Next door to the station—indeed, I believe, the house in other times is the station—an English family were spending the summer, fishing and walking. The English-speaking man we met on the road was the gentleman's gillie. They regaled us physically with various edibles from the Stores and spiritually with salmon stories, and when we left they sped us on our way with a new stock of reading matter. The country all round is exceedingly beautiful. The river which provided the fishing for our compatriots winds along by the road; or rather I should say that the road follows the course of the river for many miles through narrow passes in the mountains which press round—many of them snow-capped, as one may see when the veil of cloud which envelops them lifts to allow a sight of their summits. The station is in a cosy little hollow among these white-headed giants; and the weather is noticeably finer, the atmosphere softer, than at the preceding and succeeding stations.
Between Gjora and our next resting-place, Sundalsoren, we drove through magnificent scenery. I think it will be admitted that the Sundal is at least as beautiful as that famous valley which lies almost parallel to it—the Romsdal. From the road one may see glaciers and snow mountains. Here and there are notices warning the traveller to drive fast. This is more especially for winter, when huge snow avalanches are frequent. The road crosses from left to right of the river. We drove over bridge after bridge, backwards and forwards, as the river pursued its erratic course without regarding the convenience of roadmaking mankind. We arrived at Sundalsoren at sunset, and were enraptured with the beauty of the snow mountains. Whether it was thus arriving in such glory, or that the place has really a most individual charm, I cannot say; but for me Sundalsoren is a memory entirely couleur de rose.
MOUNTAINS AND RIVER AT GJORA
It is a small fishing village at the head of a fjord. The fishermen's little low houses are built round the concave land, which is washed by the waters of the fjord. On the stony beach before the cottages are spread fishing-nets and tackle, including the bright silvered balls which, I suppose, attract the fish. Two wooden quays stretch their long arms into the water, and from the farthest point of them one may get a delightful view of the village. The character of the place is Dutch. It is almost as if a little street from Volendam had been dumped down amid the mountains and the snows.
We were sorry to part from this charming spot when the little fjord steamer called for us and another passenger. Slowly we steamed through the fjord, now calling at a tiny hamlet on the left bank, now dropping a passenger in his waiting boat on the right side; here picking up three English fishermen, boat and all; there leaving them near their destination rested and refreshed. The steamers that ply the innumerable fjords are accommodating craft—none of your haughty vessels making hard-and-fast rules as to times and places. Although they are often punctual in their departures and arrivals, they will slow down and pick you up in whatever part of the fjord you choose to meet them, and put you down too if you have your boat along with you. Also it is to be noted that the food on the smaller boats is quite as good as one gets on the large steamers that make the journeys on what may be called the outer coast of Norway. Indeed, the bigger vessels are so often loaded with various strongly-smelling dried fish that the whole atmosphere is impregnated; which must rob some passengers of any appetite the occasional few miles of rough open sea has left or given them.
After quitting Sundalsoren we drove through two or three good stations, and arrived late on Saturday night at a small place which, as it is on no map and many consultations with Bennett's have resulted in the conclusion that we were quite off the beaten track, must be nameless. At the time I knew the name—we had it on the bill;—but no one seemed to be able to place it, and now I have forgotten. I have a theory which may account for our presence there. At one of the previous stations we had telephoned in advance for a horse and cart to be ready, as it was very rainy and very wet and getting late. The horse we had was very fast; the driver was a cheerful person with a slight knowledge of English. Within a kilometre of the station, where, I presume, an equipage was in waiting, he offered to drive us straight on to our destination, because we had expressed great satisfaction with the trotting of his pony. We agreed, and tore through the tiny village built round the station in great haste, egged on, perhaps, by a guilty conscience. Then we drove for miles and miles until at last, at half-past ten at night, we reached the unknown little spot which I must perforce call X.
