Roundabout to Moscow: An Epicurean Journey

by John Bell Bouton

I do not to this day know by what highly colored representations the extraordinary privilege was obtained. I only know that, as if by magic, the prohibition was removed from this almost holy room, and two single beds—which probably were in use elsewhere by members of the family at the time of our arrival—were brought in. The proprietor, his wife, and three bright little girls all lent ready hands to transforming the parlor into a comfortable sleeping-room. As not one of them could speak any English, they only looked at us deferentially. In their eyes we were persons of great distinction—thanks, no doubt, to the lively imagination of our good friend from the Odnæs Hotel.

The parlor had a neat, home-woven carpet—a rare decoration in Norwegian houses—an excess of new furniture in mahogany and horse-hair, brightly figured window-curtains, and family photographs hung on the papered walls. Having arrived late, we were anxious to sup at once, and the head-porter had told them to hurry up. But they were desirous to show their respect in preparing a supper of unimpeachable excellence. We were, therefore, kept waiting and hungry for about an hour; and, during this interval, the pleasant landlady and her daughters frequently knocked at the door, and, upon being admitted, would courtesy, and proceed to bring in more towels, or water, or drinking-glasses, or something else supposed to be conducive to our comfort. Among the other offerings was a vase of flowers.

The supper would have been very good for persons who could not have too many hard-boiled eggs at once. They were the principal dish, and in the abundance of their supply we recognized a marked compliment. For ordinary persons probably not more than four eggs apiece would have been served. There were about two dozen in the bowl before us, covered by a steaming napkin to keep them warm. The only meat was ham unboiled and thin slices of sausage, which did not commend themselves to conservative palates. But berries and cream, the bread and butter, and, above all, the cheese were highly relished, and the only fault with the tea was what one finds everywhere—its weakness. We were waited on by the little girls, looking nice with their hair done up in ribbons, and long, snow-white aprons strapped about their shoulders. They watched us with great curiosity, and occasionally compared notes in whispers. Their manner indicated that they were overawed.

Meanwhile our presence in the house had caused no small stir among other guests, who filled every available nook and corner. It may well have surprised them to see the spacious apartment, which they had all longed to occupy at any price, finally given up to two persons, when, with close packing, it might have sufficed for a stag-party of ten. We were much stared at whenever we entered and left the room; and two Englishmen, after eying me closely awhile, tried to draw me into a conversation about myself; but I recalled the mysterious injunction, “Don’t say noting!” and stood on my dignity. If there was any illusion of which we were reaping the advantage—if, for example, we had been represented by the romancing head-porter as a princely couple traveling incognito—it was not for me to assist in dispelling it.

After a good night’s rest, we sat down to more hard-boiled eggs about six o’clock in the morning. We breakfasted thus early in order to take the steamer down the Rands-Fiord to the point of rail connection with Christiania. The rain had ceased, the air was temperate, and we could see all around us signs of the approaching departure of guests so long weather-bound at Odnæs. Most of them were going on to Sörum, over the road we had traveled the day before. Only two or three persons from the hotel—and none from the little cottage—were destined for the steamer.

The bill for our accommodation was presented, and proved to be reasonable. If we had unconsciously been posing as high and mighty personages, we were not unduly charged for it. When the family assembled on the piazza to see us off, their manners showed how much they appreciated the honor we had done them. May they never be made victims of a less innocent imposition! If, to keep up the character thrust upon me, I tipped a trifle to the daughters of the house, I hope to be pardoned for that much complicity in the fraud.

Our guide-book said that the Rands-Fiord was only six and a half miles long, and we had thoughtlessly supposed the miles in question to be English. But, to be sure of it, when we got on board I asked the captain (who spoke English fairly) what time the boat was due at the railway-station down the fiord. Looking at his watch—which then marked seven o’clock—he replied, “At half-past one.” “What!” said I, in amazement, “six hours and a half for as many miles?” “Yes,” he answered, laughing, “Norwegian miles!” One of these equals seven of English measure.

There was some little delay in putting the carriage—the trusty companion of our travels—on board. It had been hauled down from the house where we passed the night, and hoisted to the upper deck of the baby-steamer, out of the way. This done, we began the passage of the Rands-Fiord, and found it pleasantly unexciting. It is almost a duplicate of Lake Spirellen, save that the water has less of a current, and the surrounding mountains are tamer. There is no apparent reason why the one sheet of water is called a lake and the other a fiord. They are both expansions of rivers, like the Tyri-Fiord heretofore described, and in no sense inlets of the sea, though they may empty into it by long and winding streams. We stopped many times on the trip to take on or let off passengers. With only a few exceptions, the transfer, as on Lake Spirellen, was made rapidly by small boats, which put off for the shore as we approached a landing-place, and did the business of shipping or unloading passengers and freight with neatness and dispatch. These transfers, often as they occurred, were in the nature of “incidents” of the voyage, and every person on board watched the operation for the twentieth time with unabated interest.

The great event of the day was a dinner served at 1 P. M. in the small cabin below deck. It was a solid meal, with varieties of meat, which we were glad to taste again after our short deprivation of fresh beef and mutton. Just before we reached our destination at the end of the fiord, the sun shone out with a splendor that rejoiced all hearts. It made the little dancing waves of the Rands-Fiord sparkle, and threw a warm flush over the dark hills on either hand. As we looked back on the water which had been traversed, it recalled the Tappan-Zee of the noble Hudson River as seen from Piermont.

At the Rands-Fiord station we took rail—the carriage following by the goods-train—for Christiania. This part of the route, though one from which the traveler expects the least, is no less interesting than the rides by carriage or steamer. The train passes through one of the loveliest districts of Eastern Norway. The line skirts the west shore of the Tyri-Fiord, affording glimpses of blue mountains not seen on our journey along the east shore. It passes through the old towns of Hangsund and Drammen, enabling the tourist to see occasionally from the car-windows houses and costumes slightly different from those he finds in the more modern and conventional Christiania. And then, with a mighty curve, the train follows the trend of the magnificent and properly named fiord upon which Christiania stands. The views here are very fine. From the height above the water one can look down on the calm expanse dotted with little islands, each one green with its patch of woodland, or brown with its ripe rye and barley. The sails of the pleasure-yachts and fishing-smacks gleam against the dark bosom of the fiord; and at intervals of a few miles along the shore are towns or villages where white houses shine from afar—proofs positive of the industry and thrift of the Scandinavian race. One may travel thousands of miles west and east, north and south in Norway and never behold a fairer scene than that which made everybody on the train thrust head out of window and gaze at it until a range of low coast-hills shut it from view.