Romancing Norway
As it is with many great love stories which seem to spring from the most unexpected places, this one is no different.

In this case, it came from a Viking, Fridtjof The Bold. And when I met him, he was sitting on a throne and staring intently into the distance, as if expecting something or someone.

His right hand grasped a metal sword, whose blade rested partially on his left knee, while his left, stroked his beard with the ardour of a wise man.

But I soon discovered that while the Fridtjof that I faced was made of bronze, his heart was clearly that of gold.

You see, once he was a mighty and handsome landowner who fell in love with Princess Ingebjørg and she was equally in love with him.

Although she was married off to a king, Fridtjof continued to bear a torch for her. Then serendipity found them and he somehow ended working for the king and Ingebjørg.

The valiant Viking that he was, he never exploited this wonderful and presumably easy opportunity to steal her away from the king.

Yet the king was not oblivious to the love between them. He knew that Fridtjof had always harboured feelings for his wife and that they were meant for each other.

So on his deathbed, the king did what only a romantic could and would do. He asked Fridtjof to marry Ingebjørg so he could look after her.

Centuries later, immortalised in a weather-beaten statue, Fridtjof sits brooding, his gaze set on the mountain range in front of him.

The highlands, which despite their leviathan size, never intimidate but instead, they offer a romantic backdrop to this story, so much so that even the clouds seem equally enchanted as they buoy over the summit, inches away.

Mountains that were so high that from a distance, snow still birth-marked parts of the range, stuck out like a sore thumb yet never seemed incongruous.

Of course, Fridtjof can’t enjoy the view of the calm sea, whose surface is wrinkled by little waves created either by passing boats or a slight breeze.

Nor can he catch the epilogue, in the form of a bleached rainbow, to his own love story that caught our eyes, just as our guide Bjørg Bjøberg finished her story.

It was probably these verb-stealing views that lured artists to Balestrand, she added.



More About Love



They came in the 1860s and it was love at first sight, love that was translated on canvas... paintings which, like pictures, speak more than a thousand words to people in Germany and America.

And like Bjøberg, herself an artist, they continued to be moonstruck and inspired by the romantic landscape that enveloped them.

Just as artists chronicled Balestrand with their paint

and brushes, so did writers painted pretty pictures of

the countryside with their words.

Among these was American writer Edna Lyall who wrote a love story, A Hardy Norseman, which was set in Balestrand and published in 1892.

The love saga did not only leave its essence on canvas and paper but also in buildings like the artist colony, picturesque residences, set up in the early 1900s and speckled along the foot of the hills or a stone’s throw away from the sea.

One particular building stood out. The St Olaf Church, a church built in memory of a loved one.

You see, once there was an adventurous English woman named Margaret Sophia Green, who fell for Knut Kvikne, the co-owner of the Kvinke Hotel.

They got hitched in 1890, but sadly she died four years later, from tuberculosis. On her deathbed, she made her husband promise to erect an English church, as she had never felt completely at home in the Norwegian church.

Kvikne kept his promise and his family provided the land for the church that was completed in 1897.

That night, I decided to pay a visit to the church that love built. How could I not?

With wooden pews, carved pillars and an organ tucked neatly into the left side of the altar, it’s an image of simplicity and serenity which was, to a certain extent, the two words that best described Balestrand’s surroundings. Surroundings that would rekindle the love for painting and art, which happened to be the theme of the priest’s sermon that very night.

Then it dawned on me. My trip, up to Balestrand, northwest of Oslo, had been an accumulation of love stories.

And it took the passionate description of our guide about this place, a cameo by a rainbow and maybe divine inspiration for it to hit me like a misguided cupid’s arrow.

You see, just a few hours earlier, I was chugging along the Flåm railway line.



Awestruck In The Valley



The view the (Flåmsdalen) valley offers – if you get a chance to squeeze your way through awestruck and maybe awestruck shutterbug tourists for a decent spot to enjoy the scene – was not picturesque. It was more than that.

Here the lush green hills of different gradients and sizes played a faithful escort in the 20km journey. And should sceptics lament that “if you have seen one plain-coloured hill then you have seen them all”, then here was where you could retort.

The Flåmsdalen valley served as a reminder that every once in a while, a plain Jane could make heads turn and you would wish she had walked past a little slower.

Of course she did throw in little surprises like the quaint houses that beaded the foot of the hill or the silvery river which ribboned along the fringe. And for good measure, she threw in a little tease — the Rjoandefossen waterfall, which plunged 140m in a free vertical fall.

It’s sights like these that make you wish you were the train conductor and could stop where you wanted to. Otherwise you would be forced to choose to either savour the stunning scenery or try your very best to get a decent shot on a crowded, moving train as it snaked past the hills. Of course it made a stop, because like Balestrand, the Flåmsdalen Valley had a love story, though more tragic and less epic.

This time, it’s at the Kjosfossen waterfall, when we were awestruck by a violently beautiful white cascade. The spray of tempestuous waters fooled one into thinking that it was only drizzling on one side of the platform.

I looked up, half expecting to see a single grey cloud hovering over us, like those that drifted and rained above heartbroken cartoon characters.

It was at that point that my attention was seized by a woman’s voice from the heavens. I looked up again, wondering if the sky had split, like in those cartoons, before the divinity of the voice was ruined by a crackle of the PA system. The voice sung a Norwegian folk song whose lyrics, even if one understood Norse, were obscured by the vociferous waters.

Then, out of nowhere, two blonde girls in royal blue robes began twirling around dangerously near the rocks to the tune.

These were Huldras, mythical beautiful women of the underworld who were cursed with cows’ tails but yearned to become one of us. The only thing to break the curse was if she married a human being. Thus her song was meant to attract men for her salvation.

And here was where our third, but harrowing, mini-love story began.

Another Love Story

Once there was this lonely man who longed for a wife. But as luck would have it, the girl of his dreams, was literally that — a Huldra who appeared in his dream.

The Huldra reminded him of the complications of love when she sang to him: “I can see you, I can see you, but not come close to you.”

Even for the Huldras who so desperately sought to become human, legend dictated that they could be seen only when they were singing. Somehow, those very words haunted those travelling on the train they called the “fjord pony” to the Flåm station. But it was not the Huldra they wanted and could not come close to. It was the terrain. And it’s not so much how there were different shades of green and how pretty the sun-bathed hills looked, or even the river running either alongside, sprinting forward or trying to catch up; it was the daydreams that it stirred.

“Hike here”, “Picnic here”, “Watch sunset or sunrise here”, “Canoe here”, “Lie here”, “Build house here” were phrases that popped up like signboards visible only to myself, repeatedly, as I stood by the window.

Pipe dreams that came to a grinding halt as the train did, but then again sometimes all it took was a little dream.

Which leads to our forth love story, though of a different sort. A romantic story minus the mushiness. One that did not involve two beings or an attachment with nature, though it revolved around both.

This love story is about a passionate devotion. Only a day before, I was in Oslo where a labour of love proved to be far more effective then a cup of freshly brewed coffee at keeping me bright-eyed after a 13-hour flight to Norway.
This magnificent opus was the Vigeland Park. (The sculpture park was built after Gustav Vigeland made a deal with the city of Oslo in 1921. Vigeland promised to give all his works to the city, if the city would build a studio for him and also give him a lifetime salary).
Should one judge its architect, Gustav Vigeland, by his oeuvre, then love like that cheesy song declares, was all around.
Here in the 80-acre park, which opened in 1950, 212 bronze and granite statues displayed different forms of love and in the nude — fathers playing with their children, lovers embracing as well as a husband and wife in the heat of the moment.
They did this all to an accidental soundtrack of Speak Softly Love, the wistful theme in Francis Ford (Coppola’s) Godfather, played sloppily on accordions by panhandlers trying to get by.
There was nothing soft about the statues and designs. They spoke in volumes, albeit subtly. This was a semioticians’ theme-park, for Vigeland Park was consecrated with religious and temporal philosophy, preached poetically through the art works.
From the Buddhist-inspired Wheel Of Life to a labyrinth tiled 3,000 metres on one section of the park of which if our guide, Marit Kvisler, had not pointed out, I would not have realised I was walking on it.
Though that may be the whole point Vigeland was trying to make — that a message could be found in anything if we only took a closer look.
Kvisler told us the labyrinth was to symbolise that life was fraught with wrong decisions and that there was one way into and out of life.
Time constraints though, meant I had to take a short cut through “life” to the very centre of the labyrinth where a fountain stood. The fountain, whose bowl rested on the shoulders of Atlantis, symbolised strong men bearing the burden of life, while its wall depicted, in 60 panels, the different stages of life we were accustomed to – birth, first love, family, old age and death.
That said, all love stories needed a little drama. Enter the monolith.
More Romantic Magic

A tower of “bodies” – 121 to be precise – young and old, scrambling to the top of a suffocating pile, though it is an infant who rests comfortably at the peak.
Kvisler said it was to represent children, the future. But I just could not help thinking how great it was to be the baby, on top of the pile and in open air.
The monolith, which took 14 years to build and whose design was so bewitching that when Norway was occupied by Germany, the Nazis wanted to use it for their propaganda. But Vigeland would have none of it and miraculously the Nazis left it as it was.
Imagine that, an outfit concocted by a hateful doctrine falling in love with a piece of art!
Ironically though, the one sculpture most loved by tourists is an angry one, a clenched-fisted, snarl-lipped, stitch-browed bronze statue, aptly named Sinnataggen or Boy In Tantrum.
The reason for his tantrum is not known, not even to Vigeland though the statue is said to be that of a two-year-old English boy who Vigeland came across in London, making him the only immigrant figure in the park.
With the exception of Sinnataggen, to be an angry stranger in a foreign land like Norway is rather impossible.
Here is a country that regales you with so many interesting stories of different genres – romantic, historical, fairy-tales and whose storytellers are really the statues, sculptors or even Mother Earth, stories that make you want to listen instead of just look.
Tales that make you forget the little frustrations and stop them from getting the better of us, even under schizophrenic weather.
As we spoke about art and romanticism, Bjøberg said that the world wasn’t meant for romantics.
Perhaps. But Norway definitely is.

The writer’s trip was sponsored by the Norwegian Embassy while the flight to Oslo was sponsored by Thai Airways



Travel Tips

• When in Norway, always keep a bottle of water and Vaseline with you as one dehydrates easily.
• Bottled water is costly but one can fill up with tap water which is guaranteed to be safe. If you do buy bottled water, be sure to read the label to differentiate between plain and carbonated or sparkling water.
• It may be a bit difficult to find halal food in Norway, though there’s plenty of fish.
• If you are travelling north, especially past the Arctic circle, pack along a pair of gloves and warm clothing. If it isn’t chilly in the morning, it can be freezing at night.
• If you are a shutterbug and into landscape photography, bring along a very good lens (and a tripod if you intend taking pictures of the aurora in the winter).
• Norway, unfortunately, is costly (RM1 is about 1.7 Norwegian kroner), so budget properly.
• It is difficult to change Ringgit in Norway. Convert your money to Euros as it is widely acceptable.
• Credit cards are handy as they can be used even when buying a small item.
• Hike up at least one of the mountains or hills... and bring suitable footwear.
• Pick and eat at least one type of berries that grow wildly.
• Know the weather and be prepared. Norway shares the same latitude as Alaska, Greenland and Siberia, but compared to these areas, Norway has a pleasant climate.

Summer (late June to early August) has long and bright days. Temperatures in July and August can reach 25°C - 30°C.
If you want to experience the midnight sun, you’ll have to travel to the northern part of the country, above the Arctic Circle.
In the autumn, the landscape is painted in golden colours. The temperature drops slowly through September, making for good berry and mushroom picking weather.
In winter, much of Norway becomes a snow-clad paradise. Temperatures can reach below -40°C in the inner areas of Finnmark, Troms, Central Norway and Eastern Norway, but this does not happen every year.
The coastal areas have comparatively mild winters. However, gales, rain and clouds can be frequent and heavy.
Spring is from May to mid-June and the scenery is at its most spectacular. Trees, flowers and fruits spring to life and snow in the mountains and melt water swell the waterfalls.
The weather in spring can be very varied. There may be days when it is cold enough to snow, and days when it is warm enough to sit outside in the sunshine. Spring months can also be very windy.
Weather and temperatures can change quickly, especially in the mountains. So prepare yourself when you are out in the wilderness.
For more details, go to http://www.visitnorway.com

How To Get There

Thai Airways flies directly to Oslo five days a week from Bangkok, on Monday, Wednesday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Details, go to http://www.thaiairways.com.my or www.thaiair.com
Reservation and Royal Orchid Plus enquiries Tel: 03-2034 6999. Reservation email: kulhftg@thaiairways.com.my