A Grumpy Man Rides To the Edge of Jostedalsbreen

Zagan the motorhome’s sat below the edge of Europe’s largest glacial area, the Jostedalsbreen in Norway, safely tucked in for a few days at Melkevoll Bretun Camping in Oldedalen (N61.66384, E6.81679). It’s about £20 a night, including electricity and sauna, but costs an extra £1 a shower, so we’re using Zagan’s. Numerous folks have recommended this campsite to us, and we could see why before we even got here: the location is out of this world, as though a Norse deity imagined a wonder of white and grey mountains, blue ice glaciers, thundering waterfalls, tumbling torrents and mossy rocks. It’s simply superb. I’m writing this on a Monday morning, and I **should** be on my bleary-eyed, slumped shoulders commute to work. But I’m not. I’m here instead. Oooooeeeee, life is good!

Zagan in Paradise. Melkevoll Bretun Camping in Oldedalen

Norway is an ANIMAL! A giant of a thing, the scenery is all so BIG! We woke yesterday morning at the viewpoint almost a vertical mile above Geirangerfjord, having checked in the early hours whether we could see the Northern Lights: nope, full cloud cover and a valley awash with mist. Later on, with the sky slowly clearing but before the coaches started to arrive, I sat outside with a cuppa and listened to the steady crash of water falling from the precipitous cliffs around us. I doubt these parts of Norway have ever been silent: filled with either the groans and creaks of mountains of ice or the steady sea-like sound of white water hurling itself downwards. Later, as tourists started to pour in, some of them literally screeching with delight at the height and beauty of the place, we got in a bit of people watching. One Korean chap showed so much interest in Zagan I invited him in for a look round. He nodded as I showed him the various ‘rooms’ in here before asking how much the van cost: not shy these Koreans.

The edge of Mount Dalsnibba. The motorhome towing a boat on the road gives and idea of scale

Two happy folks on Mount Dalsnibba, overlooking Geiranger

Mount Dalsnibba as the mists clear

We walked around the viewpoint area and off in the surrounding rocks, staring at everything, using the camera as a kind of shield against the utter impossibility of taking it all in. Norway’s landscapes have me thinking back to Italy’s architecture, where you could find yourself face-to-face with a wall of baroque carvings, each of which is a thing of beauty itself, but there were hundreds of them, all competing for your attention. Here giant waterfalls hurl themselves off cliff faces and rivers rush, white and frothing, between suddenly narrow, immovable walls of rock, as though eager to get a long-anticipated right of passage under their belts. Roads contort around the hills, twisted in agony and frustration at the difficultly of moving forwards. Still lakes and fjords double your money, reflecting the majesty above them. And we’re not exactly following a planned route here: this stuff is everywhere, a few images from today:

Norway knows how to do picnic spots

But not all was rosy yesterday in the Land of Zagan. Norway’s immense scenery has a side effect, which kicked in yesterday. With giant landscapes come giant driving days, not in terms of distance but in terms of stress. I’m finding driving a wide, heavy motorhome around these here parts to be, from time to time, nerve wracking. This in turn makes my back grip itself into one mass of knife-twisting knots. And this in turn makes me one grumpy b*****d.

Coming off the mountain wasn’t too hard, 2nd gear all the way off, but it’s not exactly fun engine braking your prized home off a mountain side. Followed up with a set of dimly-lit, miles-long tunnels, just wide enough to squeeze past oncoming lorries and coaches. Throw in the fact I ripped the engine cover off again on a kerb, the complete unavailability of beer on a Sunday in Norway and a few single-track roads I’m ready to chew my way out of an iron cage. All sense flew out the window as I drove at a car on one such narrow-stretch of road, thinking it might slow down so we could squeeze past each other. Nah, the car pulled the same trick with me, and maintained full speed ahead, leading to some rather ill-conceived game of chicken. How we missed, I’ve no idea, but only after I’d calmed from howls of indignation did I realise I was being a grumpy muppet, and attempted to chill out!

It took us 2 or 3 hours to roll down from Dallsniba to here, with a fjord-side mackerel al-fresco lunch thrown in. Only nope, that wasn’t a fjord we later realised, it was a huge fresh water lake feeding into a fjord. I’d had a crack at fishing in it, which brought the realisation home, as you need a license to fish in fresh waters in Norway. Feeling a little villainous we slunk off, after an inspirational chat with a retired Dutch couple about their extensive travels over the years.

Norway has Draconian alcohol laws. You can only get drinks up to 4.7% in supermarkets, any stronger and you have to go to a state-owned monopoly of shops. Oh, and no alcohol at all is available on a Sunday, unless you go to a bar, where the following day you’ll think they cloned your credit card

Ju’s booked us in for 3 nights here, and much needs doing! Well, most everything needs washing, and I need to repair the engine cover (again, last did it at the Wolf’s Lair in Poland). And we need to hike over to the glacier. And we need to sit around in the sunshine cooking and reading. And maybe takes some photos, go for a run and sup a glass of red. And, ah, that’s about it. No driving though! We may well be here a while longer than 3 days, so the blogging will slow down methinks, but stay posted, we’ll be back.

Øvstebrufossen – a riot of water with a stupendous, if wet viewpoint

Cheers! Jay

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