Western Norway, physically the most spectacular part of Scandinavia, deserves more time than some travelers give it. The land of lusty Vikings, terrible trolls and fascinating fjords should be a vacation destination unto itself, like Alaska is.
It was my own poor planning that left my wife, Carol, and me with only three days to see the fjords, a task as unlikely as doing the Pacific Coast from San Diego to Anchorage on a long weekend. We should have allowed at least a week or 10 days.
Bergen is at the end of a 300-mile rail line from Oslo, the capital of Norway, where we spent only one full day–another planning mistake. The spectacular, all-day rail trip across the ”roof of Norway” climbs more than 4,000 feet into summer snowfields and passes through 200 tunnels before dropping back to sea level.
We arrived in Bergen in the early evening. We had only a one-night hotel reservation and vague notions of ”seeing the fjords.” The next morning the first thing we had to do was to change hotels because the SAS Royal was overbooked. (”I`m sorry. No. We could use 50 more rooms tonight,” an assistant manager told me when I asked if we could stay on.)
We took a morning walk through the harborfront fish and flower market and decided we wanted to stay in the area. We chose a pleasant and clean near-harbor hotel, the Neptun, and booked two night`s lodging for less than the price of one night at the more upscale SAS.
Bergen is the starting place for dozens of fjord trips–almost too many to choose from–via auto ferry, steamship or sleek, high-speed, twin-hulled passenger-and-freight vessels as water transportation and in combination with buses, trains and even airplanes to cover overland distances. We didn`t have time for the leisurely auto ferry system or the steamship cruises, which take 2 to 11 days, so we chose a day-long fjord trip by rail one way and boat the other.
Just what is a fjord? Created by the Ice Age thousands of years ago, fjords are salt water, can be very deep and in Norway run inland up to 110 miles. A fjord looks like a Swiss valley that has been flooded. Craggy slopes rise steeply from the water. Boats and ferries are the only transportation and supply links for many villages.
Fjords are said to be populated by trolls, ugly gnome-like pixies–or giants; the mountain king in Ibsen`s ”Peer Gynt” is a troll–of faith and fantasy. Terrible (as in ugly and tacky) trolls in plastic, plaster-of-paris and ceramic can be found in gift shops throughout Norway. But, unless you`re shopping for someone who is into trolls, ignore them and shop for classic handknit sweaters or imaginative crystal.
We did not see any real trolls, of course, because we are not believers. But we saw many handsome and beautiful ancestors of lusty Vikings, who some say discovered the New World 400 or more years before Columbus. A present-day Norseman, met in a Bergen bar, said the discovery claim is hard to substantiate because ”Vikings didn`t have an Italian p.r. man–or even a survivor–to tell the tale.”
After changing hotels, we spent the rest of our first full day checking out the shopping streets back from the harbor. Despite our cushioned Rockports, the cobblestones bruised our feet as we hiked narrow lanes and residential pathways cut into the hills. To get an even better view of the harbor, we took the funicular to the Bergen national park on a peak above the city.
Our second full day was spent taking a fjord trip to Flam (which, by the way, has a little circle over the ”a” in its name in Norwegian). Flam is a village on the Aurlandsfjord, an arm of the Sognefjord, Norway`s longest.
We had planned to go by boat and return by rail, but awoke to a foggy morning, a not unusual weather condition, we were told, and reversed the suggested itinerary. We skipped the 7:30 a.m. boat and caught the 9:10 train, a decision that gave us clearer weather and allowed time for a hearty Norwegian breakfast.
From Bergen we backtracked along the rail route to Oslo and got off at Myrdal in the mountains. From Myrdal we took one of the world`s most spectacular railroads, a 12.4-mile twisting run from 2,845 feet above sea level to the village of Flam. The train has five braking systems, any one of which can stop it, we were assured.
It takes more than 45 minutes to reach the valley floor, including a brief stop scheduled for photographers to get out and take closeups of a huge waterfall, one of several that feed the Flam River.
At one point in the descent, passengers can see three levels of track below! (The road into the fjord has 21 hairpin turns.) The rail line and road enter the valley and follow the river through orchards before reaching the fjord.
Train passengers have the village of Flam to themselves for about an hour before a ferry from across the fjord and then the fast boat from Bergen arrive at the dock. We walked along a narrow road away from the main hotel and restaurant. (It`s always our preference to get away from the tourist flock and go off on our own to look things over.)
A quarter of a mile or so from the train station we came to a small lodge and marina. After a lunch of fish soup and sandwiches at the marina, I left Carol dozing in the sun on the fjord shoreline and went up to the lodge because I`d noticed a sign to the youth hostel and was curious about how hostels had changed in 31 years since I had backpacked through the fjordlands. The hostel, above an orchard behind the Heimly Lodge and Marina, had a better view of the fjord than the 69-bed lodge. Freshly washed sleeping bag liners were out on the line, but no one answered my yell, so I looked around the clean, barracks-like, bunk-bed facility on my own. It was clean and, as expected, had community showers and toilets. The lodge–eight of its 36 rooms have bath/shower and toilet–is more my speed these days, but it was nice to know that a hostel still can claim the high ground. (In Bergen, the Montana hostel also overlooks the city and is reached by the funicular line.)
The boat that had started from Bergen at 7:30 came into the dock at Flam precisely on schedule at 1:50. The captain and crew and most of the passengers went to the hotel by the rail station for their midday meals. We boarded the express boat for the return to Bergen at 3 p.m. Before reaching our second stop we had overtaken a car ferry that had left 30 minutes earlier.
Deck space was plentiful and chairs could be moved around, but the spray and wind made it cold viewing topside, so most passengers stayed below in aircraft-type seats and looked out the big windows. The seating split for smokers and nonsmokers was unusual. The starboard (right) side was smoking and port side nonsmoking.
Some say that when you`ve seen one fjord you`ve seen `em all. But that`s not true even within the Sognefjord; each narrow passage, rocky cleft, horsetail waterfall, roadless village, isolated farm clinging to a rocky landscape provides another image to remember or try to capture on film.
Each of the eight village stops on the way back to Bergen seemed to be a photographer`s dream, particularly Aurland with waterfalls tumbling from the rocky walls nearby and Balestrand, a favorite fjord cross-water. But most picture-snappers probably found, as Carol did, that the light patterns and shadows in the canyon-like fjords make capturing the views on film tricky.
A smooth, steady ride in the twin-hulled boat delivered us back to Bergen, where we disembarked two blocks from our hotel at 9:30 p.m. About an hour later we enjoyed a brilliant sunset from our window table in Yang Tse Kiang, a Chinese restaurant that has a way with the local fresh salmon.
Our third and last day in Bergen was a Saturday. (See accompanying story.) Like other cities in Scandinavia, Bergen`s stores and public buildings closed by 1 p.m. for the weekend. The exodus of city dwellers by car, bus and boat began Friday.
Norwegians, too, enjoy their magnificent fjordlands.
BERGEN FAREWELL: A LONG LAST LOOK AND A `QUICK` MEAL
DATELINE: BERGEN, NORWAY
Among cities that live up to their waterfront calendar-art image, Bergen is right up there with Chicago, San Francisco, New York and San Diego. Each is magnificent to behold from the water and great for visitors to experience on shore.
Bergen, framed on three sides by mountains, quickly became our favorite city in Scandinavia. Its old port has been renewed without being
”gentrified” or French Riviera-priced. Its people are friendly and the prevailing wind off the fjords is invigorating. And, of course, important to me: There`s all that fresh and smoked salmon.
Our third and last day in Bergen was a long one. We were booked on the overnight sleeper leaving at 10:30 p.m. for Oslo, where we would change trains and continue on to Copenhagen. (We were leaving western Norway only because we`d run out of time.)
Rain is a constant threat in Bergen, so we kept our umbrellas at the ready but never had to use them. The streets were virtually empty by 1 p.m. Saturday as stores and public buildings closed for the weekend. We and other tourists had Bergen to ourselves.
We opted to skip a ”must” visit to Edvard Grieg`s home and the 800-year-old Fantoft stave church in favor of exploring more the deserted streets and returning for a last look around the harbor, where not the faintest aroma of the morning fish market remained.
During our three days all but one of our restaurant meals were taken on second or third floors (first or second the way Europeans count from the ground floor) because in land-short Bergen space is less expensive upstairs.
One such meal was lunch at Topolino, a restaurant and wine bar that advertises itself as being ”306 steps from the (tourist) Information Centre.” Its ambitious kitchen offers a menu with an Italian accent in quiet, white-tablecloth rooms above the bustle of a busy shopping street. We enjoyed light seafood pasta and poached salmon with dill and cucumber sauce.
Another restaurant of note was Enhjoerning (Unicorn), which calls itself Bergen`s only seafood restaurant (though nearly every restaurant serves fish and seafood) because it offers no meat entrees. We arrived at the empty Unicorn at about 5:30 p.m. We had no reservation. The hostess said all the tables were reserved. The way she said it did not sound like a U.S.-style tip hustle.
Was the kitchen ready to serve, I inquired.
”Oh, yes, we are open now,” she smiled. ”But reservations will fill all the tables by 7.”
If we could have a table and promise to be gone before 7, could we be seated and dine immediately? Startled by the idea that we`d be willing to eat and run in ”only” an hour and half, she agreed to seat us, but not at a window table, all of which would have early diners.
We enjoyed an unhurried final Bergen meal of salmon with lobster sauce and were down by the docks before 7, seeking a cafe for after-dinner coffee and a pre-train nightcap or two.
Finding one and then another, we made our way around the harbor to the Neptun, where we`d left our bags in the morning, collected them and took a cab to the train station about 9:30. The waiting room was abuzz with young backpackers and us older suitcase tourists, all there to catch the last train of the day. It had one sleeping car; the other passengers would sit up through the night.
Our compartment cost $45–the cheapest night`s accommodations in 3 1/2 weeks. The first-class train fare was nil because we held 21-day
Scanrailpasses. The compartment measured 4 1/2 feet by 7 1/2 feet and contained an upper and lower bunk, wash basin, towels and soap. A W.C. was at each end of the sleeper car. We also were provided small containers of spring water. There was no food or coffee service. Blackout curtains, like those we encountered in many hotels, allowed us to shut out the perpetual twilight, and we slept under feather bedding in the cool space.
