All expensive things must come to an end, and so my sojourn in Norway must before I run out of money simply by breathing.
This morning I took my final morning constitutional to the station, where a lovely helpful train-lady made my reservation on the 10:18 REG 44 service to Oslo. She put me in a window seat in a group of four (which she checked I had to myself for the whole journey) facing in the direction of travel and, this time, on the right side of the train. Right as in the other left, but also as in correct.
I abandoned a quick trip to Hell (and back) in the morning because as I’d already been through Hell to get to Bodø it didn’t really matter. Instead, I ambled about the harbour behind the station, took in some more art, and found a tat emporium.
The art was an installation next to the ferry terminal called “What does the fjord say?”, a bright yellow metal diving bell with funnels on the top which channel sound from the surrounding area into the space where you sit. The artist, Stale Sorensen, was inspired by the Beatles’ Yellow Submarine and the name of the art refers to the fjord, the pop museum, and the Sintef maritime science museum in the area around it.
I’m not sure, but I think it was trying to tell me I needed coffee and a fridge magnet. The latter I procured at the tat emporium hidden at the top of the stairs to the bridge over the platforms at the end of the station, before taking my seat on the train and caffeining-up at the end of the carriage while waiting to depart. We left on time, and I settled down to enjoy the view for the next six hours and forty-four minutes.
Most of the journey was as it had been on the way up, except that I got views that I’d not really seen then as I’d been sitting on the not-right (but actually right in the direction of travel) side of the train.
Frozen lakes and frosted mountains slid effortlessly past my seat. I saw people walking their dogs and casually power-skiing alongside the railway line. At Hjerkinn something exciting happened. We weren’t told what, but one of the train managers had to don his reflective jacket and get out of the train, which then went backwards a bit before he got back on and we continued our journey.
I wondered if someone had dropped something or if it had been something more sinister but secretly like to think it was because the train driver had read my mind when I was internally swearing at my phone for not unlocking quickly enough to take a photograph of some buffers poking out of the top of the snow; he kindly gave me a second chance.
There was plenty to see as we merrily trundled through the Dovrefjell–Sunndalsfjella National Park, and I started picking out the little wooden churches and houses along the way. There was one little church somewhere near Otta which looked incredibly tiny, and for a moment I was convinced I’d found Norway’s smallest church, but that accolade apparently goes to one of two churches nowhere near any of the stations we called at, so no, it wasn’t.
A lot of people on the train appeared to be going or coming back from skiing. I’m not sure which, but there were a lot of skis involved. I was surprised by the number of little old ladies battling onto the train with big rucksacks and a pair of skis, and am more convinced now than ever that I need to take up Nordic walking given that I now own a tactical backpack that has been to the Arctic. Skis, however, are not the most considerate items of luggage to bring abord a train (why don’t they have a special ski compartment?) and there was lots of noisy faffing at Kvitfjell.
As we approached Oslo, it became obvious the weather had changed dramatically in the few days since I’d first started venturing north as there was more evidence of a thaw in progress.
In Oslo itself there’s hardly any snow left at all.
My alarm at the potential for Easter-related travel-chaos seems to have been founded as my plan to just make a run for Germany is looking far more difficult than I’d like. Both Bane NOR and SJ are doing line maintenance over the Easter weekend which will make things replacement-bus challenging, but I’ll get there eventually. There’s nothing I can do about it so there’s no point worrying about it too much as long as I can keep on moving. In fact, before I can legitimately start worrying, I must at least get a little bit closer to where I want to go next, which is probably Stuttgart. A friend has promised to take me to the Technik Museum in Sinsheim if I can get to hers for the Easter weekend.
There was a mad scheme at one point that I’d travel from Trondheim to Sundsvall, and from there either a train south to be sensible or a train north to discover Finland, but time is marching on and there are still things I want to do and people to see before the pass expires. At this point having seen the Northern Lights and officially becoming an Arctic explorer should probably be enough for a normal person, so further invigoration is perhaps best saved for another slightly better-prepared trip. Also, I’m not happy with the current lack of a train connection between Latvia and Lithuania because, while it is theoretically possible to get between the two, I didn’t buy an Interrail pass to travel by bus. I’ll keep this as an option for when things have been re-estalished.
I was not prepared for the expense of Norway, even though multiple people via multiple channels had tried to warn me multiple times that Norway is very, very expensive. But, and this is the important part, it is also very, very pretty and while I feel I should’ve heeded warnings, I’ll know how to come prepared next time with my own food-trailer and supply of beverages.
If I ever decide to have a northern light hunt again, I shall try one of the other two countries that might offer the experience. Holstebro Host suggested a trip to Rovaniemi in Finland for next time.
So. Anyway. Here we are again, Oslo. I should know better, but I’ll have a pint of Hansa, please.
