Why hello there! It’s been a while since I wrote, and I got worried that maybe you all thought I got stuck between Flåm and Bergen. But not to fear, I did eventually make it to Bergen oooooooooooooooooooooh more than two months ago. I’ll excuse my absence on the infamous grad school black hole.
The Train Ride
The second half of the Bergen railway is considered to be the more beautiful section, and it was just lovely. I imagine in the winter it would feel a bit like Snowpiercer, (which I’ve never seen, but isn’t it about a nice cross-country train journey?) But in the fall, it was mostly snow-free.
I had finished my schoolwork and so felt free to listen to music while gazing outside, and sometimes gazing inside, at the adorable blonde children in snowflake sweaters running up and down the aisles like muppets. Consistent with much of my time traveling in Norway, I would find myself muttering “I can’t believe people live here” as we passed remote villages, or perhaps a single cabin in the middle of a plateau.
There were pine forests on the mountainsides, with freckles of deciduous trees, already turned and lit up golden from the sunlight. At points, the green, glassy river rang alongside the tracks, sometimes joined by a waterfall on the mountainface. There were forests of tall, spindly pine trees and groves of birches with ocher leaves, and many great, big, fluffy silage marshmallows in fields. There were pastures with red barns nestled between mountains, and at one point, we hurtled by an entire flock of sheep asleep in the downy grass, all askew as if cast under a sudden spell. It was fitting, I thought, as it really did feel magical.
I arrived in Bergen and met up with a swing dancing friend for coffee at Kaffemisjonen, one of Bergen’s fantastic coffee shops (of which there are many). Marianne, another swing dancer and my host for the weekend, joined us. That night, Marianne took us to a small social dance after the evening lessons, held in the loft of a super old wooden building, a very cool spot to dance! Bergen in general is full of absolutely charming wooden houses all crammed together nearly on top of each other, leaving just enough room for the old cobbled streets to wend through.
I got in on Thursday, a day before the swing festival started, and Marianne was kind enough to accommodate me for an extra night. This meant I had all day Friday to explore Bergen. I mainly bopped from delicious coffee shop to delicious coffee shop, and then walked it all off with a hike up Mount Fløyen, the mountaintop just next to Bergen that gives a fantastic view of the city. Everyone around me was in hiking gear, even though it wasn’t too rigorous. This made more sense to me after I was told by an Australian I met that “Norwegians have a very low threshold for getting into exercise clothing.
I didn’t take many photos with my nice camera, but I think this website has some nice shots of the city.
Swingin’ in the Rain
One thing to note in the above picture is that it is sunny. Actually, it was beautiful and sunny for the four straight days that I was there, something I was assured had never happened before. See, Bergen is super, super rainy. It’s been called the “City of Rain” or the “Seattle of Europe” and gets an average of 88” of rainfall a year spread out over 250 days. A joke I heard is that a tourist asked a local boy if it ever stops raining, and he answers “I don’t know, I’m only twelve.” The swing event I was there for was called “Swingin’ in the Rain” and I maintain that it was false advertising.
The swing event was really lovely, in a beautiful old dance hall that felt a bit like stepping back in time. There were multi-colored triangle flags crisscrossing the ceiling for decoration, and a table resplendent in many different kinds of cakes that people had brought to share. Even though the music was swinging, the first thing everyone did was sit down and eat some cake together, which I found just achingly adorable. I’ve talked about this before, but Norwegians are totally wild about cake and, as a cake enthusiast myself, it’s one of the things about the culture that most resonates with me.
The Train Strike
Overall, it was a fantastic weekend, and I was once again blown away by the kindness and generosity of everybody I met. On Sunday, I was sad to pack up my bags and head to the train station to catch my train home.
Except, when I arrived, I saw that my train home had been cancelled, because of the train strike that was going on at the time. I asked a laconic worker for the train company what I could do.
- But I need to get back to Oslo!
- There’s a train tomorrow but it’s sold out.
- You could take an overnight bus.
- You could fly.
- Got it, is there wifi in this train station?
After some frantic interneting, it became clear that my best option was to fly home the next day. I sheepishly messaged Marianne if I could stay an extra night (mind you I had already arrived a day early) and she said of course, of course. When I got back, she and her boyfriend fed me a delicious meal of roast vegetables and organic pork chop. Such kind souls!
I hope to get back to Bergen in the spring. Being on the west coast, it is closer to the more fantastic fjord-scenery that I haven’t yet explored.