ON THE FJORD, SUNDALSOREN
BROTTEM, AUNE, SLIPER,
GJORA, SUNDALSOREN, ETC.
CHAPTER II
BROTTEM, AUNE, SLIPER, GJORA, SUNDALSOREN, ETC.
We had a splendid pony and quite a comfortable stolkjærre from Brottem to the next station, where we took the train to our resting-place for the night, a well-known fishing hotel at Storen. One of the excellent incidents of travelling in Norway is the service, which is exceedingly well done by women. They are so quick and clean and agreeable that they contribute to the enjoyment of one's wayfaring. The deft maids at the Storen hotel were no exception to the rule; but the place was not very sympathetic to us. We stayed only long enough for Nico to make one or two pictures of spots which pleased him. Then we began a long drive right across the country, half the distance off the main road, having as our destination the town of Molde. We lingered for weeks over our drive, staying for days at the various little stations which appealed to us specially by reason of that mystic attraction some spots have and others lack, which can neither be analysed nor explained.
At a place called Aune we left the main route, and here the road began to be exceedingly bad—far and away the worst we came across in Norway. Before this we were struck with the splendid way the roads are constructed and kept.
Our hearts were in our mouths one dusky evening as we galloped down the narrow road cut out of the precipitous side of a mountain: seven hundred feet below foamed and roared a torrent. We reached the valley in safety; but I had terrible dreams about frightened or unsteady ponies for nights afterwards.
At Aune we met two very handsome Norwegians, who were crossing the country on foot. They were taking a holiday in this way; but many poor students are obliged to make use of shanks' ponies for the strongest of reasons. This slow driving during long distances becomes very expensive, and I presume that the continual stoppages at hotels must be an important item. I mention these good-looking people, not because we found them very interesting, but because I was surprised all through Norway to find so few men with any of the external qualities of the Viking. I had imagined that the type was strongly implanted in the Norsemen. Even in build the majority are unsatisfactory. A careful study of statistics on the subject informed me that the Norwegians are the tallest European race; but I can only suppose that the average is brought up by a certain number of excessively tall men. Also, the Norseman is inclined to become fat early in middle life. On the whole, the middle class is not to be distinguished from the usual type of Dutchmen and Germans with which we are familiar. The women have been treated in a much kindlier fashion by Nature. Even those whose features do not actually admit of their being called handsome have such smiling frank faces that they are most pleasant to look upon. In using womenkind so extensively in the place of man-servants the Norwegians show wisdom and good taste.
COUNTRY-WOMEN SELLING BERRIES ON THE ROAD TO STOREN
From Aune we had a terrible drive over a road in the making. The old path was too bad to use at all; and the new road jerked us here up a foot, there down a foot, as the various processes gone through in levelling had been completed or not. At last we left the roadmakers behind us, and drove for some kilometres along the old road to a small station called Sliper, a terrible drive which by this time will, fortunately, have ceased to be possible.
We were delighted with Sliper. At the station were two houses, the station's and another. We stayed at the other. We had actually ordered the horse, meaning to go on, when a beautiful Norwegian woman beckoned to us from her doorway in the other house. She invited us to warm ourselves while we were waiting, and gladly we climbed up the twenty-five steps leading to her large room. The flap table was painted bright red, as were the benches, and the few pieces of furniture were carved and painted wood. The brilliant colours were mellowed by time and perhaps by smoke from the wood fire, which burnt in a round open grate in a corner. An immense cauldron was suspended from a chain in the chimney. In it was stewing a savoury mess of mutton and potatoes. In front sat a pale little girl, the only living child of the beautiful hostess. The latter had the most perfect teeth I have ever seen, and waving masses of golden hair. At either end of the big room was a small bedchamber. One the family used, and the other was kept for the possible guest. I believe that, as the station house had room for us, we were quite wrong in staying with the neighbour; but I think the station people were not very energetic—they did not object so much as they had the right to do. In any case, there we stayed for three days, living and eating in the big room with mother and child. With the exception of our supper on the first night, we had no meat. We lived contentedly on potatoes and eggs, fruit and cream, and abominable butter. It is strange how far the atmosphere of a place can defeat prejudices.
NORWEGIAN CAPTAIN
However, soon Nico became hungry, and I finished my small stock of literature. We took our horse and stolkjærre, and without a boy we followed the post on the road to Gjora. When we had driven a few kilometres, keeping the post carriole with its bag and its horn well in sight, we discovered that we had left the purse containing most of our wealth behind us at Sliper. Nico drove back at the pony's best pace. This best pace could not have been very wonderful. An eternity seemed to be passing as I sat on a big rock, waiting for the return of the companion and the purse. A few cows walked by me in inquisitive procession. I effaced myself as much as possible. I am ridiculously afraid of cows. Even the Norwegian cow, which I know theoretically to be the gentlest of creatures, can subdue me with a look and drive me to seek for any available hiding-place. At last I heard wheels; but they were coming the wrong way. The two men in the cart looked at me curiously, and drew up in front of me. One addressed me in very good English. It appeared that the post-driver had warned the people at Gjora station of our near arrival, and had presumably mentioned that we had no boy. After they had allowed an hour and a half to elapse, they were good enough to become anxious, and had come to look for us. I explained our delay, and we all waited for Nico's appearance. At the end of another half-hour he turned up. The horse had lain down quite calmly and refused to go on. He had tried kindness, which was of little use; he had waited for a passer-by who could speak the horse's language; in course of time the beast, having enjoyed a siesta, got up and continued his journey. Hence the delay.
FARM-HOUSE AND MILL AT GJORA
All's well that ends well. When we arrived at Gjora we met with a warm reception from our host and his family. The stove was lit in an immense bedroom which was en plus furnished with two box-like beds of questionable shape, a small chair which was masquerading as a wash-hand stand bearing a small jug and basin and two minute towels, a writing-table, and many photographs of the Royal Family. Also, there was a tame bluebottle which worried me very much. All our blandishments were of no avail with the heartless insect. The open windows could not persuade him to leave us, and, in the flickering light of one candle in the large room, it was impossible to get rid of him by foul means. Every night as we went to bed he started his low buzzing and spoilt my temper and my sleep. Nico didn't mind it a bit.
The dining-room at Gjora was palatial. I sat in a carved armchair upholstered in crimson velvet, and we ate from beautiful silver, serving ourselves with sugar from the very choicest old bowl I have ever seen. The cupboard, the sideboard, and the clock were beautifully carved and coloured. We lived on a princely tin of corned beef. For three days it provided us with two meals a day, and very good they were.
Next door to the station—indeed, I believe, the house in other times is the station—an English family were spending the summer, fishing and walking. The English-speaking man we met on the road was the gentleman's gillie. They regaled us physically with various edibles from the Stores and spiritually with salmon stories, and when we left they sped us on our way with a new stock of reading matter. The country all round is exceedingly beautiful. The river which provided the fishing for our compatriots winds along by the road; or rather I should say that the road follows the course of the river for many miles through narrow passes in the mountains which press round—many of them snow-capped, as one may see when the veil of cloud which envelops them lifts to allow a sight of their summits. The station is in a cosy little hollow among these white-headed giants; and the weather is noticeably finer, the atmosphere softer, than at the preceding and succeeding stations.
Between Gjora and our next resting-place, Sundalsoren, we drove through magnificent scenery. I think it will be admitted that the Sundal is at least as beautiful as that famous valley which lies almost parallel to it—the Romsdal. From the road one may see glaciers and snow mountains. Here and there are notices warning the traveller to drive fast. This is more especially for winter, when huge snow avalanches are frequent. The road crosses from left to right of the river. We drove over bridge after bridge, backwards and forwards, as the river pursued its erratic course without regarding the convenience of roadmaking mankind. We arrived at Sundalsoren at sunset, and were enraptured with the beauty of the snow mountains. Whether it was thus arriving in such glory, or that the place has really a most individual charm, I cannot say; but for me Sundalsoren is a memory entirely couleur de rose.
MOUNTAINS AND RIVER AT GJORA
It is a small fishing village at the head of a fjord. The fishermen's little low houses are built round the concave land, which is washed by the waters of the fjord. On the stony beach before the cottages are spread fishing-nets and tackle, including the bright silvered balls which, I suppose, attract the fish. Two wooden quays stretch their long arms into the water, and from the farthest point of them one may get a delightful view of the village. The character of the place is Dutch. It is almost as if a little street from Volendam had been dumped down amid the mountains and the snows.
We were sorry to part from this charming spot when the little fjord steamer called for us and another passenger. Slowly we steamed through the fjord, now calling at a tiny hamlet on the left bank, now dropping a passenger in his waiting boat on the right side; here picking up three English fishermen, boat and all; there leaving them near their destination rested and refreshed. The steamers that ply the innumerable fjords are accommodating craft—none of your haughty vessels making hard-and-fast rules as to times and places. Although they are often punctual in their departures and arrivals, they will slow down and pick you up in whatever part of the fjord you choose to meet them, and put you down too if you have your boat along with you. Also it is to be noted that the food on the smaller boats is quite as good as one gets on the large steamers that make the journeys on what may be called the outer coast of Norway. Indeed, the bigger vessels are so often loaded with various strongly-smelling dried fish that the whole atmosphere is impregnated; which must rob some passengers of any appetite the occasional few miles of rough open sea has left or given them.
After quitting Sundalsoren we drove through two or three good stations, and arrived late on Saturday night at a small place which, as it is on no map and many consultations with Bennett's have resulted in the conclusion that we were quite off the beaten track, must be nameless. At the time I knew the name—we had it on the bill;—but no one seemed to be able to place it, and now I have forgotten. I have a theory which may account for our presence there. At one of the previous stations we had telephoned in advance for a horse and cart to be ready, as it was very rainy and very wet and getting late. The horse we had was very fast; the driver was a cheerful person with a slight knowledge of English. Within a kilometre of the station, where, I presume, an equipage was in waiting, he offered to drive us straight on to our destination, because we had expressed great satisfaction with the trotting of his pony. We agreed, and tore through the tiny village built round the station in great haste, egged on, perhaps, by a guilty conscience. Then we drove for miles and miles until at last, at half-past ten at night, we reached the unknown little spot which I must perforce call X.
A LITTLE FARM ON THE RIVERSIDE AT GJORA
It is possible that, knowing that the expectant farmer at the avoided station would telephone to the station on either side of him, the driver preferred not to face them until their anger should have calmed and he should have had time to invent some excuse. I do not know to what extent he expected to be blamed; but I am afraid the man we telephoned to must have been rather mad, and so I imagine that we were driven to this quaint spot because there our sin would not find us out. Inadvertently I left a large silver scent-bottle there, and acknowledged the loss to be a judgment on me when I found it impossible to find the place again.
When we arrived we went to bed. In the morning we had coffee and bread and jam; and Nico painted. At three o'clock we were hungry, and when at length preparations for a meal were made our appetites were ravenous. A dear little girl waited on us—a very pretty child, with beautiful hair. She brought on the table a few slices of thick and very fat raw bacon and some caraway-seed bread. Hungry as we were, we could not eat that. We tried to ask her what more there was. She left the room, and soon came back carrying the pièce de resistance of our meal—two soup plates filled with a paste made of flour and water, such as we used to employ in the days of scrap-books. On the top of this floated a little melted butter. With this she brought a basin of powdered cinnamon. That was our Sunday dinner. They were such sweet people that we feared to hurt their feelings, and Nico ate all his plateful and half of mine. The half that was left we divided between our plates, which then looked quite empty enough. We ate caraway-seed bread for supper and caraway-seed bread for breakfast. With the help of our phrase book, we gathered that they never ate meat and very rarely had fresh fish.
OSTRE KANALHAVN, TRONDHJEM
The place is situated on water which, I suppose, is a fjord, and there are three or four houses besides the one at which we stayed. They made us understand that they were not in any way prepared for guests, and had some difficulty in providing us with a horse and cart. I should be very much interested to know the name of this little place. It is within two hours' drive of Molde, and as far as I could make out it had scarcely ever been visited by the foreign traveller. We were astonished to find ourselves so near to this big town, for we had calculated that we had at least another half-day's journey to make; which proves again that somewhere we had overstepped our mark.
Molde is the most beautifully situated town in Norway. It has a population of 1800 souls. It is a very important port of call for all the steamers which coast between Bergen, Trondhjem, and the North. The town is built along the mouth of the Romsdal Fjord, and from almost any point a view of the grand Romsdal Mountains is to be obtained. The panorama on a clear day is gorgeous. To see the sun setting over the fjord and its background of snow-tipped peaks is to have a vision of fairy-like colour and beauty that takes one's breath away. All over Norway as one passes through the valleys and the winding fjords picture after picture are witnessed in rich succession, each seeming more beautiful than the last; but now, as at a certain distance of time I endeavour to recall their individual charms, I think that these glorious evenings in Molde occupy the most pleasant place in the memory of one of Norway's ardent admirers.
How rash thus to limit one's enthusiasm! From Molde we went by steamer to Næs, and, after resting awhile at an hotel and eating an excellent supper, took a miraculously comfortable stolkjærre and had a long drive to Horgheim in the brilliant moonlight. I wonder how many visitors to the Romsdal have done the same? Imagine the charm of it. The delicate jagged edges of the mountains on the right of the road stand sharp and clear against the blueness of the sky; as the road winds in and out the Romsdal Horn reveals or conceals herself bathed in moonlight; innumerable waterfalls foam down from the heights with plashing music, looking like silver streamers hung out to decorate the beautiful way of some mystic procession. Our driver was for the time an affinity: no longer a guide in our pay, or in that of the hotel, taking tourists through a world-renowned stretch of scenery, but a romantic Norseman slowly opening out to us a valley of delight, his possession by inheritance and love.
THE TOWN OF MOLDE