By far the best aspect of the place though was the pleasing beep-boop that the electronic locks made whenever a card was inserted. (video link to follow). We grabbed a quick breakfast, of the food we had purchased the previous evening and then headed out.
We decided first to climb the hills that surround the older part of town. As we got higher and higher, towards the last of the buildings, we speculated as to where the funicular rail station; as it seemed to us that it would have been positioned further down. It later turned out that we had walked straight past it (not recognising it because the line begins in a long tunnel bored through the rock). As we made our further way up, we passed locals orienteering, running and briskly walking up the steep gradients; one could definitely get fit living in a place like this. The air was cool and clear; any hint of urban air pollution banished to the bottom of the valley, now quite a way below us.
The streams that flow down supply the town with water; signs warn travellers not to do anything to pollute the source, which is only lightly treated. We speculated as to whether the watercourses were steep streams or waterfalls; we concluded that it was probably a series of waterfalls interconnected by short streams, but that we should refer the matter to Ordinance Survey upon our return home.
A 90degree bend on steep set of steps had us reminiscing over past misadventures; we re-enacted the infamous “don’t follow my line” warning and the crash that immediately followed it. Chris observed that my performance lacked a certain authenticity because I didn’t smash my camera as I went; I pointed out that if I were to go for authenticity I should have to smash /his/ camera. Further up we encountered a man riding a hard tailed mountain bikes; clearly a gentleman with much faith in his brakes.
The views over the town as we climbed were lovely, though they didn’t blow us away. Though the way the path had been hewn from rock, and was edged with weathered railings was fairly impressive in its self (though worryingly the occasional iron stub protruding from the ground suggested that some of the barriers had failed). At the top of the climb we saw a man, somewhat advanced in years, storming up the hill with two lekki poles. As he crested the hill he looked at his watch, from his reaction it didn’t seem to be a personal best, and he carried briskly on down the hill with barely a break in step; it seems that life in Bergen can be quite kind to a person.
At the top of the hill, some 320 meters above the harbour, is a large viewing plafrom. It is well architected, with the ramps that provide accessibility also creating pleasing lines down the steps and tiers of seating. We sat for a while and ate nature valley bars whilst we took in the view.
Photo opportunity requiring a tripod and cable release, or just an excuse to sit down; you be the judge.
With no small sense of irony, having walked up the what is by definition a mountain to get here, we decided to take the Fløibanen Funicular back down to the city centre. The station was equipped with modern self service ticket machines, matrix displays indicating the time of the next departures (including whether they would stop at intermediate stations) and very modern automatic ticket barriers (using barcodes, which seems to be the prevalent ticket reading technology here in Norway as opposed to the magnetic ink favoured in Britain). The railway cars themselves were also extremely modern. This all seemed somewhat out of place at what is principally a tourist attraction (as we had seen the locals seem quite happy to run up the mountain). The cool efficiency, and concrete and metal of the station evoked commuter travel, more than tourist hot-spot.
The fun of the 10 minutes of travelling down the mountain in the (glass roved) railcar did not suffer for this business-like demeanour, however. The line has been there for over a hundred years, and much of is lower reaches pass through tunnels roughly bored the rock beneath the town; I found the placement of the rough construction of the old tunnels against the gleaming modernity of the car its self quite pleasing.
After the railcar we set off looking for Lonley Planets “top choice” eatery ‘pingvin’ (later found out means penguin – although in retrospect that is sort of obvious). We wandered the town and tool the time to consider again the matter of price difference between the UK and Norway. We are now of the view that there are two effects in play; there is a “base” difference in the cost of items. For example comparing the price of a Big Mac at McDonalds and a computer game from Game indicated that things are between 1.5 and twice as expensive to purchase in Norway. However there is also a general tendency towards premium products being available; for example an outdoor shop we visited sold only the Merino edition of the ‘buff’ multi-function headware (the most expensive variant, made with the highly sought after wool of New Zealands Merino sheep). In the supermarket we found that Coca Cola was sold only in glass bottles, a luxury version of the product back home. Consequently as well as being more expensive, one usually has to go with premium products which drives up the cost of living here still further.
We wandered the town for a time, but our search for the cafe proved fruitless (we believe it has closed since the publication of Lonely Planet, however it could simply be that I’m far more at home navigating in a rural environment). About our travels though, we did get to see a lot of Bergen’s public art and architecture.
We fell back on eating at the Bergen’s famous fish market. Chris went for fish and chips, where as I went for the ‘famous fish soup’. There is also the option of having almost any kind of sea creature you care to name cooked fresh on the grill. Dolphin doesn’t appear on the menu but this is, as the Norwegians themselves say, mostly because you don’t find dolphins in Norwegian waters. The fish soup typifies the ‘only premium products available’ phenomenon. The food is served from a trailer on the harbour side, similar to the classic British ice-cream van into a waxed paper pot. The contents however consists of mussels, fresh crab meat, salmon and a rich and creamy broth; all (so they claim) caught that day. The disconnect between context and quality of product was quite startling. The soup was absolutely delicious, and Chris was rather jealous.
The atmosphere of eating in the fish market was equally appealing. Men and women in waders full length waders worked at selling locally caught fish set out on beds of ice, as well as sea food products from many corners of the world, including jars of caviar (alas I didn’t spot any cockles or larva bread on offer). Those serving food were jovial, the gentleman who served us was from Uruguay and whilst we were there he slipped between French, English and Norwegian with an ease of which I was quite envious.
After food we continued our wanderings around Bergen, with a mind to visit one of the many museums. We decided the nautical museum would be most interesting, but alas it closed 10 minutes before we arrived. Our search had however taken us through the colourful university area (like Bristol university it has not official ‘campus’ but a small part of town consists almost entirely of university buildings. I find that universities frequently boast some of the most interesting architecture going (though there are exceptions, Swansea or UWE for example :p ).
Our bid to visit a normal museum foiled, we made of the fortress on the outer part of the harbour, which was also billed as a museum. On arrival this turned out to be an fortified area of the town, which with guide maps and walking routes posted up to provide an open air museum. In recent decades, the relevance of traditional fortifications in costal towns has weigned and many such sights around Norway are now open to the public. This particular ‘fort’ encompasses ruins that date back to the 1300s, within more recent walls and gates. As we wandered around we found a curious mix of well maintained walls, decaying pillboxes and medieval ruins, latterly with the curious addition of walkways and ramps to facilitate tourists.
Despite the reduced importance of the site to defence there is still a small garrison present and their few modern cannon do appear as though they would menace any marauder who sailed by. With time to relax before our ship sailed, and the weather having taken a particularly balmy turn that day, we found ourselves laying in the grass atop the highest point in the fort; occasionally troubling ourselves to look out over Bergen with our binoculars to see what we could see. At one point a heart shamed balloon sailed up from the old quarter, the local ferries plied back and forth through the harbour; the pace of things seemed gentle as we allowed time to drift by in our first true “relax” of the holiday.
I had imagined many things whilst anticipating our Norwegian adventure, but I had not foreseen laying out in just my t-shirt under a warm sun; just another example of how travel will always take you by surprise, even in the most mundane of circumstances.
After our repose, we headed back through Byrggen, to collect bags, which were being held in the luggage room of the YMCA. As we went, we noted some of the subtle flourishes that make Bergen the pleasant environment it is. Many of its streets are in well maintained cobles, with zebra crossings (or whatever they are called in Norway) laid out in a mosaic of black and white stones, rather than simply painted on. Even the man hole covers play their part, with significant Bergen attractions embossed upon each one.
With a healthy margin of time still remaining, and little desire to squander our time waiting in a ferry terminal we headed to the shopping centre looking for a cafe named ‘Eat My Muffin’; a recommendation of the YMCA staff. The lady behind the counter had an aunt living in Canterbury, which made for interesting conversation. I got the distinct impression that this establishment doesn’t get a lot of tourist business; this being the first place we had been in that published its menu only in Norwegian.
Chris had Tea (earl grey, hot) served in a Glass which was too hot to hold and we each had a fantastic muffin; Chris opting for blueberry and me for a concoction known as “Hummingbird “ (pictured)
Before boarding the ship, we had to attend a “Saftey briefing” in which we were played a DVD about safety onboard. The first half covers why washing hands is important, followed by methods for hand washing (including an excruciating montage of shots on the topic of “things you touch with hands, whilst on a ship).
Shortly after we got underway, the public address called English speaking passengers to a meeting in the ships conference room. We arrived a few minutes ahead of time to find the room neatly filling up from the front; naturally Chris grabbed a seat in the back row causing me to remind him that “its not a physics lecture” (a subject traditionally imparted to persons in the back row of lecture theatres). As more and more of our fellow passengers filed in we noted that Chris and I were decidedly outside of the typical demographic; much silver hair was on display and I doubt that any other passenger in the room was under 50 years of age. Even so as I struck up conversation with the lady who had taken up the seat next to me, we seemed to be accepted as “seasoned travellers”. I dispensed sagely advice as to the best means of travelling to Bergen, and how one may obtain the best prices for such a journey. Soon the briefing began, as the usual operations of the ship, including a reminder that it isn’t a cruise ship and does take on cargo etc. When it came time for questions, a stream of fairly obvious queries were raised, until that is Chris raised his hand. Rather than reply herself, to Chris’s question the information officer called the Captain on the bridge and obtained an answer from him; surly the hallmark of an excellent question.
The cabin on the ship was compact, with each bed folding into the wall, but comfortable none the less. Prior to the trip I had been unable to secure a cabin with a porthole as none were available, so we were pleased to find that our room did indeed have a porthole, albeit with a restricted view, between two life boats.
Upon leaving Bergen we, naturally, started logging the GPS position of the ship using the GPS receiver in Chris’s mobile. As we sailed on into the sunset though we realised we had made a fatal error; we were logging data points too frequently. Note to future self; next time set to log based on time intervals not, rather than distance ones.
We had a pasta salad that we had prepared in the kitchen at the YMCA for dinner, as meals aboard the Hurtgruten ships are eye-wateringly expensive (approximately £120 for two of us to have dinner). Our meal, whilst frugal was tasty and came with that added sense of “we beat the system”, which British people seem to love so much
Later we headed to the almost deserted polar lounge to make the rough notes that would, eventually, become this journal entry. The quiet was broken only by the music drifing through from the adjacent piano lounge. We wouldn’t have minded, had he chosen better songs, but the the choices seemed very much aimed at the previously mentioned silver haired demographic. Interesting selections included: Hotel California, Raining men, ABBA’s mama mia, and Deliliah (including what I took to be an attempt to impersonate Sir Tom Jones’ patented accent).
No comments:
Post a Comment