September 8, 2016
We are total weather-wimps!
During the last 38 days, we have been cultivating the most positive appreciation for the water that comes free out of the sky and makes all at our feet brilliantly green. We have learned never, ever to leave the house without the complete complement of rain gear. “EXPECT rain!” has been our moto for each day’s adventures. Whine about a little water? No, not us. We were doing SO well.
We have been wonderful — until yesterday. We arrived at lovely Floro in a rainstorm. The nice girl at the tourist information office put on a cheerful face, saying with a slight quaver in her voice, “I HOPE you enjoy Floro.” Our enthusiasm wavered a bit.
Nevertheless, we optimistically packed a picnic in lovely Floro. As we ate it — in the car – rain lashed the windows and wind rocked the car. To boost our spirits, we held an in-car competition for who could describe the weather with the most superlatives, the most outrageous analogies, with expletives. Hysterical laughter overtook us. We lost it. We were to travel NORTH the next day. Were we going to be able to see the Brikdalbre glacier once we got there? Was the most beautiful fjord in the world going to be shrouded in cloud the whole time we there?
Doubt filled our souls. Checking the long-range weather forecast, images of raindrops and clouds filled the screen for days on end. For sport, we started looking at the weather in various other places in the world that had more sunshine – almost everywhere. Two and a half more weeks going north in Norway? No way.
Time for a U-turn. Who cares if we are spoiled, sun-indulged Southern Californians. Change of plans! We’re heading SOUTH. Next stop, Oslo.
The best thing about today was our flight to Oslo. Ironically, the skies cleared luminously on the day of departure. From the air, we saw fingers of water pushing into huge mountains. Immense mountain ridges with patches of snow, and even a glacier. Rivers and lakes gleaming everywhere. Amazing views through sun-drenched windows. Best flight I’ve ever been on.
Finally, we ended up at one of the more conservative salons. Martin sat in the chair before Anna, a sweet-voiced German girl with broken English, pink hair, nose piercings, and tattoos all up and down her arms. He took a deep breath, and tried to explain “business cut”.
Today we left our cabin on the edge of the forest and the shore of the fjord in a rain storm. Along the way, we shot through endless tunnels cutting through massive mountains of stone. We skimmed past along lakes and along the coast through mist, drizzle, and deluge.
ppear from across the silver sea. Layer upon layer of pale grey, dark grey, misty blue peaks emerged, veiled by shifting clouds.
Serendipity is delightful! We were driving on a forested road back to our cabin after a demanding and rewarding hike to the top of a peak overlooking the fjord, the valleys and layer upon layer of mountains. Why am I not writing to you about that impressive scene? We planned it, we persevered, and we conquered it. We have bragging rights.
The answer is this: Serendipity. Something caught my eye, something unusual. Martin pulled the car over. He started towards the overlook. “No,” I called, “it’s over here.” We looked down at a steep gorge, with flat rocks that tumbled in every imaginable angle and massive rectangles of stone making deranged stair steps. It looked as though a mighty castle had been swept off a high cliff by Thor himself, and had crashed in pieces down a plunging chute. Here was a a suggestion of an ancient stone wall, there was a ledge like a rampart, here was a giant cornerstone thrown by some unfathomable force greater than anything we have ever witnessed.
All this was remarkable. But it was the very absence of something that was even more amazing. One would expect to see in such a precipitous gorge deep, churning water gushing down the mountain. Not so. Water languidly pooled and gurgled and slowly made its way down, no deeper than a foot or two. In this wild place, forged with huge forces, there was calm.
And there was something else even more extraordinary: Bright green, spongy mosses covered the banks with tufts a foot deep. Everything was blanketed in nature’s velvet. Below, every rock wore its mantle of green. Walking across a six-foot slab in the gorge was like stepping from a shower onto a plush bathmat. What looked treacherous from above, when encountered up close, became a benign paradise. You could step from one stone to the next without ever touching water, without fear of slipping. Up ahead, a place where you might plunge to your death in a cascade of water. No, merely natural steps leading to the next calm pool, spread with spongy green cushions.
