'And see not yet that bonny road,
That winds about that fernie brae?
That is the road to fair Elfland,
Where thou and I this night maun gae'.
We are in Bergen, and the fairytale reference seems appropriate. Not only for the local obsession with trolls, which pull contorted comical faces in souvenir shop windows, and because it was the home of Grieg, who was clearly obsessed with fairyfolk. We have been in Norway for over a week now, but it feels like no time has passed at all.
So far, we have ridden the Norway stretch of the North Sea Cycle Route, which winds along the coast from Kristiansand to Bergen. It is a rollercoaster 600 odd kms, passing through sleepy fishing villages at sea level, and up into deserted rocky hills which feel alpine, although they are not so high. Dotted amongst them are freshwater lakes with water lillies, and the roads are lined with wildflowers and bog cotton. I am learning about hills and the degree of slope I can manage. Most of the sealed hills are fine. The gravel hills are sometimes beyond my strength, as my bruised knese and deep cog shaped cuts in my leg demonstrate. I watch enviously as Matt powers up these hills while I jump off to walk.
At times it does not feel like Norway is the uber-first world country that it is. The towns we pass through are so quiet and sparsely peopled that it is hard to believe any work happens. On Sundays, we discover, everything closes. The supermarkets. The petrol stations. The cafes. This lack of Sunday trading is probably something to be applauded and aimed for, although not entirely satisfactory when you have cycled 100kms and carry nothing but muesli. Thank heavens for what is probably an odd religious sect, who allow us to buy icecreams and camp in their beautiful but otherwised closed camp ground.
In the last three days we meet two American girls, Gabbie and Stella, who are also cycle touring to Bergen. We join them and ride together. Its a good partnership - we have maps showing the route, and they are far better at finding wild camping places than we are. It is also lovely to have some new people to talk to. Matt and I tend to spend most of our riding time in our own heads.
Tomorrow we set off on the next leg of the Norway cycling tour, travelling from Bergen to Oslo. It is around 500kms, but hillier than what we have already ridden. We pass by the base of a glacier, where I will convince Matt to take a day off the bike in order to go for a walk in through the moraine.
As we cycled, Matt composed the following ode to English drivers, to be sung to the tune of 'Greensleeves', with apologies to anon:
VERSE 1
Alas my home-state you do me wrong
Your drivers drive so discourteously
So mark my words you guys and gals
You've much to learn from our English Pals
CHORUS
Bikes, buses, Lorries Cars
All slowing down 'till it's safe to pass
Even the country hicks
Drive better than these Melbourne pricks
VERSE 2
You Melbourne drivers you think you're great
All those in lycra you love to hate
But English drivers they wave and toot
And sometimes even a smile to boot!
CHORUS
Bikes, buses, lorries cars
All slowing down 'till it's safe to pass
Even the country hicks
Drive better than these Melbourne pricks
