Saturday, July 21, 2007
Piano tuning
Every piano on board ship is tuned every morning. I've been in the presence of two such tuning already today. I just love that they take the musical part of the trip seriously enough to this.
Oslo
We docked just on the north side of the fortress wall that faces the sea from town, and from here on Deck 12 most of the fortress is below me, but not all of it. It's an impressive view. In this distance on the mountainside we can easily see the ski jump, which IMO is much overrated as a tourist attraction but which sure is big and sure is high. Not far from us are smaller docks and the city hall.
It turned out we'd missed connections with Kristiana's Norwegian relatives - currently up at their mountain cabin - so we wandered Oslo on our own. Kristiana bought tickets for the Harry poTter movie in town, and I discovered a terrific jazz store, the kind where you can walk in and say "I'm looking for Scandinavian jazz that I might not find in America, and I like so-and-so, so-and-so, and so-and-so" and be handed stacks of great local recordings by an enthusiastic proprietress and directed to a well-equipped listening station, which is what I did. I lost track of how much time I spent there. I left with my wallet considerably lightened but my mood more so, a pretty good trade.
I had intended to go back in the evening (they're open until midnight) while Kristiana, Kristi and Madelyn went to the movie (which they greatly enjoyed), but slept through the opportunity instead. Nuts.
It turned out we'd missed connections with Kristiana's Norwegian relatives - currently up at their mountain cabin - so we wandered Oslo on our own. Kristiana bought tickets for the Harry poTter movie in town, and I discovered a terrific jazz store, the kind where you can walk in and say "I'm looking for Scandinavian jazz that I might not find in America, and I like so-and-so, so-and-so, and so-and-so" and be handed stacks of great local recordings by an enthusiastic proprietress and directed to a well-equipped listening station, which is what I did. I lost track of how much time I spent there. I left with my wallet considerably lightened but my mood more so, a pretty good trade.
I had intended to go back in the evening (they're open until midnight) while Kristiana, Kristi and Madelyn went to the movie (which they greatly enjoyed), but slept through the opportunity instead. Nuts.
www.barejazz.com - my new favorite place in Oslo.
Kristiansand
After we reboarded from Bergen I spotted a chair massage station that had been set up by the pool, and signed up for 15 minutes. The masseuse zeroed right in on some longstanding tight spots ("a classic computer back," she said) and was so effective that I booked a full hour the next day.
That day our port was Kristiansand, and while Kristiana went ashore to explore, I headed up to the spa. I encountered GK in the locker room and we had a brief conversation, during which I explained a particularly painful stretch my trainer has me do, and GK asked me if my trainer were German.
The massage was extremely tenderizing, and not long after I met up with Kristiana in Kristiansand I was ready to reboard the ship, since my feet, where the masseuse had devoted 10 or so minutes, did not seem to be up to being walked upon for more than a few minutes. Which was too bad, because Kristiansand, which is the main day-ferry port from Denmark, is a very pretty resort town in which to amble away an afternoon. Kristiana's ambling had to siffice for both of us.
It was a busy night on board ship for entertainment: first a short three-act play by Sue Scott and Tim Russell, PHC's two main voice talents, about a man trying to overcome his voice-impressions addiction; then the passenger talent show hosted by GK, a mixed bag though mostly pretty good. A little while later PHC's sound effects man Fred Newman gave a talk which was partly about sound and its effects on personality and culture, and partly joke-telling. We didn't get to sleep until late.
That day our port was Kristiansand, and while Kristiana went ashore to explore, I headed up to the spa. I encountered GK in the locker room and we had a brief conversation, during which I explained a particularly painful stretch my trainer has me do, and GK asked me if my trainer were German.
The massage was extremely tenderizing, and not long after I met up with Kristiana in Kristiansand I was ready to reboard the ship, since my feet, where the masseuse had devoted 10 or so minutes, did not seem to be up to being walked upon for more than a few minutes. Which was too bad, because Kristiansand, which is the main day-ferry port from Denmark, is a very pretty resort town in which to amble away an afternoon. Kristiana's ambling had to siffice for both of us.
It was a busy night on board ship for entertainment: first a short three-act play by Sue Scott and Tim Russell, PHC's two main voice talents, about a man trying to overcome his voice-impressions addiction; then the passenger talent show hosted by GK, a mixed bag though mostly pretty good. A little while later PHC's sound effects man Fred Newman gave a talk which was partly about sound and its effects on personality and culture, and partly joke-telling. We didn't get to sleep until late.
Bergen
Thursday was our stopover in Bergen, Norway's "second city". and my favorite. With its hilly terrain and lovely structures, Bergen reminds me of a cross between Belvedere where I grew up, and the Claremont section of Oakland - but with the added advantages of a university, romantic cobblestoned streets, and a Swiss-style peak accessible by funicular with extraordinary views available from the top and trails leading from there into the forest.
So I was among the first down the gangway when it opened, and explored a park near the ship that I hadn't seen on our earlier visit. Kristiana caught up with me a little while later and we set off uphill, choosing our direction from a small sign pointing the way: Barista Kaffehous, 300m.
300m upwards into a hilly neighborhood is a fair distance, and took us past lots of homes, small squares, and vistas with sightlines across the city. Bergen is the kind of town where businesses appear inoffensively on residential streets - you don't need to go down to the city center to find a grocer, hairdresser or video rental - and it was on one of these streets that we found our kaffeehous, which was closed. Closed! Norway is in most respects a highly enlightened society, but a coffeehouse that doesn't open until 11am is in my opinion a throwback to barbaric times.
We continued upward, coffeeless, for some time until Kristiana's patience for my choosing the upward path at each fork was exhausted. She turned downward while I continued upward. Only a couple of minutes later we each, on our respective paths, encountered a station along the funicular path to to the city peak. The ticket machine at mine wasn't working, so Kristiana bought two tickets at hers, boarded, hopped out at mine and handed me a ticket through the rails, to the amusement of thr tram's conductor. Reaching the top we had the pleasure of a view of *everything*, which was quite a lot, as Bergen is a much more extensive city than is evident from its seaport. Eventually we'd had enough and took the tram back down, all the way to its base just a block or so off the tourist waterfront. The line waiting to board was immense - we would not have boarded had we been faced with it. We answered the "is it worth it?" questions of some fellow travelers with the advice that they walk to a higher station, but they seemed disinclined to do so. This was a pity in my opinion, because I thought those very streets the most charming part of my visit to the city.
We still had an important errand to do, a visit to Gallerie Bryggen, a sort of Viking/Norse/Celtic art/artifact shop where we had whiled away some hours on our previois visit buying, among other things, a very beautiful and somewhat expensive decorative mirror. A nightmare of shipping strikes, shipping delays, breakage and insurance failure followed which I will spare you except to say that both we and the gallery found ourselves hard done by, and we arguably somewhat more so. So this meeting was something of a settling of accounts, among parties too weary of the history to negotiate very hard. Ultimately our sadly missed mirror was transformed into an agreeable discount on a very beautful handmade silver pendant in the shape of a viking ship's prow, and we all emerged satsfied enough an on good terms.
We dawdled just a little more before our official all-aboard time of 2:30. To avoid the now dense mass of other tourists streaming to and from the ships we took one of the higher roads. This turned out to lead us past a small supermarket where we stocked up on bottled water at something less than the cruise's Evian prices.
So I was among the first down the gangway when it opened, and explored a park near the ship that I hadn't seen on our earlier visit. Kristiana caught up with me a little while later and we set off uphill, choosing our direction from a small sign pointing the way: Barista Kaffehous, 300m.
300m upwards into a hilly neighborhood is a fair distance, and took us past lots of homes, small squares, and vistas with sightlines across the city. Bergen is the kind of town where businesses appear inoffensively on residential streets - you don't need to go down to the city center to find a grocer, hairdresser or video rental - and it was on one of these streets that we found our kaffeehous, which was closed. Closed! Norway is in most respects a highly enlightened society, but a coffeehouse that doesn't open until 11am is in my opinion a throwback to barbaric times.
We continued upward, coffeeless, for some time until Kristiana's patience for my choosing the upward path at each fork was exhausted. She turned downward while I continued upward. Only a couple of minutes later we each, on our respective paths, encountered a station along the funicular path to to the city peak. The ticket machine at mine wasn't working, so Kristiana bought two tickets at hers, boarded, hopped out at mine and handed me a ticket through the rails, to the amusement of thr tram's conductor. Reaching the top we had the pleasure of a view of *everything*, which was quite a lot, as Bergen is a much more extensive city than is evident from its seaport. Eventually we'd had enough and took the tram back down, all the way to its base just a block or so off the tourist waterfront. The line waiting to board was immense - we would not have boarded had we been faced with it. We answered the "is it worth it?" questions of some fellow travelers with the advice that they walk to a higher station, but they seemed disinclined to do so. This was a pity in my opinion, because I thought those very streets the most charming part of my visit to the city.
We still had an important errand to do, a visit to Gallerie Bryggen, a sort of Viking/Norse/Celtic art/artifact shop where we had whiled away some hours on our previois visit buying, among other things, a very beautiful and somewhat expensive decorative mirror. A nightmare of shipping strikes, shipping delays, breakage and insurance failure followed which I will spare you except to say that both we and the gallery found ourselves hard done by, and we arguably somewhat more so. So this meeting was something of a settling of accounts, among parties too weary of the history to negotiate very hard. Ultimately our sadly missed mirror was transformed into an agreeable discount on a very beautful handmade silver pendant in the shape of a viking ship's prow, and we all emerged satsfied enough an on good terms.
We dawdled just a little more before our official all-aboard time of 2:30. To avoid the now dense mass of other tourists streaming to and from the ships we took one of the higher roads. This turned out to lead us past a small supermarket where we stocked up on bottled water at something less than the cruise's Evian prices.
Friday, July 20, 2007
While we were hanging out in Kristiansand
a nearby cargo container. We're thinking it's not local.
Things that happen in Norway that don't in the US, #46
In the supermarket, a line is brought to a standstill. It appears that
Cashier #1 is out of 20 kroner coins.
Cashiers 1 & 2 are separated from each other by (a) customers and (b)
a dividing wall.
Cashier #2 hands a roll of coins to a customer, who hands the roll to
Cashier #1.
Cashier hands a large kroner note to customer, who hands it to Cashier
#2.
Business resumes.
Cashier #1 is out of 20 kroner coins.
Cashiers 1 & 2 are separated from each other by (a) customers and (b)
a dividing wall.
Cashier #2 hands a roll of coins to a customer, who hands the roll to
Cashier #1.
Cashier hands a large kroner note to customer, who hands it to Cashier
#2.
Business resumes.
Observed in a supermarket by Kristiana
Sent from my iPhone
Contemplations on Kristiansand
...Apparently, the wedding business is booming - in my wanderings this
morning, I have seen five places specializing in wedding couture. And
I really haven't been here that long.
morning, I have seen five places specializing in wedding couture. And
I really haven't been here that long.
...It's frustrating to see a book title you're interested in, and then
to realize it's in Norwegian. Which, incidentally, you don't speak.
...Norwegians have Very Cool culinary tools, but somewhat questionable
taste in footwear, if the stores I've been investigating are any
indication.
...The moment the sun comes out, the Norwegians swarm outside. So
it's something when you spot a bunch of them inside one specific place
that looks like a combination of clothing store, bakery, and cafe. I
can take a hint. Lunch, anyone?
Blogged by Kristiana
Sent from my iPhone
Pro-Am Duet Slam
Pro-Am Duet Slam was the title of Wednesday night's entertainment with GK, the band, and four of the professional singers of the cruise. I had a sore throat and decided to skip it, go to bed early, and get the full report later from K, K, & M.
I was awakened by the wholly unfamiliar ring of the bedside cabin phone. "I'm going to be singing with Garrison in a few minutes," Kristiana said. "Can you come up?"
The event turned out to be GK and the pros taking turns singing in various combinations, with the occasional assistance of volunteers from among the passengers, the latter group including both Kristi and Kristiana. Kristi came up firstN singing a song I didn't recognize with one of the pro women. Some time later, almost at the very end of the program, Kristiana's turn came. Not having had a chance to comsult with Garrison and not knowing the extent of his vocal jazz repertoire, she had opted for the safe choice of one of the songs in the little cruise songbook that had been distributed to our rooms: "I will."
Kristiana of course sounded wonderful and GK complimented her that she could have had a career in singing, but it was not, if I may say so, the best singing I have heard from her. As I looked at the video later, this is what dawned on me: the bank and GK, knowing each other very well and Kristiana not at all, determined to hang back, take it slow, and follow her lead. Kristiana, as a trained ensemble performer, in her turn made it her business to follow as closely as possible the band's and co-singer GK's leads. With each party thus concerned foremost with not stepping on the heels of any of the others, the tempo of "I Will" (not a showy song to begin with even under better circumstances) proceeded downward until it reached a sort of least-common-denominator of stately comportment, with threatening and possibly destabilizing innovations such as eighth notes kept to the scarcest possible minimum.
But that's just me. To everyone else the song, and the entire show, appeared to be a rousing success, and in the day following, Kristiana and Kristi received many taps on the shoulder from strangers in the buffet line and elsewhere, praising their voices and their courage.
They really did sound good, and I think it's a pity neither has auditiooned to be part of tonight's passenger talent show.
I was awakened by the wholly unfamiliar ring of the bedside cabin phone. "I'm going to be singing with Garrison in a few minutes," Kristiana said. "Can you come up?"
The event turned out to be GK and the pros taking turns singing in various combinations, with the occasional assistance of volunteers from among the passengers, the latter group including both Kristi and Kristiana. Kristi came up firstN singing a song I didn't recognize with one of the pro women. Some time later, almost at the very end of the program, Kristiana's turn came. Not having had a chance to comsult with Garrison and not knowing the extent of his vocal jazz repertoire, she had opted for the safe choice of one of the songs in the little cruise songbook that had been distributed to our rooms: "I will."
Kristiana of course sounded wonderful and GK complimented her that she could have had a career in singing, but it was not, if I may say so, the best singing I have heard from her. As I looked at the video later, this is what dawned on me: the bank and GK, knowing each other very well and Kristiana not at all, determined to hang back, take it slow, and follow her lead. Kristiana, as a trained ensemble performer, in her turn made it her business to follow as closely as possible the band's and co-singer GK's leads. With each party thus concerned foremost with not stepping on the heels of any of the others, the tempo of "I Will" (not a showy song to begin with even under better circumstances) proceeded downward until it reached a sort of least-common-denominator of stately comportment, with threatening and possibly destabilizing innovations such as eighth notes kept to the scarcest possible minimum.
But that's just me. To everyone else the song, and the entire show, appeared to be a rousing success, and in the day following, Kristiana and Kristi received many taps on the shoulder from strangers in the buffet line and elsewhere, praising their voices and their courage.
They really did sound good, and I think it's a pity neither has auditiooned to be part of tonight's passenger talent show.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Norway's migrant fisherfolk
settled in Minnesota and the Midwest, it seems a few hardier sorts
made their homes much further north. And during the Prairie Home
Norwegian cruise they are bringing their special magic to our ship's
most premium dining room.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Geirangerfjord, yesterday
rain yesterday, when we could capture this:
Meet our dining table mates!
daughter, Madelyn. I say this not because we haven't mentioned them
previously, but because until now we've been spelling their names
wrong....
Dr. No's vessel
boats (smaller than I thought at first) that I mentioned before.
One-upped
The enormous Cunard liner Costa Magica has just sailed past us into port. As it passed I could see it has a big spiral *water slide* on its top deck. Where's Garrison? How come *we* don't get a water slide?
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
A series of not unfortunate non-events
The anticipated storm turned out to be nothing more - to us, at least - than an opportunity to be rocked to sleep in our stateroom, and as we awoke the walls of the Geirangerfjord were gliding by surprisingly near on either side, the water calm.
It is still raining quite steadily, though, and the prospect of riding a tender to explore the small, sleepy and hilly vacationer's village of Geiranger afoot in the rain appeals less than enjoying the view of said village from behind large windows and perhaps a book or two in the high forward lounge known as the Crow's Nest. And so we have set up camp in advantageous seats with outstanding views. On either side the fjord walls rise nearly sheer around us, and directly aheads lies Geiranger, its most visible feature at this distance - somewhat under a mile through the rain would be my guess - a very broad and curvy boulevard that descends serpentine through the center of town.
Through binoculars the boulevard resolves itself into not a street but a foamingly white and furiously running waterfall whose noise must be astounding in any of the structures within a hundred yards or so. It looks as if there is a tourist hotel built above the falls and through which the falls may in fact pass. That would be someplace to stay, I'm sure.
Abeam of us is an interesting vessel of some sort, festooned with radars and a searchlight, and very functional-looking, whose flag Kristiana thinks signifies a British colony: a marron field with the Union Jack in the upper field. It looks like some kind of research vessel perhaps except that its paintwork is in notably pristine shape, and on its aft deck are a sloop of 30 feet or so and a motorboat of perhaps twice that length, boat looking mostly, though not unambiguously, like pleasure craft.
Alongside the ship, which is titled Lone Ranger - Hamilton at its stern, lies a good-sized inflatable motor dinghy, and on a ridge behind it is an encampment of ten tents, mostly identical.
I'm going to have to google this ship later on, but for now my phone is registering "data connection refused," contributing to the quiet of this rainy day.
It is still raining quite steadily, though, and the prospect of riding a tender to explore the small, sleepy and hilly vacationer's village of Geiranger afoot in the rain appeals less than enjoying the view of said village from behind large windows and perhaps a book or two in the high forward lounge known as the Crow's Nest. And so we have set up camp in advantageous seats with outstanding views. On either side the fjord walls rise nearly sheer around us, and directly aheads lies Geiranger, its most visible feature at this distance - somewhat under a mile through the rain would be my guess - a very broad and curvy boulevard that descends serpentine through the center of town.
Through binoculars the boulevard resolves itself into not a street but a foamingly white and furiously running waterfall whose noise must be astounding in any of the structures within a hundred yards or so. It looks as if there is a tourist hotel built above the falls and through which the falls may in fact pass. That would be someplace to stay, I'm sure.
Abeam of us is an interesting vessel of some sort, festooned with radars and a searchlight, and very functional-looking, whose flag Kristiana thinks signifies a British colony: a marron field with the Union Jack in the upper field. It looks like some kind of research vessel perhaps except that its paintwork is in notably pristine shape, and on its aft deck are a sloop of 30 feet or so and a motorboat of perhaps twice that length, boat looking mostly, though not unambiguously, like pleasure craft.
Alongside the ship, which is titled Lone Ranger - Hamilton at its stern, lies a good-sized inflatable motor dinghy, and on a ridge behind it is an encampment of ten tents, mostly identical.
I'm going to have to google this ship later on, but for now my phone is registering "data connection refused," contributing to the quiet of this rainy day.
Could be an interesting night
We are at sea, between Trondheim and Geiranger. There are 29 knot winds. We are swaying noticeably. There are whitecaps in the swimming pool, which is sorta neat. The elevator is becoming a wiser choice than stairs even for journeys of a single floor. Discreet containers of white sickness bags have begun appearing at the elevator stops.
I'm guessing the captain knows something.
I'm guessing the captain knows something.
Trondheim
It's about noon-thirty and we're in the old part of Trondheim. Kristiana, Kristi and Madelyn are touring the old archbishop's palace, and I'm sitting outside the cathedral resting my legs which are suffering from my not limbering up before hitting the treadmill this morning.
Yesterday's tour of Alesund was a semi-bust, the town too rainy and our guide too quiet to make for an enjoyable, or even educational, walking tour. The sky cleared an hour or two later, and we did get in a little exploring in our damp clothes before returning to the ship and a hot shower.
The hot shower turned into a nap since we'd been up so early. We woke up a half hour into dinner service and rushed upstairs to join Kristi and Madelyn who'd already received their main courses. It was traditional-hat night in the dining room, it seems, and all the women had received little Dutch wimple-like headcovering, and the men had black seamen's caps with brims. If Kristiana hasn't blogged her photo of Madelyn in her wimple-thing admiring her dessert (chocolate mousse in a cup of chocolate), I'll make sure she does.
From dinner we went straight to the line for the night's Prairie Home Companion performance, and were rewarded with superb seats, a couch in the front seating the four of us plus a couple that K+M knew.
The show was pure pleasure as expected, and we kept our seats for the storytelling seminar that followed. That turned out to be a few introductory remarks from Garrison followed by nenbers of the audience being invited to get up and share their own stories, under Garrison's gentle prompting and guidance. It was lots of fun.
When we got out near midnight the sun had gone down but it was still fairly light outside. It's like that here. Not quite the midnight sun, but very much the midnight twilight.
Yesterday's tour of Alesund was a semi-bust, the town too rainy and our guide too quiet to make for an enjoyable, or even educational, walking tour. The sky cleared an hour or two later, and we did get in a little exploring in our damp clothes before returning to the ship and a hot shower.
The hot shower turned into a nap since we'd been up so early. We woke up a half hour into dinner service and rushed upstairs to join Kristi and Madelyn who'd already received their main courses. It was traditional-hat night in the dining room, it seems, and all the women had received little Dutch wimple-like headcovering, and the men had black seamen's caps with brims. If Kristiana hasn't blogged her photo of Madelyn in her wimple-thing admiring her dessert (chocolate mousse in a cup of chocolate), I'll make sure she does.
From dinner we went straight to the line for the night's Prairie Home Companion performance, and were rewarded with superb seats, a couch in the front seating the four of us plus a couple that K+M knew.
The show was pure pleasure as expected, and we kept our seats for the storytelling seminar that followed. That turned out to be a few introductory remarks from Garrison followed by nenbers of the audience being invited to get up and share their own stories, under Garrison's gentle prompting and guidance. It was lots of fun.
When we got out near midnight the sun had gone down but it was still fairly light outside. It's like that here. Not quite the midnight sun, but very much the midnight twilight.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Things I don't do when I'm not on vacation
2. Get up before my husband does
3. Wander around in the early morning, just to see what vistas I can
capture
4. Enjoy the complete solitude of the open ocean
5. Spend time on or near the ocean, period
6. Eat three actual meals per day
7. Go to bed before my husband does
posted by Kristiana, from my iPhone
We returned from our sojourn into Alesund
I hadn't thought that towelephants would be all that plentiful here.
posted by Kristiana, from my iPhone
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Monday morning
We are anchored - at least I think anchored, at any rate not moving much - off Alesund, and have just a little time before our shore excursion departs. So I will do my best to catch up before our next big day.
Sunday started dim and early, 3AM or so when I woke long enough to glance out our window and glimpse the enticing shadows of land masses and glimmers of village lights just becoming visible through the gloom. During my attempts to shoot some snaps through the window I woke Kristiana, and in due course we were bundled up and out on deck with our cameras. We shot until breakfast opened around six, and as we drew near Flam we breakfasted and got ready for our shore excursion.
I have just heard the announcement that we are in fact docked at Alesund, the shore available to us via gangway. This is welcome news, because at Flam we were only anchored, and the business of transferring to shore via ship's tender was tedious as well as being crowded and a bit diesel-scented.
Ashore in Flam we (those of us on our particular optional excursion) were directed to two buses which left promptly for the mountains above town. Our guide described the local area and economy (Flam is a big hydroelectric generating station, all those scenic waterfalls helping to power the country) before, as David Rakoff says, exhausting the subject and nattering on about things generally Norwegian - how populous the country is (4 million), the cost of a house (perhaps 3 million krone or half a million dollars), the VAT (25%), the referenda on EU membership (failed both times). An hour, one scenic overlook and many Norwegian factoids later we arrived at our little mountain hamlet and were ushered inside to our breakfast (seond today if you're counting, but we *had* been up for seven hours) of waffles, jam, sour cream and coffee.
A word about Norwegian waffles: they are served cold, which pretty much negates any chance of their being crisp either. A word about Norwegian sour cream: it has an odd consistency. It is stretchy. Glossy and stretchy, and resistant to being spread or otherwise manipulated in the usual foodlike ways to which Americans are accustomed. There is nothing wrong with the flavor, but its strange texture puts one in mind of a slightly creepy Chem professor demonstrating the faaascinating properties of ultra-long-chain molecules. Since the waffles are fairly soft and the sour cream rather, er, strong, trying to achieve a uniform sour cream-over-waffle layer was a messy business.
On return to the ship we supplemented our breakfasts with some noncarbohydrates from the buffet line - just for variety - then split up, Kristiana for a spa appointment and me for a nap. I awoke to find Kristiana preparing to sleep herself, not feeling too well. (Nothing serious, mostly a cumulative exhaustion thing. She's fine today.) She sent me off to dinner, and as it turned out the rest of the evening, alone though in the delightful company of Kristi and Madelyn.
We had the expected very nice dinner, then Kristi and I spent the evening in the library while Madelyn attended Prairie Home's sound effects impressrio Fred's seminar on how to make funny noises (no grown-ups allowed) before rejoining us. During this time the fjord pilot came aboard as we were enroute, a transfer procedure we could see most of from our vantage point almost directly above, and whose casual acceptance of thumping waves, cold, blinding salt spray and danger added yet another entry to my list of jobs I am not cut out for.
Returning from an 11:30pm reconnaisance mission, Madelyn reported that the dessert buffet was still open, clearly presenting a moral obligation on all our parts to partake. Kristi had some real food, I had one dessert, and Madelyn had, for lack of a more precise word, several: I don't know how to tally two cookies when they become one lemon-frozen-yogurt sandwich, or a cone that becomes its own dessert course while the chocolate sprinkes become another. Unlike the rest of us who might dally with eating this way on vacation, Madelyn doesn't gain weight; just energy. Oh to be a kid again.
Sunday started dim and early, 3AM or so when I woke long enough to glance out our window and glimpse the enticing shadows of land masses and glimmers of village lights just becoming visible through the gloom. During my attempts to shoot some snaps through the window I woke Kristiana, and in due course we were bundled up and out on deck with our cameras. We shot until breakfast opened around six, and as we drew near Flam we breakfasted and got ready for our shore excursion.
I have just heard the announcement that we are in fact docked at Alesund, the shore available to us via gangway. This is welcome news, because at Flam we were only anchored, and the business of transferring to shore via ship's tender was tedious as well as being crowded and a bit diesel-scented.
Ashore in Flam we (those of us on our particular optional excursion) were directed to two buses which left promptly for the mountains above town. Our guide described the local area and economy (Flam is a big hydroelectric generating station, all those scenic waterfalls helping to power the country) before, as David Rakoff says, exhausting the subject and nattering on about things generally Norwegian - how populous the country is (4 million), the cost of a house (perhaps 3 million krone or half a million dollars), the VAT (25%), the referenda on EU membership (failed both times). An hour, one scenic overlook and many Norwegian factoids later we arrived at our little mountain hamlet and were ushered inside to our breakfast (seond today if you're counting, but we *had* been up for seven hours) of waffles, jam, sour cream and coffee.
A word about Norwegian waffles: they are served cold, which pretty much negates any chance of their being crisp either. A word about Norwegian sour cream: it has an odd consistency. It is stretchy. Glossy and stretchy, and resistant to being spread or otherwise manipulated in the usual foodlike ways to which Americans are accustomed. There is nothing wrong with the flavor, but its strange texture puts one in mind of a slightly creepy Chem professor demonstrating the faaascinating properties of ultra-long-chain molecules. Since the waffles are fairly soft and the sour cream rather, er, strong, trying to achieve a uniform sour cream-over-waffle layer was a messy business.
On return to the ship we supplemented our breakfasts with some noncarbohydrates from the buffet line - just for variety - then split up, Kristiana for a spa appointment and me for a nap. I awoke to find Kristiana preparing to sleep herself, not feeling too well. (Nothing serious, mostly a cumulative exhaustion thing. She's fine today.) She sent me off to dinner, and as it turned out the rest of the evening, alone though in the delightful company of Kristi and Madelyn.
We had the expected very nice dinner, then Kristi and I spent the evening in the library while Madelyn attended Prairie Home's sound effects impressrio Fred's seminar on how to make funny noises (no grown-ups allowed) before rejoining us. During this time the fjord pilot came aboard as we were enroute, a transfer procedure we could see most of from our vantage point almost directly above, and whose casual acceptance of thumping waves, cold, blinding salt spray and danger added yet another entry to my list of jobs I am not cut out for.
Returning from an 11:30pm reconnaisance mission, Madelyn reported that the dessert buffet was still open, clearly presenting a moral obligation on all our parts to partake. Kristi had some real food, I had one dessert, and Madelyn had, for lack of a more precise word, several: I don't know how to tally two cookies when they become one lemon-frozen-yogurt sandwich, or a cone that becomes its own dessert course while the chocolate sprinkes become another. Unlike the rest of us who might dally with eating this way on vacation, Madelyn doesn't gain weight; just energy. Oh to be a kid again.
The View From Breakfast, Part II
today's port of call. While the pink sky this morning heralded the
likelihood we'd be seeing more rain today, it hasn't made the scenery
any less stunning.
-k
Aargh
It looks like blogspot-by-email drops all the text that follows a picture, and includes only the text that precedes the picture. So some of the posts sent from Kristiana's iPhone are missing some or all of their text. Sorry, didn't know it worked that way. We'll fix those up when we can.
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