SWEDEN to NORWAY and back to SWEDEN July 2, 2014
July 2
Last night's cruise: The ship is called “Viking Grace” and is just a couple of years old. Something for everyone is offered on board; dance lessons for kids, dance floors for adults with very good bands. Comfy seating to sip drinks and watch all the islands pass us by, islands of all shapes and sizes much like home. Our cabin was on the ninth deck with bathroom and good bed...and TV, so we watched a soccer game, USA vs. Belgium. In the early morning the ship staff let us know we were nearing Stockholm with alarms and music and a knock, knock as the door opened a crack. “Time to get up!” We were to dock at 6:30 am.
Stockholm! Another lovely watery city. Home of ABBA and the Nobel Prize. The parking meter won't accept our card so we must find an ATM to get Swedish kroners, but we are saved by a local who tells us that this lot is never checked, that he parks here every day. Okay, so where will the officials send our parking ticket, anyway? We leave the car and board the Hop On-Hop Off tour boat. We stay on board through its whole route, 1 ¾ hours, so we could choose our hop-off place the next time 'round.
What sights of this fabulous place from the water! Fourteen islands comprise the city. The architecture! The ochre and cinnamon colors of the regal buildings are often topped with a splash of copper green. It feels quite regal.
We hop off at the Moderna, the modern art museum. As we walk toward it we stumble into a changing of the guards, or at least, the Navy band and accompanying marchers, led by a drum major. I always find it thrilling, the marching, the drumming, the swaying. I am just old enough to remember bits of the ending of WWII and sailors are a memory...the Royal Canadian Navy, my father's chosen military force. But the sailors to a child! Those white 'gob' hats worn at rakish angles on their heads, the wide leg pants and slim form fitting tops with the flap of a square color at the back. They have a few days off in my home town, the city of Vancouver, B.C., Canada... walking the down town streets or enjoying the many city beaches...always looking for girls. Bands and marching. Thrilling.
The Moderna. The main exhibit featured the art of Nils Dardel, 1888 - 1943. After WWI there came a time of 'new thought', a Utopean modernism, also the time of cubism and futurism. Dardel was radical. He studied under Henri Matisse in Paris. He and his fellow modern artists felt that art should tell a story. In his earlier days his painting was of an innocent 'naïve' style, shown in Funeral in Senlis. It could not be easy for him to create in this style as he was a master with a pencil and drawing, especially portraits. Later, after he had given all the 'isms a try (symbolism, cubism and expressionism) his work reflected a mixture of these forms along with the influence of his travels. His art became famous. Nils Dardel was a dandy! He abused alcohol, even knowing that he had heart disease, and had many fast relationships with both men and women. Gossip and myth surrounded him. He died young. A most well known painting is titled The Dying Dandy. It shows himself as a pale androgynous figure lying in death, his hand on his heart, mourners surrounding him. He did marry a young art student, Thora Klinckowstrom, and had a daughter, Ingrid.
I feel so blessed to be exposed to artists that I might never have heard of. It comes with the travel and the desire to see art. This dandy, Nils, is an interesting character. His stories draw me, seemingly most are autobigraphical. I am not inamored by his painting style, or his textures, colors or brushwork; the attributes that normally excite me. But he does most always have a good story to tell!
There were dandies walking about the museum also, dressed tastefully in their museum black, mostly with the same haircut (both men and women). “Excuse me. Could I take a picture of your hair cut (a wide strip of brush combed back on top and part way down the back, the rest shaved close)?” Ah, yes, he smiled big for a few different angles. But I also did a little happy sketch in my journal.
Installations mostly leave me cold so I stop for few. Today I stop to watch old movies of Charlie Chaplin. What a guy!
The next exhibit is about Surrealism, which I must confess, confuses me and turns my stomach into knots. Maybe that is the point? I have a habit of looking at the painting first, and then I look to see who the artist is. When I find myself standing in front of a “heavy hitter” I always know...'this stuff is good'. When I look at the names this time it is Max Ernst and Jean Miro.
We continue on another water tour route to the site of VASA, a warship built in 1628, 69 meters long and 48.8 meters tall. In this Baltic area there are 1,000s of ship wrecks, much loved by divers. The Vasa was launched and capsized in 20 minutes, sinking along with 100 crew members. This boat was top heavy! In 1961 it was raised and reassembled, almost completely with its original parts.
A coffee and a walk back to the tour boat which will take us to our camper. We will finish the tour tomorrow. We park awhile across the street from the Royal Palace of Sweden, the largest palace in Europe that is still in use. It is no longer the residence of the Royal family, but everything important happens there and the Royal apartments within are open for the public to view. We have no interest by this time in our travels. It has begun to feel that 'if you've seen one you have seen them all!' Now where shall we stay the night?
I look over the tour boat map and decide to set Gypsy for the furthest spot indicated on it. A place from which we can walk to the Hop On/Off bus. We land ourselves in a 5 kroner for 24 hours lot between two strips of trees. The neighborhood is lovely, high end old apartments and homes. Both the wealthy and 'regulars' live here. We are on a spoke running from a large round park which is the areas central wheel. A fountain and benches provide places for young and old to enjoy. Little coffee and food stands are stationed around the outside. We have found our 'home neighborhood' in Stockholm. It is called Karlaplan.
July 3
Our card does not work in the ticket station again. Now what? It won't take cash, only cards. A long black sleek car pulls in next to us, the reserved space for the Argentinian Ambassador. That doesn't stop David from seeking help. The driver is the Ambassador's employee, a sweet gentle Indian who has lived here for ten years. He and David and another fellow who comes along, work on our problem. The problem? We cannot read Swedish! So the card does, in fact, work, and we are on our way to another day of 'On/Off' stops. As we await at a bus stop a lady next to me asks a question in Swedish. “Sorry, I only have English.” We easily continue our conversation in English. I interrupt, “But, you can't have lived here since childhood, your American English is too good.”
“I have lived here now for 12 years. My parents are both from Stockholm but I grew up on Long Island. I learned to speak by listening to them.” Darn, the bus comes. I want to hear so much more about her life here.
We exit the bus at stop 19 and walk the long steep stairs to the Photography (fotografiska) Museum. It is also a photography school and conference center. It is said to be an institution of deep integrity.
First exhibit; Genesis by Sebastiao Salgado. I copy the intriguing artist's statement into my journal. “...a quest for the world as it was, as it was formed, as it evolved, as it existed for millennia before modern life accelerated and began distancing us from the very essence of our being.” We see almost unbelievable images from unspoiled parts of the world: Indiginous peoples from Africa, Indonesia, the Amazon...untouched flora and fauna...mountains and glaciers in Russia, USA and Canada...and Brazil, the artist's home. The project took him to 30 countries in eight years “...to the places and people who have escaped the influence of modern civilization. We may lose these precious places in our quest for material happiness. This exhibit is a celebration of our origins and a reminder of what has been intrusted to our care.”
Salgado ventures to the Arctic and the Antarctic. He travels on seas and rivers, into deserts and jungles...all places that man has not tread. We see a lone baboon crossing a desert. Orangetangs seem to look searchingly into our eyes. What are they thinking? An Albatros with the longest wing span in the world, cuddles with its mate. Right whales that have the look of prehistoric creatures making v-shaped mists into the air through their double blow holes. An indiginous group wears no clothes or adornments to 'cover up'. (Not affected by the Adam and Eve story.) Hundreds of large black and white photos.
Penguins, 12 of them, line up on an icy hill and one by one slide down to belly-flop into the frothing sea. Everything is wild! The children here today are spell-bound and quiet. We feel so fortunate to find this exhibit here today, and thankful that this photographer thought to tell this story.
Second exhibit; Living Shrines by New York based Lisa Ross. This is very moving for me. Here is what the museum program has to report. “Suddenly, as she walked, a number of unfamiliar markers made out of sticks, cloths, animal skeletons and other objects, appeared in the middle of the Taklamakan Desert, of China's Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region. The American photographer Lisa Ross stood in front of the Uyghur people's holy sites. During a decade she returned annually in order to document, attempting to understand the meaning, and absorb the feeling, of these objects. It became her spiritual and creative pilgrimage.”
These sacred sites of China manifest as sticks with pieces of fabric tied to them. Are these prayers? Are they notes to say 'I have been here'? Are they pleas on behalf of a sick loved one? Some of the sites definitely had evidence of visits, footprints in the sand. Some of the stick shrines had grown so large that ladders had been attached so pilgrims could climb to places where there was still room to tie their message.
I have always been pulled to sacred places and places of worship where the inhabitants have gone, but their spirits remain...I try to bring them back to be with me, to tell me the stories of how it was. I have no desire to tell them how it is. These peoples of the past have more to offer me. These sites have been in Scotland and Ireland, on the island of Cyprus where many different cultures have left their mark, and on small islands of Western British Columbia, where Canadian Indians have lived and died and left behind evidence of their lives in caves, in trees and rotting villages. Lisa found these Chinese shrines in sand, heat and wind where they have survived for several centuries. Her photos 'invoke ideas of eternity and transcendence, places of collective memory and peaceful faith'.
A few exciting words from Lisa: “As I continued to walk farther, the spirit of this place became all consuming, everything had been created by hand, nothing had the feel of machine. Each object I passed was carved, sewn, built or placed with intention. Although no one else could be seen there was evidence that many had walked here recently. Spirit vibrated, a long history was evident, yet I had little idea of where exactly I was or how I had gotten here.”
Today, people come in groups to meditate upon its mystery. They come and go together, as a group...in silence.
This museum has so much to say to me today. It is certainly a venue where photographic images have a chance to speak, where no other medium can. So hang on, I must tell you about one more!
Third exhibit: Doctor Dana by Dana Sederowsky from Sweden. She is a nurse and a photographer. She works with her own voice, body and face to tell her story. This particular project is well known. She dresses herself in a 1950s style nurse uniform, blue dress with long white apron and crisp white cap. She is the figure who stands in various settings for her photos. I am not quite sure what her message is. Is she the woman who is always there for you...in the right place at the right time? Is she the woman who is always trying to save a bad situation? Is she the constant care-giver because she needs to be needed? Is she the angel of death waiting for you? She poses in old buildings, some of which are; a house of prostitution, a clinic exterior with a little red emergency kit in hand, a mansion in decay, an old theater, a subway station and a hospital emerency room.
It is still a 'beautiful and eerie' mystery.
I am filled to the brim. I cannot take more ideas inside my brain though there is much more offered. What I have seen needs review and sorting...some think- time. We eat a late picnic of crackers, salami and cheese and then continue on the bus. The ride home through the city is exhilarating. We end the day with a look into the mall at our home circle...it is so well hidden that we did not even know it was there!
THOUGHTS and OBSERVATIONS:
> Swedish flag; yellow cross on navy.
> Sufism is the mystical form of Islam.
> While waiting for David in the mall, I sat on a bench beside a fellow. He was eating strawberries from a good sized basket which he put between us and told me to help myself. We began to talk and he said that he likes to talk to folks here as he is not well and this is a diversion. “I don't know where my wife has gone to”, he says. She arrives shortly, in a foul mood, with a long blue shoehorn in her hand...shaking it violently and yelling in Swedish at him. Whew! Scary! She turned to leave. He looked at me with a shrug and said, “That's my life.”
> The Swedish town of Avesta has a symbol of the European Bison.
July 4 Fireworks and picnics in the USA
It is beautiful today. The Swedes wear less clothes and turn their handsome fair faces to the sun resulting in a look of pure ecstacy. Big smiles and lots of energy vibrates through the streets. From a bridge I notice a boat, loaded with four bare-chested boys, ready for the weekend. They need a bit more time before aquiring a tan!
We are heading north to explore a more rural area. Many 'Muscle Cars' are on the road. It is the weekend. Time to show up at the car shows that appear everywhere. A baby blue Bonneville convertible, filled to the brim with six guys and girls. They see our licence plate and the hoots and hollars begin! It is 6:30 pm and we are in a countryside of farms and waterways. (A red Mustang whizzes by; thumbs up from them.) The countryside looks like Minnesota with its myriad of lakes, or like the Poulsbo area... A settlement of Scandinavians in Washington state. And soon the towns are all named with 'bo' attached to their ends...Karlsbo, Jularbo, Lisselbo, Pingbo, Klingsbo, Upbo, Hogbo, Cryckbo, and Lustebo!
Road signs; Watch out for the Moose, Watch out for the Elk, Watch out for the Bear, though I hear the grizzlies are in the NE of the country. (A Chevy Camero whips by.) Pine and birch forests. Small villages. Bright pink fireweed seems thrown across the meadows. The river Dalalven seems constantly at our side. Wow, a gorgeous horse in the field, tan with a black mane and tail...just the colors I would like on my VW bug convertible...some day!
A sign on the highway announces AVESTA ART ACADEMY...in the town of Avesta. We cross a bridge over a wide fast flowing river with small dam. We slowly drive Daisy up the road, looking for a place to park for the night. The town is mysterious and intriguing. Not a soul can be found. Many old stone and brick buildings on old city blocks. Still no people. But we eventually find that these old buildings have been beautifully brought up to date in the form of a business park. Lovely simple architectural ideas of steel, glass and black corregated aluminum, have enhanced the buildings but kept the historical district intact. It is Friday night. I guess all the folks who work here have headed home for the sunny weekend.
We leave Daisy by the art building and walk residential streets, expecting to find more life happening. We don't. There are interesting old homes from gated mansions to very dear small houses that have been taken care of but still seem melted into another older time. By now we are making up stories...did everyone have to evacuate? Should we?
But, here is a main street, with cars. And across it we see a settlement of small rectangular houses on a few straight gridded streets. They look like they were built for workers years ago, but today they are very cool, painted the deep iron red of the area with bright white trim. It has become a popular place to be, to buy, to stay. This little “village” is very much alive. We walk down to the river and along a small green treed road toward 'home'. We pass more interesting cabin and cottage dwellings and a curious little 'Mynt Museum”. Then as we continue on, the quiet and mystery descends once more.
Google: Avista was and is a steel plant owned by the Finns. But it seems that we have entered the old historic town of Kopperdalen (Copper Valley, late 19th and early 20th centuries) existing because of its large amount of copper mines. That explains the 'Mynt Museum' where it seems copper coins were made for awhile. It is also where the first steelworks were built, the process turned ore into steel. The site is unusually preserved and we read that it can still be seen as part of the Art Academy.
The lovely empty town is surrounded by canals and the river. We sleep infused with its peace.
July 5
We spend a few enjoyable morning hours at the Art Acadamy VERKET which means WORKS. The energy is different today. It is Saturday and this exhibit space and surrounding town seem to be a destination. More cars than just ours, many more people.
The main exhibit today is paintings and installations by Jarmo Makila, born in 1952 in Finland. His works take us back to the 50's, certainly a time of my childhood through highschool. What he has to tell is very relateable. For him, it is a time of hanging out with boys, playing and testing themselves, a time of readying themselves to step out into the adult world. Relationships and activities of this gang of boys shapes who they become, along with the aspirations and dreams of parents and the social climate of the day. Our memories of these times can be happy or dark. Makila and his Finnish pals have been free of the oppression of the Second World War, first against the Soviets and then the Germans but that darkness has entered there beings anyway, as their families have just come out of that era. But now these kids have the chance to live in a different world of peace, prosperity and ingeneous engineering feats. The thoughtful art installation has this human sized gang of boys looking toward what could be their future. In this case it seems that this is the steelworks of Avesta in Sweden. The lighting is rather dark, making it easy for us to slip into remembering our own times of 'preparation and stepping out'. His paintings continue to reflect the countryside, homes and friends of his childhood, but still with the solemn tension and drama of his theme.
From here, we ourselves can check out this building of the first steelworks built in the early 20th century. It is just up the stairs, the same old building the art exhibit is shown in. To me, the workings don't make complete sense. It is just the aged and interesting stuff that was needed to process the iron ore into steel that is exciting because it feels like each piece is an extension of the art below. But, this is what we see...
STEP ONE: PREPARATION
Roasting furnaces that roast the iron ore...Skip cars. The little trucks that transport the iron ore to the furnaces...Ore pits where the roasted iron ore is stored... Crushing mills where the roasted ore is broken up into walnut size chunks...The curb. Ore, chalk and silica are taken on skip cars to this highest blast furnace...A cableway on which coal is transported to the curb as charging the furnace needs a specific amounts of ore and chalk or silica and coal... Tuyeres. Blast holes in the furnace through which heated air is blown through to keep the temperature up at 1,500 centigrade...The hearth. The collection at the bottom of the furnace, of reduced liquid ore called 'pig iron'. The lighter slag, molten mineralised rock, floats on top of the pig iron and the two layers are tapped off separately about every two hours...Pig beds, the molds into which the tapped liquid pig iron runs into (The slag can be made into bricks or granules).
STEP TWO: PIG IRON into STEEL
Pig iron is composed of 4% carbon and, besides other substances, manganese or silicon. It cannot be forged as is, it needs oxidising to reduce the carbon level. The Martin furnace reduces the carbon to less than 2% by melting the pig iron along with scrap iron and ore, while pumping in oxygen, now ready for milling or forging...Ladels. Large holders in which the freshly refined iron is run into and then moved by large cranes and finally run into casting molds called Chill molds where it solidifies to a Steel Ingot and can then be readied for sale.
I hope you found this interesting, because I did! One more worthy art piece, a poem without an author's name, written on the wall:
You realized that NOW
that no roads seem open
that no one can move
A METRE
then we just drive on
thats just what we do
straight ahead we drive
JUST LIKE THAT
You don't think do you, that
it's only good sense that
has its wisdom
No madness has its own
And we don't ask if we may
no we ask no one
we just do as we like
and we get it to arise
as it didn't before
Now we just do it
and we exist for each other
and EVERYTHING GOES ON
but just don't talk to us
about it not being possible
It is really much
BETTER
That's what it is
BETTER and we go on living
IN HOPE.
In the afternoon we drive to Falun, another steel town. It has the same sort of history as Avesta, the same red houses and brick buildings, but they have moved on to some more important things...an Olympic size ski jump on the adjacent mountainside, visible from town. I have never seen such a large jump...it is huge in its live form, unlike a TV copy! (a Barracuda flexing its muscles out on the road) We shop for groceries here, looking for our favorite cookies. The cookie isle is tiny! The candy isle is ski jump size! I have noticed Swedes dipping into little bags of candy. We ask, “What's going on?” The check out woman tells us, “Swedes are crazy about candy!” ( as well pull back on the road we wave to a a '55 Chevy)
July 6
A big day...We are at Karl Larssen's Sunborn House! I know that most of you are fans of this Swedish man's art. If you are not, look it up. You will melt! It is all about family in a dreamy home and garden with lake at the turn of the 20th century. Lovely wife, children and friends all dressed in a sweet old fashioned way. And it is all the real thing! And it is all here, the art, the furniture, the decoration the original kitchen equipment... minus the original cast of characters. But their happy ghosts are circulating.
The house belonged to Larssen's parents and when they died, two unmarried sisters lived there until the death of one of them at which time the other chose to live elsewhere. Karl and his wife Karin took it over.
We slept just feet away last night not worrying about locking up. A perfect breeze came through open doors and windows as we watched a movie on our laptop. This morning we are ready for the first forty-five minute tour of the house.
The tour proves to be quick but delicious! The big old rambling house is decorated with carvings and wall paintings and Karin's terrific hand-work on everything, even the children's embroidered pillow cases. But where she shines the most is in her woven designs. Her loom was set up in a corner where the windows looked out on two sides so she could watch the children at play. She was an excellent designer, picking up on the Arts and Crafts movement of the time but using it in her own unique way.
Karl and Karin met in 1888 at the Academy of Art in Stockholm. Karl came from an unhappy poor home. His father often said, “I curse the day you were born.” Perhaps that tells us that Karl was a difficult child as his dark side continued to plague him thoughout his life. An example of this; Karin was an artist of the same caliber as Karl. When they married, Karl's need to be the better of the two pushed her painting aspirations to the background, painting stopped for her. She put all her energy into the children and fabric arts, where she was not competing with her husband. Karl died of a heart attack at 65 years and Karin lived eleven years longer.
Standing in his first studio, we are almost overwhelmed by a crude carving of himself on which he has carved huge feet and a nose. That in itself tells us about just how he saw himself! I was taken by the striped awnings outside the window, adding an element of decoration and color to the interior room. Karl's favorite colors were a deep orange and a dark green...used inside and out of the home. But, in a front room that looked out on to the serene lake, the colors used were a striking blue and white. Over one of the doors was written in Finnish, “God's Peace”. I noted the make-up of a certain window valence, no muss, no fuss. Just pin (or nail) the long piece of fabric to the wall with a tuck every foot. As Monet did, Larssen appreciated Japanese prints and had them throughout his home. Outside, every window box presents a thick show of geraniums, the flowers and leaves the colors of red orange and dark green. A high outside round-topped window shutter displays the artist's easy creative touch of a hand-painted black latch.
The descendents still own Sunborn but it is now a foundation. They stay in the old home when they want, bringing only their clothes, as their ancestors left everything they need for a comfortable stay.
Before we leave we walk a few blocks. There are a few things more to admire. A small and sweet building at the river dam has a round beautifully patterned stain glassed window. The littlest of homes made of square logs and painted rust red is truly stunning.
It is time to move on but we do not go far, back to Falun to see if we can get help procuring tickets home in August. We haven't had luck on-line. Philippa and Anders at Travel Arena get the job done! We fly home from Amsterdam on August 26th...on collected air-miles. We spend the night in a park where we have left Daisy while we work with the Travel agents and wander the town. When we return we find a note on our windshield, from some folks who we had had a brief conversation with earlier in the day. It is a piece of paper folded like a card and on the front is a Swedish motif from this area, which the woman has drawn. Inside it says, “Welcome to Mora! Come and take a cup Coffey with us, if you went up there! Our name is Sasser”, and they write their address. Well, we might just do that.
July 7
North to Mora both an area and a town. We are moving along in lake country. The lakes are big with coastlines like the sea. Interesting jagged edges. We have been told that we must go to this favorite vacation place, but now we have added incentive...Karl Larssen's best friend, the artist Zorn, lived in the town. A museum and his home is a favorite destination for many.
What a day for a ride...bare leg weather, shoes off, van window open. We pass through Rattvik, 30 more minutes to Mora. Small logging patches on the hills, not bare but always the culling of lower branches and bushy growth. More big old American cars on the road, traveling slowly. We are told that these gas guzzlers are only used on weekends for showtime.
Mora sits prettily on Lake Siljane. We first find the Zorn museum, tomorrow's adventure, then explore the town by foot in the evening. We sleep surrounded by RVs in a muddy lot, housing the 4 wheeled tourist overflow.
July 8
Whew! It is hot and humid in this little summertime town. We head for the museum of painter, Anders Zorn. He was very successful at a young age, mostly sought after for his portrait paintings, even in the USA. He painted three presidents. I confess that I have not heard of him but this place we have come to is a gem. He can paint in any style, of any subject...proficient at anything he attempted. For a good part of his career he chose watercolor as his medium and was a master of it. Later he moved to oil paint. Each painting was proceeded with two or three preliminary works to find what he wanted in his final piece.
Anders met his wife Emma while he was at art school in Stockholm, she coming from a wealthy Jewish family, he from a poor farming family. Because he showed so much promise, many people came together and provided the funds to send him off to art school. He was talented, very well liked and had a good business sense. He and Emma first lived on this Mora property in a low ceilinged cabin...but later built a large home together where they could display art and objects from their wide travels. Fantastic Swedish weavings hang on the walls. This house is impeccable in both its form and its contents. Tasteful and comfortable.
The couple did not have children but their home was often filled with invited guests; to small dinner parties, to dances, for overnight or weekly stays. The dance floor and pool hall are upstairs under a very high peaked roof. The roof line is almost like an A-frame shape. This home, so different from any other, is made to suit the personalities and needs of its occupants. Zorn became very wealthy. The museum, on the same grounds, was put together by Emma when her husband died at age 60. She had been a hard but caring critic of his work and she wanted it safe.
We were guided through this home with another couple, art teachers Pirkko and Timo from Finland. Pirkko had been sketching and painting as we walked with him through this tour. It was remarkable to me. I envy this kind of discipline. Timo gave me a card of their artist daughter's, Asta Caplan, who is a serious painter of flowers and will have a show in New York this Christmas. Her parents were so proud of her.
Time to move on. Maybe we can find the Sassers who invited us to coffee. Their home is in Farnas, in the same Mora district. We drive into a very special rural town. All the houses are red painted logs with the usual crisp white trim. Old, old homes and gardens, lovingly and dutifully taken care of. We follow Gypsy's directions and here we are at our friends' home. My gosh, what a place. They have a red and white compound all for themselves...sheds of all sizes with their big home at top middle, all built in a long U around a grassy field. We have much to learn about this place and its family.
Peter and Evia greet us. They have just arrived home from a day at the beach with their young daughter, Philippa. Behind these folks are an older couple, also coming to greet us, Evia's mother and father. Liana and Jan. A quick handshake and we are led to a garage which he opens to reveal his pride and joy...a mint condition 1956 2-door Buick hardtop. Two toned, blue and white. After inspection and appreciative animated discussion we are led uphill to an outdoor table...the family coffee table. If you know any Swedes, you know how they love their good strong coffee. But first, “You must try our delicious cold citrus and rhubarb drink!”. It proves to be a great taste sensation and we find out that it is made like we make sun tea. Here is the recipe:
SWEDISH SUN QUENCHER
In a 'bucket', put in chopped rhubarb and add water.
Let it sit for at least 3 days to let the rhubarb essence enter the water.
Add sugar and lemon to the strained water.
A thirst quencher...and something good to do with all your extra rhubarb!
Evia and Peter's son and girlfriend, Felix and Cecilia, arrive home from a thirty minute run. High school students, he is training for hockey and she plays hand-ball. Cecilia is one of those fresh, friendly, blond and beautiful Swedish girls. They join us around the table. Such a lovely welcoming family time. As we get up to go Liana says, “Wait a minute!” She goes through a squeaky screen door to the kitchen and comes back out with a pretty bag that she has made the day before, and inside it is a little red horse! This is the horse that prances straight up to our camper dashboard and stays.
Somewhere, we have picked up a brochure on 'jobs', a designer and maker of fabrics. Handprinted Swedish textiles. The designs on the advertisement are good and lively and unique. We decide to visit. We make our way to Leksand, situated at the lower end of Siljan Lake.
July 9
Another one of those hot, damp, energy depleting days. After a fruit salad lunch we head for the 'jobs' factory store but we are too late. One tour per day at 11:00 a.m. So we move on to the small 'jobs' store down the road. This is run by Stina, the daughter of one of the original designers, Lisbet Jobs (1914-1995). The other designer was her sister, Gocken Jobs (1919-1961). This is Stina's little store, full of her mother's designs from fabric to many other products, Lizbet's first love being the making and decorating of ceramics. Stina is a wonderful character, interesting and fun to talk to. She tells us about her family and their successes... as we snoop around her store. The fabric has been described as lyric and informal in pattern and much of it is somewhat child-like...very Swedish. Most of the fabrics were hand silk-screen printed in the 'jobs' studio. We will get to the textile studio on time tomorrow!
Stina tells us about a very good camp ground close by. We find it easily, in a narrow spot between two lakes where a good breeze scurries from one side to the other. We can't put it off any longer... our laundry gets hauled down to the washing machines. While at the campsite we get into a few conversations, one fellow telling us what to see and where we can stay at the harbor tonight and the other tells us about his life and where he is from. We find his story interesting...
Our campground neighbor lives in the north of Sweden where it is daylight for 24 hours at this time. He was born there and grew up on his family's farm. Money was made by growing and harvesting trees to sell. About seventy to eighty years go by from planting the seed to harvesting the tree varieties, Swedish pine, fir, Canadian Contorta pine, birch, aspen and alder. His little and very sweet dog accompanies his master hunting for birds and moose, food for the table. Moose is also called elk here, related to the Canadian moose but smaller.
When our laundry is folded and put away, we move Daisy to the harbor.
July 10
How exciting to see the long, long ...long tables used for squeegying on each color, still used today. They have chosen to continue hand-printing the fabrics! Above the tables are drying racks as each color needs to dry before the next is applied. A person stands on both sides of the tables...sliding the paint on the rubber scraper back and forth to each other, hence it gets swiped twice. They skip a space then start again with the same paint color...like moving from space 1 to 3 to 5 to 7 etc., to let each section dry enough to start over again, this time with spaces 2, 4, 6 and 8. They do this process for each color and there could be 12 to 16 colors! It is a slow practice filled with the crafters' hearts and souls. 12 colors means 12 hand prepared screens! David tells me that when the silk-screen is moved over to the next space...say, space 2 to 4, there are pegs that are already set to allow the screens to be placed in the right position...no guess work or pain-staking measuring. The word 'silk' stays on but today nylon is used for the screen. After a docent has taken us through this process, we go to the shop.
What an agreeable and cheerfully colored sight! David and I both adore fabric designs and well-made projects. It is heaven in here. And I am not sure the whole world knows about this outstanding stuff. We buy four flat pillow covers for dining room chairs, all of different patterns. And pieces of 'seconds' in case we want to make more pillows. Maybe we should paint our dining set a spring green? These products do get your creative juices flowing. We go back to Stina's shop and buy two small trays which Stina has made, first cutting small fabric pieces of her mother's design to fit.
Back to the harbor for Daisy as we take a walk into town. On an information board we read about the area. This region, the Siljan region, was created by a cosmic catastrophe dating from 350 million years ago. A meteorite measuring several K in breadth crashed to earth here, forming a huge 4K crater which is now called Siljan's Bowl.
First stop, a kebob for lunch. Delicious! The establishment is owned by a Turkistan family. On our way again we come across the huge grassy ampitheater, events held in the large flat center pit, the audience sitting on the surrounding hillsides. It is called Dalhala, thelimestone quarry that is now this open theater. The mid-summer maypole festival is held here annually. Thousands of people arrive to witness the raising of the very tall maypole with the dancing festivities that follow. (We have been told of the celebration of fertility, the raising of a giant phallus image, that happens throughout Sweden.)
We continue across to a pretty park and on down through wooded trails to the lakeside path below. After awhile we come to a sign that points uphill to the KYRK, a historical site. This church is still used and kept in fine condition, but it is the gorgeous cemetery surrounding it that calls us to wander the grounds. Iron headmarkers in detailed design, clearly mark those who lie here, the abundance of iron uniquely used. The graves are set apart, each with wide swaths of lawn between. The names and dates are easy to read. Unlike stone headstones, the words do not deteriorate.
Out through the churchyard gates we choose a trail that takes us to an open-air museum set in the middle of the woods. Sweet wooden log huts, houses, barns and community buildings of the area's long history have been brought here and placed in a village setting. We peek into a window where a room has been set up with implements and furniture to match the time of its past. Families all shared one room to eat and sleep in and to spend family time. Bunk beds recessed in the wall, covered by curtains. Crudely made wooden table and chairs. Fireplace set to light and heat the room. A sewing basket. A spinning wheel. Blankets and quilts stacked in a very high cupboard, along with cups and dishes. The barns and sheds have farming equipment and tools that have also been found and brought here, all placed carefully so that one feels that the village people have just left the village for the afternoon. The imagination part of my brain gets a good and much loved workout!
We position Daisy by the park for the night. There is a family picnicing and playing nearby. It is late in the evening when I put together a warm-day crisp salad of romaine, crab, tomato, zucchini and a bit of red pepper in a light curry dressing. As we eat the light begins to dim. The family moves into the woods where they have their belongings hidden. They pull bags of tents and sleeping blankets back out to the park lawn. I have nothing against the free nomadic life style (it is our style, too!) but we have had the scary experience of being robbed by gypsies while we were sleeping once before. I would like to think that this is a normal and lawful Swedish family out camping together but this scenario is the real Roma thing. Let's move on. Our new overnight spot is less than desired... in the parking lot of a glass company, quiet but the view is not inspiring.
THOUGHTS and OBSERVATIONS:
> Do you know of the famous red wooden Swedish horse known as Dala?.. painted in traditional decoration of this area, the Dalarna province, the mystic heart of Sweden. It started out as a toy long ago (1600s), but became a symbol of these people. Our little Dala serves as our mascot, watching and guarding from the car dashboard. We have seen all sizes of this horse, one at least twice my size in height.
> Another expensive but excellent designer of fabric; Josef Frank, Stockholm.
> The game of Hand Ball. A tough international game that has a goal like hockey but a half-circle like basketball. There are six players. The medium size ball is covered in a kind of glue!
> Clover is a commom ground cover here. We have never seen such huge blossoms. Keeps the bees happy.
> VOLVOS everywhere. But then, this is Sweden!
> Knackebrod. There's a bunch of this stuff in all the stores. Flat, round, thin, crunchy, hole in the middle...and it is on REA! (Sale)
> Cross country skiers practice all year. Now they are moving along the road on skates, legs and poles swinging gracefully, as if they were gliding on snow.
> This is where the 'Panabode' building style comes from. Flat sided logs, order a kit, build like Lincoln logs. My family enjoyed living in our log home each summer...even adding on to it step by step in Lincoln log manner.
> Instead of screen doors in most places we have traveled, people hang out an airy piece of fabric or multi-bead strands to keep bugs out of their houses.
> The ducks on a lake are showing us how smart they are during a night of everlasting sunset. They have all been asleep for hours, in a bunch on the water, in the lightness of the long daylight. Us humans don't know any better. If it isn't dark, it isn't time for bed! Who can sleep?
> We talked with a couple of brothers from Ethiopia who came to settle in Sweden many years ago with their mother. They knew our accent from watching movies. They themselves were film makers. Their take on Swedish society...Swedes know little about the rest of the world, there is a struggle in the culture to be proper, the people are reserved.
> I think the Swedish people have very high standards.
July 11 (My niece Taylor's first performance in Theater Under the Stars.)
We start the day slowly and pleasantly, just puttering. At 3:30 we reluctantly leave Leksand (another 'ICLH' [I could live here] town). Not too touristy, nice layout, easy quiet shopping district, lots of historic interest (including steam boats), trails and waterways. Wild astilbe and goatsbeard are everywhere roadside. But, if we want to see everything we must head out, this time toward Oslo, Norway.
This countryside is just like Prairie Home Companion's Lake Wobegone in Northern Minnesota with all its lakes and trees. All those Minnesotans immigrated from here. We find our overnight spot next to one of thousands of lakes at a small marina. The gate was open so we drove right in. Before we knew it, a car leaving the lot stopped to let someone out to lock the gate behind them. Oh well, surely someone will release us in the morning!
At 9:00 a.m. we are released! After a few hours on the road we stop at a lakeside campground, restaurant and beach. After waiting for an RV to leave, and me having an argument with a German man, Daisy gets a good lakeside seat. “Let's stay here a few days.” The weather is fantastic. We put up the pop-top and ready the bed, put the chairs and a table outside on the beach lawn and pull the grey and white striped awning out to shade us. We have not often done this as our camp spots are usually also hiding places! Soon we have changing weather patterns, the lake is ever-changing with the winds and clouds and a short stint of hard-driving rain. Our wide sliding door is open to the lake. It feels extravegant, yet sweet. The broad sweep of lake turns corners and disappears from our view. Small islands covered in trees dot the forground. Where are our kayaks? This would be the day. We take a nice walk along a lake front road, an old railway bed. The road reveals where the train must have come along the shore. There is a very cute tower...once supplying the water for the steam train.
July 13
A 1974 Mercedes 20 passenger bus turns into the beachside lot. How adorable! It has been turned into a camper. Dark red and white. He parks in front of us and comes back to see if we have really brought our van from the states! John says, “Are you heading to Norway?”... “Yes! Do you have some ideas for us?”... “Oh yes. I am just going to get my wife and myself a waffle and coffee. I'll be back later.” In case you are wondering about that waffle, it is a popular snack...a waffle with strawberries and a mountain of whipping cream!...eaten out of your hand, on a paper plate or wrapped in a 'fish and chip paper'.
When John comes back he has already marked up a trucker's map (He used to be a trucker) and is giving it to us. We invite him to squeeze around our table for a glass of wine while he goes over the map with us. He's a travel angel. We are one hour away from Norway and we had not done our homework yet! John tells us that in fact the train did come by here and the restaurant is the old station. The conversation drifted into other subjects; health care, taxes, general benefits. He grew up and worked in Norway, but his grandparents are Swedish so he and his wife have moved to this area where they have lived for the past eleven years. His home is on a Swedish lake where he keeps his boat because there are channels and fifteen locks leading to the sea. Thanks John. What a guy!
We walk again, along the lake in the other direction, where there are formal camp grounds in the trees and permanent trailers owned by families for summertime fun. Tall yellow pines, shorter pines like the 'Scotch' pine variety, the ever present birch with shimmering pointed leaves and aspen with a rounder leaf shape and ash. Some slim trees have fallen. Looks like beaver work to us.
Rain forces us inside to play cards and make dinner. Rain in the night with net windows open to the lake. Lovely up here in the pop-up bed.
July 14 & 15
Wow, what a combination. Ooodles of wild goatsbeard and fireweed, both the same height, screaming out white and bright purple-red. Long fields of it. We stop in a small town to take care of some shopping and some shipping business, papers needing signing, scanning and sending. We pop into the library to see if they can help us. It is the prettiest, most commodious public library that I have ever been in.
Do not go shopping when you are hungary! People in line at the check-out station were looking in our basket... at the amount we have taken off the shelves. It is embarrassing! Back out on the street...Hey, there's our friend John!
A snooze seems next on our agenda and we wake at 6:30 p.m. Can't stay here. Let's go! Plenty of light left to drive to our goal. The farms are perfectly lovely, everything around them green, many shades of green. We are in hilly land now, gone from the flat lake basin. We cross a narrow river, current speeding through a small trough. Pictures from a coffee table book. The road? E18. If you lived here you might think you were already living in paradise.
We park twelve minutes from the inner city of Oslo, Norway, across the street from a covered mall. It rains for two days. Not a time to sight-see so we take care of other things (we don't need groceries). We find an ATM. We find a mall with a phone store to plug ourselves into WIFI. Well, it seems that we cannot buy a WIFI chip, except for two days and the cost is $50. To have this chip you must be a citizen of Norway. Okay, that's way too much, and we head downstairs to the coffee shop and spend a few hours on line. Then we figure out the bus system to the center of town. Red buses, well marked. It's still raining.
July 16
Sunshine! At last! We drive to the Munch Museum. Gypsy takes us on a long goose chase because we had set her for 'NO TOLLS'. This is really the non-tourist way to see the city and environs. Lots of construction and detours slows our way, also. Thanks for the ride, Gypsy.
Norway's most renowned artist, Edvard Munch's exhibit is called Through Nature, the title coming from his own poetic words describing “...a vast endless scream through nature”. He weaves nature and art in these works, in this case nature includes culture. Examples; The Researchers shows young children, very interested in studying nature. Another famous piece, The Scream, depicts a screaming person walking a narrow bridge, mouth open, hands over her/his ears, eyes wide. During the last few years we have seen quite a bit of his work so that now I feel I have a bit of a background to comment. His work strongly shows his inner workings and feelings...succeeding in this characteristic more openly than most artists. I admire his dedication to experiment with his thoughts on paper, his mighty, sort of primitive, push to show us what he has to say. This may be the most important aspect of making art, more that the skill of rendering a beautiful piece of work, though I also love brush strokes and textures and colors working together.
While we were at the museum, we talked with the ticket taker. He told us that he was a US army 'black army brat' who lived in the USA and other places in Europe. He fell in love with a Norweigen and has lived here in Oslo for 6 years. “I would not go back to the USA though in Norway you have no secrets, the government knows everything about each person.” (I think to myself...and they don't in the USA?) He tells us more. “Taxes are at a high of 40% but everything is provided. There are never any questions about the sick days that the working community takes off. You can take 7 days off and you can do this 7 times a year! Women have a paid one year off with a newborn child. And, lots of vacation time. Not only that, your vacation money has been saved for you, so you can always afford to enjoy yourself.” Too much help? Not enough of your own decision making? The folks here like it.
From here we go to Vigeland (Vigelands Parken), a magnificent park of the monumental sculptures of Gustav Vigeland (1869-1943). I am sometimes ashamed of my lack of knowledge. I have not heard of this extraordinary person, Norway's best loved sculpture, and mine, by the time I have strolled through the park and experienced the loving and caring attributes of this man. This park, designed by him, covers 80 acres in which 212 sculptures in granite or bronze grace the walkways. He made them between 1906 and 1942. The people of Oslo erected a red brick studio, home and future museum on the park property so that he could have what he needed to complete this huge task.
We walked the 850 meter main axis to view these amazing pieces...very large and strong, yet softly rounded, with just enough detail to radiate an emense feeling of warm human relationship. These pieces show us what loving and caring relationship is all about. Love. Happiness. Contentment. Respect. We can feel it in our own bones! There were also a few that showed the dark side of us humans.
How can one man know so much about human relationship and also have the talent to render it? Gustav Vigeland was a little man without wife or children.
A wonderful central tower. A tower of humanity maybe about 70 feet tall. People holding on to each other, helping each other get comfortable or holding someone up who wanted to make it to the top. No pushing or shoving. Remarkable. (Look this park up online so that you can experience what I am talking about.)
July 17
We take the Metro Underground from our home district, Lambertsetter, to the center of Oslo, getting out at the National Theater. From here we walk to the National Museum where the exhibit “The Dance of Life” is showing. It is easy to follow from Atiquity to Baroque to Romanticism to Impressionism to Modernism to the 1950s. As usual, I linger in the Impressionist, Modern Abstraction and the Contemporary galleries. I hardly look at the rest, like the gorgeous nature scenes painted realistically...I might buy one to hang in my home to gaze at often, but a room full of them does not excite me anymore. And early Christian religious art I completely ignore, I'm saturated so that I can no longer see the work fairly.
On to the museum of Design and Decorative Art just a few blocks away. We stop for a sandwich and the fellow behind the counter says, “I've been in Seattle several times. I even thought of moving there for its music scene and also for its Norweigan-like beauty. He brought his band to Seattle but now he says that he must be more serious, he has a wife and child.
In the Design and Decorative Art Museum we choose to stay on the first floor admiring items that interest us immensely; chairs, dinnerware, jewelry, rugs, tapestries, lamps and ceramics, all reflecting the Nordic preferences.
Enough of museums for today, it can be exhausting. We walk to the city center, a street like Los Ramblos in Barsalona. Loud music, wares laid on the sidewalk, silver statues that wink at passers by! Huge flexible, shape-changing bubbles float by, holding rainbow colors inside! We sit at an outdoor table with beer in hand, watching all the festivities, then catch the metro to a quiet evening at home, the smell of a peanut snack in the air.
JULY 18
Another day in Oslo, moving from home to the city on the Metro like we know what we're doing on our second day. After 20 minutes our stop comes up. Today we have planned to catch the HOP ON/OFF bus.
First Hop Off of the day...Thor Heyerdahl's (1914-2002) Kon-Tiki Museum! Scientist, adventurer and environmentalist. The museum houses original vessels and exhibits from his expeditions...in Ra, Tigris, Tatu-Hiva, Kon-Tiki and Easter Island. First we see the exciting documentary of his trip from Peru, across the Pacific Ocean to a Polynesian Island in 101 days with a crew of five in 1947. (Wish I could have been there.) A distance of 8000K helped by the southeast trade winds, other wind patterns and ocean currents...proof that people from South America could have reached Polynesia on a sea faring vessel long ago. Such an adrenaline high for such adventurers and sea farers as David and I! Thor and his crew; Knut Haugland, Bengt Danielsson, Erik Hasselberg, Torstein Raaby and Herman Watzinger. The Kon-Tiki is a log raft of balsawood logs, debarked and floated down the Palenque river, all of which was practically impossible. Heyerdahl had to use his own money and resources for this first experiment as he could not talk anybody into believing it was possible. The raft was built in Callao, Peru...nine logs, 14 meters long and 6.5 meters wide. Average speed was 3.3K per hour.
Thor Heyerdahl was born on October 16, 1914 in Larvik, Norway. His mother had a fair library and encouraged her son's interest in zoology. His father taught his son to love the outdoor life and exploration of nature. As a task to be accomplished for his master's degree, he was told to visit an isolated island in the Pacific to study how the island's fauna had found its way there. In 1936 he married Liv and they soon set course for the Pacific Ocean's most bountiful island, Fatu-Hiva. They were put ashore without provisions. They built their first home from woven bamboo with a roof of cocoanut palm leaves next to a crawfish filled fresh stream. Other sustanance close by; papaya, breadfruit, pineapple, sweet potatoes and pumpkins and wild cotton...all brought from South America before Europeans arrived. They often rested under the large mango trees, eating the fruit below the shady cover.
After this homesite, to get away from the pesty insects and suspicious islanders, they moved to the east side and built a hut on poles to keep away from the wild pigs. A wild goat became their pet. The local old chief, Tei Tetua told The Legend of Tiki to the couple. He had led his people over the ocean to these islands from the east, the closest land being South America. After the story telling, a feast continued in the chiefs home, some of the guests bringing beer made from oranges. Fun at first, the relationships became dangerous. Thor and Liv decided to leave the island while they hid on a deserted beach watching for ships. Thor said then, “It's no good buying a ticket to paradise.” I loved this story and must say that I was a tiny bit jealous of Liv's adventure.
The Kon-Tiki story...At 33 years old, Heyerdahl lead the Kon-Tiki expedition. He suffered from severe hydrophobia, could not swim and had no experience as a sailor. Aboard there was one sailor and two radio men. Fish would jump onto their boat where the crew would pick them off the deck for breakfast, cooking them on a Prius stove. Some fish had never before been seen by any of them. Huge monster fish, whales, shark whales, sharks, dolphin fish. Water was also saved from rain though they carried a good amount with them. After a hard start of exhaustive learning, they all became good sailors.
Some scary overboards occurred though in general they weathered storms well. The end came when they moved fast toward a spit carried by stormy waves and current. They quickly prepared themselves and lost nothing when the Kon-Tiki crashed into a reef. She floated free on a high tide and found her way to the quiet bay where her crew was camped.
The Kon-Tiki museum was really quite a thrill. Exhibits and stories of the succeeding rafts were displayed, the papyrus built rafts of Ra I and Ra II, again proving seaworthiness and possibilities of ancient crews crossing the Atlantic.
Second Hop Off of the day...The Architecture and Contemporary Art Museum. We had less time, only an hour here, so David went to Architecture and I went to the Contemporary art...and we both ended our tour in a very good woman sculptor show by Aase Texmon Rygh. This was one of those times that we ran into a great artist unexpectedly. Rygh was born in 1925 and is 89 years at this time, still working on her art. These ideas were constantly part of her 'creed' and work...
> You may well work with realism, but it still requires renewal.
> I simplify to accomplish something basic and existential.
> I am very concerned with serenity, I want people to search for the peacefulness they lack in themselves and in our time.
> I work with forms that have inherent elements of eternity and combine them in different ways.
A large part of the work that we see today shows her work with the Mobius principle, a band that is twisted once around itself and, like the infinity symbol, has neither a beginning or end, nor is it possible to distinguish between the band's two sides. This was a principle that she started experimenting with in 1980.
Her mantra became Modernism Forever! Many of her colleagues and critics were sceptical of this modern work but she never wavered from it or from her convictions.
Lunch time. At a nearby restaurant we ordered the cheapest thing on the menu, a small bowl of fish soup. Wow. Shrimp, salmon, white fish and mussels in a white soup base. It was exquisite. We walk toward the metro station and along the street we run into a great jazz band. Well, we have to stop and find ourselves a curbside seat. A band of Norweigan 'old guys' who call themselves the New Orleans Workshop. Drums, banjo, base and tenor saxophones, trumpet and one sexy old voice! They were good and they were fun...but a long line of folks carrying Palestinian flags marched right through the little concert, shouting 'FREE PALESTINE'! What a great juxtaposition of events we witness!
July 19
We leave beautiful green watery Oslo, a place of mild temperatures, maybe a similar climate to Vancouver, Canada...along with the light/dark ration of days.
Daisy, David and I are on the road again heading northward. We are revelling in the feeling of being carefree and spontaneous once again. It is a lovely warm Saturday and people are flocking to the many swimming lakes. The Nordic people are so appreciative of the sunshine and warmth that comes their way.
A 'rule of conduct' is evident here, the neatnik factor. Neatness above all! Social pressure from peers. It is very pleasing to the eye. At home, there does not seem to be that pressure. Except for pockets, we seem to have a more unattached sort of 'doesn't really matter' attitude. Maybe the result of old vs. new cultures?
A field is planted in clover, not a familiar sight. Cattle feed? Bees? The purple of the mature blossoms in mass is splendid. Bike and walking paths roam the countryside with us, sticking close to our road. Homes and other structures begin to have a rhythm of color...black roofs, dark brown sides and red trims. A handsome repeated color scheme. The black roofs would absorb heat and pass it on to the folks inside the homes. A necessity in these more northerly parts. There are large barns of wood, no metal. Some have a bell on top, maybe to call in the cows? Wide waterfalls tumble down clumps of dark rock. Impressive. At the town of Honefoss we cross a bridge to its center where a tall modern fountain marks the spot.
The hills are growing in stature. The Hallingdal river directs our road's route. Kayaks on car rooftops are plentiful. A riverside trail leads through Indian tobacco plants, swampy horsetails, golden tansy, wild raspberry and rose hips, shocking pink fireweed...and more...white and yellow clover, yarrow, a variation of astilbe and goatsbeard, a light purple flower puff that I cannot name and white starflowers. A few fishing boats slowly drift the river.
A family picnic. A little boy carries a red bucket and wades across to a sand island with his daddy. A lone fisherman stands on a bank, barely visable through the trees. David takes the picture that will make him famous...sunlight about to go, leaving muted shadows and light on a little red house across the river.
July 20
We are in a green valley this morning. Farms on the floor, rock promentories on both sides. Two long white waterfalls, side by side, tumble and slide down a sheer rock face. A line of bunched-up RVs crawl up steeply from the river to a mountain pass. Paragliders gently sailing off the mountaintops. We stop in Hemesdal, a winter ski town, for information. It seems to be a mecca for outdoor activities...hiking, off-road bicycles, skates for summer cross country skiers. A Marmot brand store. North Face and Columbia represented in other stores.
Further on as we continue to rise in elevation we come to Kongevegan. Homes and cabins are scattered on the hillside above the widened river. Many of them have sod roofs with the sweetest stone chimneys poking out of the grass. Favored colors are dark grey with red or yellow window trims or dark brown with grey-blue shutters. The hillsides support wide open short cropped grass competing with smooth glacier dropped and polished stone. A thick stubble of light and dark green bushes line the river along with a white flowering variety. Short deciduous trees share this spot also, but up in the hills there are a few small evergreens. Snow patches still lie in the upper mountain depressions. Sheep graze, but where are the mountain goats? Swans have chosen to spend time here also. The rock and the 'see forever' terraine is so powerful, epecially when the light plays on it.
A few RVs have stopped by the river, chairs and table pulled into the sun. Chinese tourists, seemingly without the awareness of intrusion, wander around these folks as they eat their lunch, and closely survey the rig, even looking in windows, cameras snapping. It feels rude but maybe that is just a difference in culture that we do not understand.
A note on our map from John says...Don't take the tunnel, take the old road over the mountains and to a lookout which will 'tell the whole fiord story'. “Norway in a nutshell” is a popular line. We lunch in the village of Borgund, then climb higher and so do the mountains. Cherry trees and potatoes grow here. Laerdalsoyri. This town seems like an old company town with its small houses and white picket fences. We come to a point with a fiord view. Gorgeous! Similar to our Howe Sound, or west coast fingers of inlets in British Columbia that snake their way deep into the mountains. There is still farming going on at this elevation, maybe long time family farms, the magic of this high perch embedded in their souls.
Sheep with bells tinkling, come barreling toward us on this one lane road. Aren't they sweet! But frightened and timid. A busy crashing river is far below...violently cascading and mixing frothy white into icy blue, nowhere a placid breath. Old log and stone homes dot the range of bluffs and precipices, building materials naturally supplied. Around the cabins and knolls are abundant ferns, moss, deciduous trees, bluebells and stubby evergreens. Clear clear water runs in the streams. On spongy high places grow shrubs of green berries blushed with red, their leaves tipped with red. Barberry? Right beside us, old snow patches run down to the lakes, ending in sharp edges curving along the lake shape. Wind has carved the snow fields into little white waves. The smile on my face refuses to leave.
We move on to the 'BIG LOOKOUT!', a stunning view worth coming for. Flat water patterns show from our high vantage point, formed from currents and winds and bends in the inlet route. Towering stone cliff sides, both rounded and shear, keep all this water in its chosen path. Pine trees, emblems of the sight and smell of mountains, remind us where we are. Skinny, shimmering white lines of falling water carve their pathways downward. Here we can still clearly see the process of creation. High hump after misty hump of green-blue move off into the distance. A Norwegian Fiord!
We descend to the town of Flam then enter long tunnels, one of them is 11.3 kilometers. It feels a bit weird moving through solid rock, in the darkness, with a sound like a fleet of jets in our ears, which is the sound of wind sweeping through, waiting for that glimmer of light to appear and finally release us. Just through the last tunnel we find a campsite next to the water...on a flat delta at the end of a fiord...but there are many other campers with us, tents and trailers and RVs. Our grassy camp spot is waterside, looking straight down the fiord. We count nine waterfalls. It is the “best seat in the house”.
July 21
We slept under the pop-top in the high bed with a view. I woke up often during the night, peeking through the tent window at a stunning waterfall. From here I can see that it rides along the top of a land precipice until it reaches the cliff edge then falls 150 feet straight down...not touching the wall face...landing in a flat spot jutting out where it fills a pool and then starts its way down again. The wind catches the free falling water and sends it out as mist.
I rise very early to catch the morning light on Sognefjorden (this fiord) with my camera, the same photo I took the night before with the sun setting. I will love to look at these when I am home and longing for memories of the journey.
Our camp spot neighbors from Germany are busy pumping up (automatically) a sweetheart of an inflatable boat with engine! A fishing pole is placed in its assigned spot. I want this boat! They have noticed our licence plates so we begin some friendly talk. Bettina and Wurst. When Wurst hears how long we have been gone from home he has to let go of the boat and sit down! “No. Unbelievable!” Off they go pulling the boat to the launch spot on a set of wheels. There are many rented kayaks; single and double, plastic red and yellow. They left like a horde of mosquitos this morning.
We ready Daisy to leave this delta, then set out on a loop walk, over two bridges and down beside the river that enters the fiord. More waterfall views, dandelions, blue bells, copper colored grasses. The river is pristine clear so the river bed is easily seen. Stones show through, looking exactly like the scales of salmon. Amazing how nature does that!
During the time we have been here there has been a medieval festival going on. Young people walk by dressed in the clothing of those alluring days gone by. Hippyish, dreadlocks, ornate walking sticks, tattoos, long hair. We come across their encampment on our trail. Tents and booths and space in the middle for music and gaming. The area is quiet but evidence of their activities are there; signs of rituals, animal skulls, simple white canvas stick tents.
Last night, about 10 p.m., I also watched the launching of a viking shaped large canoe through my high bed window. There seems to be about 3 to 4 sets of long oars. The male and female 'actors' in costume climb in and take the oars. They are confident. They have certainly done this before as all are in sinc as they move out onto the water, the slow even rowing action moves the boat quickly through the quiet muted light and disappears around a point. Where are they going? In the morning I wake to see them rowing back, disembarking and walking to their cars. Ahh. I am sure they have a secret medieval camp not far away in the fiord. I want to see it!
From this point ferries service several trips down the fiords and into other fiords, the most popular seems to be the trip that drops passengers off at Flam. Buses bring the ferry passengers back through the tunnels, but it is also possible to take a car on the ferry and continue on your way.
We hop into our ready and waiting Daisy and leave this beautiful spot, following southwest along the river, which gets narrower and more shallow appearing a deep green in color brightened with white froth as it scurries over the exposed rocks. We follow Gypsy's suggestion and turn to an old road, slower travel but the best experience. This road is narrow and sometimes hangs above steep sided canyons. Cars surprise us, coming from the other direction, and one of us is forced to back up to a wide spot. Other times valleys spread out. Perfect farms and painted summer and winter retreats nestle in cracks and spaces up the steep stone hillsides. Bare and rounded mountain tops are wet with sagging spider webs of streams that are escaping from the snow melt above. Board walks have been built where ground paths hit the water-soaked spots.
Back down in sheep herding country the flocks dash for the roadside as we lightly beep our friendly horn. It's a spectacular drive through high country plateaus of lakes, dams, rivers, reservoirs, forests, fields and stone. A Norwegian's dream, though real, nurtured in the midst of this nature from childhood. Some dwellings are isolated on the other side of the river and all these have handmade wooden walking bridges leading over the barrier of rushing water.
We finish our sojourne of the day in Bergen, driving to its center, ignoring all the automatic toll signs and pay stations, both of us responding to them with the same thoughts... “Enough already! Send us the bill.” We find a little nook to rest ourselves, it may be a college area, the rectangular buildings look like dorms. It is hot in Norway!
July 22
Gypsy maps a tour through town, up the side of a hill that overlooks the city and its harbors to a breathtaking panorama. Bergen was once the capital and biggest port on the west coast of Norway. The most interesting part of the city is Bryggen, a neighborhood of the first old wood houses in which sixty-one are currently lived in. Tall and slim, standing close together, they are painted neatly in what seems like favorite colors; rose, pinks, corals and reds, along with white and grey. Roofs are black slate. As it is close to the harbor, the neighborhood has become a favored place to live.
We stop to use the wifi connection in a cafe. Philip, our waiter, is a 'cool' guy. He is 21 now, but he has been traveling since he was 18, his pattern being travel... work a bit... travel... work, travel etc. He loves Laos and other countries in that area. Traveling there on a motorcycle is the 'ticket'. If it breaks down, everyone knows how to fix it... the locals travel the same way and can't afford mechanics. Philip chooses a 'Pink Floyd” CD to play for us. He couldn't have made David happier...he tuned out to some far-away dream. Philip's mom and dad walk in. They have come from Sweden to see him.
In the afternoon we leave Bergen, heading back toward Oslo and Sweden's west coast. We ask Gypsy to keep us on small roads and she gets us lost. We stop and ask, “Where are we?” Really, who cares. It is such fun to get lost! Time to eat though, and we stop in a park beside an inlet. David points to a car and says, “Look at that licence plate. It is Russian.” The owners of the car are having a picnic beside us, cooking their meal on a camp stove on a picnic table. I can't let this opportunity pass me by. I climb out of the car and walk over to them. Hi! When you finish your meal, can we talk?
We have such fun with Dimitri and Anastasia (Nastya). I notice that Nastya has American flags on her tennis shoes. Dimitri says, “We lived so long without any brand names that we went crazy for them. For me, it started when I was a kid. I had to have New Balance shoes. There was a news clip on our TV showing Clinton working out and he was wearing New Balance. They are still popular! And at home I have a Honda 750 motorcycle with a Route 66 decal on it!”
We tell them that we were unsure of driving in Russia. Many bad stories have come our way. So he straightens us out with Russian Rules for Driving...and writes them in my book.
1) Do not cross the double white line.
- No alcohol. At all.
- Do not cross the railways while the red light is on or the lifting gate is closed or not fully open.
- Do not exceed the speed limit more than twice.
“If you violate any of these points – the police can take away your drivers licence with the only option to give it back to you in court. For the rest minor violations only money penalty can be applied. The cops might give you the act of traffic rule violation and suggest you to pay them directly which is known as bribe. So if they stop you, don't pay even a cent, just take the papers and throw them away right after you come back home from your big Russian tour.”
Dimitri and Nastya live in St. Petersburg. They have two children, a girl 10 and a boy 19 and dogs. Others in their family live close. They cannot afford to come to North America but it seems they have made a pretty good life in Russia, though they are thinking of moving 300 miles inland where it is cheaper to live.
Dimitri works for a company that is patterned after Walmart. The owner went to the USA to learn 'the ropes'. He has a colleague in the Ukraine and they talk about the situation there. After Dimitri tells him what they have heard and seen in St. Petersburg, his friend says, “We hear different reports than you do.” Nobody except maybe a few on top really knows what is going on...it's all politics and power having nothing to do with the common citizen.
Choosing to learn English with the purpose of doing well in international trade and having wifi connections to the rest of the world, is changing the state of mind and actions taken in the Russian grassroots society. Still too many stifling rules.
We must say good bye to our new Russian friends as they are moving on. I hope we will keep connected through email.
A group of motorcyclists roar in to the picnic area and stand about snacking and yaking, all mixed with laughter. David remarks that it seems like we are in Canada. I answer, “Except for the trees...it must be quite a shock for Europeans to see our big trees...and our big log cabins!”
We stay here the night, resting to the song of the lapping water and the moving patterns it casts on our camper ceiling.
July 23
We awake and find the other two campers are gone. This spot of pretty cove and little island awakens a childhood memory locked in my heart. We cross over the fiord at Gjermundshamn, on a small ferry and begin a long, but fairly gentle, uphill drive. A wide waterfall, pounding over rock, nearly hits the road, its thick mists coming through my open window. It is loud! Sailboats are out on the sound but no sails up. No wind. No fun. We travel up a skinny arm of a larger fiord of flat, green and reflective water. Our road is like a ribbon reaching into the distance on the edge of land. David says, “Ho hum. Another day, another fiord.”
At Sundal we turn east toward Odda, leaving these bodies of water behind. This country is so unspoiled and beautiful! We drive straight forward through an 11 km tunnel of rock...under a stack of mountains. How long does it take to build a tunnel this long?
In Odda we stop to find wifi. This is a fun and active little town on a fiord with mountains surrounding it. It seems to be a mecca for outdoor activities...hiking, off-road bicycles, skates for summer cross country skiers, back packing to glacier fields and kayaking. A Marmot brand store. North Face and Columbia represented in other stores. Lots of young people are here, ruck sacks on their backs, hiking boots topped with thick socks hit sturdy legs and shorts. We look around us and see cascades of waterfalls in every direction. In the 'I' (Visitor Information)David spots a Chemex coffee maker like he bought for himself in college. There is a rebirth of this type in Norway, sort of a big glass beaker shape with polished wood at its neck, to keep hands away from the heat. It is good to look at and, he says, makes good coffee.
More road to put behind us today. We travel by a full river, the heat has brought lots of snowmelt. Waterfalls add power to the river and as we climb, the river gets narrow and furiously tumbles down steep inclines. Lakes settle in patchy snow fields. Tunnels. We begin to descend. We pass through Roldal, a town on one of the lakes. A wooden snowman waves at us from a cozy front porch.
From here we continue the pattern of moving uphill then down, but always climbing into the high mountains... short grass, snowpatched fields, no trees, rock, lakes. A stop at one of those lakes gives us time to comtemplate. It seems strange that we can be in a place like this without hiking for hours. One can camp here and kayak to the river source or hike along its edges or up into the attainable mountain tops that are bare of foliage. We have not left ourselves enough time to stay for a few days. David and I walk separate skinny trails through scratchy foot high ground cover and patches of mud, alone with our own thoughts in this very special place, refreshing our bodies and minds. The temperature is cooler as the sun has gone behind a bank of clouds, a breeze blows against our faces and we can see forever over lake and treeless rolling rock mountains. It is 8:00 p.m. when we meet back at the camper and decide to stay one night. A 3 year old curly blond and her dad head past us a short ways to put up their tent. Dad carries the big stuff and the fishing pole and she has her own little pack on her back. Wow! Smart daddy. Camping and fishing and eating together on the edge of a mountain lake.
We watch as two single people slowly get together...boy meets girl. (David says, “It had to happen.”) (I say, “Nothing will happen.”) They sit by her tent looking over the water. They chat into the dark. He is a rough outdoor fellow with chaotic hair and dirty clothes. He is driving a very old Volvo which bounced into its spot without much care. In fifteen minutes he had his tent up with sleeping bedding inside...and was reading in a camp chair. He has a big gentle scruffy dog. She drives a shiny stationwagon into the same area, stops, gets out, and carefully checks out the terrain for positioning her car and her tent. It takes her an hour and a half to set up her tent and bedding and chair, enjoying every careful minute! Her little doggie is scrubbed and fluffy white and a bit yappy. Opposites attract?
July 24 & 25
Little Blondie wakes us. Our sliding door is open a crack...and from our dreams we hear a sweet “hello hello”. Her father has prompted her on this English greeting!
We head southeast and are soon down in trees and canyons. The biggest raindrops of all time hit the windshield making slapping noises and running down the glass in smooth sheets, but soon we are through it and into bright sunshine. We set Gypsy for the Horten-Moss ferry. She willingly leads us through lands of beauty and soon we are boarding the pretty ferry, clean and shipshape, for a thirty minute ride to Moss where we stay on the outskirts of town. Up at 6:30 and we are off for the day. We are getting closer to larger populations and wider highways. We stay off the toll roads and come to Halden, a town on a finger of the sea. Then into Sweden again.
THOUGHTS and OBSERVATIONS:
> A popular look in cars around here. Black stationwagon types with the only chrome being a noticeable strip running around the outer perimeter of the side windows.
> There are mean, nasty and pushy people everywhere.
> There are more cultures evident in Oslo, but not without some evidence of racism.
> Less blonds in Norway compared to Sweden. Just my observation, maybe not true?
> There are less interesting things for me to take photos of here in the north, too clean and tidy!
> In response to the seeming control of the Norweigen community, David says, “If you lead a good life you have nothing to fear.”
> While we were in Vigeland Park we came across 4 men bathing their feet in a little pool below a waterfall. Two from Oslo and two from the island of Ibitha where they have lived for the last thirty five years. I asked them if they would like to have their photo taken together. We traded a few stories and said our goodbyes. Just before turning away, Roger said, “You won't be able to stop traveling when you get home. A FROG HAS TO JUMP FROM LILY PAD TO LILY PAD BEFORE IT SINKS UNDER HIM.”
> At one appropriate point, David remarks, “Like we say in America, if you can't see it from the bus, to heck with it!”
> An East Indian American from Florida hears David's accent and asks, “Are you American?” So we listen to his list of reasons why he loves America...
-People in America just don't dream about what is possible, they actually live
their dream.
-Americans do not take NO for an answer.
-Such a diverse group of cultures. That is what makes America great!
-Americans can start an innovative or even weird business and no one will
stop you. Within days the product can be on the shelves. Elsewhere one
would wait 8 months for permission and permit.
> As we drive through a tunnel I ask David if there are vents throughout. He says that he has noticed pipes sticking up through the stone. Do they suck air in? Push it out?
> In this language, the word god means good.
> Norwegians say they do not remember a summer like this with the sun shining day after day after day.
> My hair has gone curly in this humidity!
> Tide changes are minimal at the end of the fiords but in general the outer coast does not have the lows and highs that we have at home.
> Route 66 is still so popular and rather a legend in Europe, Russia, Turkey and I am sure many more countries. Route 66 used to be a straight shot across the United States, however with the invention of interstate freeways this is no longer true. The route no longer exists except in stops and starts along the way. Some songs that made it popular...Get Your Kicks on Route 66 and the jingle, See the USA in your Chevrolet. After the war, when there was more money available, people began taking vacations and Route 66 was a choice of many with its hamburger drive-ins along the way.
> In the large scheme of things, the Nordic countries are well liked.
> David and I are lucky in that we often see things in the same way...that is, we see art, placement of objects, framing a photo...stuff like that similarly. He is a designer and me, a painter, and there is always a place in the middle where we meet and overlap.
July 25 con'd.
More fir trees on this lower land, bracken, paler colored fireweed, fields of wheat, red barns and white farm houses...stuff to sooth the soul. Oh! Oh! Gypsy veers onto a dirt road which makes us skeptical of the route. We are on it for 4 km where it comes out to a paved road. “Good job, Gypsy!”, says David. We are almost to the city of Stromford, a busy ferry and beachside center. We park by the inlet and watch the ferry wiggle its way through islands and peninsulas to its berth sideways to the road. Up on the hill there is a huge fully packed RV park. From this height, folks walk or ride their bikes down the grade, carrying all kinds of beach paraphernalia. Most are people our age. Oh dear, we must remember to keep our mouths closed. Old duffers need to drop their jaws when they walk. Maybe it helps move them along? David says, “Hmmm. I think that's me!”
I am not sure where we are tonight, arriving in the dark. In a park? A lake and trees and paths. Tomorrow's daylight will tell.
July 26
In the daylight we find we are in a country estate, Gunnebo Manor, now a cultural reserve. Gardens, farm and woodlands on an island. The owner-builder was John Hall who built the manor in 1776. We walk through part of the grounds but the heat is unbearable, even in the morning. Old oak trees with large trunk radii offer us slight relief. This reserve is used by the community. Canoes, runners, strollers and walkers. I can hear laughter from the beach and through the branches I can see that most sun worshippers are huddled together in one spot under shade. Rock outcroppings are the backdrop for trees, ferns and mosses. Crows hop in the grasses and talk to one another from tree tops. These fellows are of a different member of the crow family. Black hooded heads and black and white bodies. We know they belong to the same family because their caw-cawing is the same!From the manor, we walk down many wide shallow stairs, easy to navigate. The evergreens here are pruned to a perfect point...the shape of rounded triangles. They match each other exactly. Simply spaced flowers make their colorful mark. A left turn takes us through a wooded path next to a marsh and lake. We have stood the heat long enough. We will rest until the evening comes and explore once more. A snooze is in order.
Later, with the coming darkness and cooling breezes, we start out on a different route and hear music in the distance. We have seen folks heading through the forest trail, dressed in natty attire. And this is why. There is a summer concert going on. A makeshift stage and temporary bleacher seats sit by the path in the trees. A comedy performance brings laughter and applause. A comedian in formal black suit and tie is making everybody squeal. Even we are laughing, as we stand in the pathway and watch awhile, not able to understand a word he is saying. We turn to leave and are accompanied along the trail by his voice and band, and their cool rendition of an American jazz song.
July 27
We work our way down the west coast, intending to stay as close to the sea as we can...from Asa through other small towns, Varovacka, Tronninge, Traslovslage, and we stop in Glomen for a picnic. A summer beach. Swimmers walk from their vacation houses to take a quick dip. Children splash and play for hours in the shallow water. Sail borders whiz by, paddle boarders stand upon their boards and move slowly propelled by one long paddle. Striped umbrellas lean in all directions in the sandy flattened grass. Woman of all shapes and sizes have 2-piece swimsuits or bikinis on. These Swedes are good at this...it's only a body for heaven's sake. There is a lovely light and swaying wild flower strip of yellow, white, brown and purple, against tall white and buff colored grasses, between us and the water. A summer blue sky with just a few white puffy clouds is like a painted wall behind the sets of the play. Small grey geese have chosen to rest and find food on the shore.
The next town we pass through, Torekov, with a pier sticking out into the sea. Yellow-orange tansy pokes through the big blooms and rosehips of Rosa Ragosa. Brown Indian tobacco plants texture the light yellow of a wheat field. Long white sand beaches continue at our side and across the way is the muted shape of Denmark. Horses neigh and run, kicking up their heels, heads and manes tossing. Does this mean a weather change?
Just north of Angelholm, at Angelsback beach, we park and walk the worn trails, a mix of sand, grass, mussel and clam shells. The beach has been busy today as we note many varieties of sand and stone castles soon to be gobbled by the tide. We have read that there are ancient buriel mounds here but do not see any sign of them. The local folks come to swim, just before the sun sets.
Back at the van we strike up a conversation with our German neighbors who are on their way to Norway in their RV. They tell us that they have ordered a larger one with shower. They also tell us that when a sign says NO TENTS, NO CARAVAN CAMPING it means that you keep yourselves contained within your vehicle, no pulling out awnings, setting up chairs and tables. This is important information for us as we assumed we could not stay the night.
We talk with him about the bunkers we have noticed along the paths. The parting words from this friendly German man... “We should never forget”...and continues to say, “I am lucky to be here today, under such different circumstances.”
Horses come running to our end of their long stretch of grassy beachfront field...adults, colts, pregnant mares. Lovely creatures. We put up our back door mosquito netting so we can sleep in the open air, facing the bay. The air is still.
July 28
People are up early; driving, bicycling and walking to the sea for a swim. Some approach through a short cut gate in the horse field. The 'swim ritual' is in their bones...just a quick dip and they are gone. Probably many of these beach users are from families who have had summer cabins here through generations. Whooheeee! Here comes David up the path. He, too, has been for a dip. Orange towel around his neck, wet black bathing trunks clinging to his legs, and his cap back on his head. He greets me,“The water is quite warm!” White swans and Canada geese also swim these warm waters.
We see by licence plates that we are among German, French and Danish vacationers. What a pleasant stop this has been. Today we head for Malmo, a large city in the south, gateway to Denmark.
Grain field stubble, so pretty as the cut straw dries in rows, shining like flax. David says that the hay here is made from a different grass plant. Wheat is being harvested by a machine that takes the heads and shoots out. The rest dries for hay. Tractors and farm trucks speed around on the roads. A hawk kite flies above the fields. Kids up in the tree branches, prepare to jump into the river. Bike paths, in use, follow the roadside.
Reaching Malmo, we remember that our friend Philip (Norway, waiter) grew up in this town. He has told us that we must eat the falafil at Central Station. “It is the best.” So we go there but find none! Perhaps he has not been home in awhile! Falafil has not been a favorite food for quite some time...It has too often been the last thing left to eat on our kayak trips. David's son Adam has dubbed it 'awful falafil'. So we are not too disappointed to miss the opportunity.
We gas up and buy groceries, using the last of our Swedish money. IKEA is next on our agenda, in its original country! Our IKEA folding chair has broken and we wish to exchange it. They won't take the old one back so we leave it in the parking lot.
