May I share with you some thoughts about my visit to this country? It is MAGNIFICENT. It awed me and then effortlessly outdid itself and awed me again at least a dozen times. I loved being there and especially being there with ones that were dear to me.
 |
| Fam + flag= fabulous |
 |
| VIKINGS, or as the natives sometimes said WIKINGS |
 |
| Love is light |
 |
| Hahaha, we kind of continue the red and blue pattern. Folk life then and now. |
 |
| Mum. What an incredible woman. |
The first week I spent with my mom and sister in Oslo, a bustling but friendly metropolitan area with plenty to do, and Kristiansand, a delightful smaller town happily established with mountains on one side and the sea on the other. The sites were lovely and the company even more so, and the generosity of those who hosted us surprised me again and again. After much laughter, exploration, and rejoicing, my mom headed up north to meet her parents who are serving as missionaries in Trondheim while my sister and I met up with a close friend of mine to hike Priekestolen.
 |
| Iconic Norwegian Waffles |
This hike included traipsing along stone-slab built staircases, a meadow of spiderweb strewn grass shimmering with dew, lake pocketed expanses of rock to get to the destination: a 604 meter (1,982 foot) cliff overlooking the Lysefjorden. I loved the hike, though I must admit, as one who is extremely wary of heights due to an inexplicably deep fear of falling from them, the idea of coming to the edge generously gave me some apprehension. When we arrived, mist and clouds swirled over the fjord and just beyond the cliff and this obscurity somehow provided me the gumption to approach the edge.
a |
| Surreal Meadows |
And you know what, dear reader? I did it. I came to the edge. And I kind of loved it. I sat there, feeling fear and yet not being overwhelmed with it like I had before. Swinging my legs over the edge and experiencing the view from that edge was remarkable. Exhilarating. Serene. I became audacious enough to go back when the skies had cleared spend some more time at the edge, this time seeing exactly what was there. Still the same incredible feeling, yet perhaps with a greater dose of the precariousness of my perch. I love the clarity and courage I felt there. I felt deeply grateful such a place existed and that I experienced being there.
 |
| We Three |
Feeling renewed, we headed back down the trail and took time to admire tiny frogs and tadpoles surrounding the lakes we'd passed earlier...and then diving into the lake to join them. Wonderfully cold. So wonderfully cold.
 |
| Delight |
That appreciation continued as my sister headed to Bergen and my friend and I ventured through ferries, tunnels, mountain roads, switchbacks, and some of the narrowest roads ever to the the Valley of Waterfalls, Odda, and Trolltunga. The beauty of the roads, green deep woods surrounding lakes and waterfalls, some sheep and few houses stunned me. And then we arrived to Låtefossen. The power of water as it surged over two wide twin falls was majestic. A smaller waterfall mimicked the greater waterfall with its white plunging flow at the base of our camp that night, though thankfully it growled rather than roared.
 |
| One side of Låtefossen |
We arose early to start our ascent to Trolltunga and the day greeted us with us mist, which stayed with us until we reached the summit. My friend captured it perfectly in saying that it muffled the trail and I couldn't agree more. While several hikers joined us on the trail, the mist blurred them into vague outlines and kept the surroundings well hidden. Droplets of water clung to our hair and skin, not quite drenching us the way a sudden dousing in a stream or lake did, but deliberately settling on us for a while. It was ethereal and as we came to a meadow, we could see that here too the mist here had gifted drops of water, though this time to the foliage. The light on them created something storybook like, and it seemed that we were bound to encounter a troll or fairy or some sort of fantasy creature on our way. And while we did not see one, we did a little harmless trolling of our own by wading in a stream under a bridge after finishing the hike.
 |
| Before |
 |
| After |
Once we had come to the impressive (yet a slightly overrated) protrusion that is Trolltunga's boast, the sun shooed the mist away and we could see all that we had passed through--huge fields of boulders and vast expanses of stone. My friend and I marveled at the difference between the two hikes and that we had crossed all of this without even knowing it because of the mist. Mist, man. It is wispy, but by no means wimpy. It is a powerful force that shapes your perception.
 |
| Trolltunga |
 |
| The intrepid, generous, remarkable Kassia |
We then made our way to Bergen, a completely different feel than quiet and quaint Odda. Bergen is a little more ostentatious than the other sites we visited, and it has every reason to be with Grieg's home and composition in its vicinity, a bustling seaside market with buildings several hundreds of years old, vantage points with sweeping views of the harbor, and an impressive collection of trolls kept within a forest. It is also home to a nocturnal bird with one of the eeriest calls I have ever heard. It added to the mystery of the place, upping the suspense by several points. (I feel that I must add at least one piece by Grieg to complete this post. He deeply appreciated music, and composed some incredible pieces, and they may deserve their own post soon. Until then, this piano piece will suffice.)
 |
| Grieg's Workspace |
 |
| Grieg's Backyard |
 |
| Bergen Harbors Stellar Nightlights |
 |
| Fjord Morning |
 |
| The Land of Hobbits, Trolls, Fairies, and possibly Robin Hood |
As our time in Norway tapered off, we spent a day on the water in a guided kayaking tour. That perspective and the rhythm of paddling in the water and feeling so small shouldered by huge cliffs on either side and a broad stretch of water between them brought back more exhilaration and serenity. The water was so cold and clear, the green of the trees so bright and vivacious, and the sky wonderfully blue. It was glorious.
 |
| Kayaking Stop |
 |
| Another Waterfall; Just Norway Being Cool Again |
Dear reader, the landscape in Norway is venerable, severe but not unkind. It is fierce and unpretentious in its beauty. Water spills from massive heights, seeps through rocks and soil, whisperingly gathers in mist, surges in beautiful rivers, lies in repose in lakes and fjords while glistening meekly with light. Water feels so abundant here, and perhaps that is one reason it felt so clarifying. Cliffs are quietly vibrant with moss and boulders and trees and lichen and flowers and brambles and grass. The pristine and powerful wilderness proudly waits there to be faced and admired by venturers. There is a sort of weariness to it, as moss covered rocks and forests imply several years of growth and experience. Yet with that weariness, there is also an incredibly deep peace there; acceptance of what has happened and an ability to yield. Norway is rich, and an abundantly willing giver of good gifts if you are brave enough to ask for them with some effort. Bracingly cold swims in some of the clearest water, sweet berries for spotting and picking and savoring, cheery trolls to discover, beautiful climbs that result in stunning vistas. It is something else. Being there was invigorating.
 |
| Sverd i fjell |
Sometimes I saw Norway as a weathered soldier, elegant stately trees decorating the shoulders of battle torn valleys, fjords left by relentless, powerful, irrepressible, inescapable glaciers. Are they retreating? Or simply moving on to carve and leave scars on other lands? It is painful, but beautiful, yielding deep, gently salty fjords in its wake, or boulders of all sizes scattered in fields. My brother brought up a good point that the landscape and the people there mirror one another. The Vikings who lived there were a fierce people, undaunted in the face of anything and experience plenty of setbacks. Yet their artifacts demonstrate such artistry, such craftsmanship, that words such as brutish or boorish that people often label Vikings with don't seem to stick anymore.
Go North, young man. Norway harbors adventure, clarity, beauty, and much more for you.
