Norway 2019

Photo by Steven Tingle

Last October, my fiancé, Jess, and I left the southwestern city of Bergen in the morning and drove northeast through a foggy mist that floated over the mountains like a gray specter. Norwegians drive on the right, so Jess was finally comfortable letting me behind the wheel. During our time in Scotland, I had been relegated to the passenger seat.

We stopped in Skulestadmo to see the Tvindefossen, a 500-foot waterfall that seemed to flow in slow motion—graceful strands of water cascading with the soft blur of a long-exposure photograph. The temperature was low, but an aversion to cold evaporates in Norway. The views are just too magnificent to worry that the air in your lungs has been replaced with Freon.

At a gas station in Vossevangen, I bought a bag of foam candy called Salt Skum. I only ate one, since it tasted like a marshmallow soaked in motor oil.

In the early afternoon we arrived in Flam and boarded an electric-powered catamaran that glided through the Nærøyfjord in an eerie silence. In some places the fjord is only 1,600 feet wide, and the steep, ice-covered cliffs cast a permanent shadow over the water. The cabins that dot the shoreline seemed inaccessible by land, even though a few lanky dirt roads disappeared into stands of linden trees and pine.

Photo by Steven Tingle

The boat docked in Gudvangen where we hopped on a small bus for the return to Flam. The view of the fjord from our small hotel room was so breathtaking it was disorienting.

That evening over dinner at the Ægir microbrewery, I wore my jacket, scarf, and knit cap. The servers wore short sleeves. Without the landscape to distract me, I finally realized I was freezing.

Published in TOWN magazine.