Here we were. Back on the road again. To Bergen. Almost a little wistful to say goodbye to Trondheim. But we had a funny feeling we'd be back.
And just when we thought a considerable part of the excitement was over and done with - No (r) Way!
Being back on the road had its own charms. Stop for some famed Trondelag jordbærs (Norske for strawberries) on the way. Drink some more of the famed Hell Melk - no spirits on the highway, what with 9 am breathalysers on tuesday mornings!
When i look back at the day, it's a heavenly blur. Of scenery I didn't think possible. Of tunnels that were straight out of the Lord of the rings. Of reflecting pools that mirrored icy caps. Of green fjords melting into the green firs. Distant elks scattered in the horizon. This had to be the inspiration for Asgard.
The sun shone on, no respite from that, while I stared at the road, bleary eyed in parts having spent yet another night, awake!
One of the funny things we noticed was - all the farmers seemed to be doing, was rolling bales of grass, drying it out and putting it away in uniform plastic rolls. Looked as though they literally made hay while the sun shone! Also brought me back to a term i learnt as a child - transhumance - which might have explained the innumerable cows grazing at this altitude!
The most spectacular part of the drive to Bergen was the Jotunheim Jotunheim in N. myth is one of the nine worlds, the homeland of the frost giants and rock giants. This had to be it! Driving from the counties Oppland , through towards Sogn og Fjordane, we passed through some statuesque parts of the National Park. Most of this stunning scenery is best respresented in pictures, though yet again i wondered, what kind of camera could capture this? It had to be the eye, nothing else could do it justice.
Somewhere in the midst of this marvellous scenery, we heard some strange sounds coming through on norwegian radio. There were sirens in the background, and people screaming. A few snatches of conversation in english made it clear - something had happened in London. Some more deciphering of norske news and a couple of phone calls later, we were partly assailed by an unease similar to the post 9/11 phenomena. However, the scenery soon held sway, and the only hint that something was not ok, was a single police check point outside one of the main tunnels through one of the 7 mountains that led to Bergen. That too was more in the nature of a perfunctory check of the car registration.
Many ferry crossings across the fjords, sublime scenery, more of the annoying hag and B's complete devotion to her, we were in Bergen. A few phone calls to the owner of the apartment we were renting, and an exhange of pleasantries and keys. Not withstanding the polite yet curious expression of the owner at these folks with a Dutch address, german mobile number and indian faces!
Our apartment in Bispengaten, on a hilltop, yet so close to the centre, was the stuff dreams are made of.But for now morpheus calls, and before the sun steals my sleep again, I must go.
"Yes, ’n’ how many seas must a white dove sail, Before she sleeps in the sand? "
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