Geiranger fjord marked the midpoint of our journey through Scandinavia; from there we started to make our way south-eastward towards Sweden. We hadn't quite finished with Geiranger though, as we started off with an hour-long ferry/cruise along the fjord. Despite the steady misting drizzle, most of us found our way to the open viewing deck for the 360 degree views, all the better to see the eerie way the steep sides of the mountains drifted in and out of the mist and rainclouds, meeting their reflections in the stippled jade green water of the fjord. We passed The Seven Sisters, a group of narrow waterfalls that drop into the fjord in an intertwining tumble, faced on the opposite side by one that came to be known as The Wooer, said to have spent hundreds of years trying to entice one of the sisters into marriage. When he failed, he turned to drink to drown his sorrow - the way the waterfall drops down the rocks makes the outline of a bottle.
From Geiranger we climbed steadily into the mountains and, as we were swallowed by the clouds, Bec regaled us with stories of trolls and other Norwegian folklore. Eventually we climbed above the clouds and when we made our first photo stop we discovered that the temperature had dropped remarkably. I was glad of my two t-shirts, cardigan, and raincoat. We wound our way through the mountain-tops, going ever higher and making frequent stops for photos at lakes and patches of snow and stunningly clear, icy blue rivers.
Our main stop of the day was a town called Lom where we were visiting the stave church, one of the oldest in Norway. The main square of the church dated back to the medieval era, when Norway was just becoming Christianised, and my favourite part of the beautifully decorated church was the painted dragons and lions near the ceiling. Because early Norwegians believed in multiple deities, they didn't completely trust the single Christian God to protect their new church adequately, so they painted and carved their own protector spirits into the ceiling. After a picnic lunch by the river, we were on our way again, headed for our overnight stop in Gjøvik.
The main highlight of Gjøvik was the olympic bobsled run, where you could actually go down the run, with an experienced driver, of course. Sadly for me, I can't even handle a rollercoaster without having an awful tension headache or migraine the following day, so I doubted my neck would take the Gs of a bobsled run any better. I abstained. The others (especially Belinda) were incredibly pumped by the experience though, which made it fun to watch. After a brief, heavy downpour, the weather turned gorgeous and, as we made our way into Gjøvik proper, Bec suggested we buy a single-use BBQ from the supermarket and cook our own dinner in one of the parks. That's exactly what we did; after a confused half hour in the grocery store, nine of us managed to pick up all the bits we thought we might need and make our way to the lakeside. We spent a lovely few hours there, Cooking sausages and marshmallows and sharing packs of cider and beer. As the twilight started to set in, so did the chill, and though the lake was a beautifully soft blue against the green grass and lavender sky, we doused our coals and made our way back to the hotel, leaving no sign of our presence save a conspicuous patch of blackened grass. The following morning we set off for Sweden, winding our way through the forest to Stockholm, keeping an eye out for any wildlife we might see. The first night in Stockholm was definitely the most notable one: we all went to the same restaurant and enjoyed delicious Swedish meatballs for dinner, before being escorted to the Ice Bar. Our tickets included the price of one cocktail, served in an ice glass, and 45 minutes in the bar itself to take photos of the ice carvings and throne. The thing about ice glasses though, is that they are rather prone to melting. The glass Belinda's cocktail came in was either too thin at the bottom or else the drink was too warm, because when she picked it up from the bar the bottom dropped out and her drink went everywhere! Mostly all over me...my shoes were unfortunately sticky after that. She did get another cocktail made and lifted it gingerly to ensure it would actually hold. Second time lucky; she got to enjoy her drink and I was saved from another sticky berry shower
After the ice bar we were led en mass to a dance club a few blocks away, where Bec had generously arranged for a tray of shots for us all. They were tasty, but it was more like drinking syrup than alcohol, which can be a little dangerous. Another thing that can be dangerous about drinking in Stockholm is that most bartenders free pour. The lack of measures meant the strength of my drinks varied wildly from practically neat to practically juice. Consequently I found myself a little drunk that night. Getting an uber back to the hotel later was also an experience. For one thing, the driver and Rob bonded over their music tastes and then got into a bit of a karaoke competition. I think that left the driver a little distracted because he took a wrong turn and got lost. It was an expensive cab ride. But that wasn't quite the end to the night.
The other four whom I shared the uber with decided to walk towards the pinking horizon to watch the sunrise (still a few hours away, I might add), but I was ready for bed. When I reached my room, however, my key card wouldn't work. I tried calling my roommate but she was sleeping and didn't answer, so I made my way back to the lobby to see if there were still staff working. There was no one there and I was starting to panic a little about what to do, so I texted Rob about my predicament. By the time everyone had come back to see about helping, the guy working the late shift had come back to the lobby and was in the process of reactivating my key card. Upstairs we all went and voila! My card worked. I waved them off and walked into the room, only to find myself thoroughly disorientated. This was not my hotel room. Turns out I was slightly more inebriated than I thought, because it was. My roommate had moved her things about a bit while packing for tomorrow, which threw me off, but I was also thinking of the hotel room from Gjøvik the night before, which had been a very similar floor-plan, but flipped. So when I walked in to find the bathroom on my left, instead of my right, it didn't seem at all familiar and I panicked. This time I texted Belinda: 'Not my hotel room. I don't know what to do!' Once again, everyone made their way back to the hotel (I think they gave up on finding the lakeside to watch the sunset by this point) and came upstairs to rescue me. Which involved Rob checking his phone to find the message where I'd told him and Mike my hotel room so they could meet me there before we left for dinner. 819. The room I had walked into, looked around at, panicked over, and silently walked back out of. I very sheepishly thanked everyone and, throughly embarrassed, finally got to brush my teeth and go to bed. Thankfully, we had a slightly later start than usual the following morning, enjoying breakfast at eight and sitting on the coach for the Vasa museum by nine. The museum was an interesting one: the Vasa warship sank in Stockholm's harbour about twenty minutes after it set sail on its maiden voyage, was brought up from the depths in the seventies and restored, before a museum was built up around it. So, in less detailed terms, it's a museum literally built around a sixteenth-century warship. I found it really interesting, the exhibit covering all aspects from the building of the ship right up to it's recovery and restoration. There was even a section where the remains of those recovered with the ship were on display, accompanied by all the information that could be discovered about that particular skeleton. All in all, it was a fascinating place to spend a slightly hungover couple of hours.
The rest of the day was ours to do as we pleased, and was also my last day with the tour group. We explored Old Town, visited the Royal Palace to see the changing of the guard, and made our way to city hall. We had hoped to climb the tower to see the view, but hadn't realised they only took people through at designated times. We'd just missed one and the next (and last) didn't start until after we were meant to meet the coach again. Even so, the weather was gorgeous and the gardens lovely, so we enjoyed basking in the sun for a little while before making our slow way back to the Old Town to meet the coach. Bec and Hans very kindly agreed to do an extra Central Station drop off so that those of us leaving that evening would be able to store our bags on the coach all day. After hugs all round, it was time to part ways.
Despite the Contiki Cough I had managed to develop on the last day (so christened by Rob, after it started to make the rounds of the group), I absolutely loved every second of this tour and have no regrets. It was a madcap, whirlwind experience that I am very grateful I could afford to have, and would recommend to anyone who's even thinking about booking an overseas tour. Check them out here: Contiki - Travel Tours & Adventures for 18-35 year olds Tags
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It wasn't until a few days into the tour that I finally began to relax and let go of the stress that months of hard work and misery had ingrained into my body. I could feel my jaw loosening and the smiles coming more easily. I stopped worrying about what I should do, and instead started thinking about what I wanted to do.
Surprisingly, I found I didn't want to go to bed at a reasonable hour. When we stopped in Voss for the night, I was energised by the stops throughout the day at lakesides and viewing platforms. Though a lot of the day was spent on the coach, I had been surrounded on all sides by lakes, forests, rocky fields, and hills that rapidly became steep mountains and sheer cliffs dripping with waterfalls. The skies shifted constantly from an endless blue to hazy silver and onimously dark grey. At some of our stops we were spattered with light drizzle and I repeatedly found myself very grateful for the new raincoat I bought just before I left England. (Sean couldn't believe that I had lived in England for three years and didn't own a light raincoat.)
Our hostel in Voss backed onto a long lake, only a few wooden steps and a grassy slope separating the terrace from the pebble beach. There was a noise curfew in Norway that locals are very strict about: after 23:00 all noise needs to be kept to a minimum. A lot of our tour-mates went indoors to drink quietly, play pool, and converse inside. I made my way to the lakeside, accompanied by Belinda and Rob, still nursing glasses of wine. The rocks on the beach were worn smooth and rounded by the water, the lake was still and the dusk lingering; a perfectly quiet evening. I spent an hour practising skipping rocks, roping Rob and Belinda into the pastime until they were both putting me to shame with the distance and number of jumps, though neither could curve their skips quite the way I (unintentionally) could. I was waiting for the stars to come out, hoping that we were far enough from city lights that I would see thousands. Only I didn't realise that the lingering dusk never really disappeared. Colours softened to shades of grey and deep blues and purples, but there was no point where I even considered using a torch or wanting a light. It certainly never grew dark enough for us to see any stars, the horizon remaining a pale lavender, even right up until we decided to go inside around one in the morning.
To say that the following day, driving from Voss to Geiranger Fjord, was more of the same is both true and also wildly understates the experience. Forests, mountains, long tunnels through the mountains, fjords, lakes, and frequent stops to drink in the fresh air and stunning views, and have the occasional snowball fight or build a tower of rocks for luck were similar experiences to the drive to Voss, but just as awe-inspiring and delightful. We took a ferry across one of the wider fjords to save time driving around to the bridge, and I found my way to the top deck, despite the cool dampness, and allowed the salty breeze to blow the cobwebs of a late night and early morning from my head. I also got to watch a pod of dolphins frolicking in the water near the ferry. Bec was surprised we saw them; apparently they rarely come that far up the fjords.
Our hostel in Geiranger was another gem of a place. While it didn't back directly onto a lake, each room had a private balcony overlooking the stunning Geiranger fjord. The water wasn't far either; only a short, winding walk down a steep hill to the harbour at the bottom, where there was also a tall diving tower and dock built for swimmers. Most of the tour group spent ages down at the water, cheering on those who were brave enough to try the 12m high polar plunge (though considering the fjord wasn't frozen, I don't know if it actually counts as a 'polar plunge'. The water was certainly icy enough!). Alas, no bathing suit meant I was relegated to the role of cheerleader, but it was fun to watch and partway through we were joined by the passengers of a cruise ship docking at Geiranger who were curious about all the cheering and splashing and lined up along the railings of the ship to watch the spectacle.
Geiranger was also the night Bec organised the quiz night for us, because of the lack of nightlife in Geiranger itself. I'd like to point out that my team won narrowly, though I was all but useless. Once again, more of a cheerleader than serious contributor. It was really good fun and afterwards everyone gathered to continue drinking and playing games and chatting in the common room. Just after midnight I decided I'd had enough but once again, I didn't want to go to bed, despite being tired. Inevitably I made my way to the water. Rob, Belinda, Ruth and I made the winding walk down to the harbour, where we sat on the steps at the beach and watched the tide come in. The rush and suck of the waves against the stones was hypnotic and I found myself drifting away from the conversation a little and finding one of those rare moments of mental stillness where I was just being. Listening, watching, feeling. That was all. Another late night, but well worth every minute of lost sleep. Tags
Copenhagen. It was grey and rainy and utterly beautiful. The houses lined the streets like a patchwork quilt, a variety of soft, weathered blues and pinks and whites, with arching rooftops and facades stitched with long, narrow windows. The people were stylish and friendly and spoke impeccable English and the streets and public areas were spotless. Wandering, a little lost, in the neighbourhood around my hostel, I found myself quickly enchanted by the city.
The first things I saw of Copenhagen were Nyahvn - the lovely harbour with the restaurants and cafés stretching alongside - and the forlorn statue of The Little Mermaid, looking out over the bay towards the ocean. It was a lovely evening and I didn't mind the silvery grey sky; it seemed to suit the city and particularly the statue of The Little Mermaid. Even the nearby Gefion Fountain was more striking with the grey sky behind the goddess' powerful figure.
The following day was just as cloudy and cool, and I and Marie and Ashna (whom I'd met over dinner with the rest of the Contiki tour) set off early to see as much as we could in our only day in the city. It was about half-eight on a Sunday morning and everything was so still. We saw no cars, only a few lone cyclists and fewer pedestrians. Even coffee shops and bakeries weren't open yet. Despite the slow start to the morning, Copenhagen did eventually wake up and we managed to see a lot of the city. The Botanical Gardens were first on the list, followed by the Rundetaarn. Ashna and I walked to the top where we got a really pretty 360 degree view of the neighbourhood. We also walked over to the Freetown Christiania.
Christiania was an experience that I'm not sure I enjoyed. It was colourful and the graffiti art on the buildings was beautiful, but it was very dirty compared to the rest of the city and it stank of rubbish, except in the market where it smelled of weed. I felt uncomfortable walking around and was relieved when we left. Later, back at the hostel, another tour member talked about how much she and her husband had loved it. She had a friend who lived there and had taken them around and shown them the art and taken them into the buildings and talked to them about how the community actually lives and functions, all of which sounded really intriguing and a little at odds with what I had seen and felt while there. Perhaps Christiania is an experience that is much better with a local guide. On our way out of the district, we passed the Church of Our Saviour and decided, on a whim, to stop and go up the tower. It was well worth the visit but if you're afraid of heights, I warn you: this tower climb is not a comfortable one. It starts with wide square staircases that quickly turn into narrow ones that are little more than ladders as you ascend the bell tower. As you go up, if you can spare a glance to the sides, you'll see statues of cherubs and angelic art instalments in the rafters, hidden behind mesh cages and signs warning that the bells you pass are active and ring regularly. When you finally climb through the bell tower and think you must be near the top, the ladders turn into tightly spiralling staircases that eventually open out onto a viewing platform. There's a low railing, roughly hip-high and just enough to stop you from tipping over with vertigo, and a gorgeous, unobstructed view of the city. If you're really brave (and I was not) you can then climb the metal staircase that wraps around the outside of the tower in a gentle spiral, all the way to the spire at the very top - and again, there's a hand-high railing and nothing else protecting you from a drop to the concrete and grass below. It was exhilarating and beautiful, though definitely not for the faint-hearted!
We stopped for lunch at Paper Island where a converted warehouse has been turned into a food market that reminded me strongly of Camden Market here in London. Bec had told us repeatedly on our orientation tour last night that we needed to have hot dogs while in Denmark, so that's what the three of us decided to do. Danish hot dogs are hard to describe; they're something like a cross between New York street meat and bratwurst, served not with chips but with quartered potatoes fried in rosemary and red peppers. It was delicious. If you decide to visit Copenhagen, I will echo my tour manager here and say, you need to have a hot dog. Preferably from that stall in Paper Island.
Copenhagen is a very walkable city; wear a comfortable pair of running shoes and you'll easily see just about everything you'd like to in a day (maybe two if you want to visit the museums as well). That being said, bicycles are very easy to rent and the city is designed for cyclists. Frankie, another tour-mate, said he saw the entire city easily and comfortably from his rented bike, so if you're a cyclist and want to spend a bit more time in various museums or doing some shopping, that's definitely a good time-saving option. The following morning was an early start, and after a long day spent on Scandinavian motorways (broken by an unconventional lunch stop at an IKEA, of all places!) we finally pulled into Frogner Park in Oslo. Here we had the chance to admire the largest collection of sculptures created by a single artist, Gustav Vigeland, whose aim was to create art that didn't mean anything, but reflected the circle of life. A little contradictory, perhaps, but impressive nonetheless. The best part about the park? Going around as a group and mimicking as many of the statues as we could find. There was also the famous crying baby statue whose hand you have to rub for luck. It was a really fun way to end the day, and had the added bonus of fresh air and a bit of exercise after sitting for so long on the coach.
Oslo was beautiful, but I didn't find it quite as enchanting as Copenhagen. That is probably largely due to the tension headache I had all day, making it hard to focus and difficult to relax. Despite the pain, I was determined to see something of the city, and it was such a gorgeously warm and sunny day that it seemed a crime to spend it indoors. I visited Oslo Cathedral and took a moment to take in the memorial outside before winding my way along the shopping street and up to the Royal Palace. I saw the royal palaces in all three capital cities and I have to admit, they were not as impressive as the ones I've seen in France and Germany - or even in England, for that matter. I did enjoy the long-suffering stoicism of the palace guards, though (especially in Oslo) as tourists kept approaching them to ask for photos. Though there was one notable exception in Akershus Fortress, where a younger-looking guard seemed delighted by all the attention.
From there I went to City Hall, where the Nobel Peace Prize is awarded. The Hall was very quiet after the busyness of the streets, even though it was filled with at least two coach tours' worth of tourists. It also felt incredibly cool inside because of the tiled walls and marble floor. The murals were beautiful, and the swirling patterns and predominance of shades of blue made it seem almost as though I'd stepped underwater for a while. It felt like a haven of peace, the coolness providing a respite from the pounding in my head, so I curled up on one of the cushioned marble benches in the corner for an hour and read my book and stretched my neck. Akershus Fortress is another place where I managed to lose myself for a few hours. Once you walk between the walls it's like the city is completely shut out and you enter this strange place where the layers of history have been folded on top of each other until you're not quite sure which era you're in. As far as I could understand, part of the fortress is still used by the military today and as you take the tour through the Castle, you are told about which rooms are still regularly used by the soldiers today. It was strange to imagine modern military men and women sitting in the chapel for service, or attending an event in the halls. I ended my afternoon lying in the shade of the park outside the fortress, enjoying some Chelsea-bun-type pastries and - you guessed it! - my book. Oslo was a much-needed solitary day; having spent two days in very close contact with people I didn't know very well, I did need some time to myself and to enjoy being quiet. For all that Contikis are very busy tours and encourage socialising and meeting new people, there are plenty of opportunities for you to take some time to yourself when needed - without having to miss out on anything. Tags |
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