Reflections in a Norwegian fjord

Fjord. The very name has become a loan word in almost every language in the world. What does the word conjure? An incursion of the sea far inland, enabled by the crushing weight of a trillion tons of ice, pressing and grinding the land into deep canyons in the granite landscape, that granite, hardest of rocks, pushed effortlessly aside by its tremendous weight and momentum. It gouged the classical"U" shaped valleys, the walls towering over a mile above the green waters, which extend down a further mile beneath the olive green ripples on the surface.

Much of Britain's topography is shaped by glaciers, but further to the north the dominion of the ice was even more powerful, creating one of the most extraordinary landscapes on Earth. On Monday, eschewing the narrow-gauge railway which has become one of the most popular tourist attractions in northern Europe, we took to our legs and walked, rather than rode, up into the mountains that tower above the fjord, beside which our hotel is located. A tiny unpaved road, ascending in a steady 8% incline, wound us up the mountain flank via a series of hairpins until, after nearly 12 kilometres, we at last passed the tree line and approached the permanent snow line, 1000 metres above the fjord. And such was the wonder of what we experienced on the walk, we hardly noticed the tiredness that gradually crept up on us as we climbed. The dramatic hanging valleys, the huge waterfalls, which could be heard miles away, the incredible sustain on the echos as the train, far below us, blasted its whistle into the crystalline air. Finally we called a halt and ate our packed lunch amongst a profusion of alpine flowers, even savouring a delightful dessert of wild strawberries and blueberries. An amazing day, even if it took us several days for our aching muscles and joints to recover.

 It was a welcome interval of solitude, far away from the throngs of visitors from the far east who have taken over the little town of Flam, outnumbering its European contingent by four to one in the all-too-brief three month summer season. The train will cease to run and the cruise ships no longer pull up to its tiny, but very deep water harbour before the end of August. Is it partly because much of Norway is locked in an icy embrace for eight months out of the year that prices are so high? A cup of coffee can cost £6, a burger and fries (albeit a pretty good burger and fries) as much as 25 quid. Yet it is amazing how quickly one gets used to being fleeced like this; what a relief,  though, to return home to more reasonable prices before all ones savings have been drained!

I shall never forget our sojourn in the land of the fjords, but it will be some time before I feel wealthy enough to attempt it again...