I had planned a three weeks’ trip, in which everything followed along serenely, provided I could walk across the country in one day between Vik on the Indfjord, and Sylte on the Norddalsfjord, a distance of twenty miles on the map; whereas, if I went by steamer down the Romsdalsfjord and drove across country, I must wait for two days for a steamer up the fjord, and my whole future journey would be disarranged; therefore I decided, if possible, to walk across to Sylte and there take the steamer. On inquiring I was told it was a pleasant walk through mountain valleys, easily accomplished in six hours; but I concluded afterwards that my informers knew no more about it than do you, gentle reader.
The innkeeper’s son at Veblungsnaes, a bright lad who was studying English, who had ordered a nice dinner for me, also engaged two boatmen. There is a fixed tariff for boatmen at so much per kilomètre, according to the number of rowers. Two hardy farmers rowed me down the fjord, keeping close to the rocky cliffs, over whose sides flowed numerous cascades; then we turned up the contracted Indfjord, with farm houses nestled amid green fields at the base of the rugged mountains, and arrived at a cluster of houses called Vik. For the row of an hour and a half the boatmen were perfectly satisfied with sixty-five cents, which included a fee to each of them besides the fixed tariff, and they were to return at their own expense. They both gave me a hearty hand shake, and conducted me to the principal gaard (farm house), where I made the old farmer understand by means of a map in my Baedeker, and a volley of Norse substantives and infinitives fired at him at random, that I must reach Sylte at four o’clock the next afternoon; and he consented to act as my guide.
He brought me a bottle of home-made beer, compounded of roots and herbs, which tasted like fermented thoroughwort tea, to brace me up for the arduous journey, and then harnessed his jaundice-colored mare into the stolkjærre, a two-wheeled cart, the body resting directly on the axle, the only spring being in the wooden supports of the seat branching backward from the shafts. The seat, wide enough for two, was without cushions, with a low railing for a back, and as we rattled down the slope over the stones, on our way to the road in the valley, it would have been certain destruction to false teeth, and there was a spine-shattering sensation that brought before the vision groups of twinkling stars. The valley road proved much better, and in time one can become accustomed to the motion of a springless cart, as well as to that of an ocean steamer, and it was really an enjoyable drive up the narrow valley, whose lofty sides shut out the rays of the setting sun. In the deepening twilight we gradually ascended through forests until, after slowly climbing in steep zigzags a wall of rock, farther progress in the cart ended at a collection of rude timber-built sæters.
We had accomplished eight miles of the journey, and were to pass the night here. We entered the largest of the sæters, consisting of two rooms, and I was given to understand I could have one of them. In one corner was a rude box-bed; around the sides were straight-back wooden benches, under and upon which were cheeses and tubs of butter; husband’s Sunday coat, with its rows of big shining buttons and mother’s best gown and cap, hung from a beam above the benches, while the family collection of go-to-meeting boots and shoes protruded from beneath the bed. The men from the other houses, and the children of assorted sizes, gathered in the room to keep away all feeling of lonesomeness, and plied me with questions I could neither answer nor understand.
As each man puffed away at a black pipe, while a woman, in a homespun gown, tight-fitting cap much like a nightcap, and heavy shoes, was removing the dairy exhibition from the benches and preparing the bed, the air became so thick that I sought relief out of doors. Returning soon after to find the assembly still seated in the room, as it was approaching midnight I made them understand by pantomime that I wanted to go to bed, and they finally withdrew.
I disrobed while the children were running to and fro before the curtainless windows, and, warned by the approaching tramp of the heavy shoes, had just time to dive between the bedclothes as the woman entered for the last cheese. There was no lock upon the door, but though I had what for these poor peasants would have been quite a large sum of money, I had not the least anxiety; for in Norway among the honest country folk robbery is unknown, and I reposed, doubled up like a capital letter S in the short bed, beneath a smothering eider down quilt, with my mind more at ease than my body.
Before five o’clock my farmer guide descended from the loft and awakened me. For the preparation of my toilet he brought a bright milk pan, filled with water, and placed beside it, on a bench, a long comb with eight teeth rising at irregular intervals from among their shattered companions; as my toilet articles were in my knapsack, I dispensed with the use of this ancient heir-loom.
We sat down to breakfast in the other room. At one side of the table was a bed containing three sleeping children, all wearing tight-fitting nightcaps; on the other was the bed which had been occupied by the farmer and his wife. We were served with a peculiar-tasting liquid supposed to be coffee, and piles of fladbrod and butter and cheese graced the table. Fladbrod is made from a mixture of barley and oat meal; the unfermented dough is rolled into thin sheets and baked on iron plates over a slow fire. The sheets are round, about fifteen inches in diameter; are piled in cylindrical heaps and kept for six months, and it is said they can even be kept for a year. They are dark brown, crisp and brittle, but without much taste, and it seems like eating so many sheets of thick brown wrapping paper. In addition to the fladbrod was an equally high pile of wafers, the size of a tea plate, of the consistency of thin tissue paper; one might devour them by the hundred and yet perish from hunger. It was not a substantial preparation for our hard tramp, but the worthy couple had given us the best their humble home afforded, and received the fifty cents, including the charge for us both, with a strong grasp of the hand, which was repeated with many a Farvel as we left them and started upon our walk.
The path at first was good and the exercise in the fresh morning air very exhilarating, as we proceeded up the narrow valley, but soon the path grew rough until it became like the bed of a mountain torrent, with running water and loose rocks, among which we had carefully to pick our way. Ascending until we came to some firm ground, we found fresh bear tracks in the path, which we followed for a distance until they disappeared.