Midnight Sunbeams; or, Bits of Travel Through the Land of the Norseman

by Edwin Coolidge Kimball

The Norwegians, perhaps with the laudable desire to lighten the burdens of a married man, and induce him to travel with his family, charge on their steamers but a fare and a half for a man and his wife, and for each member of the family a reduction ranging from twenty-five to fifty per cent. is made. As a couple are reckoned as one and a half, there may be some discussion among them as to which is to be regarded as the vulgar fraction, but the feminine constituent may reason, that as in other countries a married couple are considered one, in Norway, where they count for one and a half, the extra half belongs to the wife, who should be reckoned as the integer, and the husband as the fraction. Two bachelors must pay full fare on the steamers, yet in the stolkjærre they go as one and a half; at hotels there is no reduction, and the benedict and his integer must pay the same as a brace of “unmated blessings.”

From Vadheim the steamer proceeded down a narrow arm of the fjord, and then out upon the broad Sognefjord proper, with its grand cliff and mountain scenery, and occasional settlements on the water’s edge. At the little village of Balholmen, with its background of imposing mountains and glaciers, one has a beautiful view of the numerous arms of the fjord, branching off at this point; the fjord here seems like a large lake, and bears some resemblance to Lake Lucerne, with its circle of blue mountains and wooded shores. Then the steamer turns up a narrow branch, called the Sogndalsfjord, with waterfalls coming over its smooth sides, and proceeds to Sogndal at its head, shut in by lofty mountains, but with fertile slopes coming to the water’s edge, abounding with cultivated fields and comfortable farm houses. The little village is built upon both sides of a turbulent river, and high up the slope is a handsome timber-built church and several fine houses; in the bright afternoon sunlight it appeared to be the most attractive place we had seen on the fjord.

Regaining the main fjord we enjoyed a most lovely view in our rear. In the distance were pale blue mountains rising one above the other, with crystal glaciers streaming down their sides; nearer were mountains of a deeper blue, and at their feet the dark-green, pine-clad hills rising from the fjord, whose waters appeared like a sea of gold gleaming in the sunlight.

The sides of the fjord grew more wooded, with farm houses among small clearings, and occasional shoots for conveying lumber from the heights to the water’s edge, while smiling slopes replaced the barren and abrupt walls through which we had journeyed the greater part of the way. As we advanced up the branch called the Laerdalsfjord, we were once more amid the rugged rock formations, and the fjord became a narrow passage running inland between lofty walls of rock, at the end of which is the little town of Laerdalsören, the limit of our day’s journey. The hotel is over a mile from the pier, but we were eager for a walk and refused to accept the proffered conveyance.

We found Lindström’s Hotel very comfortable, and as we sat on the piazza in the evening we seemed to be in Chamonix or Zermatt; not on account of the scenery, for it is neither striking nor interesting, but from the bustle and movement and scenes about us. Young men in knickerbockers, and maidens in Scotch helmets and stout shoes, were coming in from walking excursions; sportsmen were returning from a day’s fishing or hunting; travellers who had driven from Christiania were constantly arriving until every room in the hotel and the large annex was taken; guides were before the hotel interviewing the guests, and men and boys with carrioles and stolkjærres were all striving to secure a passenger for the next day.

Laerdalsören wholly owes its importance to being situated at the terminus of two important land routes from Christiania, and the point of departure for steamers, by way of the Sognefjord, for Bergen and the north.

The greater part of the hotel guests were English. Perhaps it is owing to the sociability and good nature of the Norwegians that the travelling Briton in Norway casts aside his natural reserve and stiffness, and becomes the most genial and delightful of companions; certainly, neither in England nor in any country in Europe have we met such charming and sociable English people as we encountered everywhere in Norway, and that evening we soon made some pleasant acquaintances and arranged with them an excursion for the morrow.

In the morning, quite a procession of carrioles and stolkjærres started up the valley on a seventeen mile drive. I had a nimble horse, an easy riding carriole, my Skydsgut was a bright boy speaking a little English, and with the added features of a warm sunny day and pleasant companions, I had all the requisites for a day of enjoyment.

The Laerdal is at first a wide valley, well cultivated and sprinkled with farm houses; it is enclosed by mountains with snow-capped peaks, and many fine waterfalls gleam on their dark sides. It gradually contracts, and the road ascends until we enter a wild rocky ravine, with hardly space for the roadway at the base of steep cliffs, on the edge of a tumultuous river. In many places the road is blasted into the precipitous cliff, passing beneath overhanging rock, while far below among great boulders dashes the rushing river in foaming rapids; then it skirts the edge of projecting cliffs, and you look down a hundred feet into the great “giant cauldrons,” worn by the water in the solid rock, as it works onward in its resistless course. A magnificent waterfall, fringed with many small cascades, comes over the wall of rock on the opposite side; the foam and thunder of its waters, added to that of the river, the grand rock formations of the narrow gorge, and the great boulders scattered in wild confusion all around, form an imposing scene.

We left our horses at a small station and walked, by what is called the old road, to Borgund church. It was formerly a well-built road ascending a cliff in tremendously steep zigzags, but it is now disused, and one would tremble at the thought of riding over it. From the summit, after resting and enjoying the view, we descended through pastures to the Borgund church, the most interesting church in Norway. It dates from the twelfth century, and is a curious, small, timber-built structure somewhat in the style of a Chinese pagoda, with a series of roofs, with many projecting gables, diminishing in size as they rise one above the other; they are surmounted by a graceful tapering tower ending in a slender spire, which is crowned with a weather vane and a cross. The sides and the roofs are covered with long pointed shingles of a deep black hue, produced by a coating of tar applied for their preservation. From the ridges of the two upper roofs project grotesque carvings, somewhat resembling horns, while the west doorway is carved with two entwined snakes, and the south doorway has elaborately carved columns and griffins’ heads. Around the exterior is a low arcade; the lower part is closed, while the upper part is open and supported by small columns. It was probably built as a protection against snow and cold. Above the roof of the arcade, on the sides, are small round holes to admit light and air, for the church has but one small window, and the interior is dark and open to the roof. The interior contains little of interest, save the rich dark coloring of the ancient wooden walls and pillars; there are the remains of an old stone altar and font, and a dilapidated altar picture which it is impossible to form much idea of, as it is too dark to permit of its being seen, and no lights are allowed in the church. It is many years since the church has been used for service, and it now belongs to the Antiquarian Society of Christiania, who preserve it as one of the architectural monuments of the country.