Cool Crossing

Norway has a certain something, an indefinable class. Or so would seem to be dictated by their crosswalk signs.

Eschewing the more simple and pedestrian (nyuk, nyuk) stick figure with no hat, Norwegian towns have replaced it with a more stylish fella pictured. As you can see, he is donning a fedora.

He also seems, by the look of his hands, to be sauntering rather than merely walking. Like he might take a quick stutter-step and burst into 'Singing in the Rain' at any moment.

So, crosswalks in Norway draw only the coolest walkers, it seems. Amblin' hipsters, Rat-Pack throwbacks, crazy kat chickens just tryin' to get to the other side.

Another day

I did more planning for this trip than I usually do, given my limited time. I wanted to see as much as I could in a reasonably short period. I couldn't afford to lollygag.

So, there was little room for error or wrinkles in the plan. One such wrinkle, purposefully kept at bay in my expectant mind, was the prospect of rain in Stavanger.

Guess what? It rained. Heavily. The whole day.

So, I wasn't able to do the hike that I had wanted to do: Preikestolen, or Pulpit Rock. It would've been about a 2 hour hike, to an astounding 2,000 foot precipice overlooking Lysefjord. The kind of view that would probably make you a bit dizzy... although that is not a good idea, since there is no fence to stop you from falling over the side.

According to the authorities in Norway, no one has ever fallen over the side. A French daredevil apparently did a handstand on four balancing chairs at the edge. I looked for a picture of that, but couldn't find one.... so a picture of Preikestolen sans Frenchy will have to do. Sacre freakin' bleu.

So, as frustrating as it is, I have to say "Another time". But then again, I guess the "Someday"s help to get us through the Everyday.

viva terra firma!

Norwegians are a sea-faring people. It's in their heritage and part of the national identity, along with Vikings, ski-jumping and an astounding number of people named Jorn.

So, I decided to make a boat trip part of my itinerary here. I like to vary my modes of transport when I travel, and it made sense to take a boat from Bergen to Stavanger. So, I boarded the ferry for the 4 hour trip.

To quote George Costanza: "The sea was angry that day--like an old man trying to send back soup at a deli".

I don't know how big the waves were; what I do know is that I practically was lifted out of my seat a couple of times. Up and down, up and down with unnatural gusto. Various internal organs went on field trips in my chest cavity: My stomach was doing backflips under my lungs. My kidneys, I felt sure, were rattling around my rib cage like bingo balls. Spleen and Pancreas had a glorious tryst just south of my esphogus.

I arrived intact in Stavanger, and I'm sure my sea grudge will pass. But I have a new respect for land. There's a reason they call it terra firma.

Fjords, Fjords, Fjords

In an issue of National Geographic Traveler, the magazine rated all of the UNESCO World Heritage Sites (mentioned above). Several prestigious panelists were asked to rate the best destinations in the world based on environmental/ecological quality, cultural integrity, the current state of man-made structures and general aesthetics. Of the 115 rated, one Site came out on top:

Norway's Fjords.

Now I know why.

First off, these things are everywhere--the nation, and particularly the southwest coast, is riddled with fjords. But it's not just the quantity, it's the absurd, hulking magntitude. Since my time was very limited, I explored several of them via train and boat on a tour quaintly called Norway in a Nutshell. I don't really like tours--things feel a little too spoonfed--but this was the best way to see them in the short time I had.

Ever literally been stopped in your tracks? That happened a couple of times on the tour, as I literally gawked at the grandeur around me. Once I almost ran into a wall (although lack of sleep left me a bit mentally stunted, which may have contributed to this episode).

Some of the mountains reach up to 1,800 meters, or 1.1 miles. That's four Empire State Buildings stacked on top of one another. Some of the mountain faces are exposed rocks, others are verdant green, and most are veined with waterfalls--little alpine tear tracks making their way down to the water below.

Some of the waterfalls were larger than others--on the Flam Railway (one of the steepest rail lines in the world--it climbs nearly 3000 feet over 12 miles) we stopped along side a waterfall with a freefall of almost 400 feet.

And there were small villages intersperse throughout... only about a dozen or so buildings in each. Against the massive walls of the fjords, they look so small, they almost look like they are on a train set.

I have never seen so much natural splendor in such a short amount of time. My neck hurt from constant upturn, my photo trigger finger practically ached from constant use.

Speaking of photos, I understand that they would help here. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to upload yet. Soon. Very soon. But even then, it won't do the scenery justice. The overwhelming scale seems to lose its teeth in the digital translation.

The Briny Braggarts of Bergen's Bryggen

Jet lag has few advantages, but one of the few is the opportunity to experience a new place very early in the morning.

Bergen is Norway's second largest city (a bit over 200k people) but most of the parts that you would want to see are centered around the harbor. It is, and has always been, a maritime town--a mountain-coddled hamlet with saltwater blood.

So, I made my way down to the wharf in gray sky half-light. The streets were emptied, and there was no noise. Coming from NYC, I am used to a cacophony of horns and hordes--so this was a welcome counterweight to my usual routine. My music teacher in grade school taught me that no matter how quiet it is, you can always find at least 3 sounds. I counted the sounds in my head: #1. water playing against the hulls of boats. #2. the screech of a gull. #3. the synopated ping of ropes against a flagpole. well played, miss abernathy. you have yet to be proven wrong on that front.

I walked around the harbor to the Bryggen on the other side. The Bryggen is an historic wharf district in Bergen listed among UNESCO's World Heritage Sites. It has been around in various iterations since the Middle Ages. The reasons for its multiple lives? Fire. Given that it has always been built of sturdy wood planks (as most of Norway seems to be), it has repeatedly been destroyed by fire.

The area is essentially a little village of commerce--multi-colored gabled structures, many still showing the cranes that once hauled in fish from the many boats in the harbor. This was always the heart of Bergen, where generations of fisherman and merchants plied their trade for centuries. I walked in the alleys of the Bryggen, which was nearly deserted, and tried to imagine what life was like. I imagine life smelled like fish and sounded like a bunch of sea-worn dudes boasting about all the fish they caught.

I should have pictures up soon--you can see that many of the structures are still on a slant. This was from the explosion of a Dutch munitions boat in the harbor, blowing the roofs off and knocking the foundations askew. It's pretty cool.

two-steppin' with the unrisen sun

When I woke up yesterday morning, I had no idea what time it was.

there were no clocks in my apartment (yep, i actually had a little apartment here- in the basement of a family's home). i couldn't tell from my phone, since it has no reception here. it was dark out, so essentially i should still be sleeping even though i couldn't. whatever time it was, my body was convinced it was later.

to help lift the oppressive silence, i turned on the tv. the channel appeared to be a music video channel--nowegians singing songs of various types. the overriding genre was country. i couldn't understand a word, of course, but the emotional substance of each video was clear.

a guy in a pick up truck, probably singing about his dead wife, or being drunk, or how his drunk wife nearly killed him. a young girl imploring Love to have mercy on her. the next video was of a woman in a cowboy hat, line-dancing to an appropriately twangy ditty. this appeared to be where they showcased 8mm karoke videos in Norway, and i had been lucky enough to have access to the channel.

then, at the bottom of the screen, i noticed the time. in the pre-dawn darkness, it dawned on me: i was watching amatuer Norwegian music videos at 4:25am.

I guess any moment of clarity is a welcome one, especially if it comes with a catchy beat.

coming up: fjords, fjords, fjords. and debonair crosswalkers.

an american welcome in bergen.

Arriving at my guesthouse here in Bergen, I found out that the owner was not there. Hmmph. I went and got a coffee, and came back. Still not there, but some other guests of hers invited me in.

Tek and Tom from Tampa. Affable guys, probably in their sixties, here on a fishing vacation before heading to Scotland. I was exhausted from my travels (two layovers, in Brussels and a town called Billund) so i was thankful that they invited me in.

Waiting for my hostess to arrive, I enjoyed some whiskey and conversation with these guys. Tek looked kind of like Garry Marshall, Tom sounded like Sam Elliott after a cerveza-and-cigar bender. Tek was orginally from Scotland, with encylopedic knowledge on various topics including the origin of the term 'two bits'. Tom is 3-0 in cases he argued before the Florida Supreme Court. They asked me to sit down, asked me about my travels, i asked them about theirs. we all pulled pieces of bread from a big loaf they had purchased in town, and sipped our whiskey, all on the lam from responsibility for a bit.

when my hostess did arrive, she didn't have a room available. she showed me to one nearby, where i spent the night. but who knows, if i hadn't gone there to start with, i may have never sealed my own welcome with a friendly conversation and a pleasant buzz.