To say the least, the trip was worth it. I entered Oslo Central Station at 8AM to catch my first train, a modern rail way run by NSB. It was a 5 hour train ride straight through the mountains. If you wanted, you can book all of the tickets individually (and most likely cheaper).
Oslo has been a balmy 40 degrees F, which the train is happy to tell you as it ticks the temperature, stop and time to entrance. As we made our way into the mountains the temperature steadily dropped. At first the scenery was beautiful green hills speckled with patches of snow resisting the unseasonable warmth, but it didn't take much increased altitude to give way for snow. Each mile showed signs of more and more snow. Flowing rivers turned into chunky ice flows. Gray hills turned into snow dusted caps and roads were no longer plowed. The only way of transport was by train, snow mobile, or ski.
The train stopped in Myrdal (which sounds like a mythical Dwarven city), perched atop the inland mountains. It was here the train let off to get onto the Flam railway, a railroad built over centuries to carry people from the mountains into the fjord valley.
The last time they replaced the train was in the 70s. It had tacky pinks seats affixed to a wooden frames. The interior was wooden panelled, and had thick glass preventing the outside from coming in. I sat there, quietly, with a handful of other tourists, waiting to be taken into the valley below. Scenic is to say the least. We passed by frozen waterfalls at the top, through wooden bridge, and darkened tunnel. Stopping once to see the largest waterfall on the way down, Kjosfossen Waterfall.
A warm breeze started to pass by the careening train. The fjord valleys were protected from the hard Arctic breezes and maintained a more temperate 40 degrees. The snow was gone, and villages popped up. The towns made a living off of the tourists that passed through, making sure to keep a hotel open, and a bar with beer on tap. At least this was the case for Flam. It was so idyllic. Towns that looked like that came our of a different century. Dirt roads were the only way by car, and stone bridges from peoples long before made it traverse-able.
The sightseers were let out to wander around the small town of Flam, where we awaited the next leg of the trip, the fjord cruise, which was to take place on a ferry that shuttled cars and passengers to the next down, Godvangen. I amused myself by wandering the troll figure and traditional sweater filled gift shop. The ship let off a loud whistle alerting the waiting tourists to board.
I climbed up the rickety ship into the main cabin. I didn't stay long, as I found the exit out onto the upper deck, where I spent the remainder of the trip until disembarking. It was here that I was able to catch some fantastic photos of what is a UNESCO world heritage site. With Flam disappearing into the background, it was this part that I was most awestruck by.
The sun was setting on the fjord valley, allowing for the most fantastic vistas. It was simply awe inspiring. As we passed the bend, the wind picked up to a swift 30 mph head wind. Though most of the other tourists headed to the warm cabin, I found myself staring at the banks of the fjord were century old villages still remained cut off from the rest of the world. Literally, there were no roads to or from some of the isolated farm houses. The building had lived there for hundreds of years, with fish, sheep and the passing of seasons to make it worth living. And how could you beat a house situated by a roaring river fed by a cascading waterfall more and more active by the coming of spring?
I made it to Godvangen chilled, but in one piece. I started to talk to a couple there that had managed to make it here from Long Island. We chatted a bit about traveling and where to go. Most specifically they had told me the charms of Copenhagen, and Amsterdam. The woman was keen to tell me that the marijuana shops "were the best" and then laughed about it.
They kept good company on the bus ride to Voss (yes, the same as the water), and the train ride from Voss to Bergen. I was informed of their many travels to South Africa, and Asia, giving me an interesting view of their experiences. As they put it, they called the pilot of their prop plane in Africa "Dougie Houser" because he looked no older than 15.
The train jolted as it entered Bergen. The couple said their good bye as they scurried off to their neighboring hotel. I left the station headed in the opposite direction to find the old harbor houses. At this point, it was 8PM and the sun had already set. Luckily, the city was full of youthful night life. I caught some great architecture highlighted by the steep hills and cobbled roads. Churches dotted the old port city completing the old world charm. It was quaint.
The hours flew by as I snapped whatever photos I could squeeze in the 3 hour window until my last train straight back to Oslo. I wandered into a side street where a burger vendor was slinging late night greasy food. It also happened to be the only place where I found a non-english speaker, uncommon in Norway as English is part of primary education. I painfully made my way through the order and snacked on a burger before heading back to the station.
I decided, while slung over a bench waiting for the train, that the bigger cities just don't have the same appeal as the smaller cities, like Bergen. That night I decided that Copenhagen would be a quick stop, but Roskilde would be my primary spot in Denmark.
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