In Flåm

The catamaran skirted through the islands, hopping from one port to another along the way from Bergen to Flam. The view was numbing and quickly changing from almost open seas to narrow waterways surrounded by high peaks and rock faces. Thin trickles of waters sometimes fell like white strings down the cliff faces, cascading into the water down below. Rare green pasture at the foot of the mountains offered sanctuary to small farms and grazing animals.

Colourfully painted cottages sprinkled along the shore, and lonely boats that rocked on the surface of the water seemed to stir as we passed. At some places, the water was so undisturbed and clear that an alternate image of the mountains and blue, blue sky reflected on the surface of the water. In this tranquil setting, the roar of our engine and white foam and turbulence in the water as we sped through was at times embarrassingly load and disturbing.

Close to arriving at my final destination, the town of Flåm , I was somewhat disappointed. After so many hours being surrounded by the raw nature of the fjordscape, what lay before me was a gigantic white oddity moored in the harbor that coughed black smoke into the air. Out of the belly of this shiny white monster, thousands of holiday-makers seemed to poured and slowly flooded the little town of what normally is merely 500 hundred souls. Speaking to a local, I was informed that throughout the summer more than two thousand similar types of cruise-ships would arrive here, each time swamping the town almost fivefold its population.

Once on shore, almost instantly I went off the beaten track, took a bike and pedaled into the countryside, deep into the valley. A windswept sign pointed up the hill, so I ventured onto a barely recognizable path upwards. It was a steep climb, and there was barely any on the path. Except for the muffled sounds of a running creak and echoes of falling water, I was surrounded by only the sing-song of the birds and humming of the bees.

With every climb up, I got hotter and hotter in the afternoon sun, but was soon rewarded with impressive views of the valley below. In the distance lay the town I had just left behind, hemmed in from both sides by towering snow-peaked mountains. The fjord ends at the town, with the water resembling a gentle hand that silently embraced cupped the still, sleepy land. Sudden ruffling movements in the bushes more than once made me think about legends of ugly trolls that live in such Norwegian wilderness.

But I was away, up on the hill, looking down, and away from all that hustle and noise. And glad that I was alone, surrounded not by tacky souvenirs and overpriced vendors, but by the beauty and wonders that nature had to offer.