Day 27. Sunday 9 June.

Today was to be a slow day, not least because we expected little to be open due to it being both Sunday and a religious holiday (Whitsunday). Interestingly, when we spoke to two young people, separately, they both commented that they had no idea what it was for, and in any event had no interest in religion. They were happy for the public holiday tomorrow though. A familiar comment!

Throughout the night the ‘ventilator’ in the apartment had hummed (a bit like aircraft engine noise) and defied attempts to turn it off, even more disturbing than D’s snoring. This system is apparently in lieu of opening a window for fresh air. T resorted to ear plugs again: D just slept through it. While making breakfast another alarm-like, intrusive chirping sound from the ceiling started just after T had put the toast on. Panic! We’d been warned that the smoke detectors were sensitive and if the Fire Brigade came we’d be up for a fee of 10,000 Krone (a bit over $1,600). Toast ejected and rushed to the balcony, all doors opened……but the sound continued and we’d worked out it was probably not the smoke alarm. But we couldn’t track down the source, so T rang apartment management: ‘it’s the detector under the stove hood’ we were told – ‘press the black button.’ We did – an alarm went off and a red light flashed on the device. D frantically pushed other buttons – all quiet….except for the original sound. With no other solution offered, we were told that a janitor would come some time through the day; but, we were reminded, it was a public holiday. As if we needed telling: we had no wine and no prospect of any!

A quiet walk over the canal into town was in order. Contrasting architectural styles between the old and the new: we’ll look at more of the older sections of the city tomorrow. Our apartment is very much in the new category.

 

Passed by the University, a lovely facility, and T spotted a free concert on Tuesday evening that beckons.

As we got closer to the centre of town we could hear what sounded like folk music – or possibly just dance. And we saw milling crowds, a mixture of locals and tourists. And indeed there was dancing, with repetitive steps suggesting traditional dances, although we can’t be sure.

Continued on to the Fish Market area, where there were more milling crowds, this time with a higher proportion of tourists getting in our way. A plain, reasonably priced lunch – in a tourist hub! – of two rounds of bread, one topped with prawns and the other crab. Both were on the bland side.

 

Because it was Sunday, and because we haven’t posted a picture of a church for a while, we entered St. John’s Church of the Lutheran Church of Norway. It was more ornate than we’d come across in other Lutheran churches, but not excessively or pretentiously so. A treat of sorts was a small, mixed choir rehearsing, conducted by a lady who had the control and direction of one of our own music leaders: we could only look on in similar admiration as she guided her members. The thought did occur that we’d get wine if we took communion – but it wasn’t on.

Back to the apartment to find that the buzzing noise in the ceiling remained. Clearly no janitor had come by. D rang the apartment management, this time getting Tando who had checked us in yesterday. The answer was to go to the fuse box and turn off the main power, wait ten seconds and turn it back on. It worked – the sound stopped. Not a new problem – happens every couple of months, apparently for reasons as yet unknown. The humming of the ventilator was mentioned again and, as he was in the area, Tando said he’d come over to see if he could fix it. He couldn’t, so offered us a different apartment – we accepted, packed our wet washing, foodstuffs, suitcases and moved across, in the rain, to another building. The ventilator in this one hums loudly too, and can’t be turned off, as it is part of a central system – but at least it’s not in the bedroom.

It has rained or drizzled pretty much all day, but this certainly hasn’t stopped folk being out and about, the locals in particular who are walking, running, playing football, playing with kids at ‘the beach’ or just having a coffee.

Quite a high proportion of those pushing prams are young men. We think that life continues despite the weather because it’s always like this – it’s what one local commented, anyway!

But still no wine – and the supermarkets don’t sell beer on a Sunday, so no substitute.  Monday’s another holiday, again with no wine shops open, and the possibility that beer won’t be available either! We have fallen this low.

T is extra-anxious in the kitchen due to the alarm sensitivity, and the pork fillet chosen for tonight’s meal turns out to be pork strips for a wok! With no appropriate ingredients and THAT ALARM warning, there’s definitely no wok tonight; some other creation will emerge. D dutifully went back into rain to source foil and garlic, and instructions not to pay $6 for 5 carrots.

*Usually attributed to Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin, a Century French gastronome.

 

Day 26. Saturday 8 June.

Such a peaceful night’s sleep! Ingunn had offered a late checkout and pick up for the trip back to town at 12 PM so there was no rush. A walk to Rjoandefossen waterfall before breakfast, being greeted by three lambs obviously expecting a treat. On the return trip they ignored us!

 

More of the story from Ingunn as she drove us into town. Her son is a music teacher, but doesn’t enjoy his work so is retraining in IT. He plans to move with his girlfriend to Bergen, as she is from an island off-shore. Ingunn retired from a job in aged care on 1 April, but is happily involved in grandma duty, as her daughter has a leadership role in a bank. Nils is not in good health, although we don’t know what that means. Ingunn’s hospitality was outstanding and the little cabin beneath the railway was magic.

The Flamsbana Museum was terrific, and another reminder of the stamina and stoicism of the generations immediately preceding us. Taking 20 years to build a line of only 20 kms, through 20 tunnels switchbacking through the mountains; most of the tunnels had been constructed by hand and if we understood correctly, the line was built to connect Flam at the top of Sognerfjord with the high mountain plateau and snowfields at Myrdal. Visiting the mountains was obviously recognized as an important cultural/lifestyle activity at the beginning of the 20^thcentury and there needed to be a serious infrastructure project to halt emigration at a time of great economic hardship. There were a couple of ‘lash ups’ that D admired, particularly several variations of the railway bike. One in particular resonated because of the little story attached, as well as the surname of the subject.

Erling S. Nesbo

Born 4 December 1913 – died 2 May 1961.

He was out on line inspection and met a train he was not prepared for.

A walk away from the tourist precinct and down to the fjord merely reinforced the overbearing presence of the cruise ship. We’d watched a Sky News report last night showing footage of the out of control cruise ship in Venice that collected a smaller tour vessel before being stopped. From some angles this one looked like it had beached in Flam just behind the bakery!

T was feeling peckish so decided the cheapest option was a bowl of fish soup from the street food stalls. Looked good, tasted alright, cost an arm and a leg (but they rejected her foot).

Then the fast ferry to Bergen. Actually, not so fast as it stops at several towns on the way to drop off/pick up passengers – on a couple of occasions just one person – it is a great service. Competition for the seats with a view was fierce; in a few cases this seemed to be to have a good outlook while sleeping. D was amused, as he is by the bizareness of human behaviour, for most of the journey by one woman – French he claims – who stalked seats with a good view that became vacant, in order to claim squatters rights, all while hubby dozed. She did not succeed, being thwarted once by a Chinese lady who was far more adept and upfront.

The early good views were left behind us as we encountered increasingly heavy rain, but that did ease although visibility was still limited. T secured a window seat next to a young woman and they chatted the whole way. The fellow passenger was a young architect from Yemen, currently living and working in Dubai. Conversation ranged from family, to lifestyle, to social/cultural issues and beyond. D was consigned to the middle seats – which had a perfectly adequate view of the 100 to 200 metres ahead that we could see in those early stages! By the time we emerged from the fjord (after 5 hours of sailing) rain had set in again and as this post is updated, it looks like a rainy Bergen for the next several days.

Almost the last off the ferry, but straight into a taxi and a short ride to our apartment. Reception by Tando was exceedingly efficient and there was just time for D to run (literally run – what a sight!) to the corner store, leaving T on the street, to get some supplies for dinner. Tragically, wine is only sold in monopoly stores and there were none of those in reach at 10 PM, and more tragically no beer was being sold on Sunday because it was a religious holiday. The sad news continues: the holiday runs for three days so this inhumane situation (yes, first world problem) is set to continue. It might be just as well, as the cost of wine in Norway is horrendous.

Day 25. Friday 7 June.

Heavy rain all night, which was an accompaniment for the traffic noise and happy revelers returning home at very odd hours. There was a very long, very noisy fireworks display competing with the thunderstorm – we’d like to think it was to celebrate a very special birthday underway in Australia, but it more likely to be connected to D Day. It seemed somehow appropriate, as a metaphor for the futility of war, to have a fireworks display in heaving rain and broad daylight.

D was allowed an alarm at 6.30 AM ahead of our 7.30 AM taxi pickup – in the event we were both out of bed at 6.22 AM. The taxi driver looked at where D pointed on the map, nodded and off we went – to the wrong place. Fortunately, that was quickly sorted out and we arrived amongst the first, so were put on the first of half a dozen buses heading to Nesbyen (a 2-hour road journey due to line maintenance). Then onto the famous Oslo to Bergen train at Myrdal, and from there the little train to Flam.

As we moved higher and higher, fir forests gave way to scrabbly birch ( presumably having reached the snow line) and glacial lakes appeared in all their milkyiness, still with sections of ice. The sky cleared, and plenty of snow around.

 

Having arrived at Myrdal (a station, not a town) at 12.58 and our Flam train not departing until 15.59, the afternoon was looking slow and quite cold. T sought some advice from a young man wearing a yellow vest who was unable to provide any official advice but was a mine of information. Basically, Myrdal means ‘marshland’ hence there are few opportunities to do anything – and it actually only consisted of 5 dwellings associated with rail maintenance. T then had the brilliant idea of catching the next train down to Flam: our tickets didn’t specify seats so we assumed that if the train wasn’t full we’d be OK. When the train pulled in T consulted the conductor who was reluctant, said the train was looking quite full, but grudgingly agreed that if we could find two free seats that would be fine. We needed no more direction, and on we got, having stored our suitcases in the luggage van.

 

When another conductor came around to check tickets T just waved ours at him and that was enough.

The train rail and the scenery were certainly spectacular.

 

What we should have known was that quite a bit of the 20 km descent is actually through tunnels, and of course there was serious competition at windows for THAT SHOT! We mostly saw only one side in any detail – getting to a window on the other side was a major risk to life and limb!.

T had spoken to a couple at Myrdal who were taking the cycle path down and enquired about time and cost. It seemed a lovely option on a fine afternoon and we wondered about taking the return train (Flam-Myrdal) in order to hire bikes, descend again and enjoy the views without the hundreds of new friends. Visitor Information at Flam told T that part of the trail was about 2 km of steep, grsavel hairpin bends that would require dismounting. The was the end of that idea!

Early arrival in Flam provided a reconnoitre of the co-op store for supplies for tonight but more importantly to first get a coffee (for T) and a beer (for D). Flam, or rather New Flam, the name having been purloined, is a ‘tourist hole’ (we think the real name is Fretheim). The real, original Flam is several kms higher up the valley, a farming settlement with a raging river and a little church.

We were picked up by Ingunn, who, with her husband Nils (he was born and raised in Flam) farms 75 sheep who were now wandering the steep woodland above the farmhouse to eat and eat and eat all summer. We share the story told to us as strangers by a very generous host.

Ingunn and Nils, their daughter and grandchildren run the farm called Gjorven Hytter and manage 2 tourist cabins further up the block: D had thought throughout the booking process that this was the name of the host. Ingunn talked about the sheep wandering up above the Flam rail line all summer and how they just need the occasional check. They know their owner: she’s the one who gives them treats.

Ingunn’s son is a guitarist and not interested in farming but comes home in the autumn to give a hand with rounding up the sheep and bringing them down to their indoor winter shelter. On arrival, Ingunn pointed out her house and the very new one immediately behind, where her daughter lives. When we commented on the sleek new raw timber architecture, when all around is much, much older, she explained that her daughter’s husband had been a builder/architect and had drawn the plans but he had died 3 years ago (anniversary 8 June – tomorrow) in an accident – she’d gone ahead and built the house. He’d been para-gliding from the sheer cliffs above, had landed on the slope, the wind had lifted the kite again and he’d been unable to stop and fell into the river and drowned, despite attempts to revive him. It is a big rushing river, fed by many waterfalls.

Ingunn dropped us at the top of the driveway outside our perfect (it doesn’t even have internet!) cabin for the night.

T had a stroll down the hill to the church, where every second tombstone seemed to have the surname Flam or Flaam; D had a beer.

 

Just the sound of the rushing river to send us to sleep after a T-special dinner. And although the train passes by only metres above us it doesn’t run at night!

Day 24. Thursday 6 June.

The apartment is over a busy street, that also has regular trams running at all hours. So it is noisy. All windows shut tight, drapes drawn, and T with ear plugs firmly inserted. D slept well; T less so because of a hot, stuffy room. First stop after breakfast was to the apartments reception staff to request a room off this street when we come back later in the month. Noted and apologies from reception…we’ll see!

Headed for Ekebergparken Sculpture Park via trams and buses, more or less comfortable with how the system works, although not necessarily understanding how the map relates, particularly as some parts are one way and that’s not obvious. Initially a little dismayed at the price of the 24-hour ticket, but then realized that the two zeros at the end weren’t thousands, but ore (a cent equivalent, but apparently only used electronically since 2012). T did the research by entering an up-market dress shop – well, that’s what she claimed to be doing, although she did come out with a look of dismay at the price of a T shirt. It turns out the price was very reasonable indeed for multi-mode transport.

The sculpture park is peaceful, the only noises being the many birds twittering and the kindy kids engaged in play, including, of course, the boys playing with sticks. We wondered if this park was really for such respectable people as us: the first sculptures we saw were all, as T remarked, ‘nude’, and one in particular was very boastful about his manly attributes. D could only scoff – he’s heard all that before. A walk through the park brought us many variations of style and subject, by a range of sculptors including well-known names like Salvador Dali, Renoir and Rodin, all pretty well spread out along paths and tracks.

 

 

A magic moment was fog slowly floating downhill through the trees, intermittently highlighted by the sun peeking through gathering clouds.

At the top we admired the camping site and again envied the campervanners!

Then the sky darkened and the rain began – fortunately short lived and light, but presaging more to come.

We arrived at the Operaen along with some busloads of our special friends – Oh, how we had been missing them! A beautiful building with graceful, simple lines, attached to the harbor a bit like Sydney.

 

T was desperate for some culture and looked to have jagged The Magic Flute, the last performance before the summer break, but it begins at 2 PM on the day we get back to Oslo – at 2 PM. T then tried the National Theatre, with the same outcome. Everyone will be on summer break come 22 June.

On to the Viking Exhibition at the Historical Museum, but pulled out when we realized that there were two displays for the one ticket – the other being the Viking ships. Wanting to do both, we opted to put that in our second visit program. We started towards the Jewish Museum on foot, looking for a bus or tram station to get there but the close ones indicated on the map were out of action because of road works, so we eventually capitulated to sore, tired feet and headed for ‘home’. Just as well – half an hour or so later, a severe thunderstorm with torrential rain hit – by that time we were able to watch it from our roadside window with a glass of red in hand. And to watch those poor souls caught in it scurrying, drenched, to their destinations. One backpacker hurled angry gestures at the sky as he walked, no doubt blaming that non-existent God for his woes.

Tomorrow we head by bus and train across Norway to Myrdal, where we’ll pick up the scenic train to Flam. There, we’ll overnight before catching a ferry to Bergen. No wifi at Flam for us, so next post will be from Bergen.

Day 23. Wednesday 5 June.

It was going to be a slow day. Our flight from Copenhagen to Oslo was a very civilized 11.45 AM, which meant we could have a leisurely breakfast, final pack and on to the already reconnoitred public transport system. So why did D set the alarm for 6 AM? (it’s because….??????)

Walk, bus, train, plane…. and we were in Oslo. While T was attending to other matters D was accosted by a lady from Mumbai who asked if he was Norwegian. He replied in the negative and she was quite downcast because she wanted advice on how to get to the Central Railway Station (Sentrum). That D could tell her, as he’d already researched it and had the plan down pat. T emerged and the lady attached herself to us, following everything we did until boarding the train. She explained that she was a project manager in IT security in India and had been sent here by her company. We assume that it was at short notice, as she’d only looked for a hotel yesterday. She was aghast at the prices: we gently explained that this was the reality. She did say that as a vegetarian her food costs wouldn’t be too high, and T had to gently disabuse her of that error. Furthermore, she wondered if people would speak English here, as she didn’t have a local phone and would need to seek directions (T thought that she had her survival skills fairly well-honed).

Sentrum was a surprise – unlike most central stations we’ve been through, which have ranged from grotty to unappealing, it was clean, bright and offered what looked like quality dining/drinking outlets.

Before leaving Sentrum, we sorted out what we had to do to get on our bus (a train substitute for the first leg) for Friday’s travel and then began the walk to our apartment. It’s not far on the map, but the sight of the hill leading up to the Royal Palace was enough for a diversion to the nearest tram stop. The tram took us to close to the street we’re staying on – Parkveien – but needless to say, it is at the other end. On arrival we’ve found a tram stop right outside our front window – a mixed blessing, as the noise will disturb us into the night!

A late check in because the apartment wasn’t quite ready, but after dropping off our stuff and getting a bagel (the two bagels cost more that the two bottles of tax-free wine!) down the road, a slow walk back down to town through the palace gardens – Slottsparken – down to the Parliament building. Outside was an interesting chronology of the right to vote: universal franchise in 1919.

No matter how hard you try, it is exceedingly difficult to look dignified with a seagull sitting on your head.

(You can tell how short we are of photos for this blog!)

As a further comment, the beggars/homeless in the streets were far more noticeable than anywhere else we’d been on this trip, but by no means were they a bother other than as a prick to social conscience. Far fewer bikes than Copenhagen, but lots more electric scooters.

Eventually tired legs and tireder feet pushed us back to the apartment. It will be an early night.

Question: Which former Australian PM features in a Phantom comic?

 

 

 

 

Day 22. Tuesday 4 June.

We’re in the general area of the EU, where you’d expect commonality. But so far not one washing machine that we’ve encountered operates in the same way (made worse by a lack of instructions). To add to the task, last night the current one didn’t want to stop – each attempt just started another never ending cycle. We now have the most washed clothes ever.

Because there were no museums open yesterday that’s where we headed today. First on the list was the Design Museum, a celebration of Danish style. They certainly do chairs well – but lots of other stuff as well. The display posed an interesting question of the balance between functionality and form. The display presented a good compromise between the two.

 

Coffee, of course, and then across to visit our Mary at Amalienborg Palace, but either she wasn’t at home or was otherwise busy on Princess duties. D thought the drill of the guard needed sharpening.

Disappointed, we lunched in the adjacent gardens where we were ‘entertained’ by a couple repeatedly filming themselves in contrived scenes.

As we left, T recognised two friends from Canberra, Steve and Di and greeted them with, ‘I thought you were in Facebook’. D had dismissed them as just some other tourists, not registering who they were. We joined them for a coffee and a sharing of experiences: they had been in Iceland & Faroes 3 weeks ahead of us, but in a campervan (we’re jealous) as well as Helsinki and Tallin; they were flying home tonight.

The Geological Museum was hosting an exhibition originating from the Victoria and Albert focusing on nature (sources, colours, sustainability) and design in 400 years of fashion – the basic message being the consequences of exploiting natural resources for garment and accessories production. It was fabulous and the message resonated. T doubts that cotton jeans will die out but is prepared to take another look at viscose and tencel and wonders whether the dress containing seaweed is worth the effort. However she is confident that the ‘sandshoes/sneakers with everything’ fashion is a better option than heels.

5000 of the beatles were used in the dress!

 

T asked the young woman behind the counter when they closed – 5 PM. When asked the time now, she dragged out her iPhone and responded: D then asked whether it was the same time as on the watch on her wrist (it was). She gave the sort of (smiling) ‘bugger off’ wave he’s used to.

As a finale we decided to take a bus tour – on urban transport – through and beyond the Norrebo region. This was getting out of the swish or tourist focused Copenhagen into areas where people actually lived. The difference was remarkable, not least because of the numbers of hijabs, shawarma places and gold jewellery (the Op Shops were closed!) but also because the buses became packed with ‘ordinary’ workers, rather than tourists.

Can you guess what this shop sold?

The roads swarmed with cyclists of every different sort, mostly without helmets. Everyone (well 50% of population) cycles.

We walked back though an old cemetery which was now a public park – the presence of the dead didn’t seem to bother couples conversing on the grass!

 

Tomorrow, Oslo, a short stopover before heading into deepest, darkest (that should be lightest) Norway. The forecast is not promising.

Every relationship requires a balance, of complementarity. This is a neat summary.

Day 21. Monday 3 June

Today was to be ‘Shakespeare’ at Kronborg Castle, at Helsingor (Hamlet’s Elsinor) but it turned out to be less about the Bard and more about the tensions between Swedes and Danes in the 17^thcentury. At breakfast T wondered whether a tour of ‘The Bridge’ was a possibility, but then dismissed it. It seems to be offered as a day with a driver who talks….and some reviews referred to the downside of that. T is used to a driver who doesn’t talk.

So, armed with the lunch pack and umbrellas for that forecast afternoon thunderstorm, we were on the bus & train again, by now quite expert. Helsingor township felt instantly different from the city; much older, quieter, quainter.

A coffee at a special place kick-started our morning excursion. It was quite different from yesterday in hipster-ville – we reckoned today we reduced the average age by a couple of decades!

A walk around the harbor toward the castle delivered the first highlight, the trapeze girl hanging from the boom of a ship practicing her stuff while a photographer filmed from beneath and a young girl (6 years old?) enthusiastically clapping. Reminiscent of our Grant grandgirls in Melbourne a few summers ago…

  

And some interesting and provoking artwork, part of the local council’s program – the message is simple.

The castle is indeed a magnificent thing, occupying the headland, staring across the sound at Sweden.

There were a number of sections to explore, starting with a guided tour of the dungeons from where 400 Danish soldiers suffered through a major siege (17^thcentury) and 3,000 Swedes came across the frozen sound and tried to take the castle. Interestingly, the horses were quartered on the first level below ground, with ventilation chutes, with the soldiers on the level below them, without ventilation.

Inevitably, with dwindling supplies, military plans ignored, and fatigue, there was a compromise/surrender/treaty and Danish territory was reduced with a ceding of  some of the coastal territory to Sweden. A ‘law’ still exists apparently, that allows a Dane to beat a Swede who comes over the frozen water, with a stick! T was reminded of the tension between the 2 nations over the building of THAT BRIDGE.

We were further advised that the shifts for the soldiers were of 24 hours and if one fell asleep the punishment was death by firing squad. There were less dire punishments for lateness, drunk on duty and the many other misdemeanors that soldiers commit.

King’s Kitchen, of course, was on the ground level, and very comfortable by comparison, unless you were the cook and had to sample all the King’s food to make sure it wasn’t poisoned.

The focus on Shakespeare was not what we expected. Instead of real segments from Hamlet, there were hammed up music-hall style-moments from scenes, with 21st century embellishments, in order to amuse and engage the paying customers.

One line was delivered correctly: ‘‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy’ but out of context with what followed. We were a bit dissatisfied with this approach, so we undertook our own castle discovery: The King’s Kitchen with its curved ceilings, the Tower delivered fantastic views, the King’s Tapestries were magic, and therein were the trapeze artists again!

The tower, threatened 145 steps – we ascended, and there were.

But the views were worth it…

 

Alongside many huge aggressive anecdotes, the Chapel, and the schoolkids on their excursion were having a bit of fun.

While we waited for the duel scene, a bunch of visiting youngsters were having their own duels at the courtyard fountain.

It would be marvellous to attend a Shakespeare Festival (August) at Kronborg.

Being a Monday, we discovered that the Maritime Museum was closed, as was St Maria’s Church in Helsingor but the afternoon only had time left for wandering through the medieval streets, admiring the preservation of the ancient gems, ogling some of the art work and salivating at the produce,

 

    

………and finally stopping for a beer (they weren’t both hers). The plan was that these would help us doze on the hour long train trip back to Copenhagen – we hadn’t reckoned on the young family with two lively little girls to keep us awake with their games. It was just like being at home.

At 1730 the wine shops either side of the pub closed their doors and then set about covering and locking their front windows with security screens. The ferries going to and fro across the sound (only a 20 minute ride) continued to load and unload passengers and vehicles.

But we did discover that political commentary knows no boundaries.

This was one of a few – apparently someone doesn’t like Thomas – and can’t spell, which might be an indicator (yes, we know its probably a Danish word).

And so, perhaps the last word to Will: ‘We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.’

Day 20. Sunday 2 June.

Amazing how a proper sleep is so restorative and the day looks fine without a wind. Breakfast recommendation from Fiona was followed up…2 bus rides, with D moving the map 90/180/360 degrees but finally getting us there. We passed a fairly large procession of marchers carrying the Faroese Flag – the Merkio. We don’t know whether it was a protest, a demonstration or just a show of pride.

Stepping inside Atelier Sept., we altered the average age immediately by at least a couple of decades, although we figured we at least qualified as hipsters. It seemed to be a known spot, all seats taken. We had a ‘green theme’ breakfast and commented on how we are ‘yesterday’s people’; couldn’t help but overhear surrounding conversations, conducted between consultations of smart phones, and judging the lifestyles of other customers. At the same age, what were we doing/thinking? T referred to what happened in the ‘olden ages’: D replied that was us!

 

A walk toward the ‘postcard’ area of Nyhavn showed that thousands of our friends were doing the same on a glorious summer day.

 

D noticed something odd at a trash & treasure market stall, while T found a knitter and observed the poncho design, confirming a measurement from wrist to elbow (an Icelandic ‘ell’, roughly 18 inches), so she can start her recycled-wool project.

Talking about trash and treasure, the rubbish on the streets is noticeable after the almost spotless Iceland and Faroe Islands, where litter was a rarity.

Bikes of all sorts everywhere, riders mostly without helmets, requiring lots of situational awareness because there were also no bells or warnings, nor slowing down. D did see one older rider (deliberately) brush a young man on a foot bridge, no doubt to send a message. Bikes with a box in front were popular for carrying kids: T did see one with the front of the box cut away so that Grandma could step in and out easily and have a front on view as she was wheeled about.

Moving away from the crowds, we followed the canal path and spotted some possible vessels for you, Ian. It seemed that Puff either had a blockage somewhere or was having a scheduled pump-out.  Even the name was an omen, given one of our later destination today.

T thinks the other vessel needs too much gardening maintenance. And there was an unusual stretch where people sat relaxing in deck chairs…..viewing other people dining across the street. Sort of Brighton Beach without Brighton or the beach.

Found ourselves in Christiania (again with lots of friends). T was hoping for a herbal foot-fix but the economy seemed to be based in only cash; interesting how time changes an anti-capitalist movement into a new form of capitalism. Either one of the statues would fit perfectly into our place?

 

The skate park was deserted but food, beer and ‘medicinals’ seemed to be doing brisk trade. There are no photos of that area, as photogrpahy was banned. Who would have thought: rules?

We did step into an establishment with signage for organic cakes…but cash only!

A stroll by the canal in Christiania took us past a dwelling where the pooch was reviewing the paint work from an upstairs window. On speaking to the painter, he said that it was actually a half-shade too light for his liking, and in a season or so it will have lightened even more.

He seemed to be having a good day as it was beer o’clock, seemingly taken with some other substance he was smoking, the sun was bright and he was taking a break from the paintbrush…The canal and the treed walking paths, providing welcome shade, were a serious change from the Faroes and how about the romantic duck (Eurasian Coot) taking a rose to his partner? This is a true story.

There was some kind of memorial a good distance away, where flowers (old and new bouquets) had been left. T asked some walkers if they knew what it was about…’No’…and then we spotted the bird, following him to his nest, where ‘She Coot’ was sitting in state hidden in the reeds, surrounded by the flowers he had brought her. So romance is still alive.

Time for some ‘feet-up’, so bussed back to apartment, passing through a residential complex where the beach and water beckon the locals on a warm afternoon, but we’re a bit doubtful about how the canal tides work, and more particularly how clean the water is.

 

Lunch was another nice baguette with cheese, silverside, tomatoes and avocado (more hipster food) & then a bit of ‘feet up’ before heading out again, with map and new bus routes. D specially wanted to see The Little Mermaid, so we did just that.

She’s small and rather sweet but the best part was that by 7:30pm, we weren’t battling the crowds. It was a beautiful mild evening stroll, returning via the Kastellet (an old military fort with ramparts, still used as a military establishment). We could walk through and found a recent memorial that was simple & dignified. There are three spaces:

• One for larger ceremonies – with the inscription ”One time – One place – One human being” (En tid – Et sted – Et menneske).
• One for currently deployed personnel – with an eternal flame and the names of the conflicts and areas affected by catastrophe that Danish forces have deployed to.
• One for the memory of tthose who have died on service – with inscriptions of the names of the fallen.

Then back to our digs for a soup supper. A lovely day.

Day 19. Saturday 1 June.

First day of summer, so of course it was very wet and windy in Torshavn. An early departure for the 40 km drive to the airport planned for 6 AM) meant that after the first wake at 2.21, there followed starts at 3.30, 4.25 – and then surrender, lying awake until it was that time that we might as well get up anyway. Some might remember those days of ‘nothing else to do, might as well go to bed’ – this was in reverse. A cup of tea partially helped, and we were on the way by 0545. The good news was that we had the roads pretty much to ourselves, and then the rain stopped as we drove into the airport – which was deserted. There was that initial dread that we’ve somehow missed something important – like the date, or a cancelled flight. But the airport began to slowly fill as we finished off our breakfast sandwiches.

The flight itself took under two hours and we flew over THE Bridge*. We were in our apartment nine hours after we left Torshavn.

It was an intially easy transition to train from Copenhagen airport to Central Station albeit with a few challenges: a full train, high steps from platform to train, and very crowded standing room only. T did spot what appeared to be an empty carriage section, and was about to claim a seat, then saw the sign ‘First Class,’ momentarily thought what the heck, but then reconsidered because no one else was pushing the envelope (are they really so serious here?)  On arrival, there was a deluge of people from several trains all trying to get up the same narrow stairs and escalator. From there, getting any usable information about bus, metro or train routes from Central Station was mission impossible. The first help desk officer just handed D a map and said that was all he needed: it wasn’t. The next, a lady at the Information Kiosk, advised us that we’d need bus route 250S or 34 but she couldn’t otherwise help us. Perhaps we are being reminded of that old Army adage – the six Ps – that ‘prior preparation prevents piss poor performance’? Anyway, we just missed a 250S so waited for the 34, to be told by the grumpy driver that this was the wrong route and all we needed to do was read the bus stop information, which of course meant nothing to us. Bystanders couldn’t help, so we approached the next 250S bus, and found a helpful driver, who promised to tell us where to get off. As we got off he gently told us that you should exit from the back. Obviously, rules are rules. A long walk to the apartment, and a wait until it was ready. The young man checking us in was able to tell us that there was in fact a bus stop just as few minutes away. We needed to check the validity of that advice, because his credibility was suspect: when we explained where we’d just been, he told us that the Faroese are actually Danish – from what we’d observed, this was far from the reality. But he was right about the bus stop.

The apartment is very hip and edgy/industrial…all black, minimalist, a single open space with concrete floor, exposed concrete columns and ceiling and of course an open shower area where water goes everywhere and D commented that the TV can’t actually be watched in its position, with strong light pouring in and the two sofas at right angles to the screen. Spacious, new and well appointed – we’re not sure if it’s an old commercial building/factory/store converted to apartments or whether it’s a new building made to look like an old one done up. We suspect the latter!

 

There are apparently permanent residents – these apartments sell for around one million Australian dollars. There is a very good supermarket on the corner of the apartment building, much like an IGA. And it sells beer and wine! And a nice touch – a temperature controlled waiting room for man’s (or woman’s) best friend – but this sad doggy missed out, probably being toughened up like Faroese babies. D didn’t like the way T was looking at him.

D is continuing his research into beers, with some assistance from his helpmate. The tea pot is a challenge – but one that T will accept and overcome, with some assistance from her helpmate. The outcome for both endeavours will likely be similar.

 

*See Bron/Broen at https://www.imdb.com/title/tt1733785/

Day 18. Friday 31 May.

No sun, no rain! Cloudy and very cold but dry, so an outdoor picnic lunch happened at one of the ‘sleeper’ villages – but was not fisk and kips.

 

With the changes to the economic base, so many old settlements have become ‘sleepers’…people closing up their houses, often inherited, and moving to the larger centre of Torshavn, or if they stay in the village, they become commuters. Familiar story? Several particularly spectacular villages have the tourist buses roll in, and a coffee house (also selling beer) and WC are the important public facilities; can’t have one without the other!

 

We took the Buttercup routes; so-named for them being more picturesque than the normal roads (if that’s possible) and wound up and down the mountains and around and around the coastline.

Bucolic is a word that comes to mind, with green, green and more green, sheep, sheep, more sheep, geese, geese…D wonders if the Buttercup routes are some sort of subtle Faroese joke on tourists, as they definitely need the driver to maintain total concentration all the time. They are mostly single lane, sometimes in poor condition for stretches, and require the constant use of passing laybys.

Fortunately, observation of the protocols was excellent, although it was interesting that, unlike in Australia, acknowledging the driver who gave way with a wave was not universal – sometimes not even a sideways glance, let alone slowing down!

D was adamant there’d be no single lane tunnels today (or ever again) and all was well, but just to make sure we’d had our ‘tunnel fix’, we took a (retrospectively) mis-chosen turn and, but with a smart about turn, had the bonus of a tunnel view in alternate directions. The mapmakers get it wrong again!

Only one village we visited was without a church – most of which were of s similar simple design –  a small town on the east side of Esturoy Island. D did note that one of the houses had some nude statues in a window, but we’re not sure if there’s any sort of causative link (and sorry, we didn’t stop to take a photo). At Saksun (pop.14), where the church occupied a splendid spot between a lake and the sea, fishing was allowed at both, but not on a Sunday between 1100 and 1400 (church service time) perhaps to ensure attendance. D reckons that fisherpersons are religious – the whole activity is an expression of blind faith! We wondered how many folk would be disturbed if fishing was allowed.

 

AT Congo on the NSW South Coast (one of our favourite spots) Kerry, the manager of the camping ground in the Eurobodalla National Park, is a fanatic bird protector – particularly of the endangered Oyster Catchers. Here the Pied version is abundant – this guy/gal was very protective of an area in the cemetery – we assume his/her nest.

Reflections at the end of our Faroes visit: an impressive, proud, tiny, resilient, nationalistic society, surviving with flexibility in a fragile economic space. Nice people, who drive too fast (in the opinion of elderly tourists).