top of page

#41. Norway: September 15-19, 2023

bertrand006

Since 2019 Tulane had received funding for its family planning work in the DRC through the Central Forest African Initiative (CAFI), with strong support from the Norwegian government. Arsene Binanga (our Congolese country director), Julie Hernandez, and I had always joked about needing to visit our donor, and in September 2023 we made good on it. Jostein Lindland, our contact at the Norwegian Ministry of Climate and Environment, set up a series of meetings with different offices in Oslo, but then dedicated himself fulltime to organizing the touristic aspects of our trip. “Do you want to go on your own, or might I come along?” he asked. In hindsight, it would have been impossible to us to have seen as much or enjoyed our week in Norway as immensely if Jostein hadn’t served as our driver, tour organizer, and translator. In addition, he provided us with a running commentary on politics, social policies, religion, historical anecdotes, attempts at prohibition, and other information that allowed us to better understand the country we were visiting.

 

Jostein picked us up on a Friday noon at the Oslo train station in his Volvo electric car, the first time Arsene and I had traveled in one. As we began the four-hour ride to our inland destination, Julie quickly found an App to locate charging stations along the way. Jostein skillfully navigated the two-lane highway that wound through the countryside, untroubled by the trucks and busses on tight corners in the oncoming lane.

 

From the start, the scenery was stunning, lakes and fjords continuously in our line of sight.


 

Our destination for the first evening was Aurland, a top choice for hikers, some 200 miles northwest of Oslo. Jostein had reserved rooms at the Aurlandsdalen Turisthytte, run by the Norwegian Trekking Association. The website described it as a mountain hut, but it proved to be a large welcoming lodge with beautiful pine walls and an inviting fireplace: “rustic with wifi.” Julie and I bunked together, while Arsene and Jostein shared a room. On the menu that evening: reindeer meat.



Day 2 (Saturday) threatened rain, but we took our chances and stuck to the original plan of hiking down the Aurland Valley on the 19 k trail between Østerbø  and Vassbygdi along the Aurland fjord. It would take us 6-7 hours, but mercifully, it was mostly downhill.

 


The rain held off for most of the trip, but by lunchtime the drizzle had become more persistent. We took shelter in the 200-year-old Sinjarheim farm, a set of buildings that had been deserted but subsequently restored. We had a former grain storage building to ourselves as we consumed our sandwiches. For Arsene, this type of hiking was a new experience, but with the boots that Julie had purchased for him earlier in the summer in Chamonix, he made out like a champ.


 

 

 

By late afternoon we reached the bottom of the trail and made our way to the village of Aurlandsvanger, where we’d spend our second night, but not before taking a quick tour of the waterfront outside our hotel. Jostein had planned to reserve rooms at a hostel, but his wife (whom we had yet to meet) urged him to rachet up the quality of the lodging. As a result, we found ourselves in very comfortable digs. We had now come of expect the twin beds to be narrow and the breakfast spread to be plentiful and delicious.

 


With an hour to kill before dinner, I did some window shopping at the tourist store in front of our hotel. I didn’t really need another puff jacket, but it would be fun to have one as a souvenir from this memorable trip. The banter about my potential shopping trip brought out the environmentalist in Jostein. Ever so gently, he mentioned the negative effects of over-consumerism on the environment. He cited an environmentally friendly practice that he had considered adopting: to limit one’s purchase of clothing to five items a year. Any joy I might have felt in owning a puff jacket from Norway dissipated on the spot, and the five-items-of-clothing-per-year has become an oft-repeated anecdote from our stay in Norway.




Day 3 (Sunday) was by far the most memorable to the trip: a day-long bike ride along Rallarvegen, from Finse to Flåm, considered by many to be the most beautiful cycling route in Norway. Arsene and I had worked together for over a decade, but this excursion proved to be our most intense bonding experience to date: exhilaration bordering on panic.

 

 

Several weeks earlier Jostein had asked whether we’d be up for a bike ride, which he alternatively described as being six hours or three hours (for the same ride). Most of it would be downhill. Julie was fairly experienced at biking, whereas Arsene and I were closer to the novice end of the scale. But we gamely signed on. Jostein wisely decided that Arsene and I would get electric bikes (helpful on the uphill), while he and Julie would rent standard mountain bikes. It

sounded like a great adventure, and how difficult could it be to ride a bike downhill for six hours?

 

 

We began the trip with a two-hour train ride up the mountainside from Flåm to the small town of Filse, with breathtaking scenery at every turn and a 10-minute break at the Kjosfossen waterfall. In Filse, the highest train station in Norway, we picked up the bikes that Jostein had rented in advance. Arsene and I cautiously circled the parking lot several times, trying to get the hang of the gears and the brake system on an electric bike, which neither of us had ever used. Within a few minutes, we were steady enough to hit the road, and what a road it was.

 

 

We began the ride on an old gravel road that had been built in the early 1900s to transport materials for the construction of the railroad in this area. In sections it widened to a respectable single-lane road; in others, where the sides of the road had deteriorated, it narrowed it to a few meters. Arsene and I breathed more easily on the segments where the road had been chiseled out of the mountainside, leaving a comforting vertical wall to our right, in contrast to other stretches of road with a significant drop-off on one or both sides. Soon we began to feel more comfortable on the bikes and barreled ahead, trying not to hold up Jostein and Julie who could have been traveling at twice the speed.

 

It was sheer exhilaration to peddle down the winding road with the stunning natural beauty of Norway on full display. Lakes dotted the rocky terrain, forested mountainsides were ever present on the horizon, the sky was postcard blue.

 

For the first couple of hours, the surface of the road was fairly smooth gravel, interspersed with the occasional bed of small rocks. Experienced mountain bikers would simply fly over these patches, but not so for the less confident biker. I quickly learned that it was ill-advised to slow down at precarious places; it increased the likelihood of toppling over on the bike.

 


For most of the ride, Arsene and I were in the lead, Jostein and Julie holding back in their watchful camp counselor mode. A couple of hours into the trip, I noticed a problem with Arsene’s bike and yelled out “Arsene, you have a flat tire!” We pulled our bikes off the main road, and Jostein dug into his saddlebags for the tools and repair kit needed to fix the problem. He and Julie turned the bike over, removed the damaged innertube, checked the wheel for other damages, and got Arsene back on the bike in short order. Minutes later, Jostein approached my bike and asked “what’s that noise?” Something has become dislodged and was scraping against the metal rim of the wheel. For the second time in an hour, I wondered exactly what would have happened, had we not been in the hands of such an experienced biker in this very isolated location.

 

This second stop prompted us to take a break for lunch, comprised of the many offerings from the breakfast buffet that we’d brought along with us. As I prepared to mount my bike after our rest stop, I peered ahead to the 50-meter downhill stretch, the narrowest part of the road to that point, with drop-offs on both sides. I muttered that I thought I’d best walk the bike over that section. Jostein replied, “Just get used to it“ (implying there would be more of the same to come), but I decided to take the more conservative, life-preserving approach.

The next two hours of the ride were sheer bliss. The quality of the road improved with fewer rocky patches, sparing my arthritic wrists of bouncing over them. By now the sun was overhead, causing the lakes to glisten in the distance. It was Indian summer at its best and we were thrilled to be experiencing the beauty of Norway up close and personal.By Hour 5, general fatigue started to set in. I’d managed to tip over on the bike while at a standstill a couple of times, and I was losing a bit of my already shaky confidence. As I rested on the side of the road, a group of five friendly Norwegian guys stopped to ask if I was OK. As they were readying to push off, one of them mentioned that within a few kilometers we’d reach the 21 switchbacks, “where the road gets really steep.” My heart sunk. Soon after they departed, Jostein and Julie reappeared.

 

 

As we approached the top of the switchbacks, I looked down in horror at what was ahead. There was no turning back. Sensing my level of apprehension, Jostein and Julie coached me on the best technique to navigate down them: make sure you’re braking with both hands equally, sit back further on the seat.  By now I had learned that slowing down to stop nearly guaranteed tipping the bike over, so I vowed to stay upright and move forward. As I warily approached this zigzagged path, I talked myself around every turn: “move to the outside… get back to the middle… breathe.” Mercifully, 20 minutes later the ordeal of the 21 switchbacks was behind me, and the ride became fun once again.

 

With less than an hour to go, we were now on a greatly improved paved road, and the motor on the electric bike kicked in to boost mode as we hit a few uphill stretches. Arsene was far ahead of us (presumably having successfully navigated the switchbacks), and we assumed we’d catch up with him at the train station in Flåm. Suddenly Julie was gesturing for me to stop. We’d lost Arsene.


Arsene had called Jostein on his emergency satellite phone; he was waiting at the train station, but no one had showed up. From the side of the road, Jostein and Julie tried to figure out where he was. It didn’t take long to realize that he was at the wrong station. Jostein instructed him to continue down the road to Flåm, where we’d return the bikes. Our one consolation was that Arsene would be easily recognizable if it came down to that. We hadn’t seen another African all day.

 

The three of us headed down to Flåm, stopping only to navigate through a herd of goats that had taken over the highway.

 


 


If I thought the “hard parts” were behind us, I was wrong. As we neared Flåm, the route took us through a 100-meter dark, damp tunnel with a rocky bottom and zero visibility. My survival instinct caused me to dismount, while Julie produced the flashlight on her cellphone. Midway through, we saw the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. Minutes thereafter, we were returning the bikes to the rental company. We’d made it.

 

Jostein wanted us to end the day with a ferry ride through the UNESCO-listed Nærøyfjord. Because Arsene was still making his way down to Flåm, Jostein stayed behind while Julie and I boarded the ferry for what would be a two-hour tour of unspeakable beauty. Small towns dotted the shoreline, before the final stretch where the mountains descended directly to the fjord. It coincided with the weekly call to my sisters, so as the ferry took off, I found a quiet corner to check in on the goings-on back home.

 

 

Happily, by the time we returned, Arsene had reappeared. He and I exchanged a few quick words that said it all. Between the old construction road with the drop-offs, the 21 switchbacks, and the pitch-black tunnel, we had been in way over our comfort level. But having successfully met this challenge, we were immensely happy to have experienced this amazing ride. It would go down in our personal record books as one of the most memorable days of our international travels.

 

Day 4 brought a total change of pace: an eight-hour ride from Flåm to Jostein‘s farm in Staubø, on the southeastern coast of the country near Tverdestrand. We pulled out our laptops to finalize the presentations we’d be making in Oslo. Julie rode shotgun, identifying the charging stations that would best suit our needs. These stations were often located beside a grocery or convenience store, allowing us to resupply on life’s necessities (ice cream for Jostein, candies for Julie, and postcards for Jane to send to Cande). Arsene was in constant pursuit of internet connectivity for his phone.

 

 

By 7 PM, we arrived at Jostein’s farm, where we were greeted by his wife Anine and treated to a meal of homemade Norwegian waffles, scrumptious lingonberry jam, and apple juice (a specialty of the farm). We learned more about Anine’s job as a social worker in the foster care system, confirming our perceptions of a level of social services in Norway far superior to most countries. Jostein’s 95-year-old mother, who lived in a house adjacent to his property, joined us for a lively conversation. (“Who exactly are these people??”).

 

After dinner, Jostein took us to our sleeping quarters: a renovated stable in which his home office was located on the second floor (translate, excellent Wi-Fi). As he pointed to the bed where Arsene would sleep, he mentioned “this is where we used to keep the sheep.“

 

The next morning, Jostein gave us a tour of his property, including multiple buildings that he had constructed largely on his own or with the help of his father. As he approached a backyard fence with a bucket in his hand, three horses trotted over to see what it might contain. It was such a privilege to be invited into the Lindlands’ home and to learn about the many non-professional projects Jostein had undertaken (when he was not worrying about family planning in the Congo).

 

 

As if this trip had not featured enough unique experiences, Day 5 brought yet one more. Jostein took us to meet with Ole, a Norwegian businessman who worked for Criterion Africa Partners and who had expressed in interest in meeting his friends working in the Congo. Ole was straight out of Condé Nast Traveller: wind-blown hair, tanned skin, pale blue eyes, casual nautical clothing, outgoing manner. He picked us up at the dock in the town of Lyngør in his wooden motorboat “Annie” along with Bode, his Maltese pup. Ole gave us a boat tour of Lyngør, voted the “most perfectly preserved village in Europe” in 1991.

 

 

We then headed toward the cove where his own residence was located. Some 200 meters from shore, the motor cut off and Ole’s easy-going demeanor changed to intense concern. He quickly found four short wooden pegs, which he installed two per side to create oarlocks. He and Jostein began to vigorously row against a stiff current while Julie took a crash course in steering the boat with the rudder. Once within the shelter of the shore, Ole called for help from another boat. But by the time it arrived, the motor had started and we soon pulled up to the dock in front of his residence.

 

 

Ole’s property was perhaps the most stunning “home” I have ever visited. The main house with windows afforded a view of the water on three sides. The décor was straight out of Architectural Digest. Ole gave us a tour of the property: the guest houses, his wife’s office, the glass-encased workout room, the toolshed, the sauna. I’d previously seen how the top 1% lived, but this was in a league of its own.


 

After touring the property, we sank into the comfortable chairs around a large square coffee table as Ole served coffee and snacks, and we proceeded to talk about our family planning work in DRC. Soon the conversation turned to the potential of developing more efficient systems for making charcoal in the DRC. Ole oversaw business ventures across sub-Saharan Africa, and Jostein was trying to pique his interest in the Congo. Bode the dog stretched out on the sofa, lost in deep sleep.

 

As our hour of departure neared, Bode awakened from his nap and was the first to reach the dock, where Ole had a different (more reliable?) speed boat ready to transport us back to the parking lot in Lyngør. Once there, we said our goodbyes to Ole and headed for the train station where we’d board our train for Oslo, en route for two days of professional meetings.

 

 

After the first few days of our trip, Julie and I had concluded that Norway was the perfect country. (If you Google this phrase, it’s evident that others have wondered the same.) When we asked, “does Norway have slums?” Jostein replied, “not really.” We began to actively search for flaws. In five days of crisscrossing the country, we’d only passed one “ugly” sight, an industrial plant besmirching the otherwise pristine mountainside on the fjord. We did encounter one obnoxiously intoxicated passenger on our train back to Oslo, whom the local gendarmes eventually carted off. But otherwise, our impressions of Norway remained unchanged. It was a spectacularly beautiful country with a strong system of social protections and an enviable way of life. Admittedly, we had observed it through the rose-color glasses of a five-day trip which could not have been equaled for natural beauty, extraordinary excursions, incredible food, and exceptional camaraderie.




0 comments

Comments


bottom of page