Coming To Your Christmas

Caleb and Jessica Aldridge, Caroline Wise and John Wise in Phoenix, Arizona

If we were to celebrate this annual American ritual of Christmas, this would be the image that would have accompanied our Christmas cards. On the left are Caleb and Jessica Aldridge, our son-in-law and daughter/stepdaughter, who were returning to California from a two-week cross-country road trip that took them over to Florida. Due to circumstances related to Caleb’s naval service and being stationed abroad combined with the natural forces of life that take people here and there, we’d not seen him in about ten years, and while they were only able to spend a few hours with us, it was a great reunion, and we hope it won’t require another ten years before the four of us get together again. The funny thing is, this photo almost didn’t happen as we were all so happy to see each other and talk about their big adventure that I forgot to take a photo of the happy, possibly weird, and maybe a bit dysfunctional family. Caroline and I ran back downstairs after them to pull them from their car as they were heading out and insisted on showing the world our happiness.

Are We Gone Yet? Nope, This is Frankfurt

Heddernheim in Frankfurt, Germany

Good morning to the dawn, and hello to the light of day. Thank you for welcoming us into another waking moment where we can consider how we might use our time to wander into the most amazing lives we’ll ever know.

Heddernheim in Frankfurt, Germany

And here comes the sun to shine on Café Dillenburg where we are fetching our daily bread and entertaining the idea that we could bring some of their Brötchen home with us, and I’m not only talking about this home away from home at Haus Engelhardt. With our morning meal bagged up, we raced back to Blauwiesenweg, where the butter and all variety of jams will join a pot of coffee for the greatest breakfast ever experienced. Unless you know the real pleasures of echtes Deutsches Brot, you cannot relate to my endorsement of this fascination and luxury to be had when munching on fresh Brötchen with homemade jams.

Frankfurt, Germany

No time to spare as we have things to do and people to see. The vacation within the vacation continues, while the vacation from vacation(s) will have to wait until Saturday night after we land and all of Sunday before Caroline steps back into work and I get busy trying to knock out a bunch of blog posts. Having only about 36 hours of recuperation sounds dire and likely difficult considering our age, but that’ll be nothing a lot of coffee can’t conquer.

Frankfurt, Germany

Who schedules these itineraries? It’s already 9:45 as we near the corner where Lebenshaus sits across from the Main River; our first date of the day is expecting us any minute.

Jutta Engelhardt and Caroline Wise at Lebenshaus in Frankfurt, Germany

Guten Morgen, Frau Engelhardt. Hello, Mr. Wise. With the formalities out of the way and Jutta finished with her breakfast, we offer the briefest of visits as we are meeting someone at the Hauptbahnhof in less than an hour, but we’ll be back later.

Lebenshaus in Frankfurt, Germany

Yo dude, how’s God?

Römer in Frankfurt, Germany

Check the background; God is everywhere.

Römer in Frankfurt, Germany

I wonder, too, about how many times I’ve shared a photo from right here at Römer, but today, I’m trying something new; later, I’ll share another photo of Römerberg but from a different angle.

Subway station in Frankfurt, Germany

While this might look like a decoration in the floor of something or other, it’s actually a 1000-year-old rod of gold that was buried by a Valkyrie and is said to provide eternal life to all those who lick it to taste the flavor of Valhalla that it connects to. I swear.

Hauptbahnhof in Frankfurt, Germany

Seems I might have misread this sign in the past. A dozen years ago, Caroline and I were visiting the Montreal Basilica, and I thought this sign (displayed without the Psst message) was a signal to parents that it was okay for children to pick their noses, but seeing the sign like this changes the meaning significantly. I thought about correcting that old post, but I’ve decided to leave it as proof that for once in my 60 years, I’m owning one of my mistakes.

Claudia and Caroline Wise at the Hauptbahnhof in Frankfurt, Germany

It was just a year ago that this mystery woman on the left (I already know the one on the right) was this elusive figure from the Cologne, Germany, area the world had never seen. Today, I’m unmasking her: she is Claudia, the Brünnhilde of fiber arts, kumihimo, and tablet weaving, to be exact. Last year, Caroline traveled north to see her in person for the first time; today, Claudia traveled south so these two could meet again. How they have anything to discuss is beyond me as they chat on a near-daily basis, making the most of the time between Caroline going to sleep and Claudia’s waking to punctuate some rare time Claudia seems to find between performing her super-human; I think Nietzsche called it “Ubermenschian,” feats of fiber knowledge distillery that could only have emerged from mythology.

Caroline Wise's foot and her friend Claudia in Frankfurt, Germany

I think jealousy is in order here because consider this: Caroline loves me and makes me socks. Claudia has knitted a pair of socks for Caroline that she’s modeling right here, and while blurred, I think it’s obvious that Claudia is looking lovingly at this “wedding banded sock” pattern that I think the women were hoping I wouldn’t notice.

After allowing Claudia to buy us lunch because who doesn’t need a free meal after what we just spent in Scandinavia, I stormed off in a jealous huff of rage to drown my sorrows.

Frankfurt, Germany

At first, I considered throwing myself on the subway tracks, but this poster looking for leads of a corpse found in the Spandau forest back in 1988 kind of depressed me. Those haunting, hollow eyes made me realize that death wasn’t an option for me. But ice cream was.

Spaghetti Eis at Eis Christina in Nordend Frankfurt, Germany

The race against time unwinding is on with only 48 hours left before we step out of Europe to return home to the U.S. I’d opened a small window of two hours where I’d attempt to plumb some inspiration to write, but the limitation feels harrowing as my inclination is to shove the intensity of the previous month onto the page in as many words that I can wring out of my hand. I didn’t anticipate that the location I’d chosen to find my wit would be as busy as I found it, but it was a beautiful late summer day at the most popular ice cream shop in Frankfurt. I should have moved to a coffee shop, but minutes are precious when the clock cannot be paused.

Life is like this bowl of ice cream, refreshing and sweet, but it’s melting and will go away. I have a choice not to finish every drop and allow the remainder to be carried off, but who would allow a second or a drop to not be savored?

For 34 years, I’ve been returning to this corner at Wielandstrasse and Eckenheimer Landstrasse in Frankfurt’s north end. I lived nearby for six years and took everything other than my relationship with Caroline for granted as it was all just normal life of no special importance. Only in retrospect have I gained the perspective that the years of our 20s contribute greatly to our romantic notions and nostalgia for the world we were exploring as it lingers into the years. We were defining and shaping the people who would enter the next decade excited or bored, satisfied or angry, challenged or defeated.

Frankfurt, Germany

I see a couple of elderly ladies well into their 80s at an adjacent table while seemingly mirror images from their past; two young ladies about 21 years old are seated at the table on their other side. The young women have no idea yet that their future selves are already forming inside them and that what is so intensely important to them on this day will lose all importance before they know it. The rapid advancement and intrusion of technology and an ever-present media have torn the fabric between generations into irreparable shreds where the groups are nearly alien to each other. There is no regard for the elderly, who are bulldozed into giving up their bearings and made to feel incompetent, while youth have no time for studied reflection or even self-study before having to respond to the next wave of electronic stimulation.

When do we arrive at the place where we start to gather the knowledge that will best serve us? Are we collectively fooled into believing that the essentials are found in clothes, hair products, a favorite sports franchise, the band we currently love, or the subject blowing up on viral media? To be a composite of media contrivances is a cruel joke on the masses who feast upon anything other than the bitter questions of what it might mean to exist.

Frankfurt, Germany

There’s no suggestion that any particular area of study is going to deliver a hint of enlightenment or happiness. Likewise, only the idiot would fall for what’s being fed to society. For the sake of transparency, I, too, have played the idiot, and to an extent and on occasion still do. But, I also have some inkling that I must struggle in the word soup of my mind and ask myself: is this good enough? Have I been wasting my precious attention?

The line at the ice cream shop snaked around the corner as a kind of proof that we gravitate towards the sweet, and rarely do we lineup for the bitter. Bitterness introduces a grimace and the consternation that we have to contextualize our experience to find the value; it is not readily apparent. Time for me to go for a walk.

Starting from Nordend, I walked until I reached the Alte Nikolaikirche (Old St. Nicholas Church) on Römerberg. I dipped inside to take a respite from the bustle of the busiest square in the city. There are four of us in the church, which is peculiar when one considers how frequently it’s photographed. Then again, who on a sunny Thursday afternoon is interested in communing with their soul? The house of God is cold and nearly empty, and I suppose rightfully so when cake & coffee or a beer under a warming sun invites indulgence. I wonder if Jesus stands in a corner wondering where his faithful are.

Römer in Frankfurt, Germany

Turning from the Lord, whom I do not know, to my mother-in-law, whom I’m quite familiar with, I leave the church for the short walk to Lebenshaus but not before delivering that second promised photo from a different angle of Römerberg.

Jutta Engelhardt and John Wise at Lebenshaus in Frankfurt, Germany

We must try our best to capture the increasingly rare moments of the few that still exist, with those who have had impactful impressions upon who we’ve become. The math of what remains with a person of 88 years of age under their hat is one of numbers growing smaller. While my mother-in-law had nothing to do with my upbringing or early life impressions, she did have those impacts on the woman with whom I fell head over heels in love, her daughter Caroline. Not only that though, Jutta spent many a vacation with us in the United States, and in every departing, I had to contend with how I saw myself and how I interacted with Caroline’s mother. Her initial visits tended to be marred by my lack of sympathy and understanding of aging people. I struggled with the intransigence of someone habituated to a routine incompatible with my own. Reconciling my belligerence helped me grow and understand where the roots of those poisons were planted and what fed them; if I’m lucky, lessons were pressed right into my heart, and today, I’m a better person for my time shared with this lady.

Jutta Engelhardt and Caroline Wise at Lebenshaus in Frankfurt, Germany

Shoot, earlier, I went on some made-up tirade about some tryst or something between Caroline and Claudia; yeah, well, I was joking, but I did go have a Spaghetti Eis because every time is a good time for a treat from Eis Christina. Sadly, upon our return to Phoenix, we learned that after 50 years in business, Eis Christina is calling it quits, at least at this location, as they left a hint they could open elsewhere in the future, but that remains uncertain.

What is certain is that Caroline still loves me and will still make socks for me and that she loves her mother. Rarely does a Sunday pass while we are in the States that these two don’t talk on the phone for at least a couple of hours, and while we are in Germany, we try to take every opportunity to say hi, take her out for a sweet, sit with her next to the river, have a coffee, and simply share time with her.

Main River in Frankfurt, Germany

So much beauty, potential for happiness, and great moments can be found in a day, though this seems amplified by the fact that we are traveling and only in places momentarily. Stopping to think about it, isn’t that what we have at home, too? What is it about routine that throws a pall over the day? Could it be that while engaged in habit, we forget to look up and see what our reality is? Well, I think it’s that and something else, which is the attitude of those around us. If the outlook of those around us carries an intellectual pallor that is gloomy and full of dark storms, we risk getting pulled into their maelstrom. We can walk across the bridge with someone we love and with whom we enjoy smiling and delight at the opportunity to be taking in life, but we can also fail to see any hope due to depression and gravity that pulls those exposed to negativity and despair into the void.

Main River in Frankfurt, Germany

I think of my own days walking through this city, unable to see the brilliance of the day, when everything was cast in shades of gray due to my dejection of not only feeling like an outsider in this foreign land but also because I felt like an outsider of the human race. That version of me, which wasn’t a daily thing but frequent enough that scars remain, is a person I’m happy to have left behind. Hardly a day goes by where I don’t wonder why society cultivates this type of harm against those who are vulnerable and what it is in the human character that desires to hurt those already in pain. While I’m an atheist, I still care for those who are poor, not only financially but poor of confidence and societal acceptance due to some perceived flaws that allow those of privilege to cast aspersions.

I’m not one considering an entry to the idea of heaven, but to too many of those who claim faith, how do you reconcile your blatant ignorance of the book that holds many lessons that are wholesome and good with the harm you inflict on the poor, hurt, and depressed people that are likely suffering due to your lack of concern to repair a society that rewards harm and aggression against those who cannot defend against your systems? Isn’t it your bible where the quote, It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God, comes from?

Main River in Frankfurt, Germany

Please don’t take this last quote that a rich man is only the person with a lot of money; it pertains to all of us who have a rich life even if we are not financially in the greatest of places. What do we give to others? What do we take away or deny? Are we only rowing forward for our own sake? I supposed I’m okay with that reality, but then let’s put the pretense of some Christian ideology behind us. Let’s do away with the lies and admit that we are selfish, petulant little assholes enjoying the greed bag of stuff we can claw away from others. You, who give back through sharing knowledge, care, art, music, medicine, teaching, and protecting others, are the best part of Team Humanity that society cultivates on the margin.

Olaf and Sylvia with John and Caroline in Frankfurt, Germany

Today feels like a lesson in how to slice time into a hundred pieces. We started with breakfast at Haus Engelhardt, dipped in on Jutta, met up with a distant friend, ate ice cream, wrote, returned to Jutta, thought some more, and wrote, finishing the day with dinner in honor of our friends Olaf and Sylvia and their (by now young adult) children Johnny and Lucy. While this was possibly in recognition of Olaf’s upcoming birthday, I think it was more about friends getting together on one of the rare opportunities we are in proximity to each other’s orbit.

On our way, we stumbled past Dal Bianco Pizza on Darmstädter Landstrasse, which appears to be the long-lost place that I thought had the greatest garlic bread ever back when I lived in Sachsenhausen for some months around 1991, but that’s another story. I’m leaving this note here with the hopes that on a subsequent visit to Germany, we’ll remember that I left his breadcrumb. Closing out the night, Olaf introduced me to a couple of things he’s currently listening to; at the top of the list for me is the psychedelic band Wooden Shjips; he also encouraged me a listen to Little Simz, born to Nigerian parents in London, England. I find her real name, Simbiatu “Simbi” Abisola Abiola Ajikawo, far more interesting than Little Simz.

Vikings, Germans, and Long Walks in Norway

View of the Port of Bergen, Norway

Mornings in our hotels have been the worst; it is the time when we are reminded that many of the guests are American, and we are bombarded with banshee cries and jingoistic claptrap. How do people drop words such as “tactical,” “team,” “situation,” “preparation,” “urgency,” “tactics,” and “security” into casual conversation while on vacation? Maybe they are on a military operation and wearing gym clothes for camouflage in a place where only people from the U.S. are wearing gym clothes and talking like they are operatives on a mission.

Then, at another table, I have to tune into the “History Buff,” dropping a nugget about something of importance regarding the area, but there’s zero context offered to the others at the table. This person shared some random factoid they gleaned from watching Jeopardy or playing Trivial Pursuit in the 80s, and their expertise leaves the others at the table in awe, or so it could be felt by those kowtowing to this self-anointed expert. Meanwhile, Europeans stay in their lane, eating bread, fish, cold meats and cheeses, granola, and fruit. At the hot table are my countrymen, not wavering from the eggs, bacon, potatoes, and pancakes as they prepare to chomp at the trough.

Typically, it is at breakfast that I start writing and try to catch up with what was neglected the day before, thanks to the exhaustion I felt when we hit the room at night. It is in this toxic environment that I run into what one hoped to have left behind on the shores of the U.S. This re-encounter triggers my writing hand to turn a reflexive scribble into a screed that dampens the moments before when blissful contentedness and dreams of a hot coffee were suggesting that a great start to the day was at hand.

Don’t think that my axe is only sharpened for an attack of Americans; I’m equally annoyed by the tracksuit-wearing East Europeans who are loud, use the ugliest ringtones on their phones, and stink of cigarettes. Next trip to Europe, we must avoid large cities or visit nearby cafes for breakfast, regardless of whether the meal is included in the cost of our hotel.

Rosenkrantz Tower at Bergenhus Fortress in Bergen, Norway

We plan to remain close to the hotel should we need to fetch ponchos or our umbrellas, as the forecast suggests we might be needing them today. With limited post-tourism season hours, we opt to return to Bergenhus Fortress first because Håkonshallen closes at 2:00 p.m. About to pass the Rosenkrantz Tower, we see that we can purchase tickets for both locations, saving us a few NOK, and with plenty of time to spare, we visit the tower first.

Rosenkrantz Tower at Bergenhus Fortress in Bergen, Norway

A sign in front of the tower told that the time was quickly approaching and a full renovation was becoming inevitable. Like in so many places across Europe (seen firsthand and read about in our post-COVID-19 world), renovations and repairs seem to be happening everywhere all at once. At the Bryggen area near our hotel, four of the historic facades are wrapped in scaffolding while preservation work is underway, and, as you’ll remember, we were denied the opportunity to see the Oseberg Ship at the Viking Ship Museum in Oslo since that destination is closed until at least 2026. At least that’s not quite as bad as the Pergamon Museum in Berlin, which is now closed for renovations through 2037.

Rosenkrantz Tower at Bergenhus Fortress in Bergen, Norway

Here in the basement area of the tower with a lack of windows, the dungeon vibe offers me a happy place but also one of claustrophobia when I consider that the tower sustained heavy damage back in 1944 when a German cargo ship carrying 120 tons of dynamite exploded in the harbor, enough to destroy much of the fortress, blast away the southwest wall of the tower, collapse the floors, send the roof into another dimension, and gut Håkon´s Hall. By the way, the vibe I’m describing fits because this lower level is the dungeon.

Rosenkrantz Tower was built back in the 1270s, and the Medieval feeling of the place is alive and well with narrow passages and poor lighting. The inner core of the tower is supposed to be the original from the time King Magnus Lagabøte of Norway ruled from here, but by the 16th century, sheriff Erik Rosenkrantz added to the tower while Norway was under Danish rule and hence the name that has remained to this day.

Rosenkrantz Tower at Bergenhus Fortress in Bergen, Norway

The importance of creating opportunities to see for ourselves the important places in our histories where events were set in motion and a patchwork of stories emerged cannot be understated. It is up to us to visit our pasts and drag the various threads forward if future generations are to piece together new stories touching on and learning from past successes and failures while also threading the complexities and uncertainties into new experiences that will forge the path for others to take.

Rosenkrantz Tower at Bergenhus Fortress in Bergen, Norway

I can be disappointed at what I cannot see, but I can also be grateful for the millions of things I never anticipated encountering, such as the love I share every day and every moment when Caroline is in my thoughts. Taking time and spending money to read, gaze upon the sea, walk up narrow dark stairways, enter a church, look upon a piece of art I could have never imagined seeing with my own eyes, or try to understand the myriad of impressions streaming into my senses is already the most incredible gift that in my view would be a wasted opportunity if I were not somehow trying to give back to humanity the opportunity afforded us.

Rosenkrantz Tower at Bergenhus Fortress in Bergen, Norway

When it comes to writing about these experiences, there’s a certain mystery as to what will show up in the post. Like ascending these stairs, travel takes us to places that cannot always be fully anticipated before we arrive at the ultimate destination. Our itinerary for Bergen included 18 potential locations or activities to possibly take in, but which ones we’d fall into was ambiguous. By choosing one of the suggestions or deciding to just wander about, we would, in any case see new things and places. This is where my reference to writing comes in because, like during travels, I do not have time to linger, nor can I return to a place for greater familiarization shortly after our visit; I have to keep going forward. As quickly as I can, I try to capture impressions before moving on to the next place. The luxury of knowing what I’m encountering with any intimacy will have to wait for another day when greater consideration can be given to the subject matter, landscape, or idea.

Consequently, fleeting impressions become memory salad. Images and words are tossed into a blender, risking to turn vacations into a gray slurry of the things that were seen, touched, heard, tasted, considered, read, and spoken of. While in the act of spinning, top-like, through the experience, I’m grasping at the most notable moments, racing to pull them into the area of my mind that might hold them tight for more than a second or two. And then, when I’m home, assembling these illustrated musings that reflect how we careened through a landscape like a pinball moving over its playfield, I must move quickly before falling through the drain of forgetfulness and ending the session. Nobody gets to play forever as everything ultimately comes to an end, be it the end of vacation, the end of the sentence, the end of a thought, or the end of a blog post that signifies it’s time to move onto a new game, a new story, a new adventure.

Rosenkrantz Tower at Bergenhus Fortress in Bergen, Norway

You might think that this is our good fortune because we were traveling, but what you may not be considering then is that we had to step into these adventures with minds tuned to extracting value regardless of the situation nature and chance were cultivating for us. We do not enter a space with three-foot (one-meter) thick walls, wooden floors, and the ambiance of more than 700 years of collected time to have them generate enlightening impressions that allow me to simply push out these narratives. We return home and have to reconcile who we were before the experience, what we gained, and what we desire to invest in ourselves to inflate memories into giants that tower over our lives.

View from Rosenkrantz Tower at Bergenhus Fortress in Bergen, Norway

From the past, we attempt to see and define our future. From the top of the medieval Rosenkrantz Tower, we can look at the combination of new and old and be thankful that the ages can coexist. This is a human lesson lost in consumption that only sees the transaction as a means to the future. We are blind and locked in the dungeons of capitalism while the cargo ship of climate change is exploding to take this all away before the majority of humanity understands what they lost because they didn’t know what they had.

Haakon's Hall at Bergenhus Fortress in Bergen, Norway

On the other side of the tower lies Håkon’s Hall, originally built between 1247 and 1261 by King Håkon Håkonsson. Bergenhus Fortress was the royal estate, and the hall was one part residence and one part banquet hall.

Haakon's Hall at Bergenhus Fortress in Bergen, Norway

Standing next to the nearly demolished Rosenkrantz Tower, Håkon’s Hall didn’t fare much better from the dynamite explosion in the harbor, as seen in this photo taken after the event. After 17 years of meticulous restoration, the royal facility was reopened in 1961. The 700-year-old icon of Norwegian history was once again a national treasure open to all visitors.

Haakon's Hall at Bergenhus Fortress in Bergen, Norway

A grand ceremony presided over by Crown Prince Olav ushered in the reopening of the hall. The Bergen Philharmonic Orchestra was on hand to perform Edvard Grieg’s Incidental Music for Peer Gynt while dignitaries and others attended the festivities. There’s a photo in the hall showing the pomp and circumstance that was brought to Bergen on that day, but you’ll have to visit Håkon’s Hall to see it for yourself.

Bryggens Museum in Bergen, Norway

Not ones to stand still unless it’s time for a fika or pølse, our next stop was at the nearby Bryggens Museum. While difficult to make out, metal rods are hanging over these foundations to show where walls, doors, and roofs would have been of these homes in the early history of Bergen. From the timbers that still exist, it was obvious that these buildings were destroyed by one of the many fires that decimated Bergen repeatedly over its 1,000 years of history.

Bryggens Museum in Bergen, Norway

WARNING: Strong language in the following paragraph could be offensive to some readers – the translation of 1,000-year-old rune sticks can be colorful and downright vulgar.

Runes weren’t only used on stones; they were also carved on wooden sticks left in places of socializing, such as the pub where teases, insults, threats, or invitations were left for other patrons. Some of my favorite rune stick translations are “Horrid is he who brings drink to the cunt,” and “Sit down and read the runes, stand up and fart.”

Bryggens Museum in Bergen, Norway

Behind the skeletal remains stands an altar from the Dale Church in Luster, Norway, while the Madonna came from the Granvin Church, which is now a part of the town of Voss that we passed through yesterday. Regarding the human remains, all I can add at this time is that they were not my own.

Bryggens Museum in Bergen, Norway

There is so much more to this museum than I’ll be able to share here. Suffice it to say that if you are interested in things relating to the Vikings up to the Middle Ages of this corner of Norway, you’ll likely find it here. Being frugal with what I can post, considering that there are already 57 photos accompanying our day, I am focusing on fiber arts-related tools from the Viking age for the short time we’ll be here at the Bryggens Museum.

Bryggens Museum in Bergen, Norway

A ribbon woven over 700 years ago continues to exist, while the shirts I bought last year are already showing the kind of wear that means they won’t be wearable much longer.

Bryggens Museum in Bergen, Norway

These stones with holes in them are not an early form of currency; they are whorls for drop spindles, adding momentum to the spindle and making spinning fibers far more efficient. Considering the variety of whorls we’ve seen in different museums, I can’t help but think that these were status symbols, demonstrating a kind of elevated standing similar to what people try to gain by wearing expensive watches today.

Bryggens Museum in Bergen, Norway

Lost in the past, we checked the time and were startled to find that our reservation for 1:00 p.m. at the next museum up the street was just 20 minutes away. Out the door we flew, grateful to have seen what we had, even if it was a mere fraction of the exhibits.

The Hanseatic Museum and Schoetstuene in Bergen, Norway

Before leaving Arizona, I had read this tour might be difficult to get on at the last minute, and with my curiosity about the subject, it was one of the few places for which I made reservations. While we got turned around for a minute on our way over due to construction, we were still on time for the English tour of the Hanseatic Museum and Schoetstuene.

The Hanseatic Museum and Schoetstuene in Bergen, Norway

At or around 1350, the Germans set up shop in Bergen, establishing a branch office of the Hanseatic League (Hanse in German) that operated in this area known as Bryggen. For 400 years, their foothold was secure with their German countrymen growing rich at the expense of the Norwegians who took a cut, but it was the Germans who owned trade routes and contacts allowing them to control markets. The Hanseatic League got underway in the 12th century, setting its headquarters in Lübeck, Germany, while international regional offices were situated here in Bergen, Norway; Riga, Latvia; London, England; Novgorod, Russia; and Skåne (Scania), which is the southern tip of Sweden, where we visited Ystad, Malmö, and Lund. The biggest Hanseatic cities in Germany were Hamburg and Bremen, but they had smaller offices in many towns, such as Lüneburg. Back in 2013, Caroline and I visited Lübeck after dipping a toe into southern Denmark, but we didn’t stay long at all and hadn’t considered spending time there to learn something more about the Hanseatic League, but now my curiosity says we have to return.

The Hanseatic Museum and Schoetstuene in Bergen, Norway

There were strict rules the Germans had to adhere to while they were working away from home, including that they could not own property outside of Bryggen and they were not allowed any contact with Norwegian women. As a matter of fact, no women were allowed in their trade zone at all. New German workers came in as apprentices at the age of 11 and wouldn’t return to Germany until they had completed their apprenticeship and journeymen years.

The Hanseatic Museum and Schoetstuene in Bergen, Norway

It was right here in this red room that I found out one of the most interesting things I would learn today. Red paint, used since at least Medieval times for painting houses and barns, was a mixture of animal blood, oil, and rust. I have to wonder how this emerged out of history and if its roots are related to Jewish biblical instructions regarding Passover or if the custom was originally part of Pagan rites.

The Hanseatic Museum and Schoetstuene in Bergen, Norway

Fire and the use of it here in Bergen played an important role on our tour due to the history of large parts of the city burning to the ground. After parts of Bryggen were lost to fire in 1702, the Germans rebuilt their offices, only to be squeezed out of business in 1754. In the intervening years, warehouses and the old wharf were lost to fire again, and even the Bryggens Museum we visited just before this tour sits on a site cleared in a 1955 fire. This photo was taken in one of the large kitchens that fed the Germans working here, and the story about the rules governing the usage of fire and the precautions taken is quite interesting.

Bryggen in Bergen, Norway

Stockfish was the primary item of trade here, rounded out by other animal products, often originating in the northern coastal region of Norway. The hour went by quickly and ended here facing the old trade fronts of Bryggen. You can see that three buildings are currently being renovated while another one behind us is also shuttered. That building out of view houses the Hanseatic Museum. Our tour had us visiting the Schoetstuene (Assembly Rooms), and it would take until we got home before we learned that we missed out on more things to see there, which will necessitate a return visit to Bergen, hopefully on a rare sunny day.

Caroline Wise with hotdogs at 3-Kroneren in Bergen, Norway

Trekroneren was a must-visit because how many hot dog stands are open from 11:00 in the morning until 4:00 the next morning? A popular hot dog stand is the answer and with ten different types of sausage, they must surely have something for everyone, except for the vegetarian. One of the takeaways from this trip to Scandinavia is that we love the Pølse from the far north because, with the addition of ketchup, mustard, and crispy onions, they have mastered the American classic.

Rolls at a bakery in Bergen, Norway

After yummy wieners, the only natural path was for us to bring ourselves to Godt Brød for, you guessed it, FIKA! Left to right, first up is the cinnamon bun, next up cardamom buns, and over on the right, almost out of view, is a skolebrød I described when we arrived in Oslo. With a coffee and bun delivering another amazing fika, we were ready to take on a distant journey.

On the trail to Fantoft Stave Church in Bergen, Norway

First, we needed a bus south since we were not interested in walking the 15-kilometer (about 10 miles) roundtrip to and from our next destination. Somehow, we negotiated the ticket purchasing with our bus driver, and once it got us as close as it could, we had about a mile walk down a steep street before turning onto a forest path that had us climbing uphill.

Fantoft Stave Church in Bergen, Norway

This is the Fantoft Stave Church, or more correctly; it is the completely reconstructed copy of what used to be the church before Varg Vikernes of the Black Metal band Burzum burned it to the ground. The original was built around 1150 in Fortun over on the eastern side of the Sognefjord, and it stood there until the community wanted to tear it down and replace it with a modern church. In 1883, a prominent Bergen businessman named Fredrik Georg Gade had it moved piece by piece to Bergen. Sadly, over 1,000 stave churches were destroyed over the centuries, and now only 28 of the relics survive.

Fantoft Stave Church in Bergen, Norway

The cross was moved up here to Bergen from southern Norway. It is believed to have been created in the earliest years of Christianity when it was moving into the country and displacing the older Pagan belief system.

Fantoft Stave Church in Bergen, Norway

On one hand, some of the authenticity that would have been present in the old church is missing as 850 years of aging were lost in the fire, but then again, that allows us to see it much the way it would have appeared to somebody entering this building in the first years after it was built all those years ago.

Fantoft Stave Church in Bergen, Norway

Kneeling before a congregation, someone took to the pulpit and likely used a series of poems, stories out of oral tradition, and reminders of laws and customs to speak to the local community and remind people of obligations, events on the calendar, and the ties that bound them to history in the hopes of paving the way to better tomorrows.

Fantoft Stave Church in Bergen, Norway

No matter what we read, see, or visit, we’ll never really understand the world our distant ancestors lived in. The way people pretend through silly costumes, hairstyles, and symbols that they are somehow channeling something pure is a travesty without vision, purpose, or ability to self-guide themselves into their own time, their own heritage that, like it or not, is carved from the period in which we are living. While most everything we learn is from the past, we cannot return there, and the only reason people can dwell in romanticized ideas of a distant age is because rather than exist in nihilism and existential uncertainty, a kind of twisted brand identity is created for them where these lost souls can purchase a construct that offers salvation and escape from an abyss of society’s creation.

Fantoft Stave Church in Bergen, Norway

When I was a young man, I found foolish the ideas that informed “primitive” religions and, probably like many people brought up in Christian faith, thought that “my” faith (even when I was doubting the veracity of its “truths”) still felt far more logical than any Pagan, Hindu, or Indigenous person’s weird beliefs. Now that I’m older and wiser, I can see the genius of creating stories and mythologies that could unite people in survival, sharing, and community.

Fantoft Stave Church in Bergen, Norway

Stories that transcended humans and endowed gods with creation and destruction abilities taught people that they were not themselves gods because the transactions of the all-mighty happened in loftier realms that set the stage for us to be the fortunate inheritors of what the gods offered us. We then were left to find our way in nature and community, remaining ultimately answerable to our creator(s) and held accountable amongst ourselves to not usurp so much power over others that we deluded ourselves into believing we’ve become a god. In this sense, I find it remarkable, regardless of religion, that this form of powerful mythmaking is found throughout history as far as we can measure and across geography.

Fantoft Stave Church in Bergen, Norway

Should you be wondering why stave churches are black, and they mostly are, it was not because there was something sinister about them but because black tar was readily available in Norway and proved to be a great sealant to protect the all-wood structure from snow and rain. If you had the idea that these Gothic black buildings had something to do with Norway’s Pagan past, the Pagans built temples that faded away or were destroyed, while burial mounds and stone circles were mostly left untouched. These dark, slightly foreboding churches were built after Christianity was introduced to Norway and consequently have nothing at all to do with Paganism.

Fantoft Stave Church in Bergen, Norway

My poor, sad brain, holding biased opinions that my upbringing conditioned me to hold, can’t help but want to see a certain amount of animism and otherness in the architecture and carvings that are simply different. While I appreciate what I’m seeing, I’m looking for a deeper meaning that must differentiate this serpent as having a dark meaning compared to the griffin that adorns so many Catholic churches. The steep roofing obviously hides a mystery beyond what I can glean at a glance, while the sacred geometry used in the building of cathedrals must be benign because that’s what I grew up accustomed to. How big is the tragedy that we typically want to see people who lived 1,000 years ago as being primitive, and yet we carry around an ignorance of our world that is so big as to dwarf the scale of pyramids and cathedrals?

Fantoft Stave Church in Bergen, Norway

The weather forecast had called for a 90% chance of rain, a bullet which by now we figured we’d dodged, but, nope, here’s the rain.

Paradis Tram Stop in Bergen, Norway

Not interested in returning the way we came if there was a shorter, dryer route, we asked the women at the gate of Fantoft Church about an alternative. They directed us here to Paradis, which somehow felt appropriate, better than hell anyway.

Caroline Wise and John Wise in Bergen, Norway

After taking well over 2,000 selfies of Caroline and me over the years, it’s always nice to find a reflective surface that offers a variation of the tried and true method of pointing the camera back at us.

Homeless person sculpture in Bergen, Norway

The plaque at the feet of this homeless person sculpture reads, “No one is just what you see.” While looking for information regarding the sculpture, I did find a comment on a post featuring a similar photo; it read, “In Scandinavia, homeless are a rare sight, so we have to build statues of them to remind ourselves of how good things are.” – from Dudestereo posted on 9Gag.

Port of Bergen looking over to Bryggen, Norway

It was 3:00 p.m. when we took the bus down south and now that it’s after 5:30 and most tourist options are closed, we are at a loss of what to do. It was at that moment that the two of us knew that a fika would help us think about our options. After finding a Backstue (from the chain of bakeries we had enjoyed in Oslo) open till 7:00 p.m., that’s where we aimed our feet. No cinnamon or cardamom rolls were left, but we weren’t about to turn our noses up to a pretzel croissant and a couple of coffees. Almost better than our break was the conversation with the woman maintaining the shop this late in the day. Holding dual citizenship between the U.S. and Norway, this university student, who normally lives in Oslo but is in Bergen for its law school, voiced her recognition of how fortunate she is to be able to attend school for an advanced degree at no cost to her. While she has family in Wisconsin, where one of her parents was born, she has no interest in ever living in America as she finds the quality of life in Europe better. Her one complaint was that she can’t wait to get out of Bergen as it’s too rainy and she’s looking forward to returning to Oslo.

Still without a plan but with a dinner recommendation from the woman at the bakery, we start to wander about guiltily. How can we be in a foreign city, one of the most important at one time, and not know what to do? Mind you, it is Sunday, and as I pointed out, almost everything is closed.

The Fløibanen Funicular in Bergen, Norway

We looked up the cloudy mountain to which the funicular takes sightseers and reluctantly agreed to give it a whirl. Before buying our tickets, the salesperson warned us that the view from the top was currently obscured by a heavy fog layer. This explained why we saw others walking away from the ticket window. Undeterred and with nothing else going on, we decided to forge ahead.

View from the Fløibanen Funicular in Bergen, Norway

Okay, we considered this view our money’s worth. The ride-up offered us a partial view that justified the expense. Even if we just turned around up top, at least we had spent some time there that would allow us to check off yet one more item from our itinerary.

Mount Floyen in Bergen, Norway

Once far above the city, it was so foggy that even the nearby forest started to disappear.  While the participants of an outdoor yoga class were packing up their mats in the mist, we recognized that our roundtrip tickets were for naught. Not that we were about to throw ourselves off the mountain as human sacrifices to a Norwegian God who accepts this type of offering instead, we were going to meander down the mountain through the mysterious forest.

View from Mount Floyen in Bergen, Norway

Hey Caroline, did we even walk a dozen steps before looking over our shoulders and seeing that the view had cleared? Back to the viewing platform with a direction sign informing us that New York City was 5623 kilometers one way and Istanbul 2692 kilometers away in a different direction. The sign also denoted that at this spot on Mount Fløyen, we were 320 meters (1049 feet) above sea level.

Mount Floyen in Bergen, Norway

Back on the trail, we knew it was inevitable that we’d run into a troll or two at some point, but a two-headed troll surprised the two of us.

Mount Floyen in Bergen, Norway

Wow, this is nothing like the Huldra we saw at Kjosfossen waterfall in Myrdal who wore a red flowing dress and danced for us to thumping Teutonic beats right out of the Middle Ages. I guess the carver of this forest spirit was having a bad day or didn’t understand that buck teeth are not appealing in any culture I’m aware of.

Mount Floyen in Bergen, Norway

The decision to take the forest path was a great one. Good thing we had been at a loss about what to do with the rest of the day because this walk ended up being a significant highlight of the trip, but then again, most everything all the time ends up being the highlight that will define our vacation.

Mount Floyen in Bergen, Norway

Just another cairn? Not hardly; it is a small monument to being human. Cairns are not required here along our well-defined trail down Mount Fløyen, so why is one here? It turns out that this activity of stacking stones for various reasons has been going on long before the various cultures of our planet made contact with each other. These analog all-natural communication towers can signal the presence of a trail, but they have also been used to mark territory, denote gravesites, and they can have spiritual purposes.

Mount Floyen in Bergen, Norway

Lush and verdant are two words that quickly come to mind when the quiet forest seeps into our senses and whispers for us to notice the little things, such as these dew drops that have the appearance of fairy lights. When entering into this conversation with nature, it is as though our mind is traipsing in the joy of understanding that we are in a place perfected by the hand of time.

Caroline Wise on the trail on Mount Floyen in Bergen, Norway

I’m aware that Caroline knows I’m here, but I also know she’s lost in the profound beauty and complexity of the world around her. While walking ahead, there’s a tape playing within her heart and mind, repeating thoughts of how charmed our moments are when together we are discovering corners of nature we couldn’t have dreamt we’d ever experience for ourselves. These times are waking dreams shared between two witnesses that reassure each other that they truly experienced these environments and that they were as magical as our recollections want us to believe.

View from Mount Floyen in Bergen, Norway

Look below and try to see that 1000 years ago, there were houses, docks, chimneys, market squares, churches, and people who could never have imagined that one day, a world vastly different from their own wouldn’t fully comprehend what they’ve inherited. A world replete with conveniences and luxuries that would exceed everything from their own time. Electricity, running water, both hot and cold but most importantly clean, trams, planes, food from all corners of the planet, the ability to communicate across all geographic limitations, the tools to capture, record, and share their lives with people from the future or on other continents, and yet they’d still find reason for war and suffer the shortsightedness to not comprehend what is offered to them by being alive in the 21st century. We are not only looking down on a city where we’ll seek refuge for the night and an evening meal; we are doing so because we are curious about a place that stands in great contrast to the desert city we departed from a few weeks ago.

Caroline Wise on the trail on Mount Floyen in Bergen, Norway

Droplets of water fall upon a plant below or maybe hit the dirt, beginning a return journey to the soil and earth below while some small part evaporates into the atmosphere, obscuring the view ahead. Our love is like drops of water falling from within us to nourish the other while some of it evaporates to cloud our eyes with the beauty of seeing and being with one another. No matter what lies ahead, we live in a symbiotic existence of transitioning that binds us together forever, though our paths might diverge from time to time.

View from Mount Floyen in Bergen, Norway

The clouds, the rain, the amount of dusk that lingered, everything worked in our favor to offer us an exquisite descent from the mountain back down to the city. Watching the glow of warm light as Bergen transitions to evening only added to the romance of being in awe of what the experiences across this Sunday offered us.

View from Mount Floyen in Bergen, Norway

Hunger and gravity pulled us deeper into the city, where we’d be mixing up our routine.

Bergen, Norway

So far, we have made every effort to eat as locally as we could, meaning Danish, Swedish, and Norwegian food, but tonight, we’re taking the advice of the law student from earlier, dined at Villani Italian Restaurant, and ended up regretting nothing. Starting with yet another tartar because it seems everyone has tartar on the menu, we moved on to a burrata and arugula pizza, and while that should have been enough, we’d already ordered a plate of fusilli pesto alla Siciliana with crispy eggplant. Splurging, we shared a small Weck jar-sized portion of tiramisu that cost $13, or the same price as Caroline’s limoncello spritz. Desserts are not cheap in Norway, where sugar apparently costs more than alcohol. Dinner came to 1,444 Norwegian Kroner or about $130. While details regarding common meals tend to feel boring, to be able to look back and remember the time when we thought a particular meal was expensive and ten years later, it seems like a bargain allows this information to take on a point of curiosity.

Fjord Cruise to Gudvangen, Norway

Aurlandfjord in Flåm, Norway

From our room at the Fretheim Hotel, we could see the fog hovering in the distance. Caroline insisted we get a better look, so before breakfast, we took a walk. I’m happy she made the suggestion because it offered us a mind cleansing before entering the circus of the buffet.

Aurlandfjord in Flåm, Norway

After we had gathered our morning meal, we were forced to witness the antics of the actors in this tragedy. An American couple hailing from Miami fetched their food in shifts as they must have feared something being stolen from their table. How did I verify they were from Miami? The first clue was the demonstration of fear, and the second was the show-it-all yoga pants. While I couldn’t hear them from where they sat, I did ask the husband, as he walked past, what state they were visiting from.

A pack of Germans descended, wearing their best Barbarian outfits representing the Neanderthal class. Did I say circus earlier? I might have meant the zoo.

An American man of proper Boomer age asked to sit at our table because the place was pretty full by this time. Before I could say no, Caroline said sure. Without skipping a beat, he showed his true colors when I warned him of our Statler and Waldorf routine of talking smack about those deserving of criticism, and he replied, “I’m right there with you, especially about our current President.” OMFG, our first obvious encounter with MAGA trash. At that moment, the hand of God must have nudged his wife to track her wayward husband down and told him to join her and some friends in another area of the dining room. No time for me to demand he GTFO and leave our table where we exercise the kind of bias we enjoy, not his uneducated brand of hate.

Aurlandfjord in Flåm, Norway

Back at the waterfront, we found peaceful tranquility made stunningly apparent as there was no cruise ship obscuring the view or the quiet. While I’ve written this already, I can’t help but reiterate that a village of 350 residents shouldn’t be required to deal with the onslaught of troglodytes falling out of a small floating city that excretes 6,000 chunks of refuse into an otherwise pristine environment. Obviously, there are not enough local Norwegians to handle the tourism traffic, so barracks have been built to house international workers from Argentina, Poland, Spain, Chile, Hungary, Slovakia, Italy, Brazil, and the United States.

If you should wonder why, while on vacation, I grind this axe instead of shielding my senses from witnessing declasse behavior and then vent such indignance time and again; it allows me to exorcise these bad impressions. I could choose to leave these reports out of my blog, seeing they’ve already been vented in my handwritten notebooks, but there’s a hope that someone might read a post and realize I’ve been writing about them and then might try to correct their boorish demeanor. My wish is for others not to disappear or cease to exist but to stop flaunting their contemptuous, entitled, and selfish oblivion that they are sharing space with others who are not interested in sharing their experience – just STFU or at least ratchet down the volume.

Otternes Farm in Aurland, Norway

No one would fault me for taking in the scenery, history, and cultural attributes of a place, yet I feel that my observing the worst of humanity that are also able to afford to put themselves in these special places has me looking petty. But when an affront to the senses effectively lifts its tail and shits upon what should otherwise be a poetic moment, I can’t help but note this all too common personality characteristic that is spreading like an infectious disease.

Leaving these uglier impressions here is simply part of the experience I should continue to process, just as I do when I look at this image of Otternes Farmyard and explore my recollections of our time there a couple of days ago. My notes serve as pointers that fill gaps, bring back impressions, and feed a space where memories can be stored for future reference, the good and bad.

Aurland, Norway

After so many days already out here in Europe, much has already blurred and would easily be forgotten if it were not for the knowledge that my daily writing exercises and thousands of photos are going to be put to work to solidify tenuous, fleeting impressions consumed by the intensity of so many experiences and the subsequent ones that are yet to be had. Those who fail in this exercise, I feel, fall into a kind of tragedy and, in the future, will struggle to recollect anything more than, “Do you remember that time we went to place x,y, or z?”

Dragging forward in great detail and vibrant imagery, what we experience over our waking days feels like an incredibly indulgent luxury. For those who might say they don’t have the time in their busy schedules, just look at what we shoved into a day, day after day. I’m also well aware that we are often out and about before everyone else and we are the last people on the streets before walking into our lodgings, yet at 60 years old, here I am, able to have my cake, savor it, save some for later, and offer myself and Caroline a morsel in the years to come via these detailed memories we get to revisit.

Aurlandfjord in Norway

Cloudy with potentially heavy afternoon wind failed to materialize. Instead, we have sun and blue skies for the two-hour cruise on an electric boat to Gilligans Island, which in Norwegian is spelled Gudvangen. Do not pity us for our sunny passage on the Aurland and Nærøyfjord; we know full well how fortunate we are. And to top it off, our experience is being taken to exponential levels through the amazing hotdogs served on board. They are sprinkled with crispy onions that act as fairy dust because these pølser (Norwegian for sausages) are magic.

Caroline Wise and John Wise on Aurlandfjord in Norway

All I ask for is civility and quiet when it’s appropriate. Contrary to the sound of my grump, I do not hate humanity, but I do enjoy the 60-year-old version of “Get off of my lawn,” a thing I’ve been cultivating for the last twenty or thirty years.

Undredal, Norway

That’s Undredal across the fjord with a road that allows residents to come and go, and I know that after looking at the map of the area and trying to find any Streetview images. There are but a few out here, but I did catch some 360-degree images someone took on a ship or ferry in the winter that was enticing enough that I could see the attraction of visiting on the cold, dark days of December or January.

Aurlandfjord in Norway

There are houses perched in what appears to be impossible places, and while some map searching might show a road just out of sight traveling between the mountains, that would kill the mystery, so I’ll just maintain my fantasy thoughts that a speedboat delivers visitors to the water’s edge, and they hike up the cliffside with their backpacks stuffed with food while their water is taken from one of the two waterfalls on their left and right.

Nærøyfjord in Norway

There’s some uncertainty here, but I think we are passing the point where the Sognefjord, Aurlandfjord, and the Nærøyfjord meet. Sognefjord is the main fjord and the longest in Norway, as I already pointed out in a previous post.

Nærøyfjord in Norway

While I can’t swear to it, this view should be looking south to Gudvangen on the Nærøyfjord, which translates to Narrow Fjord and is the world’s narrowest fjord.

Nærøyfjord in Norway

Leading up to prepping the photos for this day that had us spend a couple of hours in the quiet of the fjord on our way to our next destination, Caroline tried reassuring me that, compared to the lengthy blog posts so far in this trip, this one would undoubtedly be shorter. How many photos could there be worth sharing, considering we moved through a relatively short length of the landscape? I ended up with 20 photos chosen from the roughly 250 I shot between Flåm and Gudvangen, and upon asking her which ones she’d cut, well, here we are, and I’m struggling to write to them all.

Laegdafossen on Nærøyfjord in Norway

This is the 1,263rd waterfall we’ve seen in the past few days and not just any waterfall, it is the Laegdafossen.

Nærøyfjord in Norway

“Hey wife, you thinking what I am?” We were on the same channel; another pølse (hotdog) with crispy onion was on her mind, too, and even after sharing our second hotdog, we were “joking” that we could both see a third in our future. Who knew that Norway does hotdogs and does them perfectly?

Approaching Dyrdal, Norway

When God/Muhammad/Buddha made the earth, Half Dome was placed in Yosemite National Park in California and then, over in Norway, Half Dome 2.

Dyrdal, Norway

Welcome to the idyllic hamlet of Dyrdal, which claims to have been around in some form for approximately 2,000 years. At one time, the area up the valley was being farmed; today, there are no longer any working farms, but the area is quite popular, judging from the number of people who got on board, including a larger group of young hikers.

Nærøyfjord in Norway

Our time moving through the Nærøyfjord World Heritage Park had a sad and tragic element that was only understood after we returned to Arizona, and that is we’ll likely never be back in this corner of our planet where there are dozens of things, places, and activities we’d enjoy experiencing.

Nærøyfjord in Norway

Is anyone else picking up on the Kauai, Hawaii vibe?

Nærøyfjord in Norway

Remember that idea of sharing a third hotdog with crispy onions? I emphasize these onions because we are convinced that they are the secret sauce that elevates Norwegian pølse to the heights of yumminess we’ve not witnessed before. Anyway, if we are going to find time for this indulgence, we’d better act now as time is quickly running out because we are soon to arrive in Gudvangen.

Styvi Fergeleie on Nærøyfjord in Norway

The stuff we can learn if we are persistent can be serious fun, such as finally stumbling upon the history of Styvi (above) as a leg on Den Kongelege Postveg (The Royal Post Road) and how mail and farmers in the area moved from here down the fjord to the narrowest point at Bleiklindi (the pale linden tree a.k.a., the basswood in the U.S.) across from Bakka, the village we’d be walking out to from Gudvangen later. Kristin Ese is the author of the article I read, and a list of her writings can be found here should you be looking for information about the history of the area.

Attention Caroline: should you follow the link to https://encyclopedia.fylkesarkivet.no/, you will become lost for days and beg me that we should return to the Vestland of Norway. Don’t click on it; just don’t.

Village of Bakka near Gudvangen on the Nærøyfjord in Norway

While of a dramatically different type of environment, I can’t help but have a sense of the Grand Canyon with the steep cliffsides reaching down to the water; obviously, there are significantly different shades of green, and the water is perfectly calm here on the fjord. This is the northern end of Bakka.

Near Gudvangen on the Nærøyfjord in Norway

Had I only known everything, I might say I’d wish that we had invested more time exploring the area of Sognefjord and all of its arms, but the truth is, we’ve been enjoying every place we’ve visited, and I don’t think I’d change a thing. In any case, this immersion of learning yet more about where we’ve traveled certainly draws me in to explore firsthand the points between that there wasn’t enough time to visit on this trip.

Gudvangen Fjordtell in Gudvangen, Norway

You can be certain that the upgrade to the Viking-themed room here at the Gudvangen Fjordtell wasn’t a gift because Oden or Thor were smiling upon us but because our bank was able to perform the proper currency exchange for us to pay for a night under animal skins.

Kjerrskredsfossen seen from Gudvangen, Norway

Across from our lodging in the distance is the Kjerrskredsfossen. Mind you that I didn’t tell you that this is the Kjerrskredsfossen waterfall because “Fossen” is Norwegian for “waterfall,” and if I did call it that, it would be like saying “ATM machine,” which is a silly redundancy. Between us and that waterfall no one has ever been able to pronounce is a Viking Village that, this late in the season, looks too sad for us to spoil a day visiting, but there was a gas station where, on a mission to graze, we picked up a bratwurst sprinkled with the fairy dust crispy onions, but it sadly paled in comparison to the godhead level of pølse on the cruise over.

Nærøyfjord in Norway

With our wiener, I mean brat, in hand, we sat down at a picnic table offering us this view right here. At 64 pleasant degrees (18 Celsius), we were at risk of becoming stuck and lying down right here for a quick nap. Just as we were beginning to struggle, a lady dressed in Viking attire approached our bench and struck up a conversation. She explained that there would be a feast at the Viking village later and that she hailed from Latvia. Her strong accent made it difficult to understand her intentions. Was she here to drag us over to the village, or was she just making small talk? At some point, she played a tune on a mouth harp, which made us wonder if we were supposed to tip. As she was getting the idea that we were not interested in the Viking Village (which may or may not be a tourist trap), our determination to seize all the moments won out, and we headed out on a walk to help close out the day.

Fika in Gudvangen, Norway

You know how your intention may direct you one way, but distraction pulls you in another? Well, you might think from this image you know what came next, but what actually happened was that Caroline wanted to visit the gift shop at our hotel, and good thing that we did because she found a souvenir for herself (that wasn’t made of yarn, mind you). It was a small Viking ship tea candle holder for her desk. Speaking of work, she also grabbed an axe-wielding Viking figurine for one of her bosses.

We were on our way when a cafe jumped into our path and whispered, “Hey, what about that nap you considered? I have the cure in a cup of coffee.” The proverbial one thing leading to another gripped us, and before we knew it, we were sitting down for a fika that included a cinnamon roll for me and a raspberry yogurt layer cake for Caroline. At the center of the setup, you might be able to make out the Viking ship candle holder. What the hell is wrong with me? A bucket of emotional fragility is spilling over me as the French hit Voyage Voyage from Desireless starts to play here in the cafe. It whipped me right back to 1986 when it was a #1 hit across Europe. Now I want to take a listen to Mylène Farmer’s – Désenchantée. When these songs came out, I wasn’t particularly enamored with them, but they were impossible to avoid due to their popularity. What strikes me hardest is the peculiarity that I’m so familiar with these songs as an American because this speaks to the incredibly unique opportunities I’ve been afforded.

Trail to Bakka on the Nærøyfjord in Norway

After our experience with the menace that discharges from cruise ships, there’s a sense of wanting to leave in case a load descends on Gudvangen. Knowing that tourists are the least likely to venture from a chair, we feel safe taking an 8-kilometer (5 miles) roundtrip walk to an old church and the narrowest spot on the fjord.

Ferry on the Nærøyfjord in Norway

While it’s not a big load of people coming into town, we’ll be well gone when they disembark and do whatever it is they intend to do. You have to admit that there is at least a passing similarity with the S.S. Minnow, right?

Trail to Bakka on the Nærøyfjord in Norway

What deformation processes were at work in folding these? We cannot say, seeing we are not geologists, nor was there any signage that could have described what was going on with the strata. This is a shame because I’m certain that everyone must be as curious as we are.

Trail to Bakka on the Nærøyfjord in Norway

This is turning out to be one of the greatest walks along a fjord we’ve ever taken. True, it’s only our fourth walk next to a fjord, or maybe our fifth. Or could it even be the sixth?

Trail to Bakka on the Nærøyfjord in Norway

Unnamed waterfall next to the trail to Bakka with a blue banana on the right for scale. There was also a blue plastic giraffe nearby we left undisturbed, but the same can’t be said about the raspberries telepathically inviting us to carry them away, preferably in our tummies, which we obliged them with.

Trail to Bakka on the Nærøyfjord in Norway

Who doesn’t love a moss-and-lichen-covered rock fall and dream of having one at home? Others might want a pool, jacuzzi, or BBQ island; I want this right here in our living room, minus whatever creepy crawlies might be nesting in cracks and crevices.

Trail to Bakka on the Nærøyfjord in Norway

Can you see what you might not first notice when seeing this photo? Sure, there are two people in that kayak paddling on the calm waters of this beautiful fjord, but if you look in the shadows, you should see the reflection of a waterfall.

Trail to Bakka on the Nærøyfjord in Norway

Trying to remember that the world is not only made of rocks, water, moss, and sappy French pop music, I must look past the trees to find the forest.

Trail to Bakka on the Nærøyfjord in Norway

Okay, maybe it is mostly waterfalls and rocks here in this area of Norway.

Village of Bakka on the Nærøyfjord in Norway

Better to have arrived in Bakka in shadow than to have never arrived at all.

Village of Bakka on the Nærøyfjord in Norway

Seriously, how can a place be this idyllic? Is using the word idyllic twice in one post even allowed by the Governing Body of Blog Writers International?

Village of Bakka on the Nærøyfjord in Norway

Drive Slow – Children Playing.

Bakka Church on the Nærøyfjord in Norway

This is why we are in Bakka: to see the Bakka Church. It’s not especially old; there are no historical events of note to remember the place by; it didn’t replace a 1000-year-old stave church or a pagan site used by Vikings. It’s just a regular church – except this one is on Nærøyfjord.

Bakka Church on the Nærøyfjord in Norway

I was certain by this time that we’d be the only visitors, but when we started to enter the church grounds, a French couple drove up. Most of our hiking trail was the old, crumbling, somewhat precarious road between Gudvangen and Bakka, right by the water’s edge that car traffic bypasses in a tunnel, but after that tunnel, we were walking on that road along with a couple of cars that were coming or going. It took me a moment to find the light switch, but I’m not the one to be shy about making myself at home, though I refrained from playing the organ.

Bakka Church on the Nærøyfjord in Norway

When one looks into the majestic from day to day, one often loses sight of the magnitude of what one should be seeing. We’ve known this behavior through many encounters during our travels and even have been part of the shortsightedness ourselves. We end up romanticizing what’s likely ordinary to those who live in such a place and imagine that if the environment is so intoxicating to us, this would be the perfect place to live, but how certain is that? I’m sure that for those who live in warzones, drug-addled neighborhoods, abject poverty, or incarceration, that would be true, but how long before we normalize a place, find the issues that drive others away, or begin to romanticize the next place on the map?

In Bakka at the narrowest point on the Nærøyfjord in Norway

This is the point in Bakka where I believe the Bleiklindi (the pale linden tree) once stood, and people crossed the frozen fjord with their custom-made boats modified with sled rails to handle an icy, slushy, or watery crossing.

Caroline Wise leaving the village of Bakka on the Nærøyfjord in Norway

Guard Kitty, protector of Bakka, ensuring that those who visit don’t forget to leave, escorted us to the edge of town. He watched us a good long time to ensure we went on our way. At first encounter, he didn’t seem to have the best of humor, so we went in peace…after a few head scratches. Okay, I’ll come clean: there was nothing guard-like about this fluffy chunk of love. I wish we could have taken him with us as he seemed to want to come with us because he followed our every step from the white house in the background.

Leaving the village of Bakka on the Nærøyfjord in Norway

Like the yellow-brick road, except every direction delivers us to Oz.

A steer on the trail to Gudvangen on the Nærøyfjord in Norway

Would you believe this is a furry unicorn sporting dual horizontal horns? Neither did Caroline, but not from a lack of trying to convince her, nor would she mount up after I insisted it was perfectly safe. Not included in this photo are the three cows from this guy’s harem that approached Caroline with curiosity, but at the moment one of them was about to get a head scratch and Caroline a sloppy licking, the girl got spooked and leaped away in the way only a cow can leap, which triggered my wife to also begin evasive maneuvers.

On the trail to Gudvangen on the Nærøyfjord in Norway

The window of infinite grace that shines brightly in the day is giving way to the world of the infinite dream, where darkness lures us to sleep and to the place where memories are collected, refined, or disposed of.

Sunset over the Nærøyfjord in Gudvangen, Norway

Dinner was an outdoor affair of fish, fjord, and the setting sun. Time to collect our impressions and head off for dreams of Vikings in our Viking room.

Biking and Sauna in Flåm, Norway

Myrdal, Norway

Nowhere to go from here but down. Our day began 2,843 feet below us with a great breakfast at our hotel that included all the bread, rolls, locally cured meats, cheese, fish, yogurt, granola, and, of course, beans, sausages, bacon and eggs for that part of the crowd who need what they know. The Flåmsbana that brought us out of the mountains yesterday is the same train taking us right back up, not for us to continue our journey on to Bergen as many others will be: we have a couple of bikes reserved, along with two box lunches for the trek straight back to where we just left. Later today, we will have traversed this slice of Norway with three different perspectives: train down on a sunny day, train up on a cloudy morning, and a walk/bike ride down on a day transitioning to a mix of clouds and sun. Essentially, we got it all.

On the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

On the Flåmsbana up to Myrdal, I was a bit distracted from taking photos by our conversation with a couple from Australia. She was 75, and her husband was approaching 80. They were at the end of a five-week vacation that took them from Down Under to New York City to board a ship that would take them over the Atlantic to Greenland, a circumnavigation of Iceland, all the way up to Svalbard before traveling down the coast of Norway that was now complete. After the ride to Myrdal, they would continue by train to Oslo, where they would start their long flights home. The lady shared that she and her husband agreed that after this 5-week-long adventure, they might only have one more intense journey left in them as they were contending with the difficulties that their bodies weren’t cooperating with them and their expectations. The lesson is obvious: we never know when our ability to exert ourselves is passing and when or where we’ll encounter that moment of disappointment when the realization sets in that pushing against our limits is over.

We hadn’t quite moved 50 feet down the trail before I was already stopping in need of taking an establishing shot of nature to better demonstrate where this bike ride was beginning. You could say that we were happy with the gloomy, overcast sky because the weather forecast called for a 66% chance of rain out here today. However, other than a couple of very minor sprinkles, we did not get rain of any appreciable amount. Good thing, too, since we inadvertently had left the ponchos back at the hotel, subconsciously understanding that if they were with us, we’d have needed them.

On the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

Twenty-one kilometers (13 miles) are still ahead of us, but that’s okay; we’re just starting out, and it’s still early.

On the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

No, seriously, Caroline, we’ll get going as soon as I grab this shot because if it’s raining later and we don’t have any photos, we’ll be remiss that earlier, when we could have captured these mediocre sights, we passed them by.

On the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

I know that I said just that photo, but give me a break. You obviously didn’t see the flowers on the right and if we miss these, we could go the entire day without seeing a splash of vibrancy, considering the dullness of the sky that is working hard to ruin our attitude. As a photographer, I demand proper sun, so the vibrancy of our images always conveys that our life is perfect every day.

On the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

Knowing beforehand that the first part of our trail is rather steep, with hairpin turns in which a miscalculation in time and space could launch us into injury or worse, and since death at this time in our lives is the least preferred next step, we dismounted our bikes and were ready for the walk down.

On the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

The truth is that we’d have preferred not to have rented bikes at all and that we’d be walking the entire 21 kilometers between Myrdal and Flåm, but at 5:30 p.m., we have a reservation for something we’d never want to miss. As a bike ride, this route is supposed to take about an hour, but we were well-prepared to break that record in the opposite direction, and the only question was, how long we could stretch out the time in order to arrive back in town as close to our appointment as possible.

On the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

Maybe I could have taken more photos from the train yesterday when the sun and blue sky contributed so much to the landscape that finding enchantment in the journey overwhelmed the sense of trying to capture it better than I did. To lament what might be missing visually, though, would miss the point of being out here: to simply experience a long, slow moment of feeling, smelling, touching, and being in this rarified place few of us will ever travel through, especially at a pace that allows the senses to linger in the expanse and simultaneous intimacy.

Caroline Wise on the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

Are you happy, Caroline? “I’m infinitely happy on spectrums of that feeling that even this smile will never convey. Only someone who’s known me for 30 years or more might have an inkling of what this means to me, maybe somebody like you, John.”

On the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

“Do you love me, John?” That sense of togetherness that draws us closer is like this waterfall, where the water molecules are inextricably linked, becoming the very definition of what this fluid is and how it flows through nature. We are that love that flows with one another through the nature of our lives as though this were the only way our existence is allowed to be present during our lifetimes.

On the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

“Are you tired of letting this heavy bicycle drag us along?” The two of us had already smiled at one another countless times before we reached this point on the trail. Had we been riding along, our attention would have been focused on remaining safe instead. The concentration required to negotiate these tight curves would have deprived us of reveling in the moments where we were able to exclaim the love that powers our smiles and draws us closer to reaching out and touching the other in order to verify that all of this is real.

On the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

Real it is and nearly as solid, luscious, soft, and gorgeous as the moss that grows on rocks locked in the symbiotic relationship that is inescapable to these two elements next to the trail and the two people on it.

On the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

“John, let me ask you, do you think all of this might have been created for us and that the people who race past us fail to absorb the little things that create bigger things? Or do they speed through only knowing they did a thing?” Well, Caroline, we not only possess the ability to move glacially, allowing the carving of deep impressions out of our experience in places such as this, but the interpretations that we share with each other of what might have been overlooked will create a situation where we’ll understand we didn’t just do a thing but that we are creating a new universe from the one that’s been crafted for us. I have to wonder if there are others whose sensitivities demand that without intense, slow scrutiny of the world, they, too, question the reality of it all.

On the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

Are these iterations of the same thing we’ve been examining, or are our shifts in perspective granting us special observational powers to see more?

On the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

Funny how the same thing doesn’t appear the same when mere inches are added to or removed from the vantage point.

On the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

As scenic as the views are from the Flåmsbana train on its perch high up on the canyon wall and with its relative breakneck speed of about 27 km/h (17 mph), the granular details available to those who can travel by foot at a speed of barely 2 km/h (1.25 mph) open scenic views in ways unimaginable on that railed rocketship.

On the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

To paraphrase Bruce Lee: Be like water making its way through cracks…adjust to the object…and allow yourself to flow.

On the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

The majority of these images fail to convey what we actually saw and experienced, but they are the only visual representation I have to approximate any semblance of all of the sights. As for these words, they feel like hackneyed and trite platitudes that scramble to convey something meaningful about the intensity of our experiences but mostly fall short. I am left to feel like a charlatan drowning in imposter syndrome, but I don’t know what else to do or say that will illuminate our memories should they grow weak.

On the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

Not only did we eat these wild raspberries, but we also ate all the other ripe ones we could find, and let me tell you, there were many. They were obviously all for us since nobody else stopped. I don’t even believe the other cyclists could have seen these little red treasures of good fortune as they flew by in a blur. Yummy trail delicacies picked by the person who loves you can only be enhanced by them delicately placing one between your lips while laughing at those on bikes who don’t even have the curiosity to ask what we are doing.

On the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

Ah, now I better understand the relationship between the train and what we are witnessing. They are way over there, and we are all the way over here where all the really amazing stuff is. If the passengers only knew what they were missing for the sake of convenience.

On the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

Wait a second, are we going in the wrong direction? Haven’t we already passed this cascade?

On the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

That’s right; your eyes are not deceiving you. We will be eating raspberries under the sun next to cascades, waterfalls, and streams while wildflowers sing and dance for the trolls hidden in places we cannot find. This is Norway, after all.

On the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

Listen to their song as they perform for the Huldra, too.

On the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

It might be difficult to make out, but this is a village for trolls camouflaged as a bunch of mossy rocks; I know this to be fact, as a forest spirit told me so.

On the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

Whoa, this is a first in the history of Earth! NOBODY has previously witnessed this exact configuration of water flowing around these rocks, but we were here and saw it with our own eyes, even capturing the moment of uniqueness to share with others.

On the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

We are no longer walking the bikes as we are well past the switchbacks of death but are stopping frequently because taking photos while riding bumpy gravel paths doesn’t work out very well.

On the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

I hope that sharing so many images of this small section of the Rallarvegen would convince you that something like this would be strenuous and outside your comfort zone, so if we should ever be so lucky to visit again, we would be out here by ourselves once again, able to eat all the raspberries and listen to the rushing water all by our lonesomes.

Caroline Wise on the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

Caroline asked me to inform you that she is not taking a pee; she’s a woman, after all, and must squat. So what is she doing over there? My wife sometimes gets these weird ideas that there’s this perfect spot to get the optimal view of something that essentially looks the same from my perspective 10 feet away. I should admit that there are times when I get these really cute shots of her rear end (ihr Po) due to this arrangement, but I don’t share them here, they are only posted on her OnlyFans site she doesn’t know about.

On the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

I often hear from people seeing the photos that accompany these writings that they are surprised by how nice they look, meaning that they are picking up something or other from what inspired me at the time to capture the scene. They arrive at our photos from a perspective of unfamiliarity with what I’m sharing with them, so they don’t pick up on the emotional context, sense of friendship, love, and sharing that Caroline and I felt when these memories were made. After picking the photos that speak best to what lingers in our mind’s eye, I embark on an attempt to write something that will offer the reader a sense of what we experienced by moving through such a journey of impressions.

And then there’s the phenomenon that these specific images when viewed on a future blog visit, will replay something from deep within our heads in a nearly pixel-perfect reflection of our most distant memories. Glancing at an old photo, we feel a familiarity with the particular light, color, warmth, and framing that is missing in other images of the same scenery that we didn’t capture, meaning if I see images of the exact location, they do not speak to me as much as my own. Combine those visual perceptions with what I try to find in writing, and you might start to understand my wish is to create a kind of multi-sensorial capsule that adds some small amount of context from the time when we were making these experiences so we can relive our greatest hits again and again.

Tunnel on the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

We’ve christened this the Tunnel of Love because we kissed in a dark corner, out of view of the crowds trying to witness our affection.

On the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

What has anything you’ve ever seen meant to you? Was it so meaningful that you never wanted to part with the memory? I write about rocks, trees, water, birds, insects, fish, animals, people, my wife, the sky, trails, oceans, food, music, thoughts, caves, snow, Europe, America, idiots, inspirations, and random moments, because it seems to be that life, in general, is meaningful. To those of you buying homes, amazing cars, big TVs, having children, and going on once-in-a-lifetime vacations, how is it that you don’t have even an hour, a week, or a month to share your success story with the world to inspire others? Instagram and TikTok are not avenues for stories that include the soul of feelings, though there are some funny clips and inspirational images.

On the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

But who am I to talk? I’m like this moss here: my thoughts take a long time to accumulate; you’ll have to look at it a long time and study it if are to see and understand everything that’s going on here and who in their right mind would consider moss and granite to be a sexy thing one could be quickly influenced by? I thus fail as an influencer on so many levels. I’m not handsome (except to Caroline), I’m not built of the right proportions, meaning I’m obese (including in the eyes of Caroline), I wear none of the accouterments of cool such as piercings, gauges, tattoos, sunglasses, fashionable hair or clothes, on-brand sports gear, hats with the proper loyalty advert, or drive a car anyone would envy. I’m like the rhizoids that anchor moss to the earth, but instead of providing water and minerals to the leaves and stems, I’m providing a record of the connections that anchored people to their imaginations and gave them reasons to venture further in their journey.

Berekvam Station on the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

Time for a break from this long journey out of the mountains, through the forest, and down to the sea. We are stopping at Berekvam Station on the Flåmsbana rail line to sit down and have lunch.

Lunch at Berekvam Station on the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

A few days ago, while in Oslo, I shared a photo of a sign for the Freia Company and hinted that the company would play a part in our vacation; this is it. Those red, yellow, and green packages that read, “Kvikk Lunsj” are KitKat-like, only better, treats that would have been the sunshine of our day had the actual sun not come out to brighten these lands. By capturing this photographic still life at the picnic table next to the rail stop while riding down a mountain to a fjord, I captured a moment that helps define our day. While this image alone could easily bring parts of the journey back, I’m still happy that there are 3,165 other posts and thousands of photos before this one that exist, leaving the two primary readers of this blog smiling at our big adventures that also include simple things.

John's new socks on the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

Speaking of things that exist and come into existence, this is the first day I’m wearing my newest pair of handmade socks. The yarn likely was purchased in Oregon, to the best of Caroline’s recollection. I shared a photo a week ago while we were on the train from Lund to Gothenburg, Sweden, that shows her working on this very pair, just finishing the heel, and it was well on its way to joining the other couple of dozen of Love Socks that have been knitted exclusively for me.

John Wise and Caroline Wise on the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

It’s not every day we get to take a selfie at a rail crossing with bikes, but when we do take such a photo, it’s only ever been in Norway.

On the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

How long has this monolith stood in the flow of the river? How much bigger was it a couple of thousand years ago when people were wandering through the area? While out here, we’ve not seen a sign of wildlife, nor was anyone fishing these waters, but knowing that agriculture came later to Norway, starting at the bottom of the country and traveling north over centuries, the hunter-gatherers in this area obviously had to be to sustain themselves but on what? Is the area depleted of those resources? Had only someone been keeping a blog back in 15 A.D., we might have answers. Heck, what’s wrong with the current residents not offering us a detailed overview of the flora and fauna and how it’s evolving?

Goat on the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

Hello Ms. Goat, resting by the trail, might you have some tasty children for us to sample? If you think I’m making some oblique reference to a Norwegian folk tale, you’d be wrong, as little did I know when taking this photo that in less than two hours, Caroline and I would be chomping on a kid.

On the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

Upon arriving in the Flåmsdalen Valley, the Aurlandsfjord might already be within sight if we were drones flying down from Myrdal, but being humans utilizing bicycles to propel us, we’ll just have to wait to see the fjord. Plus, we are not in a hurry for this awesome long walk/ride to come to an end.

Rjoandefossen on the Rallarvegen between Myrdal and Flåm, Norway

This is the Rjoandefossen (Rjoande Waterfall), which I believe is the second closest waterfall to the village of Flåm, about 5 kilometers (3 miles) away. For a sense of scale, this section of the waterfall is 140 meters (460 feet) tall. The closest waterfall is the Brekkefossen only 2.5 kilometers (1.5 miles) away.

Flåm Church in Flåm, Norway

Flåm Kyrka closed today for a funeral. At one time, there was a stave church here, but by 1670, it was long gone, replaced by this church.

Flåm Church in Flåm, Norway

What will we do now that we’ve missed visiting the interior of this historic church during what was likely a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity?

Caroline Wise at Huldra Husflid in Flåm, Norway

The answer is yarn shopping, of course. Caroline thought this was a gift shop. I don’t know how she missed that on the sign by the door that it is a yarn store, but I caught it. Not in 152 years would we have guessed it were possible that something like this could exist in a village of 350 but here it is, Huldra Husflid og Kunsthandverk. It might as well have been the work of the Huldra (Forest Spirit) that materialized this little miracle here as gratitude for the people who tried to take time to understand, contemplate, and feel the environment we traveled through today. The yarn in the bags were kits that included wool, as seen in front of Caroline, that comes from Otternes Farm, which we visited yesterday. Life is magic.

Food stand in Flåm, Norway

For only $18 a burger, you, too, can eat a kid, as we did. Of course, we shared one because spending a gazillion dollars on local yarn limited our pleasure budget. Not only that, but the next big adventure pre-drained the bank account upon making the reservation.

Fjord Sauna in Flåm, Norway

After a coffee at the hotel, we mosied on over to the right side of the fjord, where a couple of floating saunas are moored. I had meant this to be a big surprise for Caroline, but I couldn’t help but share that I’d made the reservation while we were still in Arizona because I was just too excited to sit on that. Regarding my comment about the bank account, I opted for the private sauna session so we wouldn’t embarrass ourselves with our total lack of knowledge about sauna etiquette; we are shy that way. Should one be interested in a shared sauna experience, it’s only about $35 for a 90-minute session. For the Fjordsauna to be yours alone, that will cost you about $240, but how many opportunities does one have to sauna at sunset on a fjord in a UNESCO World Heritage Site?

Caroline Wise at Fjord Sauna in Flåm, Norway

There’s a trapdoor and ladder that allows us to quickly dip into the fjord to cool off from the 70 Celsius (158 Fahrenheit) steamy eucalyptus-scented air in which we are sweating. I can’t explain just how, but this experience on the fjord is impressively different from our first sauna encounter in Oslo, and the whole thing is a dramatically better moment in the heat that kills our desert temperatures in Arizona. This method of familiarizing yourself with the 13 Celsius (55 Fahrenheit) temperature of the fjord in privacy is dignified because there were no witnesses to my whining about the ice water I was dipping into. Of course, this wasn’t an issue for my tough wife, who womaned up and just got in.

Caroline Wise swimming in Aurlandfjord at Fjord Sauna in Flåm, Norway

After our sauna in Oslo that was only 50 Celsius (122 Fahrenheit), I thought we’d be lucky to enjoy 30 minutes of saunaing, but after cooling off so quickly in the fjord, stepping back into the steam treatment was a pleasure. Caroline did not have to swim out from the trapdoor; we had a deck from which we could jump off or use a ladder to step in gingerly. Caroline opted for the latter, but she at least had the guts to swim out. My reaction to the cold was too debilitating for me to trust, letting go of a hold in case I should pass out or lock up in a shiver of panic. Not only did she take a couple of swims, but she had to effectively pose for me until I got the perfect photo.

Sauna Master Lukáš Hajas in Flåm, Norway

Meet Sauna Master Lukáš, the person who offered the instruction and encouragement that ensured that our 90 minutes in the sauna were nothing short of perfect. His coordination to deliver perfect conditions on the fjord, free of rain and wind, with just the right amount of blue skies filled with dramatic clouds, allowed us to find enchantment in the Norwegian sunset, the alignment of the stars. We are full of appreciation for this incredibly friendly guy who, with an excellent sense of hospitality, gave two strangers a world-class experience that will forever live in their hearts. Yep, it was Slovakian Sauna Master Lukáš Hajas who made dreams come true on this day, a giant among Sauna Masters. Thanks, Lukáš for being a mensch.

Aurlandfjord at Fjord Sauna in Flåm, Norway

All of a sudden, the expense of the day became a bargain as the rarity of such an experience wasn’t lost on us. I don’t believe there was a thing I’d change to enhance a single second we experienced on this Thursday, but then again, the day wasn’t over yet. I nearly forgot to mention that Lukáš added emphasis on our good luck because back in July, visitors were being inundated by rain for 28 days in a row, which put a damper on summer activities. Yay, let’s celebrate beautiful skies, as not everyone gets them.

Ægir Bryggeri in Flåm, Norway

Before entering Ægir Bryggeri (Aegir Microbrewery), we dined next door at Flåmsbrygga Hotel. There was nothing extraordinary about dinner, but then came dessert and a nice conversation with our server, Jose from Chile. A brown goat cheese (you might remember the Brunost we had in Oslo) was the basis for a pannacotta topped with cloudberries, yum! Chatting with our server, we brought up the music and got to discussing Los Prisioneros, a famous Chilean band, and it turned out that this young guy loved them and put the track Tren Al Sur into the restaurant playlist. Dinner became nearly surreal here in Norway as we were listening to Los Prisioneros from Chile.

Oslo All Day

Oslo, Norway

So far, during our stay in Scandinavia, breakfast has been included in the cost of our room, but not today. For the two of us, we were looking at about $55 for the hotel buffet, and while we were assured that everything on it was organic, it was a bitter pill. We headed towards our bus stop, figuring we’d find a bakery, and were proven right. Occupying a couple of stools in the front window, we sat down to share a pretzel croissant, a cream-filled pastry, and a slice of pizza, along with a couple of coffees for only $13 or 140 Norwegian Kroner. Our view offered us the opportunity to watch Oslo going to work and school on foot, scooter, and bicycle. There are a lot of electric cars and e-bikes on these streets, too. Lots of women are wearing dresses, far more than I ever see in the States, while men conform to the international business attire code of blue slacks, light shirts, and tan shoes, and maybe half of everyone carries a backpack. In the 30 minutes we spent grazing and people-watching, a licensed beggar sitting right in front of us with her back to the window did not see a single coin dropped in her cup. I point out that she’s licensed as beggars have to wear lanyards with their badge of authorization, a first for us.

Oslo, Norway

We were just across the street from our bus stop and are still getting used to the fact that pedestrians have the right of way and just keep moving when entering a striped crosswalk; cars will yield. If the intersection is controlled by walk/don’t walk signs, the public waits, although even those signs feel like mere suggestions. Once on the bus, signs asking for civility are strewn about, such as this one asking people to keep their feet off of the seats. Also, notice that USB connections are offered and that nothing is written or carved into the panels. Hey, America, are we animals?

Bygdøy Peninsula in Oslo, Norway

We’ve arrived out on the Bygdøy Peninsula and are early, which is perfectly økey døkey with us as we have some time to take in a different view of the Oslofjord on a perfect day. Who wouldn’t want to do exactly that?

Fram Museum on the Bygdøy Peninsula in Oslo, Norway

Olav Bjaaland, Oscar Wisting, Roald Amundsen, Sverre Hassel, and Helmer Hanssen are memorialized here at the Fram Museum for their courage in being the first five men to reach the South Pole.

Bygdøy Peninsula in Oslo, Norway

There are five museums out here in Bygdøy, but one of the must-sees is currently closed until approximately 2026, which is unfortunate as they have the best-preserved and largest known Viking ship excavated from a burial site, the Oseberg Ship.

Caroline Wise standing in Oslofjord on Bygdøy Peninsula in Oslo, Norway

It was bound to happen at least once on this trip to the watery lands of the north, and with time to spare this morning, it seemed like a great time to kick off the shoes and step into Oslofjord. I have to wonder if anyone else’s feet in the history of humanity have bathed in so many diverse locations from around our earth as Caroline, who has stepped into the Pacific and Atlantic oceans, the North, Baltic, and Mediterranean seas, the Gulf of Mexico, and countless lakes and rivers including the majority of America’s biggest rivers.

Bygdøy Peninsula in Oslo, Norway

I found a mention of this being the Bygdøynes Light or maybe Lantern, with no other supporting information than a guess that it’s managed by the Norwegian Maritime Museum. Just after taking this photo, we dipped into that museum and snapped off a couple of images but were more excited to get into the Fram Museum next door.

Fram Museum on the Bygdøy Peninsula in Oslo, Norway

More wow on this trip, this time in the form of the wooden ship that delivered a crew to the Antarctic, allowing Olav Bjaaland, Oscar Wisting, Roald Amundsen, Sverre Hassel, and Helmer Hanssen to be the first five people to ever visit the South Pole. If you don’t know the story, here’s a quick synopsis: Roald Amundsen and his crew set sail in the summer of 1910 on the polar ship Fram for the Arctic, but when they reached Madeira, Portugal, the captain told his crew that they were, in fact, going to the Antarctic. They landed in January 1911 and, by mid-December of the same year, had reached the South Pole. A month before Robert F. Scott arrived, too late.

Fram Museum on the Bygdøy Peninsula in Oslo, Norway

The ship is packed with original gear and artifacts from the time of the expedition, except for this creepy guy, who I believe is a prop and not a mummified original crew member.

Fram Museum on the Bygdøy Peninsula in Oslo, Norway

Not only were we able to visit the deck, quarters, and galley, but also climbed nearly to the bottom of the hull. We peered into the engine room and were able to check out the storage areas with furs and other equipment that helped sustain the Norwegian explorers.

Fram Museum on the Bygdøy Peninsula in Oslo, Norway

With a windmill up on deck to generate electricity, the Fram was equipped with electric lights, which must have been a luxury.

Fram Museum on the Bygdøy Peninsula in Oslo, Norway

In 1935, it took more than two months to pull the ship onto dry land and its final resting place where the structure housing it was built. It was only in 2018 that further restoration work opened the crew quarters and other areas below deck to the visiting public. Right there in the center of the photo is the windmill that supplied the crew with electricity.

Fram Museum on the Bygdøy Peninsula in Oslo, Norway

The lighting of Fram left a lot to be desired, and while I’m sure my phone would have better captured the available light, the quality of those images is just too poor. A tripod would have helped, but rarely, if ever, are those things allowed into and onto historic exhibits, so my images are a bit on the dark side. As intrigued as we were seeing the Vasa over in Stockholm, this ship, too required us to capture what we could to memorialize the day we stood on her decks and were able to explore such a historic part of the age of polar exploration.

Fram Museum on the Bygdøy Peninsula in Oslo, Norway

It’s crazy to think that just about 110 years ago, the first people explored the South Pole via a wooden boat without a two-way radio, and today, we deploy solar-array powered space telescopes orbiting the sun a million miles from Earth. The engine on the Fram had about 700 horsepower, while the Ariane 5 rocket that launched the James Webb Space Telescope had the equivalent of more than 3 million horsepower.  While Amundson’s crew was capturing black & white images in the equivalent of 8 to 10 megapixels compared to today, the James Webb telescope is sending us images that, after processing, can be as large as 123 megapixels. The tragedy that is apparent when I consider the progress we’ve made collectively is that the ship of humanity is listing while our tools have eclipsed the ability of our individual minds to rise to the occasion and propel our species into the future.

Fram Museum on the Bygdøy Peninsula in Oslo, Norway

Fram, Norwegian for forward. It should be the motto of humanity instead of Frykt, Norwegian for fear. If you ask me, fear should be pronounced “Fukt.”

Kon-Tiki Museum on the Bygdøy Peninsula in Oslo, Norway

This is the third museum we visited this morning; it plays host to the efforts of Thor Heyerdahl. The Kon-Tiki raft, made of balsa wood and other native materials, proved Heyerdahl’s theory that early explorers could have traversed the Pacific Ocean on such a raft just as he and five others did back in 1947. Regarding the specifics of his other controversial claims, I don’t rightly care as I was more fascinated by the details of their precarious journey that carried them on a 101-day, 4,300-nautical-mile (5,000-mile or 8,000 km) adventure over the vast ocean.

Kon-Tiki Museum on the Bygdøy Peninsula in Oslo, Norway

This is the other craft in the Kon-Tiki Museum, the Ra II papyrus boat, which carried Heyerdahl and six others across the Atlantic Ocean.

Norwegian Folk Museum in Oslo, Norway

Done with yet another museum and onto the next, the Norwegian Folk Museum.

Norwegian Folk Museum in Oslo, Norway

Similar to the Museum of Cultural History in Lund, Sweden we visited less than a week ago, the folk museum looks at elements scattered across the history of Norway. Drawing from buildings and artifacts that could be moved out here to Bygdøy, these things were collected, rebuilt, and put on display in order to preserve parts of Norwegian history that would otherwise disappear.

Norwegian Folk Museum in Oslo, Norway

There are 160 buildings representing Norway from the past 500 years on display here, with many of them open for a visit. The ones that are locked up are likely open for visitation during the main tourist season. This also then has us asking if there are more people on hand in period clothes to help the buildings come to life…

Norwegian Folk Museum in Oslo, Norway

…such as this old grocery store from Oslo announcing milk and delicatessen goods sold by this young lady at the counter.

Norwegian Folk Museum in Oslo, Norway

This was as far as we could go in the pharmacy, as it was like many of the exhibits, protected by a plexiglass barrier.

Norwegian Folk Museum in Oslo, Norway

A guided tour would have been great here as, aside from impressions, there’s not a lot to be learned, with signage being at a minimum.

Norwegian Folk Museum in Oslo, Norway

Being present in these environments, even without a narrative, works for Caroline and me as once we’re home, we have the ability to discover more about the history of the people, art, architecture, culture, and politics with the experience of having been immersed in places where we gained some small amount of the sense of things and are now ready to contextualize what we are learning.

Norwegian Folk Museum in Oslo, Norway

The buildings here at the Norwegian Folk Museum are not recreations; they are authentic, and so I understand why they can’t really be put to work, but all the same, I can easily imagine a space where we could sit down for a meal set to some point a few hundred years ago. This is something that Colonial Williamsburg in Virginia does exceptionally well.

Norwegian Folk Museum in Oslo, Norway

I would be remiss if I forgot to share that Caroline had recommended that we pick up a couple of Oslo City Passes that paid for our transportation and museum entries for 24 hours; it turned out to be a great deal. If someone is visiting Oslo for a few days, the 72-hour city pass is an incredible bargain at only $80 for 35 museums, busses, trains, and even the public ferry.

This old farmhouse was once the home of the Lende family from Jæren, Sweden.

Norwegian Folk Museum in Oslo, Norway

Sadly, the City Pass didn’t convince the driver of the horsecart to let us get on board.

Stave Church at the Norwegian Folk Museum in Oslo, Norway

Wow, an original stave church from the 1200s. This one was moved to Bygdøy from Gol, a couple of hundred kilometers north of Oslo, back in 1884.

Stave Church at the Norwegian Folk Museum in Oslo, Norway

Somewhere in here is a stave with a rune that reads, “Kiss me because I struggle.”

Stave Church at the Norwegian Folk Museum in Oslo, Norway

These churches were Christian, though some of the imagery and forms evoke something pagan for me. As for the term stave church, the name is derived from the fact that the support structures are vertical posts and planks, known as staves. Considering that these medieval buildings were made exclusively of wood, we are lucky that even one of them survived the intervening 800 to 900 years.

Stave Church at the Norwegian Folk Museum in Oslo, Norway

I suppose this could negate my previous statement about being built exclusively of wood, but I hope you get what I meant, as it was not implied there were no iron flourishes here and there.

Fiber Arts at the Norwegian Folk Museum in Oslo, Norway

Ladies, gentlemen, and non-binary people, I now return you to that part of the story where the fiber arts are center stage again. These four straps are examples of backstrap weaving.

Fiber Arts at the Norwegian Folk Museum in Oslo, Norway

When one begins to understand the efforts made by our ancestors to create culturally unique clothing for pageantry, marriage, special occasions, or just to look one’s best, these clothes begin to take on extra significance, especially in contrast to the mass-market clothing that from certain perspectives reveal that it is only the rare individual who actually wears anything unique in our modern age.

Fiber Arts at the Norwegian Folk Museum in Oslo, Norway

I’ve often heard the argument that without a job, people would have no purpose; I’ve even heard this from women who deride the idea of being “just” a housewife or mother. First of all, mothering is the single most important thing half of humanity is capable of doing at some point in their lives. If Caroline had more free time, we’d have a coverlet handwoven by her, but to weave the length required and then sew them together is a Herculean effort, and that’s even before considering creating embellishments such as borders or fringes. The same applies to our clothes, hats, straps, pouches, bags, and other things that would benefit from flourishes of handcrafted beauty. Having free time, extraordinary amounts at times, allows us to discover and create greater meaning regarding many facets of our lives that we’d never discover otherwise, such as this incredible opportunity I indulge in by writing about the experiences shared by Caroline and me.

Fiber Arts at the Norwegian Folk Museum in Oslo, Norway

The Stradivarius violin has a reputation for being a work of art, but what of things like this well-worn loom with perfect lines and a hidden history of the cloth that was made thread by thread and possibly worn by someone of significance that impacted all of our lives?

Norwegian Folk Museum in Oslo, Norway

Who among us would have the skills to make a hand-carved wooden wine jug that wouldn’t leak? I’m guessing this vessel had something to do with drink and merriment as the two guys at the table have glasses in their hands while one is empty, awaiting the jug of drink. My first thought was how something like this was sealed from dripping away its contents, and good ‘ol artificial intelligence guru Claude offered me multiple ideas of how to accomplish such a thing, but I’m opting for a combo. Claude shared info about using precision-carved wood staves. The vessel sure does seem to feature those that would be bound by willow or metal bands, and while I don’t know if they are willow, they are certainly bounding bands that wrap the pitcher. I also learned about various substances that could be used to line the interior, and in my mind, I’ve settled on wax as being the most neutral for serving alcohol.

After our Norwegian Folk Museum experience, we were ready for more Norwegian nourishment and ate in the museum’s cafeteria before heading back to the city center.

Caroline Wise at Fru Kvist Yarn in Oslo, Norway

The availability of yarn in a city must be a measure of civility. For the second time in two days, here’s Caroline with yet more of the fluffy stuff, this time from Fru Kvist Yarn. By this fact alone, Oslo has become more and more sophisticated from our viewpoint, but then take into account that the skeins Caroline is holding are yak wool from Mongolia and undyed Norwegian yarn, and I think my wife is ready to call Oslo home.

Opera House in Oslo, Norway

It’s seven weeks since we stood here at the foot of Oslofjord and about five and a half weeks since we came home that I’m writing this post, and I’m yet to miss a day of doing such. As a matter of fact, writing actually intensified after our return because there was no sightseeing from within a Phoenix coffee shop while I tried to tease a cohesive narrative out of my notebooks and photos to create a lasting story that would remind Caroline and me of the many beautiful things and places we enjoyed during our time in Europe and specifically Scandinavia. I work relentlessly on this process since I’m afraid if I take a day off, I’ll lose momentum or forget to finish the trip (it’s happened before). And so, I turn to the coffee shop literally every morning without fail in order to channel my attention to hopefully discovering some tiny amount of finesse in describing experiences that have more or less been had by many millions by this time. Consider, though, that maintaining a bead on all things vacation leads to some serious tunnel vision and that there are times I wish to be someplace, any place else but here at the keyboard, exploring my mind for the possibility that I can discover an insight meaningful not just to us but others who might stumble on these posts.

The Munch Museum in Oslo, Norway

The title of these posts from Oslo, Norway, would better be served with “Wrong Impressions of Oslo Cured By Destroying Misperceptions.” I can readily admit that I wasn’t exactly drawn into making a pilgrimage to a museum that could only be focused on the single piece of art that Edvard Munch is internationally known for. Everyone wants to see The Scream, and I honestly believed it was the only thing of his that was known. Of course, I was wrong, just as I’ve been about almost everything here in Oslo.

The Scream at the Munch Museum in Oslo, Norway

Some forty or so years ago, when I first learned of this piece titled The Scream, I was enchanted by its sense of the apocalyptic, but in the intervening years, I grew bored of it as overblown media saturation, and its place in the meme foodchain removed its gravity. Seeing it in person is okay and satisfies the collection of cultural treasures experienced firsthand, but it’s smaller than I thought. Then we learn that each of the three versions on display is on a cycle that helps protect them from exposure to light, so if we want to see the most famous of them, it’ll be about an hour before it cycles back. We were fully prepared to have only seen this black-and-white version because what else did Munch do? To those of you who might not know, Munch is pronounced: “Moonk.”

Strindberg Portrait at the Munch Museum in Oslo, Norway

NO WAY!!! I’ve known this portrait of August Strindberg since I bought my Penguin Classics copy of Inferno/From an Occult Diary, but I didn’t realize that it was painted by Edvard Munch.

Munch Portrait at the Munch Museum in Oslo, Norway

I’ve also been aware of this portrait of the artist himself, but never once have I really considered the provenance. Not far from these portraits hangs a colorful portrait of German philosopher Friederich Nietzsche, which bears some slight resemblance to The Scream, except Nietzsche is on the other side of the bridge, and he’s not in the pose of a scream. I think that it’s a subtle nod that Nietzsche’s screams are from within and that he’s on the side of reality where losing one’s mind can still be salvaged.

The Munch Museum in Oslo, Norway

In yesterday’s post, while writing about the Oslo Cathedral, I was pondering who influenced whom, while Caroline pointed out that the ceiling of the church was painted by Hugo Lous Mohr. Well, it was this painting here by Munch that raised the question.

The Scream at the Munch Museum in Oslo, Norway

I honestly didn’t think we’d be around to see this version of The Scream, but here we are and have now seen all three.

The Munch Museum in Oslo, Norway

On one of the floors of this large museum is an area where there are a number of carvings (based on a number of Munch pieces) embedded in a table. An ample supply of paper and wax pigments allows aspiring artists and others wanting to have fun to grab a seat and start rubbing images into the paper as a souvenir of their time at the Munch Museum. This was Caroline’s attempt at the art of frottage.

John Wise at the Munch Museum in Oslo, Norway

Self-portrait with seldom-seen hair out of ponytail.

The Mother at Inger Munch’s Pier in Oslo, Norway

This huge sculpture is called The Mother and was created by U.K. artist Tracey Emin, who was inspired by Munch to become an artist. This is a relatively new addition to Oslo prompted by local Norwegians who petitioned the city to build the location with access to swimming in the fjord during the earliest days of the COVID-19 epidemic. The reclaimed land was christened Inger Munch’s Pier after the youngest sister of Edvard Munch. I almost forgot to point out that even the Munch Museum is new and only opened in October 2021.

The Opera in Oslo, Norway

The idea of creating a giant public plaza sloping up from sea level to a viewpoint allowing visitors to look over the city, was a brilliant one. Caroline and I are on our way up.

The Opera in Oslo, Norway

By making the architecture of the opera accessible to Osloers and tourists alike, the building becomes incredibly familiar and personal, removing some of the sense of exclusivity that often is a part of the opera which is typically only visited by paying guests on performance days.

Caroline Wise at the Opera in Oslo, Norway

Now, the opera is available to everyone who wishes to create a kind of mini-performance piece where they are the actors with the city creating the soundtrack.

The white aluminum-clad exterior of the stage tower is meant to evoke old weaving patterns, which is likely part of the reason Caroline was compelled to reach out and touch it.

The Opera in Oslo, Norway

Time to put a mark on future travel plans to return to Oslo and gather a few other views from this remarkable building, but will we ever be so fortunate again to be treated to two consecutive beautiful days of perfect weather?

Caroline Wise at the Opera in Oslo, Norway

I could have hung out here from sunrise to sunset just to study the light and the flow of people as they become part of a story developing on the shore of Oslofjord. I now have so many questions about the construction of this plaza and a curiosity about what other buildings the architects might have contributed to.

Edvard Munch grave at Vår Frelsers Gravlund in Oslo, Norway

Vår Frelsers Gravlund (Cemetery of Our Saviour) is where you’ll find the gravesite of the man who will Scream no more, Edvard Munch. In another corner of the cemetery, you may visit the grave of Henrik Ibsen who’s not penned a play in more than 117 years.

Gamle Aker District in Oslo, Norway

From the cemetery, our path took us through the Gamle Aker District.

Oslo, Norway

For a brief moment, we thought we were entering a sketchy area where someone loves sluts, but just as quickly, we were back in the safe arms of a city with but a few smudges, as far as we could tell.

Oslo Street Food in the Torggata Bad building in Oslo, Norway

Not wanting to take anything for granted, how it worked out that we passed a dozen other places to eat before settling on the Oslo Street Food was a stroke of good luck that feels inexplicable that everything else didn’t strike a chord. This former home to Oslo’s largest indoor pool, called Torggata Bad, now hosts a multicultural selection of foods uncommon to the Norwegian palate. While the food court stops serving at 10:00 p.m. on weeknights, this place becomes a nightclub on weekends, open until 3:00, with the former pool area serving as the dance floor. It was on that pool floor where Caroline and I shared a tonkatsu don from Gohan and empanadas from De Mi Tierra.

After a short walk following dinner, we opted for a tram ride to the hotel as the extra mile felt impossible. The sauna had the same difficulty enticing us to step in as tired was overtaking us. Tomorrow, we will embark on another six-hour train ride, considered one of the most scenic on earth.

Norway, Here We Come

Stockholm Central Station, Sweden

We woke up within minutes before the alarm would have provided a waking nudge, still within the four o’clock hour. A little more than a half-hour later we arrived at the train station, pulling the suitcase of audible annoyance, and said goodbye to Stockholm. We picked up a little something or other for breakfast, figuring we’d be able to get more food in the cafe on the train should we get seriously hungry before our arrival in Oslo, Norway, at noon.

Breakfast on the train from Stockholm, Sweden

Oops, did I ever know that our 1st class ticket included breakfast? With no recollection of this luxury as part of our purchase so many weeks ago, we were pleasantly surprised when the steward came around handing out boxes that included a roll with ham and cheese, yogurt with a small packet of granola, apple juice, a slice of bread with butter, and milk for your coffee or tea.

About an hour east of Stockholm, Sweden

Riding the train at 200 km/h (125 mph) is a good metaphor for life as the world streams by and nothing can be grabbed. Fleeting moments might be captured if one is inclined to look outward but we’ll first have to look up from our routines or boredom to discover there are a great many wonderful impressions worth savoring. Meanwhile, many will remain on track following the dictates of habit, afraid to derail as the unknown arrives with fears and uncertainty.

Lake in Sweden next to the train route to Oslo, Norway

Look at those aboard the train with us; some sleep through the journey, while others apparently require social media to tolerate their time with themselves lest it lead to boredom, and a few appear to be working. Then there’s me looking into the treeline to catch sight of a wolf looking out at us. Passing fields, I hunt for hawks that have already accomplished the same and are feasting on their prey. Passing by a lake, I wonder if the fisherman has caught his.

We see a sign pointing to Sundsjön and think about what that place might be like, but it turns out the sign was for Västra Sundsjön, which is a lake. Fall is starting to show its colors, with yellow and gold leaves replacing the green ones that have been present all summer. The change of seasons has me considering sitting in the same place a few months from now when the landscape is blanketed with snow, but then I’m reminded how the warm bodies of us passengers are producing the kind of humidity that obscures the view with wet, foggy windows.

Passing over the Klarälven River in Karlstad, Sweden

I’ve searched far and wide for a glimpse of a moose, but other than on souvenirs, I’ve not seen a hint of them. Are we too far south? Traveling by train, I find my view quite limited if I try to look ahead and feel about the same if I try to see where we’ve come from. The point is that even when we are concerned with taking in what’s around us, our perspective will always be momentary and fractional of what the totality is. Leaving the vehicle while it’s speeding forward is not recommended, but as it does stop, will we be prepared to find spontaneity on occasion to venture into a place at once unfamiliar and uncertain to bring us into something profound?

In Karlstad, Sweden, we shift dimensions and modes of transport as the rest of our journey to Oslo, Norway, will be by bus, which will also slow significantly compared to the high-speed rail that got us this far. From peaceful quiet on the train, we transfer to the rambunctious chaos of the real world on a bus. I continue my search for wolves and moose while better than half of our fellow passengers have been lulled to sleep, judging by the awkward positions of their heads and the relative quiet that has settled in. If it weren’t for the 12 hours that would have been required to cover the 220 kilometers from Karlstad to Oslo, we would have been on bikes and able to stop here on the shore of the Klarälven River.

Border crossing between Sweden and Norway

We’ve reached the Norwegian border, next stop: Oslo.

Subway in Oslo, Norway

When we got into town, we wasted no time and headed straight to the subway train that would get us close to our abode for the next two nights: Guldsmeden Hotel Oslo.

Guldsmeden Hotel in Oslo, Norway

At check-in, we were given a pleasant surprise that our room had been upgraded to the bridal suite that not only had a big brass deep bathtub in front of our bed (that we’d not have time to use) but also came with a private sauna that we would acquaint ourselves with later this evening. However, with all of that blue sky smiling down on us outside, there was no time to luxuriate in our fantastic room, so we peeled ourselves away and got busy.

Royal Palace in Oslo, Norway

The plan, which is similar to other plans when arriving in a new city, was to get to the yarn store and get the fiber collection duties out of the way, but a funny thing happened on the way. We were walking up Parkveien, the same street we were staying on, when we saw a big park that also featured a large royal palace we could detour around, and seeing we were early, we’d not miss our real destination by taking a moment for sightseeing beyond the street we were traveling on.

Guard at the Royal Palace in Oslo, Norway

Hey Norway, while your royal guards carry weaponry that appears ready for deadly riots or combat compared to your Swedish cohorts and their simple rifles, you could learn a thing or two from the Swedes regarding uniforms, especially the headgear. Nothing says badass quite like a helmet with a chrome buttplug on it that inspires thoughts of the film Everything Everywhere All at Once.

Palace Park next to the Royal Palace in Oslo, Norway

Now finished with denigrating the Norwegian Royal Guard, we took a left through the park to see if we were now ready to avoid distraction.

Oslo, Norway

Whenever entering a new city, especially the capital of another country, we are keenly alert to what unique characteristics might define the architecture, lending a sense of what this nationality brings to this place.

Caroline Wise at Tjorven Yarn in Oslo, Norway

Witness this historic moment for yourself as Caroline, for the first time in her life is purchasing yarn in Norway. Should you think there must be a limit to this yarn acquisition madness, you’d be mistaken, as I’m fairly certain we have no less than 1,000 skeins of this stuff at home. I can already hear the whine from my drama queen wife, “But we didn’t have any from Tjorven yarn in Oslo, so this Drops brand is like me taking a part of Norway home with us…and shut up anyway, you know this sock yarn is all about you!”

Freia Chocolate in Oslo, Norway

Little did we know on this day how important the Freia company would become to us once we reached Myrdal, Norway, but that story will have to wait a few days.

Oslo Cathedral, Norway

I wonder how many visitors to this blog tire of our formulaic approach to visiting a city, from yarn store direct to a church, and today is no different as we are about to pay a visit to the Oslo Cathedral.

Oslo Cathedral, Norway

This is the 900-year-old Devil of Oslo, and while the Oslo Cathedral was only completed 326 years ago, in 1697, the carving of a man being attacked by a dragon and a lion was recovered from St. Hallvard’s Cathedral, Oslo’s original cathedral, from the 12th century. After a fire in 1624, St. Hallvard was abandoned and left to decay. While the ruin remains not too far away from here, this relic is now part of the wall of the “new” cathedral.

Oslo Cathedral, Norway

The Right Reverend Kari Veiteberg appears to be the first woman to ever hold the bishop title here in Oslo. Like so many other churches in the 16th century, this church broke away from Roman Catholicism to become an Evangelical Lutheran denomination, but it would take almost 500 years before a woman would take the helm.

Oslo Cathedral, Norway

This is one of the more peculiar paintings I’ve seen on the ceiling of a cathedral, and have to wonder if it’s not a bullseye maliciously painted on by the departing Catholics as a target where God should aim his vengeance for the Norwegians joining the Reformation or maybe it’s a new age relic from the 1970s.

Oslo Cathedral, Norway

Who inspired whom? Are these ceiling paintings older than Edvard Munch, or did he take inspiration while at the cathedral? [Not sure who inspired whom, but the cathedral paintings are by Hugo Lous Mohr – Caroline]

The Storting is the Norwegian Parliament in Oslo, Norway

This building is known as the Storting, which in English is the Norwegian Parliament. After learning just enough about Scandinavian history, it becomes apparent that “Storting” translates to big assembly as “Stor” is big and “Ting” is council or assembly meeting, which makes Storting an appropriate name for parliament.

Manhole cover in Oslo, Norway

Here we are once again encountering Saint Hallvard who turns out to be the main feature of Oslo’s coat of arms and features prominently on manhole covers across Oslo. Before becoming the patron saint of Oslo, Hallvard Vebjørnsson was just a 23-year-old man trying to defend an innocent young lady who’d been accused of theft when he was killed for his noble actions.

National Theater in Oslo, Norway

Almost as an homage, we had to visit the National Theater because not only did Henrik Ibsen collaborate in the founding of it, but there’s also a great statue of him here; you’ll have to see that for yourself. I first learned of Ibsen from another author who mentioned some aspects of his writings in connection to the work of Friedrich Nietzsche, which introduced me to Ibsen’s work titled Peer Gynt, though it is but a distant memory these days.

National Theater in Oslo, Norway

The theater was closed, and this was as far as we were allowed in.

Part of the University of Oslo, Norway

P. A. Munch, as a statue, stands in front of the University of Oslo Faculty of Law. While he shared the same last name with his famous nephew, the artist Edvard Munch, P.A. was famous in his own right for what he brought to Norwegian national identity through his historical texts on medieval Norway. [In case anyone else is wondering – P.A. stands for Peter Andreas, but for some reason, he’s usually referred to by his initials. – Caroline]

Oslo, Norway

As far as I know, there’s nothing famous or very historic going on in this photo; it’s just a snap of a scene that was appealing to my eye. Maybe this is a good time to share some trivia about this city. The original name upon its founding in 1040 was Ánslo, but after a fire in 1624, the Norges at that time changed the name to Kristiania in honor of the king at the time of rebuilding. [Christian IV of Denmark, the same monarch who lived in Rosenborg Palace in Copenhagen – Caroline] Then, in 1925, the city was renamed again, this time to Oslo.

Philharmonic Concert Hall in Oslo, Norway

If there was any disappointment to any part of this Scandinavian adventure (and I assure you there has been none), it would be in some small part connected to venues such as this building known as the Oslo Konserthus (Concert Hall) where I couldn’t find a musical performance for us to take in. Of course, that might be a good thing as giving three to four hours over to sitting still when we could be on the go takes away other things.

Oslo, Norway

This is Akershus Castle. Although we would walk below it later, we would never make it into the old fortification as it’ll turn out that a mere day and a half in Oslo was a total underestimation of how long we should visit this city.

John Wise at Aker Brygge in Oslo, Norway

You all realize, don’t you, that this is symbolically a photo of Caroline and me? It is a Frankfurter there at about the same height Caroline von Frankfurt would be if she weren’t taking this photo of what, in reality, is John and a big spicey wiener. But metaphors and innuendos are more fun than just sharing that we were hungry and split this hot dog. I nearly forgot to add that somewhere else along the way over here, we stopped at a bakery and shared a skolebrød which is a sweet yeast roll with custard dusted in coconut. Caroline’s comment was she’s sticking to the cardamom rolls.

Aker Brygge in Oslo, Norway

This area is known as Aker Brygge, and it is C’est Chic with apartments that I’m guessing cost in the millions, and I don’t mean just as in Kroners. From the looks of things, it would appear that the city is giving itself more land by reclaiming space over the fjord, but this is just my uninformed opinion. While it would possibly great to spend the summer here, I’m skeptical about the short winter days when the sun rises at 9:18 and sets at 3:12, offering up less than six hours of sunlight, which I just can’t imagine.

Aker Brygge in Oslo, Norway

I’ve come to learn that we were incredibly fortunate during our visit to have two consecutive days of sunshine as Oslo only gets about 1,740 hours of sun per year compared to Phoenix, Arizona, where we get almost 3,900 hours of local starlight. Some other things to consider: the longest days in Oslo are longer than 22 hours, while in Phoenix, our longest days are only about 15 hours long. And then there’s the rainfall: it rains on average 172 days, which is better than Bergen, Norway which is where we’ll be this coming Saturday. Bergen sees 239 days of rain per year.

Inner fjord in Oslo, Norway

But today is a perfect day, as witnessed by the countless people lying in the grass or hanging out on the water.

John Wise and Caroline Wise at Aker Brygge in Oslo, Norway

This perfect late summer day even invited us to pull up a bench in the shadow of the Astrup Fearnley Museum to relax and watch birds pass overhead between us and the deep blue sky as we grew older and collected more wisdom. Sure, it’s a cliche but in those smiles, can you see that this pair of birds are perfectly paired? Because we can.

Aker Brygge in Oslo, Norway

We could have laid there for hours in cozy comfort, but the voice of reason called Caroline insisted we peel away, and she was right because, after tomorrow night, we’ll no longer have the opportunity for a stroll along the Oslofjord.

Aker Brygge in Oslo, Norway

I know that the last photo was not of the fjord, but I’m an equal opportunity lover of my best friend/wife/travel bestie to birds, architecture, churches, nice weather, great food, sailing ships, everything in nature, the hue of sky and sea, I’m ready to capture it all when it comes to reminding myself and Caroline of the smiles that adorned our faces.

Aker Brygge in Oslo, Norway

It was exactly the way this photo looks regarding the absolute quality of perfection that was going on during these hours of incredible.

City Hall Square in Oslo, Norway

Hey, all you youngsters, back in my day, fur-pie was still a thing, and shaving one’s body hair hadn’t yet become de rigueur. I have to laugh a bit when I consider that if this statue were being sculpted today, not only would the woman’s muff be smooth as brass, but she’d have some tats along with nipple and septum piercings.

Fishing at the harbor in Oslo, Norway

There have been a number of fishermen along the harbor but this one here seems to have caught all the mackerel that might be had in these fjord waters today.

Vippa Restaurant at the harbor in Oslo, Norway

Strolling was the proper word to describe our walk along the fjord, slow and lingering until we could go no further.

Dinner at Fenaknoken in Oslo, Norway

And then, we stumbled into Fenaknoken gourmet grocery store and restaurant, of sorts. We were greeted by one of the gentlemen who was sitting outside with friends, having a bite to eat. That man was Eirik Bræk, the proprietor and amazing chef at this difficult-to-pronounce shop. Initially, he offered us a bunch of the raw fish in the front display, and we explained that this wouldn’t work as we had no means to cook in our hotel room, but if he could offer to prepare something for us, we’d be happy to engage his services. Not knowing any better, we ordered a couple of crab claws, some huge shrimp-like creatures (apparently Norway lobsters), and a few oysters for Caroline and pointed to fish filets in the display. In other words, we ordered too much, and yet…

…the photo of this plate of fish was our second order; it became my dessert. This fish and nothing else is what we should have stuffed ourselves with as it is an uncommon deeper water fish called roughhead grenadier or onion-eyed grenadier. Eirik told us this was an unpopular fish due to its monstrous appearance. No matter what this fish looked like alive, it was one of the best-tasting fish I’ve ever enjoyed. Our gracious host insisted that the magic ingredient was the butter from his hometown of Kviteseid in the Telemark region about 100 miles southwest of Oslo.

Pinnekjøtt drying at Fenaknoken Market and Restaurant in Oslo, Norway

But we need to back up to the tour of Fenaknoken Eirik gave us. Immediately, I recognized what was hanging in the rafters as I’d read about this Christmas treat while working on our itinerary. Those slabs of meat hanging in the rafters drying are mostly lamb ribs known as Pinnekjøtt. No amount of begging was going to work in our favor to try this dish, but we were invited back during the Christmas holiday to try his immensely popular preparation of the traditional meal of Pinnekjøtt.

Gudbrand Bræk and Eirik Bræk of Fenaknoken in Oslo, Norway

Meet Gudbrand Bræk on the left, father to Eirik Bræk on the right. These are the kind of hosts one hopes to meet once in their life; for Caroline and me, this is the second time we’ve been so fortunate. I have to acknowledge Giovanni Scorzo of Andreoli Italian Grocer in Scottsdale, Arizona, as the other person who made an indelible impact on our culinary life, as that man will likely be cooking for God in the afterlife. Today, though, we are the guests of Gudbrand and Eirik, and our smiles couldn’t have been any bigger, bigger even than our appetites.

Food, philosophy, humor, history, health, traditions, and even talk of the future are part of the conversation. These guys are passionate about the experience of meeting with friends and customers who are welcomed with the sincerity of those bringing in family. Over the course of our two-hour visit with the Bræk family, Eirik brought me to the back of the restaurant, where he shared a door off its hinges that is awaiting a place in some future setup that a number of noted people have signed over the years, including the signature of former CTO of Microsoft Nathan Myhrvold who is also the author of Modernist Cuisine and a fan of Eirik’s cooking. Before leaving, Gudbrand brought us over to another corner of the restaurant where he pointed to a photo of himself back when he was in the Norwegian Counterintelligence Office, handcuffed to Norway’s most famous spy named Arne Treholt, that he helped bring in.

Caroline Wise at Fenaknoken in Oslo, Norway

After eating far too much, it was time for the proverbial thin mint that arrived in the form of Brunost on crispbreads. If we understood Eirik correctly, this is his homemade version of the popular Norwegian treat that is made with cow’s cream and/or milk and a bit of goat’s milk. The mixture is slowly simmered for a good long time to remove the water, leaving a delicious caramel-like cheese that we are experiencing for the first time courtesy of our hosts.

Fishing in Oslo, Norway

Less than half a day in Oslo and the city has changed my mind about the poor expectations of it prior to leaving the States. I admit that we were making a stop here reluctantly and mainly for a couple of reasons. First, there was nowhere prior to this point in our Scandinavian excursion to do laundry. I couldn’t find any laundromats in Sweden or Norway except one in Oslo called Cafe Laundromat, which combines laundry machines and dryers with food service. I had made reservations for us at 8:00 pm this evening, but we canceled that reservation earlier today after deciding that we didn’t care about the cleanliness of our clothes and that we’d rather not throw a few hours at such a menial task. The second reason for a stop in Oslo was that the ride from Stockholm to Flåm, Norway, directly was just too long at 12 hours.

My reluctance to visit Oslo stemmed from what I was seeing online about the modern architecture and that I couldn’t find a historic old town district. But even after a brief superficial walk across a small corner of Oslo, I feel that there’s a lot more here than I first gleaned, and now we are hoping to return to Norway (and Oslo) soon.

Stumbling Stone in Oslo, Norway

I tend to forget that Stolpersteine (Stumbling Stones) are found in many countries across Europe, and was surprised to find one here in Oslo. This informal Holocaust Memorial Project places brass-plated stones onto sidewalks to denote the last homes of Jewish victims of the holocaust prior to their deaths.

Sauna at Guldsmeden Hotel in Oslo, Norway

This was not supposed to be our first-ever encounter with a sauna, but we were not going to pass over this opportunity to familiarize ourselves with the process. What good would the upgrade to our room have been if we didn’t take advantage of any of the amenities? The friendly woman who checked us in gave us hands-on lessons, so we had some small idea of what to do and armed with a few minutes of that knowledge, we were going in. Living in Arizona, we know heat, but the humidity that arises after pouring water on the hot stones had us pouring water out of ourselves.

Conclusion about using a sauna? It’s a bit like reading philosophy for the first time where you don’t know if you got out of it what others proclaim, which in turn leaves you feeling unsatisfied, like there’s something wrong with you for not finding instant enlightenment. Good thing we’d have another opportunity to feel like noobs later this week in Flåm, Norway, where we had booked a floating sauna on the fjord.