The king of fjords, mountain hairpins and our first ferries

Our Lonely Planet guide book puts Norway's fjords as the number one attraction in Scandinavia. And it reckons Geirangerfjord is the king of them all: "Well this is the big one: the world-famous Unesco-listed, oft-photographed fjord that every visitor to Norway just has to tick off their bucket list... it is quite simply, one of the world's great natural features, a majestic combination of huge cliffs, tumbling waterfalls and deep blue water that's guaranteed to leave a lasting imprint on your memory." And that's without the incredible dizzying drive into and out of the valley. 

Florence staying away from the road

We spent last night in a parking area beneath a lay-by near the turn-off to Geiranger. We're being tight when it comes to overnights in Norway. Wild camping is accepted, as long as there are no notices to the contrary, and everything else is so expensive that we're prepared to live with the odd lay-by to reduce costs. So far we've always managed to get away from the road, and our stopovers have been quiet, clean and offered beautiful views. Last night was no different, and even though the drop in temperature meant digging out the winter box with our hats and gloves, we were able to take the pups for a lovely walk across what we would call moorland, but beside rivers and lakes. Elsa and I couldn't resist the opportunity to find some of the snow still hanging around at the end of July. The climb up there was a lot steeper than it looks.

The orange patch is me

The road enters in the dip, top right 

Then it was time to head for Geiranger. We were at 925m when we started, a little lower than the top of Helvellyn. Forty-five minutes later we were alongside the cruise ships moored, needless to say, at sea-level. Nick did an excellent job of dodging the tour buses on their way up, and ignoring my hand clenched around my seat cushion. But it took concentration, so we swapped over in a lay-by, and I drove us back up the hairpin bends on the way out. We have established that I prefer driving up mountain roads, and he prefers driving down, so we are the Mr and Mrs Jack Spratt of hairpin bends. 
The best viewpoints on the drive were full of cars, but a picnic area just off the road gave access to some walking trails, and we were able to hike back to the edge of the fjord for some fantastic views. 

The fjord is there somewhere

Then it was onward to our first Norwegian ferry. It was a little roll-on roll-off, essentially part of the road network but crossing the fjords. It was exactly like the Shetland ferries that had become so familiar in the years my Mum and Dad lived up there. We were very glad we had decided to take the bike rack off the back of Florence. Without it we are under 6m, and charged like a car. Once over six meters the cost can double. The last of today's three ferry crossings cost about £9 for vehicle and driver. If we'd been over 6m it would have been nearly £23. We have printed out the vehicle specifications to show to sceptical ferry workers, as being 5.96m does raise some eyebrows. 

The ferry from Sykkylven to Magerholm

The last ferry took us towards Alesund, which we will visit tomorrow. We are parked tonight in the car park to the town's Aquarium, and there are already four other motorhomes here. The official motorhome parking in the town costs £25 for the night. We have dog food to pay for you know!

A glacier, wild water, and a 20 degree drop in temperature

 It may only be Norway's 45th highest waterfall but the waters of Volefossen cascading 350m down a sheer drop from the ice field above, coupled with the glacial river flowing at breakneck speed behind the van, provided an aquatic background to our overnight at the small Melkevoll Bretun campsite. We had arrived after a 21km drive down the only access road that, with its narrow tunnels and intermittent passing places, obviously hadn't been designed for the huge tourist coaches which apparently were not required to slow down for oncoming traffic even when the road narrowed to a single carriageway. 

A rainbow...with no rain

With rain forecast for the following morning we had decided to try and make an early start for the walk up to the Briksdalbreen glacier but the sound of the water was obviously good for sleep as we didn't wake until 8 am. Once breakfasted we set off with the spaniels for the climb to the glacier. By this time a large number of tourist coaches had arrived, disgorging dozens of passengers, many from the Far East. Selfie sticks were much in evidence as many of them went straight to the powered buggies that would transport them within a few yards of the glacier and save them having to exert energy in making the climb. They probably had dinner booked in Oslo that evening.

Sorting the sheep from the goats

Our walk up the steep paths and steps was made as the sun gradually grew hotter but it was well worth it. The melt water from the glacier cascaded down past us as we climbed and we experienced its cold temperature when the spray hit us when we crossed the torrent on a small bridge. Further up were small pastures where sheep and goats were enjoying the sunshine and, no doubt, wondering what all the fuss was about. 

The glacier itself was spectacular. We had experienced glaciers in Canada and New Zealand but those had been flat and could be walked on. The Briksdalbreen glacier hangs precariously over the edge of a precipice as the melt waters run from beneath it into a lake  before they began their plunge into the valley below. Notices warned people to be careful as the glacier was prone to 'calve', shedding huge pieces of solid ice which drop into the lake below causing a mini tsunami. Regrettably it didn't happen while we were there.

Various signs along the path showed that the glacier had once reached even further down the valley, notably during a so called mini ice age in the 18th century, about the period when the Thames froze over. Since then the glacier has been in retreat, no doubt another symptom of the changes in the climate. It did make me wonder whether it would still be visible from below in another 100 years. 

The spaniels received their normal quota of smiles from passers by and several took photographs of them. One lady came up to chat, told us she had a dog at home, and spent some time scratching their ears. Max, who is something of a water baby, was happy to launch himself into the cold water when he got the chance, but Elsa obviously felt that she preferred a somewhat higher temperature for her bathing activities. We dodged the gift shop, full of cuddly toy elk and polar bears, and made our way to the van. 

After lunch it was back onto the road with a view to starting the journey to Geiranger. We stopped off in Stryn, the main shopping centre for the area to get some more dog food. Foolishly I decided that, with the temperatures still hovering around 30 degrees, I really needed a second pair of shorts. That literally put the dampeners on things. We started the climb out of the valley in glorious sunshine along a succession of hairpin bends. Three tunnels and 800 metres  later we found ourselves in thick cloud and heavy rain and a temperature of 9 degrees. The shorts are still in the cupboard. 

. 

Lancashire-style weather arrives

If Carlsberg made traffic jams (yes, yes, I know we’re in Norway not Denmark)

Traffic waiting to enter the tunnel

On Sunday morning we set out from a little wild campground beside the road between Lillehammer and the Jostedalsbreen National Park. It was our intention to be nestled next to the Briksdal’s branch of the great Jostedals glacier by lunchtime. We forged our way through two of the great 5k tunnels carved through solid mountains, and turned into a large lay-by viewing area to recover. As the spaniels pranced through the grass at the edge of the gravel, we realised that traffic waiting to enter the tunnel below us was at a standstill. 

Our stop the previous night - we had this area to ourselves

We decided to wait out the delay by taking Max and Elsa down to the river. There hadn’t been much of a walk that morning as the overnight stop only had about 500m of track, even though it was next to a fabulous glacial river. They flow too fast to let the the spaniels off-lead, and it’s technically against the rules in Norway in the summer months to protect wildlife. At our overnight stop there had been signs of red squirrels, elk droppings behind the van, and a pugnacious cross between a gull and a puffin which charged at anyone who 
came close. We had erred on the side of caution. 

Spaniels bathing

Beneath the lay-by we had stopped in now were the more familiar cattle and sheep. But these were Norwegian attack-sheep. They had no fear, and charged at the spaniels, who naturally responded by barking. There was a stand-off, which was only resolved by human intervention. We told the sheep to bugger off. We got back to the van with damp spaniels to find others arriving at the lay-by. We warned them of the hold-up, and word gradually spread. 

Norwegian attack sheep

Looking around, we agreed we were in possibly the most beautiful place we had ever taken Florence. Meltwater from ice fields trickled and gushed down from the top of the ancient mountains, worn down by glaciers which had carved out the rounded valley below. Trees clung to the cliff faces, until they could no longer gain a foothold in the bright craggy surface, sparkling in the sun. The river in the valley below was the impossible turquoise of glacial lakes. Soft green grass ran down to its shores. If we were going to have to stay somewhere for a while, then this wasn’t a bad place to be. And as for that urgent appointment in… well exactly. We had nowhere to be. By now the temperature was over 30C, so we opened all the windows, closed some of the blinds, and put our feet up. 

That was shortly after 11am. Word eventually filtered through that there was a rock fall on the other side of the tunnel. But it was Sunday, and no-one was telling the traffic behind, which continued to pile into the valley unawares. At 3.30 the road reopened, bringing to an end the almost carnival feel of the queued traffic. Many had turned around immediately to repeat the journey through the two long tunnels and find an alternative route. Some had waited for a while before deciding to turn around. Others had turned the wait into a picnic. We were able to keep abreast of developments as English was the lingua franca between the assembled German, Dutch, Norwegian and occasional others. 

No chance of playing Poohsticks here!

By now we had made ourselves comfortable, and the thought of stowing everything away and moving on wasn’t attractive. And after all, we were in one of the most breathtaking beautiful spots we had ever seen. So why move on? We decided to spend the night. At 8pm, as it eventually began to drop below 28C, we took the spaniels for a walk up the side valley, along a track beside a rushing stream. By now we’d been joined by two other vans. This was definitely the place to be. 

Glacier fed lake

The next morning we took the spaniels back up the side valley, before heading on towards Briksdal. The journey involved driving around two beautiful lakes, and then the water changed colour slightly, and we realised we were now looking at seawater. We had reached  Nordfjord, where a large cruise ship could be seen at the quay in Olden. We turned down into the blind valley that ends with a spectacular glacier, and rolled onto the campsite for our first paid night in Norway just in time for lunch just yards from the massive waterfall crashing down the rocks above us. Much more on Briksdal in the next instalment. 

Florence about to be crushed by rocks 

Now can you see her?

An anti-climax at the border and a very expensive trip to the loo

Everything had been planned with military precision for the crossing from Sweden into Norway. The latter is not part of the EU so dogs had been wormed, Pet Passports stamped and quantities of wine hidden out of sight in the van. Norwegian alcohol prices are ridiculously high as is their import duty on anything brought into the country over a certain amount. As we approached the customs post on the border I had passports and other documents ready and made a last check to ensure the bottle of champagne in the cupboard was well out of sight, prepared to bluff if out if a search party with sniffer dogs invaded the van. 

In the end it was all a complete anti-climax. We dutifully drove into the red zone-no one else

Maniacs launch themselves off the top of this apparently

seemed to bother-and I scuttled off to the customs shed. The two severe-looking women behind their glass screens barely looked up. One of them motioned me to go back into the entrance and take a numbered ticket . As soon as I pulled it from the dispenser, my number appeared on the screen...hardly surprising as I was the only person in the building. One of the ladies checked one of the Pet Passports and said I was free to enter Norway. They didn't even check the said pets who were still sitting out in the van. Oh well.

Oslo from the top of the hill

After stopping at a service point just off the E18, Norway is particularly good at providing these for motorhomes, we dodged a Swiss couple, who had parked behind us with a four-wheel-drive monstrosity that was better adapted for invading Russia, and headed to Oslo. We ended up in a car park next door to the ski jump at Holmenkollen which had last been used in earnest for the World Ski Championships in 2011. The current structure rather cheekily carries the Olympic Rings although since the 1952 Winter Games were held here, it has been demolished and rebuilt. There has been a ski jump of sorts on the site since 1892.

Limited possibilities? No bloody possibilities.

Taking the spaniels for a walk proved a hazardous occupation as there is a roller ski slope close to the car park. Deprived of snow in the summer, Norwegians thunder down tarmac slopes at what seems like 60 miles an hour  on small skis with wheels. With no brakes, and no steering, it is deemed better to get out of their way rather than rely on them to avoid you. The only disturbance we experienced was the continual arrival and departure of coaches carrying foreign tourists on those 'do Oslo in a day' packages. One Russian coach parked right next to us so I closed the windows. You never know who might be listening.

An artwork of shirts hanging on a wooden structure. Don't ask me.

It has been ridiculously hot in Norway so we decided to go down into Oslo at sparrows' crack to ensure the spaniels were not too stressed. Accordingly we set off at 7am on the amazing metro line that travels almost 2000 feet down into the city centre, twisting and turning around the contours like a twisty-turny thing. 

The opera house has won several architectural awards

Having wandered around the waterside area, taking advantage of a cooling breeze from the fjord, we skirted the old town and got a tram to the sculpture park which features the works of just one artist, Gustav Vigeland (1869–1943). His sculptures seemed to mainly consist of naked figures, many of them children, and I did wonder whether he would get away with it today. We had skipped breakfast to get the spaniels out on time. Having stopped for refreshments- a sandwich, a croissant and two coffees £20- just confirmed how expensive Norway is. A visit to the ladies cost £1.50. It's the bushes in future.

Gustav Vigeland had a bit of a fixation

We had put the spaniels in their cooling coats but, despite finding a lake in the park where we could immerse them in water, it was getting just a little too hot for them so we headed back to the metro and then to the van having decided we had seen the best part of the Norwegian capital. It was time to start heading North to Lillehammer, our planned stop for the night. We paused on the way at Gjovik to service the van and then drove along the edge of the lake to our final destination, a deserted car park at the top of the ski slope that had been used for the 1994 Winter Olympics. It's been a winter-sporting couple of days. 

They are big on flowers in Oslo

A busking area...well away from passing crowds

A small garden specifically for bees

I thought this was a pile of scrap in a harbour. Turns out it's art

On the doorstep of Norway

188 miles from Oslo, and 52 years since driving on the left

Tonight you find us in probably the best wild camping spot, ever, waiting out the 24 hours between the spaniels’ visit to the vet for their worming treatment, and the earliest time after that we can cross the border to Norway. In the past two days we have crossed Sweden from east to west, watching the scenery grow wilder and signs of human life grow sparser. Motorhomes are a regular feature of traffic coming towards us, many will be returning from Norway. Sometimes when we wave you see eyes flick across to register that we are right hand drive, and I wonder how many Swedes remember when they drove on the left. The whole country changed sides overnight on H-day, 3rd September 1967, when road signs, lines, junctions, everything suddenly worked the other way around. That must have been a fun few days!

We left Stockholm yesterday after taking the pups for a walk along one of Sweden’s ubiquitous cycle/footpaths through a meadow, a housing estate and a block of flats, until we reached the picnic area for residents of the flats. It was a great oasis in the suburbs, and it was indication of how warm it was getting that Elsa was faced with an expanse of green and didn’t ask for her ball. 

After that it was straight to Karlskoga, where an appointment had been made with a vet early this morning. We took the opportunity to do a big shop in Lidl, as food prices will be much higher in Norway. Unfortunately, the lovely motorhome site in Karlskoga was full by the time we arrived at 4pm. Hardly surprising as all the beautifully manicured spaces look out onto the lake. However, we saved ourselves fifteen quid by overnighting in the car park behind, and using the services in the morning. 

Barbecue night!

By 0830 we were at the vet, where Max and Elsa were weighed, had their chips read, and were given worming tablets. Passports duly stamped and signed by the vet, they were clear to cross the border to Norway between 24 hours and 5 days after taking the pills. It’s exactly the same procedure as we go through when we bring the dogs home from France, and just under £35 for each dog was about what we would expect.  

The early start had prevented a proper walk, so we headed back to the lake. The temperature was already climbing rapidly and both dogs were keen to get in the water. The presence of ducks prevented us from letting Max off the lead, so we tried to play a brief game of ball on the eight meter retracting leads. The problem is, Elsa struggles to get her mouth around the ball when she’s swimming, and it tends to bob away from her. This time it bobbed further and further. Elsa swam further, and I walked further out into the lake after her, in my shorts and sandals, holding my bum bag and phone up out of the water. Still she couldn’t get her mouth around it. Eventually I had to call her in, return to shore to leave my valuables, and wade out to the ball. By this time it was out of my depth, and I commend the elderly lady sunbathing on the shore for not blinking an eye at the sight of me swimming out to retrieve a £2.50 rubber ball, fully dressed, and wearing a straw hat. 

After a quick change in the van, it was off to the off-licence for a couple of boxes of wine, and to Willy’s supermarket for ice-cream to go with the delicious Swedish strawberries we’re finding on sale everywhere at the moment. By lunchtime we were ready to relax in the sun in this wonderful spot, 700m off a minor road down a gravel track. (N:59.3877639 E:12.0997356) We have it to ourselves. Thanks Park for Night, you did us proud with this one.

Now this is a wild camping spot

Death metal, meatballs and Salander

We enjoyed a quiet night on our campsite by the lake. It gave us the opportunity to take the spaniels down to the water in the morning for a game of ball. Then it was back on the road as we continued the journey North East. First stop was Växjö the birthplace of our old friend Carl Linnaeus along with a number of other famous names including Stefan Johansson the F1 driver.  The city is set on a lake, one of hundreds in that part of Sweden, so we thought it was an ideal place to walk the spaniels and allow them a bit of swimming, albeit on a lead. 

The lake at Växjö was a big attraction

Then we left them in the van so we could pay a visit to the emigration museum, which tells the story of Swedish emigration to the United States in the 19th and early 20th centuries. An amazing 30% of the population of Sweden emigrated during this period to escape the poverty and deprivation of what was then, a very poor country. Having become familiar with the stories of emigration from Cornwall and Ireland during the same period many of the tales told in the museum were familiar, but it was fascinating to read them from a Swedish viewpoint. One parallel with Ireland was the fact that many rural Swedes, like the rural Irish, relied on potatoes for their main source of food. Like Ireland, Sweden was hit by a potato blight which further persuaded people to seek a new life overseas.

Buzz Aldrin was a famous visitor to the museum

One previous visitor to the museum was the astronaut, Buzz Aldrin whose Swedish grandparents had emigrated to Massachusetts in 1892. It was fascinating to read his story on the 50th anniversary of the moon landing. Charles Lindbergh, the flyer who made the first solo crossing of the Atlantic,  also merits a place in the museum as the son of a man whose family emigrated from Sweden to Minnesota in the 1860s. The text avoided mentioning Lindbergh's enthusiasm for Hitler and his part in campaigning to keep America out of World War II.

From Växjö we headed north east towards the lakeside resort of Granna, the home of polkagris, a kind of rock. It was invented by a widow named Amalia Erikkson in 1859 and, in appreciation of her efforts to launch this red and white striped sweet on the world, a statue of her stands in a prominent place in the town. We pitched up on a large motorhome site in the hamlet of Bunn which is populated mainly with the holiday cottages of middle class Swedes from the cities. 

That night we had what was the first rain we have experienced since leaving the UK on July 8th. Luckily it held off while we walked the spaniels in a nearby forest. We were also able to catch up on some laundry on the site. Unusually we found that use of the washing machine and dryer was free although we had to be nifty to grab the facilities before anyone else. 

Stockholm boats some impressive architecture

We had decided we must make Stockholm the following day although t was the best part of a three hour drive. Our progress along the excellent E4 motorway was not helped by the torrential rain which made driving difficult. Traffic was very busy with Swedes heading back to the capital after their weekend break. Eventually we fetched up in the Stockholm suburb of Älvsjö where an enterprising entrepreneur had taken over part of the car park for the Stockholmsmässan, a huge exhibition centre that isn't busy in the summer. It wasn't particularly picturesque, but it was fairly flat and had the services we needed. 

Statue of King Charles XIV John

Streets made for strolling

The Swedes like a bit of Goth

One bonus was that it was close to the SL city train system so we left Florence and set off with the spaniels for the ten minute journey into the centre of Stockholm. The city, built on a string of islands, was a revelation. 

Sweden was not involved in either of the 20th centuries two world wars and the old part of the city was intact. We wandered into the old town with its cobbled streets and eclectic selection of shops, cafes and restaurants. One shop had a huge display of vinyl records recorded by Swedish rock bands. Sweden is something of a centre for the various genres of metal music with some of the bands, including Ghost and Amon Amarth,achieving wider fame.

Sweden is also the home of Abba and it is difficult to avoid references to the band. The boats which ferry tourists around the city are named after famous songs such as Voulez Vous and Mamma Mia and, on our own trip the house by the river owned by Benny Andersson came in for special mention. We were also told that one particular area was known as the home of Millenium magazine and Elisabeth Salander, both made famous by Stieg Larsson in his famous novels about the girl with the dragon tattoo. 

Lunch was nice

We did manage to avoid the Abba museum for which I am eternally grateful. Lunch, at a lovely little restaurant in the old town, comprised meatballs and lingonberries (him) and fried pike (her) washed down with some local beer. We did like Stockholm. 

This Whitehaven-built ship, now a youth hostel, hasn't moved since 1949

Some lovely buildings line Stockholm's waterways

Narrow alleyways are a speciality

The Man from Älmhult

He was called Ingvar Kamprad, he started a furniture company when he was 17, and if you can honestly tell me you don't have anything it sold in your house, then you must be living on Mars. Today we spent the afternoon in the IKEA museum, and it was a fascinating introduction to Swedish history, the past of a company that most of us have bought from, and the progress of design over the past 70 years. 

We learned that a million people, almost a third of the Swedish population, emigrated between 1850 and 1915. We read about the push to develop better housing and social welfare after WWII, and about a five year old boy who bought matches in bulk from a Stockholm store and then sold them on at a profit. The need to furnish these new homes with cheap and modern furniture, and the entrepreneurial ambitions of young Ingvar come together with the foundation of a furniture store in Älmhult, 90 minutes north of Malmö, and the whole town now revolves around the brand. 

A 1970s room display. Yes it is on the ceiling

You may remember seeing obituaries for Ingvar Kamprad when he died last year. A fascinating man, with some brilliant ideas, well ahead of his time, and he has set up an incredibly convoluted foundation structure to ensure that IKEA profits can only be reinvested, or used for philanthropic purposes. His admitted youthful entanglement with a Swedish Nazi is not glossed over in the museum, he says it was the greatest mistake of his life. Whatever happened then, he appears to have wanted to make amends in later life. He also took his entire workforce on holiday to Mallorca in 1957, which must have been a bit of a first.

That man Linnaeus again

Of course, being an IKEA museum we went in there for half and hour, and got so engrossed in the displays that we stayed for two. Fortunately we managed to swerve the marketplace on the way out, and found Max and Elsa having a nap in the car park. They were tired after a lovely walk around Lund this morning, following cycle paths and public footpaths through fields of ripe wheat, along a river, through horse paddocks and back to the windmill. 

Sweden, like Scotland, has a deeply held belief in the right to roam, and the public value of land. It means there are footpaths everywhere, and that wild camping (in a tent) is encouraged. While motorhomes don't benefit from the same rights, there is a culture which allows us to spend a single night almost anywhere that is not private land or "off-road". We have yet to really test this, but were undisturbed last night at the windmill. 

We could have chosen to stay tonight in the IKEA car park, but decided to drive another 20 minutes into the forest, where we have found a small campsite next to a lakeside bathing area, which is costing us less than £8. For the first time since Germany we have had to pay for something with actual cash, so we had to fall back on Euros. Our host showed us the people on all the Swedish banknotes, which we've yet to use - Ingmar Bergman, Greta Garbo etc. And he told us we are ten minutes away from Carl Linnaeus' birthplace. It seems appropriate, just three weeks after we were in Shrewsbury at the birthplace of Charles Darwin, and a few months after we were at the home of Edward Jenner. Science is just as easy to find when travelling as art, if you look for it. 

Tonight's stopover