To Bergen, Norway

August 26, 2006- Boats & Trains & Sex
(photos:View from train to Flam,
Fjord,
Road to Stahlheim,
Bergen)

We awoke at 4:45AM and opened the drapes to see puffy cotton ball clouds floating not twenty feet over the water in the fjord. Grand Circle likes to get an early start to the day so we can beat the crowds and traffic. It works.

Today was a seat belt kind of day except for a short ferry ride where we stayed seated with our seat belts off. If you remember the movie “Planes and Boats and Trains,” this was it minus the planes. We went from bus to ferry to commuter train to scenic train to bus to scenic boat ride to bus. But there was a miracle that happened. We had sun.

We floated across the fjord near our hotel on a ferry and drove to the town of Voss, birthplace of Knute Rockne. On the drive Yves told us about a part of his life in Bangkok. He volunteers at a monastery a few days a week. His job is to play with children ages 0-6 years old. One of the games he plays is “who climbs into the coffin next.” The children are all eager to be “next.” They all have AIDS and the monks teach them that death is the path to a new life. None of the children live past age six and there’s nothing but over the counter medication to ease the pain of their dying. They usually choke to death due to severe throat fungus. The monks do all they can for the children. They provide their food and shelter and ease their way.

Scandinavia is a non-Catholic group of countries so they’ve always approached sex ed directly. AIDS and sex education in Norway starts in 5th grade. It’s blunt and direct and they deal with birth control and prevention of STD’s. There’s a free needle exchange program and only 800 of the population are HIV positive. Prostitutes are mostly foreigners. The state tries to discourage the customers by spray painting a message on their cars while they’re with the hooker. It announces that the man driving the car has visited a prostitute. Abortions are free and the rate is decreasing. There are no Norwegian children available for adoption and foreign adoptions are popular. Norwegians say it’s easier to live your own life rather than live the lives of others. Norway has had gay marriage for sixteen years and is able to gather some statistics. It seems gay marriages are more stable and are an example for hetero ones. Heterosexual marriages run a 48% divorce rate and gay marriages 27%. There’s no alimony but there is child support paid by the one who leaves. If it goes unpaid the state takes it from the paycheck.

Yoicks!

I bemoaned the fact that we hadn’t seen moose. Yves said we didn’t want to see one. It usually meant we’d hit it. Each year 40,000 are hunted. The railroad kills 4,000 a year and RR engineers carry rifles to put the injured moose out of their misery.

As we approached Voss we were looking down through the clouds. Yves said the closer we got the less attractive it would be. Architecture in Norway isn’t appealing because most of it was constructed when the country was very poor.

The train from Voss to Myrdal was a red electric commuter train. Myrdal was at the high point of a scenic train ride to Flam down in the valley. The clear clean green river ran next to the tracks and seemed to be racing us down. Yves told us not to bother sitting since we’d soon be on our feet going from one side of the car to the other oohing and aahing. There was no shortage of tunnels. One was a 180-degree turn. When we came from dark into light it was as if a curtain had gone up and a new show was being presented.

We stopped at a waterfall and were promised a surprise. As we gawked at nature a recording of an ancient Sambic chant began. It sounded Native American to me and Yves agreed there was a similarity. The Sambic people are Laplanders, indigenous Norwegians. As we looked and listened a woman appeared from behind a ruin. She had long blond hair (what else?) and wore a long blue dress with flowing sleeves. She was lip-syncing. I asked Yves if that was yoiking but it wasn’t. Yoiking is more the Norwegian form of yodeling. He couldn’t demonstrate.

When does the human eye adjust to the beauty around and raise the standard? When does the wonder end? Today it didn’t. Sun glinted on the grass reflecting an apple green color that seemed unnatural. Waterfalls were so numerous as to become unremarkable until the next one. They cascaded over the terrain like roller coasters veering over humps of land being re-directed by the topography. They were in free-fall creating narrow ribbons of white along the granite. The kicker was when we realized that one was pouring down the mountain and running under the tracks. It was like traveling through the pages of a pictorial calendar.

Fjordim & Nazis?

Our bus met the train and took us through a six-mile long tunnel on the way to our boat. Yves doesn’t like tunnels and several jokes were made about watching for the light at the end. We cautioned him that seeing a “bright white light” wasn’t always a good thing. We ended up in the Gudvangen Valley for a ride on the fjords. They’re deep enough so that the QE2 and Queen Mary have sailed them. David has an irresistible urge to use the Hebrew plural “fjordim.” Grand Circle Tours didn’t like its people to have to travel on the larger tourist boats so it hired one all our own. It was run by a husband and wife who’d created a homey atmosphere with fresh flowers, cloths on the tables, and stuffed animals strewn about. We were served waffles with whipped cream and strawberry jam with coffee or tea to drink. Yves was at the stern with two bottles of aquavit, which were empty after our two-hour cruise. Some started putting it in the coffee and adding whipped cream creating an Irish Norwegian.

The red, yellow, and white wooden houses begged for their pictures to be taken. David wasn’t photographing waterfalls anymore. One small farm had a pile of rocks in the yard the size of a tank. It was a 1000-year old Viking grave. Surrounding us, enfolding us were the giant granite hills and mountains. Hovering over us were the clouds. The scenery was better than any model train village I’d ever seen.

The boat had taken us in a semi-circle and we were back in Flam where our trusty bus waited. We took an unscheduled side-trip to Stahlheim. That’s where the Leibestram program of the Nazis in Norway was implemented. It was a baby factory where blond Norwegian women were forced to bear the children of Nazi soldiers to create a perfect race. The babies were shipped to Germany and raised in orphanages.

To get to Stahlheim we had to climb a 150-year old road built to carry two horses pulling a wagon. It was the steepest, curviest, hairiest switchback road I’ve ever been on. Since the wheelbase of a bus is forward there were times the rear of the bus was suspended over nothing. When we got to the top I asked the driver if it was the first time he’d driven on that road. His astonishing answer was, “Yes.” At least there was another way down. What was up there? a hotel, toilets, and a spectacular view.

Yves seemed antsy all day and when we boarded the bus again he called his son Krit. Evidently Krit had left an urgent message that he call ASAP. Krit had bought a condo and needed advice. Yves was relieved that was all it was.

Another Miracle

As we approached Bergen Yves told us that another miracle had occurred. It was sunny in Bergen. Bergen had 275 days of rain a year. They consider Seattle to be their sister city. They’re the only city that has vending machines selling umbrellas. It was settled 1000 years ago, was the first capital of Norway, and has a population of 225,000. It’s surrounded by nine mountains and connected by lots of bridges. In 1940, on the birthday of Hitler, a German ship blew itself out of the water destroying most of the city.

Bergen had a large German community that formed the Hanseatic League. I‘ll learn more about it tomorrow. There’s a strong German influence to this day and the dialect here more closely resembles German. The old buildings at German Wharf are a UNESCO site although they’ve been turned into shops. This is the home of Edvard Greig and music is honored here. There’s a new concert hall shaped like a grand piano. Bergen is also the home of the Norwegian navy and has an active oil industry. It’s the last stop before the Farrow Islands.

Our hotel is a converted printing factory. The rooms are each unique and we have a corner one. It’s large and well appointed. Tonight is Saturday night and Bergen is a party town. The desk supplies earplugs. Most of us chose the pizza buffet for dinner although one couple ventured out for Norwegian fare. I hope they didn’t get stuck eating traditional sheep head. Yves tried to give us the recipe but we got grossed out. He said that first you cut off the head and take a torch to it to burn off the wool. You cook it on the “barbie” and go for the most succulent parts first: the eyes, tongue and lips.

We rode the funicular up the hill after dinner and opted not to walk down. We’ve had a long day and tomorrow there’s more to see, more tunnels to drive through, more bridges to cross.

Toby