Tranquility and Trials on the Bergensbanen

Today, I am making my way on the F4 train back to Oslo for one final stop before I head on to Sweden. This last batch of days has been full of wonderful highs (literally, my travels have included some remarkable vistas and elevations), some synchronistic experiences, as well a few profound challenges. 

A train stop on the Flåmsbana.

View from close to the top of Fløyen Mountain in Bergen.

I knew before arriving in Norway that I wanted to experience Bergen and Oslo, two distinct metropolitan centers on either side of Norway, west and east. That was where I started. Upon visiting with my cousin and his family in Kongsberg, I learned that in the expanse of land between these cities, there lies a vast territory of wilderness. With the understanding that I enjoy nature and hiking, my cousin and his wife were excited to share with me the recommendation of visiting Finse, which can only be reached by train. That was the final deciding factor for me to take the Bergensbanen. I could then enjoy the sights of Norway while writing, painting, reading, listening to music and daydreaming, and not deal with the threat of ice and snow on single-lane mountain roads. 

They also strongly recommended that I experience the Flåmsbana, a special train that travels from the Bergen line into the Aurlandsfjord.

So, in Norway I have gone “all in” on trains. 

A train is a place full of possibility.

Truth is, I’ve always been a train gal. I grew up in Westchester County, outside of New York City, and the train was always a space of contemplation and creativity. On the Metro North train into Grand Central station, I imagined my future life, I wrote poetry, I watched strangers for signs of kindness.

This is where, falling into rhythm with my surroundings, I first embraced the effect of motion on my creative practice. 

A poem written on the Metro North train, at age sixteen. Please excuse the bizarre typos. It was published like this in a collection of poems in the publication from the Bread Loaf Youth Poetry Conference, which I attended. I was pissed because I'd obsessively edited and submitted it without the random bolding and several different line breaks.

Having now ridden the Bergenbanan back and forth across Norway, I am so grateful for the efficiency, cleanliness, and relative convenience of this infrastructure. The Pluss section of the train, with its spaciousness, endless free coffee and desk tops that slide towards your seat, is a kind of poet’s oasis. Gaze out the windows at the rugged rocky mountains, the severe pine forests, clouds that seem to slide around the sky and play with the sun, water and cold. Waterfalls that gush with surprise as the train curves around an elevation. The quenching site of a crystal clear aqua river, rushing under the tracks, revealed as you exit a mountain tunnel. If you love nature, come to Norway, buy your ticket and ride ride ride. 

A view from the Bergen Line between Oslo and Finse.

But, please, research your planned stops. And maybe travel backpacking-style rather than traveling with a small suitcase. I’ll come back to that.

After leaving Finse, I had a few pleasurable, relaxing days in Bergen.  I found it to be full of contradictions. The city, with its bohemian, artistic undercurrent, has a critical mass of students, but is also a living relic of ancient Hansiac trading. It has a balanced presence of extremely old churches and decadent high end restaurants. It's full of international people who prefer to live there over any other place, but despise its weather. I witnessed local retirees sitting and drinking together in a pocket park at sunset, listening to indie rock on a bluetooth speaker.

Bergen is also infamous for its rainy weather— a local described it to me as Seattle, but worse. Meanwhile, the sun shone generously every day of my visit.

While there, I stayed on the bottom of Mount Fløyen, and took the train tram that climbs the to mountain peak.

Atop the mountain is a restaurant and shop and a wonderful forest, full of trails. There's also a school for tiny kids (sidenote: it was outrageously adorable to see these little Norwegians hiking and chatting amongst themselves in their puffy cold weather suits and hazard vests).

There are also art installations ranging from state funded/sanctioned architectural interventions and tiny cabins, to mossy spontaneous constructions next to the forest path. Oh, and there are cashmere goats lazing about like fat cats. 

An unbothered cashmere goat.

Many art installations peppered the forest and tourist recreation areas.

The wee Norwegians. Omg.

I had enjoyable experiences dining out or having a beverage at a few spots in town including the Litteraturhusset, a book store, lecture and music venue, and yes, restaurant: a compelling combo that outght to exist in every city that wishes to claim a rich culture.

My first destination was the charming Café Opera, which also becomes a nightclub and karaoke bar after dark. I ended one evening at a corner spot called Tempo Tempo that had a delightful natural wine selection. But my favorite spot in Bergen was the Folk og Røvere. It was about a block away from my Air Bnb. I wandered in on instinct after hearing Joni Mitchell's Carey playing over their outdoor speakers.

While there, I perched at the only open spot within the packed bar and was chatted up by an older gentleman, an engineer and photographer— whose work was, in fact, displayed at the Café Opera. Soon, his friends folded me into their group, consisting of one of the bar owners and his lovely wife and friends. They were extremely warm. Within about ten minutes, we discovered a Milwaukee connection with someone who I’m sure I’ve met in MKE who studied in Bergen some years ago. They lamented that I’d be leaving in the morning, saying how they would like to show me around this town that they love so well. 

Bergen watercolor study, work in progress

From Bergen, I went on to catch theThe Flåm Railway. This is a world famous train for good reason— it is a feat of engineering at 867 meters high at its apex (or nearly 2,850 ft feet) which travels down to sea level north to the head of Aurlandsfjord. 

The train has a retro feel, and there's a special surprise folded into it that I don’t want to spoil. But I will just say that I was here for it, in every way. You’ll know it when you experience it, this special expression of the magical energy of Norway. 

View from the train, pulling into Flåm.

The train ride is unreal.

I think I audibly gasped at the first major view from my side after the train made a turn.

But even more unreal, in my opinion, is the place that it delivers you to: Flåm. This is a special and quiet little berg nestled at the edge of the mountain and ocean waters that flow into the fjord. A tiny place, with an ancient feel, whose economy seems to revolve almost entirely around tourism. 

The original town center of Flåm.

When I arrived, I noticed on the map that there was a floating sauna on the far side of the harbor. I dropped my stuff off at the hostel, grabbed my hat and mittens and walked over. 

The sauna was filled with young people from far flung places. Australia. The UK. Washington D.C. These are fun moments, highlights, for me, when I find myself within these international pockets of people, all of us the adventurous sort.

We egged each other on to stay in the near-freezing waters between sauna sessions. We laughed through the pain of steam in our noses when someone added too much water too fast to the stove. We marveled from our seats at a shy baby seal, popping his little puppy head above the water a few hundred meters away. 

The coldest dip yet, in the Aurlandfjord.

Jumping off the roof of the sauna, plunging into the water, I felt a rush of pride and joy in how far I’ve come. I've gone through much heartbreak in my life, and in the wake of pain, loss, and trauma I've had to contend with the long shadows of anxiety and depression. It's been a lifelong journey to learn how to relax, take in the good and to be present. A practice, you might say.

Saunas and cold dips help. : )

There, floating alone in the dark, cold, salty water of the fjords, my hot heart working hard for me and pounding fiercely, I felt the opposite of fearful or distressed. I felt blessed, cleansed and empowered.

But my mettle was about to be tested. 

Watercolor study of Flåm, work in progress.

The Milky Way, faintly visible in the sky over my hostel.

Knowing I would need to head back to Oslo to continue on to the next leg of my European journey, I decided to milk my wilderness exploration for another two nights and days. The hostel in Flåm was fully booked the next day and the only other accommodations were well outside my price range, so, over dinner I researched other options.

I ended up somewhat spontaneously booking a nearby spot at the Voss Mountain House hostel. It’s not actually in Voss. It’s in technically in a tiny mountain town called Mjølfjell. The closest train stop, Ørneberget stasjon, is a mere 200 meters away from the lodge, which is a large factor in why I’d selected it. Actual descriptions from Booking.com reviews that influenced me:

...for those seeking total nature and unplugging from civilization, THIS is the place in Norway. Underrated, excellent value, extremely responsive, fun, kind staff with interesting conversations to be had. The breakfast was proper and Norwegian (fresh, delicious, healthy food), amazing coffee, and they mix it up with dinners from various cultures like chili con carne.

Its location is in the mountains, you just hear the river flowing. It’s really nice. - It has a swimming pool where you can cold plunge in the morning. - The staff is super welcoming and available to every demand you could have.

Staff all very friendly and accommodating. Fresh roasted coffee is delicious and all cooking was top notch. Recommend dinner and breakfast. Outstanding location for hiking/trail running or just the Flåm railway trip. I'll definitely return. Tomasz also has 3 amazing big dogs.

Known for its hearty meals and accessiblity to beautiful trails, the mountain house looked perfect. The photos showed light-filled pine interiors with a piano and guitars. Happy people and dogs in an unheated pool overlooking the mountain valley. A sauna. And incredible views of the mountains and river. This seemed like the ideal way to round out my adventure in the Vestland region. 

In retrospect, I should’ve taken note when the train agent paused at my destination as I presented my mobile ticket.

I think we can arrange that, she said. 

I asked if there was a problem, to which she said, No. just stay here.

When we arrived at the station, about a ten minute ride to the west of Myrdal, the doors opened on a brisk mountaintop. There was no platform, just the gray blue gravel stone pile that supported the train tracks. I stepped off the train with my small wheeled suitcase and giant bag, purse and backpack strapped to me, and proceeded down a few small steps. Looking at the wet and rocky trail before me, a nylon rope dangling on the side revealed the steep decline ahead. At that point, I realized: this is going to be difficult. 

The "station" is up where the dark planks are, about 200 meters up.

After making my way a few steps in my galoshes, I realized I needed to change my shoes. I tucked my suitcase between two mossy rocks and placed my giant bag behind me and put on my hiking sneakers. I could see the mountain house at a not-insignificant distance away, with its Norwegian flag flapping in the sun. Between my spot and the lodge was a slippery trail of rocks, with switchbacks in which a few planks of wet old wood suspended over a stream, and then a muddy bog-like path. But I couldn’t see all of that just yet. I could only see about twenty feet ahead, before the elevation dropped off significantly. 

This is the point at which I started talking to myself. 

When I’m stressed, I find this to be a helpful coping mechanism. Talking, or even singing to myself: I find that it can be a good way to let out nervous energy, and laughter. I’m also a verbal processor. Even while in the woods, alone. It helps my rational brain stay fully online and my body engaged. 

Wow. Ok. So, yeah. You’re just going to have to leave these things and come back for them! 

So that is what I did. Only about 75 feet into the trail, laughing to myseIf, I left my suitcase and red bag wedged between some roots and rocks, and continued on my way down the mountain, step by slippery step, wrangling the rope, and when that wasn’t available, grabbing the limber branches of young trees on either side of the trail to steady me. At one point, I slid on my butt on a small boulder because the cliff was too close for comfort.

When I finally stepped out of the muddy bog bottom portion of the trail onto some solid, spongey grassiness, I approached the lodge gate. The grounds, at a distance, seemed eerily quiet and unpopulated. Where were the smiling dogs from the pictures? Where was the guy who bakes the famous bread? I blinked a few times, unbelieving of what my eyes were telling me. The gate of the lodge was shuttered with a cable and locked. 

To be continued…