the church. People like to say that this is where we get the expression ‘stinking rich’, which would be very sensible, but that’s not true.”
“Here in the church though, the rich dead people really did stink. It was a problem around the whole country. It got so bad that in the 1800’s they passed a law to stop burials under the floor, and after 200 years the ones down there have long since stopped stinking. Along with the rich, archeologists also found really small caskets down there, probably of little children that weren’t baptized before they died.”
“The church is still being used, for baptisms and weddings. They don’t do a regular service here though. And that’s it for the tour. You can spend a little time taking pictures if you want, and then I’ll lock the door until the next tour starts. Make sure to look at the things in our little museum by the ticket counter too!”
With the tour done, I walked outside and put in my headphones, and played “Watchman’s Ease” from the “Elder Scrolls: Oblivion” soundtrack, and stared at the blackened shingles of the roof, the haphazard tombstones, the fruit trees, and the far side of the fjord. Freaking awesome. If the journey here hadn’t already been worth it just for the journey itself, this day would have accounted for all the rest.
After some indeterminate time of nerding out, I walked over to the café – named Yggdrasil, because why not – and got a bottle of locally made fruit juice, and sat until the café closed in the late afternoon.
Here’s another thing I was looking forward to: The route up to Skjolden has two tunnels. Cycling through tunnels is amazing, especially when there’s no traffic, and today I was lucky because a construction crew had shut down both tunnels to install better lights. They happily radioed ahead to let the crazy overburdened cyclist pedal through.
Feigefossen is impressive, but I didn’t feel like walking to see it up close.
When I stopped for a snack I noticed the town of Luster across the fjord. Way up the mountain behind the town, I saw a large, isolated building. It was way larger than any building I’d seen since entering the Sognefjord region. What’s up with that?
What’s that huge and remote structure up on the left?
Later on, when I had the laptop, I figured it out: The building is called Harastølen — formerly Lyster Sanatorium. It was originally a tuberculosis sanatorium, then later a psychiatric hospital, and after that a sort of refugee living space. Crazy!
Currently it’s owned by a real estate development company and they’re trying to restore it into a fancy hotel. I hope they succeed.
That mountain is a little too tall for the clouds!
It was very late when I finally reached Skjolden. Once again the long daylight deceived me!
I went right to the campground and looked for an attendant but the reception area was locked. No one answered the phone number, and it didn’t have a voicemail. Standing next to the bike in a gentle rain, I looked through my emails and realized I never actually got a response when I asked to book with them a week ago. Or had I deleted the email? My itinerary notes said “confirmed”… Ugh. I could probably just find an open space and set up camp, but I really didn’t want to be yelled awake in the morning. For all I knew this campground had been decommissioned into a private residence and I would be trespassing. Norwegians are polite, but I didn’t want to be the hapless American barging in.
I didn’t know what to do, but I knew I was hungry. The town had one open restaurant in the lobby of a hotel. I got some pasta and devoured it while exploring with the laptop. There was another campground on the edge of town to the north, a couple of miles away over flat ground. I decided to ride there and look for an attendant, or at least some other campers I could blend in with.
About an hour later I was wandering around the campsite. A long row of small cabins, all empty, some with weeds growing on them. A reception area with dark windows. No cars, no other campers. Maybe this campground was shut down too. Would I be trespassing?
Feeling defeated, I cycled back to the hotel and asked to book a room. Thankfully they had one. It was expensive, and I had to strip down the bike and make three elevator trips to get all my gear inside, but I was grateful when my head hit the pillow.
“Come, here is adieu to the city And hurrah for the country again. The broad road lies before me Watered with last night’s rain. The timbered country woos me With many a high and bough; And again in the shining fallows The ploughman follows the plough.”
Read about urban adaptations to help our weasel friends (translated)
Due to ongoing urbanization, the habitats of certain animals can become isolated, which could eventually lead to these animals becoming extinct.
To reduce this obstacle, a walking ridge has been installed. Reeds have been planted at both ends of this wooden ridge to provide cover for small mammals such as the weasel and the stoat.
For the weasel, the bank forms an important hunting and roosting area. Its food consists mainly of voles, frogs, and insects. Shrubs and bushes provide cover while hunting. The weasel nests in burrows of other animals such as rats and rabbits, but also in niches of woodpiles.
It’s got a hot dog in it. My American sense of taste is stimulated.
Since this bakery sold something like a pastry with a hotdog baked into it, and because I’m an American, I had to buy it. It tasted … better than you’d expect something with a hotdog in it to taste.
I’m not sure I would feel safe working in it, but it sure looks cool.
I stopped at another café, in a more urban area. For the first time I actually deployed my bike lock in Amsterdam. I wasn’t really worried, but I knew I’d feel really stupid if I didn’t use the lock and the bike vanished.
I figured I was in a tourist area because everyone else in line at the café ordered in English. I asked for a mocha even though it wasn’t on the menu, and to my surprise they produced one. I gave it a 5.5 out of 10 and sipped it slowly, then chomped a dainty little salad of mixed greens. I felt coherent enough to do a little programming on the laptop.
Conversations in various languages ebbed and flowed around me, and even though I could understand most of them and even participate in one if I wanted, I felt a sense of isolation. It was like being inside a little person-sized aquarium. What was happening? I figured it was partly the anonymous crowding that would happen in any big city, partly the lack of a shared purpose, but mostly my status as a traveler. I wasn’t here to live my regular life, or even to do business like I imagined most of the sharply-dressed people in this coffee shop were. I wasn’t even having a normal tourist experience, because my bicycle and my electronic world played such a big role.
It was weird, but it wasn’t such a bad feeling that it ruined the moment. I passed a couple of pleasant hours writing code, then got back on the bike for more Seeing Of Beauty.
It was late enough in the day that my Mom was awake, so I texted her: “Tell me more about the stuff you saw in Amsterdam!”
She replied, “That was over 55 years ago, and I wasn’t there long. I saw poppy fields. I have a vague recollection of the Hague, and went to a Van Gogh museum. There were a lot of tall narrow buildings. We stayed in rooms on the third floor of a building that was accessed by narrow winding stairs, and they served a huge breakfast. I remember going to a deli and asking for a ‘broodje’ – a sandwich. That’s about it.”
I poked my maps and found the Van Gogh museum. I only had four days left in the area, but perhaps I could see that.
I continued north, choosing streets and lanes randomly. Many blooming flowers and small parks.
I just love blur sometimes. Yeah you can’t tell what it is, but it still looks nice.
I came across Amstelpark, a park that seemed kid-oriented, with little playground areas and a toy train that went in a meandering circle. There were signs posted saying “no bike riding”, and even though plenty of people disregarded that, I felt like I should be a polite guest of the country so I walked the bike.
It’s weird, adjusting to an environment where cars are not really a concern, but other cyclists are a constant hazard! If I hadn’t already been plunged into the insanity of bicycling Paris a few years ago, I think I would have real trouble with this…
Ducks! Geese! Flowers! Adorable little bridges! And best of all: An actual hedge maze!
Navigating this with a bike was every bit the hassle it was designed to be.
The day was moving on, and I intended to get to the canal area of Amsterdam. On I went. The buildings got taller and more squished together, and the cycling got more intense.
One day, this won’t be covered in offerings for the recently slain…
Since I was on the west side, I decided to head west a bit more and check out Rembrandt Park. That was pleasant, so I lingered there for a little while.
I picked a cyclist who was heading south – a tall gentleman with a nifty flatcap and one well-worn saddle bag on his bike – and followed him for over a mile, making my way back towards the house. Much easier than constantly checking a map.
Sometimes, the kids just need to nap right where they are.
The last interesting thing I saw before the house was another instance of bicycle-forward culture: Three young women were cycling together, and to make conversation easier they linked arms, making a formation. I never see this back home. It must happen every now and then, but I have never seen it.
I often see cyclists having conversations with one arm on their companion.
