Travel Feature: Norway

The Norwegians have a saying: “There is no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing.” Breathe in their clean, crisp air while taking in definitive mountain and sea views – and agree. No matter how gloomy the weather sounds, it always redeems itself. Winds taste like salt and give your cheeks a rosy glow, the cold doesn’t chill to the bone, and the rain always brings a rainbow.

A Norse adventure is an antidote for any Beijinger’s cynicism or nagging cough. When I went on a whirlwind tour of Norway’s western fjords and the Arctic Circle, I found myself on an exploration worthy of Norway’s King Harald V himself; camera shutters snapped at every stop, the brisk air filled the lungs and the landscapes wouldn’t quit providing fantastic photo ops. I had heard of the mythical beauty of Norway and did not doubt, but, uninitiated, could never imagine what intricacies the place held.

My travels began on the western coast in the country’s second largest city, Bergen. For more than seven centuries, the settlements here have lived off the sea, though the 400-year-old Hanseatic fishing quarters near the harbor have given way to a fresh fish market where vendors cheerfully offer tourists their first tastes of seal and whale meat. One bite of lean, smoked whale sausage left a politically incorrect taste in my mouth for an hour. The city of Bergen is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, but the inanimate statues lining the shelves in souvenir shops were the only trolls in evidence.

Churning around the harbor-side streets like salt cod in a barrel, I at last boarded a north ferry bound for the Sognefjord, the world’s deepest fjord. I caught a glimpse of a svelte grandma clad head to toe in pine-green rubber raingear; rainbow heart-decorated wellies poked cheerfully out from below her pant legs. She was clearly a believer in the “no such thing as bad weather” maxim. After settling into her seat, she pulled out a pint of alcohol and threw back a hearty swig, pursing her lips before pulling off her rubber skin and taking some black coffee, in an impromptu rendition of the Norwegian festive drink, karsk.

Many people hear “fjord” and instinctively think of Norway, only to then think: What exactly is a fjord? These “narrow inlets of the sea,” tucked between steep cliffs and slopes, are found in Norway, Sweden and in New Zealand. But because the term comes from Old Norse, Norway is the one true place to see them – and here I was cruising blue seas, confronting the overpowering majesty of these narrow, moss-laden cliffs. In the Sognefjord region, the inlets are more than 200km long, the longest in the world. The mountains tower at more than 1,700m and sea-engulfed chasms plunge to depths of 1,300m.

I careened up and down the fractal coast, alternating between land and sea vehicles, visiting towns both small and inviting. I stopped at Forde, where each July the International Folk Music Festival (www.fordefestival.no) scatters music from around the world across the town’s grassy knolls, under its waterfalls and on its walking bridges … and moved on to Balestrand, secluded by a pocket of the fjord, a utopian village that has given itself over to a peaceful community of artists. It’s clear at every destination that the mountains harbor a people supportive of their arts and creative community. It’s evident in their relics as well, like the 900-year-old Hopperstad Stave Church in the town of Vik. Wooden stave churches are archetypal Norse architecture – their lofty ceilings constructed like an upside-down Viking ship.

Only 28 such churches remain across Norway, and while I marveled at the building’s preservation I was awed by the dragonheads that peered from the rooftops, warding off evil spirits. Its history was almost unfathomable, yet etched right into wooden walls. Was it all real? The mountains burst with life, with streams that enticed you to plunge in a cup and take a drink. Bewildered by Mother Nature and the culture she had nurtured, I began to wonder if, perhaps, trolls really did exist?

In the inner stretches of the fjord lies a finger of the Jostedalsbreen Glacier, Europe’s largest, whose blue ice pokes out of gray mountains like a comically oversized chunk of rock salt. The ice, like a living being, migrates up and down the peaks seasonally, breathing and expanding into the mountains. I learned that glacial runoff – the country’s energy source – powers underground generators, leaving the landscapes untouched and the air fresh and thin.

I then headed north to the Arctic Circle, to the small town of Bodo and the Saltstraumen – the world’s largest maelstrom, or tidal current. As chilly ocean waters rush simultaneously in and out of the narrow fjord channel, they create uncountable, spontaneous whirlpools whose conflicting waters, though deadly to swimmers, are beautiful to behold. Suited up in an inflatable, insular suit, I joined a group on a motor-powered craft and entered the maelstrom, mesmerized by the vortexes that could stretch their sea jaws some 20 meters wide. Our craft jumped in the eddy’s reflux waters as if it were nature’s thrill ride. In the polar distance loomed three foreboding mountain peaks. Our guide, built like a polar bear himself, said one could walk on mountain trails going from cabin to cabin, that we could in fact walk straight across to neighboring Sweden and Finland. It seemed unbelievable.

After peeling off my sea skin, I boarded a cruise ship for the Hurtigruten voyage, an ancient sea-trading line that stretches even further north into the polar circle. We floated peacefully along, sheltered by the northwestern fjords, imagining the days of eternal darkness when the sun never makes it above the horizon. The captain of the MS Polarlys described cruising during those dark days from late December till early February, when moonlight reflects off the endless channel of snowcapped mountains, casting an icy blue light over everything. In the winter, the Northern Lights – most easily visible in cold, clear weather – shine like enchanted green ribbons flowing up into the universe. Surrounded by such magical natural beauty, who wouldn’t believe there was something more inexplicable hiding from our human eyes?

A guide warned us it was best to keep a silver coin in your pocket because if you encounter a troll, the only way to ward him off is by casting a coin over your left shoulder. As the coins in my pockets were rapidly disappearing, I decided, reluctantly, it was time to leave.