Norway's Cathredrals

Hi y’all:
Okay, let's try this again. I heard that I sent out an empty email. Now you know that my brain is empty most of the time so I thought it appropriate to have an email the same. However, in the interest of showing that it's not empty ALL the time, here's the email that should have been included.
To Geiranger and beyond
One of the not to be missed sights in all the guide books is the Geiranger fjord. It is the quintessential waterway where the mountains tower above the water on both sides, and the passageway is narrow and majestic. Not only the guide books, but all the people we met, Norwegians and otherwise, said that if we wanted to see the fjords, we needed to see Geiranger. Not one to dispute local advise we had planned to arrive at the little town named after the fjord, or is it the other way around, and take one of the ferries that plow the waterways throughout Norway. The plan was to leave the car in Geiranger and ferry to Hellesylt and back to the car. It only takes an hour each way. However, a wrong turn left us on the road to Hellelsylt and we went to plan b and put the car on the ferry with us and traversed the fjord in just one direction.
No harm, no foul. It only cost us a little extra money to do it this way, and saved us some time. The trip was exactly as had been described to us. Waterfalls cascaded down the sides of the steep cliffs and splattered their selves into the ocean water. One such fall is called the “Seven Sisters,” since the one source of water splits into distinct channels, and creates a beautiful display. There were dozens of waterfalls along the route. I hate to sound blasé about such things, but it’s almost getting “Cathedral” like. Many people traveling in Europe for the first time, eventually don’t find anything spectacular about seeing another beautiful church, and we’ve stopped taking photos of waterfalls unless they are the Chartres of waterfalls.
We bought our requisite bread, sliced ham, cheese, OJ, and bananas for our lunch and stopped at an overlook on the way out of town. A place calleld the “Eagles Nest.” We were high above the water looking down at the spectacle displayed below as if we were in a “Wish you were here,” post card. All in all, I’ve had worse locations for a picnic
We were heading to our Norwegian Servas hosts in the small village of Valldal. So up over the mountains we went through the valley between the two fjords and down again on the other side.
Here’s a photo of the fjord
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Geirangerfjord.jpg

Along the way, however, we found several more Chartres, and had to stop for more photo ops. Just when you think you’re done with waterfalls another pops into view and more or less says: “Oh yeah, what about me.” When they fall directly into the fjord, their job is done, but in the mountain passes between fjords, when they reach the bottom of the “V” between the two mountains, they’ve only reached half their destination. Now comes the real fun, because as they reach the bottom of the channel, they join forces with all the other small falls to form a stream and with each passing mile the amount of water is increased with each succeeding waterfall until we now have a raging torrent of water which has to reach the sea. Over the millennia that this has happened, all the soil in the river has long since washed away, so now you just see water and big rocks interacting in a dramatic and spectacular (have I used that word before?) way. The water still has a thousand or more feet of drop in a short distance creating a thunder of water which runs directly beside the road which is trying to do the same thing. They may be here, but I haven’t seen any babbling brooks in Norway. They’re raging, wild courses of water not to be denied as they cascade over all the trolls which were turned to stone because they didn’t get out of the light before the sun came up. The only tranquil places are where the water forms into lakes as if they’re gathering up strength to burst out the end of their lake.
We’ve been told that each year some kayakers are killed when they don’t reconnoiter the lake and think they can just paddle to the mouth and are confronted with a situation beyond their control and they plummet into the cauldron. Also Kayakers are killed when they paddle under the waterfalls in the fjords. The constant eroding by the water eventually loosens rocks which come hurtling from above and sometimes hit those simply looking for a moment with the water.

Trolls are an integral part of Norwegian folk life. Everybody teaches their children the stories, and the first one they learn is one that I learned as a child about the “Troll under the Bridge.” They’re a part of the national consciousness, part of what makes Norwegians who they are. Like fairies in England, Leprechauns in Ireland, they lend a colorful aspect to the national ethos. Norwegians agree they’re ugly, but they’re ugly in a pretty way. They’re not grotesque or nasty, but rather: They’re trolls. What else would you think they looked like.”

We arrived a little early at the house of our hosts, so we walked from the house to the fjord a distance of about 200 yards, and I talked to a local ferryman about a tunnel which went directly into the mountain at the end of the village. Valldal has a population of maybe 1,000 if everybody is back from Vacation, and nobody has lost their cats and dogs, so the tunnel looked out of place. The man said that the tunnel went about 10 miles down the road and then stopped. It is literally the road to nowhere. So, naturally, we took it. When we reached the end, there was a lovely trailer park/camping ground, and what to our surprise – a Kraftmuseum. I said to Carol: “Oh crap, we take the road to nowhere and what do we find but a craft museum.” We laughed and she smiled when I said: “Do you want to go in.” So naturally we did, and guess what, it’s not a craft museum. Kraft in Norwegian means power. It was a disused power plant turned into a museum. Penstocks, turbines, the whole energy ball of wax. Carol had this funny little look on her face as we went in. The curator showed us around and explained things to us. I told him that I had lived in a PG&E camp as a child, and since we’re not talking about a major tourist attraction here, I showed him photos of Las Plumas which are on the net. He’d heard of the Oroville Dam, and hence had some concept of the history. There are some really cool Las Plumas photos on the web. Go to:
http://www.google.no/imgres?imgurl=http://content.cdlib.org/ark:/13030/tf7x0nb3zs/hi-res&imgrefurl=http://content.cdlib.org/ark:/13030/tf7x0nb3zs/&h=881&w=580&sz=132&tbnid=P2nJUlWkvioctM:&tbnh=146&tbnw=96&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dlas%2Bplumas%2Bpower%2Bhouse%2Bphotos&usg=__rTZANE3RgJ6dt84wyuSbFecz7uQ=&ei=ELJgSoGtA4rT-Qay8OCXCw&sa=X&oi=image_result&resnum=1&ct=image

http://content.cdlib.org/ark:/13030/tf7199n9h9/?brand=calisphere
.
The family was back at the house when we returned. Nina, Terje, their son, Grim, and his Lithuanian friend Indre. Yes, Geidre, we’ve met another Lithuanian Nina fixed one of Grim’s favorite meals, potato dumplings made with a piece of sausage in them, Norwegian sausage and salted mutton, and the requisite plain boiled potatoes. An excellent meal, except that we ate about 9:00 p.m. and finished somewhat after 10. They laughed at us. In the summer they go to bed around two or three in the morning and try to get up before noon so they can say they got up in the morning.
We were trashed from the day. We’d driven all of 55 miles, down from the 87 we made the previous day. We told them we’d make better time if we didn’t stop to take photos and clamber around the waterfalls So off to bed around 11:30 when they others were just getting into their evening coffee.

A day trip to Alesund provided a nice way to see our last day of fjords. We went over the trollstiegen. See:
http://www.trollstigen.net/
for some photos for our last dramatic day in the fjord/mountains. Naturally there were lots of waterfalls and…………….(grab bag, please) scenery. But mostly we just talked with Nina, Terje, and the kids. Lots to learn about Norway and Norwegians. Servas provides an excellent opportunity to do just that.
For example, the house that they live in was Built in Alesund in 1903, but was moved to Valldal in 1907. It is a timber house and it was not uncommon for people to tear down the houses and move them elsewhere. They just numbered the timbers for reassembly. This house was moved over 100 miles away. I neglected to ask how they moved it in those days before cars.
The house sits across a small street from the local church and its graveyard. Terje told me that his whole family was buried there. Seven generations of his family had lived in the house and he pointed to a corner of the room where we were sitting and said that he was born in that corner. So he could literally sit in his living room and look at the spot where he was born and through the window where his ancestors were buried.
The plots are filling and they’ve expanded the graveyard, but still they’re running out of room. Nina told Carol that her mom was buried in the same plot as her great-grandmother. They wait 50 years before reusing the same plot.

Heading south away from the fjords and towards Oslo we started the next phase of our trip. Along the way we stopped to climb up a mountain for an hour so we could stand behind a raging waterfall. Just how dumb is that? Later that day we drove to a glacier and again walked up for an hour to reach it.
Along the way a young girl of about 12 asked me to take her family’s photo. When asked to do this, I always say: “I’ll do it for a nickel. I don’t work for free.” I add that they can owe it to me or pay me later. It’s good for a laugh and lots of time it works for a way for conversation. Where are you from? Is this your family? Etc. In this case the girl got this really confused look on her face when I told her it would cost her 1 kroner. She shook her head, said no, and didn’t laugh as I took the camera. I could see her mom ask what that was all about and then laugh when she told her. Turns out they are from Barcelona, and so Carol and the mom had a good conversation while I bugged the girl for my kroner.
We saw them several more times in the coming days in places far away from the glacier. We just kept running into them even 300 miles to the south in Oslo. Each time the girl didn’t see us before we saw them, and I’d sidle up to her or come up from behind and say: “Pagame.” Pay me! She’d get this really pained look on her face, like: “Oh, no, not him again.” Mom and dad would burst out laughing while daughter was trying to cope. Mom tried to pay me with some potato chips, but I was holding out for cold cash. Mom wanted to know where we were staying in Oslo, and we told her about Servas. She was very interested and took the website to learn more. We’ve had the opportunity to spread the gospel of Servas on this trip. Anyway, it was all great fun, and even the girl learned to laugh at the whole scene.
For a photo of the Briksdal glacier and how it has changed in just the last six years, look at:
http://www.odditycentral.com/pics/visual-proof-of-global-warming.html


We made it to Lillehammer for the evening and had a nice evening in a good hotel. We try to change up our nights. Servas is great, but we also need to be able to spread out and simply relax on our own schedule not other people’s. The combination of Servas and hotels works really well for us.
Since we were in Lillehammer we drove up to the Olympic area where the 1994 winter Olympics were held. We clambered up the ski jump and then saw these guys going up the chair lift with skis. What’s this all about? Well, we were about to find out. The ski jump has two grooves in the middle of the wide downward shaft. We couldn’t get close enough to tell for sure but they looked like your basic four inch kitchen tiles all connected together. Then the hill where the jumpers land was totally covered with brushes like the kind on your garage broom. They were layered on strips about six inches apart, so the appearance was that of a shingled roof. Row upon row upon row. All the way down the hill. Then the water sprinklers came on to wet the whole run and jump area. A man sat on the bar at the top of the jump and then, clatters, clatter, clatter, he came whizzing down the jump over the wet tiles. I had climbed to the exact height of the take-off point and he went whizzing by me no further than 15 feet away. He hit the take-off point and all went silent for a second. Whoosh, he literally flew through the air. Carol was standing further down the hill and she could hear the jumper’s clothes making a sound like, as Carol described it: “The fluttering of wings.” It was like some giant bird was soaring through the air. It was too cool!!! We moved to different spots in the run to get different perspectives as they make several runs up the chairlift and then down the jump. It was just one of those moments in travel that you get lucky enough to experience even though you have no clue.
So we’ve made it to Oslo and enter the last week of our trip. I don’t know what’s to come, but I know that we have more great things ahead of us.
Until the next installment, here’s hoping everybody is safe and well.
We certainly are.

Love to all,
C and J