Bergen, Norway
A certain need to attend to mechanical affairs thrust our intentions aside, so, bowing to fate, we spent a day in Bergen. And what a day it was! In a city infamous for obnubulatory gloom, our day was a brilliant one.
In the a.m., we walked past groomed trees and wooden sculptures to the base of one of Bergen's seven surrounding mountains. Boarding a funicular (smart for "very steep railroad"), we took a quick ride to the mountain's top and a commanding view of Bergen. In the distance, we spied fjords and archipelagos for which Norway is justifiably renowned. On a Sunday morning, and the finest of Bergen's year, it was no surprise to find others enjoying the view, but leaving the overlook on one of the area's many trails, it was easy to find a quieter situation. We walked through forests of spruce, birch and pine, with a rich understory of blueberry and heather. In the bright sunshine, everything glowed as if its Platonic ideal. Birds twittered merrily from the treetops. We heard the fluty trills of the Blackbird, the lilting tumble of the Willow Warbler, and the ebullient jumble of the Wren. Wood anemones peeped from under the trees, and, on the hillsides below, rhododendrons burst forth in floral profusion. Many of us opted to walk back to the ship, scuttling toward lunch over groomed switchbacks, as the tiled roofs of Bergen lay beneath us.
In the afternoon, we visited a couple of Bergen's famed cultural sites. We saw the house of the city's beloved composer, Edvard Greig, then went to a stave church. The church, blackened with tar, cock-topped by an iron weathervane, and sporting fourfold dragons roaring at the firmament, seemed at first glance devilish, but its interior, lovingly finished in beeswax, was heavenly.
Soon after our return, the ship was underway. We passed out of Bergen's harbor in glorious sunshine, and began our way poleward along Norway's crenulated coast. The feeling was good.
A certain need to attend to mechanical affairs thrust our intentions aside, so, bowing to fate, we spent a day in Bergen. And what a day it was! In a city infamous for obnubulatory gloom, our day was a brilliant one.
In the a.m., we walked past groomed trees and wooden sculptures to the base of one of Bergen's seven surrounding mountains. Boarding a funicular (smart for "very steep railroad"), we took a quick ride to the mountain's top and a commanding view of Bergen. In the distance, we spied fjords and archipelagos for which Norway is justifiably renowned. On a Sunday morning, and the finest of Bergen's year, it was no surprise to find others enjoying the view, but leaving the overlook on one of the area's many trails, it was easy to find a quieter situation. We walked through forests of spruce, birch and pine, with a rich understory of blueberry and heather. In the bright sunshine, everything glowed as if its Platonic ideal. Birds twittered merrily from the treetops. We heard the fluty trills of the Blackbird, the lilting tumble of the Willow Warbler, and the ebullient jumble of the Wren. Wood anemones peeped from under the trees, and, on the hillsides below, rhododendrons burst forth in floral profusion. Many of us opted to walk back to the ship, scuttling toward lunch over groomed switchbacks, as the tiled roofs of Bergen lay beneath us.
In the afternoon, we visited a couple of Bergen's famed cultural sites. We saw the house of the city's beloved composer, Edvard Greig, then went to a stave church. The church, blackened with tar, cock-topped by an iron weathervane, and sporting fourfold dragons roaring at the firmament, seemed at first glance devilish, but its interior, lovingly finished in beeswax, was heavenly.
Soon after our return, the ship was underway. We passed out of Bergen's harbor in glorious sunshine, and began our way poleward along Norway's crenulated coast. The feeling was good.