The boats that cruise the fjords are like mailmen. Come rain, snow, sleet or hail, they get the job done. With sideways rain and coffee-shop-caffeine overload in my Bergen home base this week, I couldn't have been happier to finally get out there (weather be damned) and get my Norwegian groove on.
After a few hours by train and bus, a boat awaited to stealthily cruise some of Norway's most notable fjords: Sognefjord (Norway's largest fjord) and a very narrow branch of it, Nærøyfjord (11 miles long and just 1600 feet wide at some points). The peacefulness and undisturbed waters seemed oblivious that nasty weather had made an appearance this week. Having had fjord experiences before, I continue to be amazed by how much the towering cliffs shut out the world. Secluded. Quiet. Untouched. This time with bonus autumnal colors covering the mountainsides like a patchwork quilt.
And what would fjordland be without waterfalls? This is where I changed my tune about the weather. That plaguing rain that had turned me into a drowned rat all week had transformed fjordland into a magnificent land of gushing waterfalls.Their pounding descent echoed from afar. Their spray a massive mist hanging in the air at precarious points down the sheer cliffs. Some seemed like powerful Class 6 rapids plunging over the ridges. And They. Were. Everywhere.
To add to the fjords, the scenery from the trains criss-crossing the country is breathtaking at times. Expanses of open land punctuated by reflective lakes, rolling golden-forested hills, and rocky tundra-like terrain. It begs to be explored.
When you imagine the great outdoors in your head you're thinking of Norway. Glad I didn't need a rain check on this one.