Things I noticed

That isn't a mountain, it's a cloud formation sweeping in from the west towards Voss.

Just one last recollection of my Norwegian holiday - at Schiphol airport in Amsterdam we walked to the gate for the Bergen flight and sat down. We were early. Other passengers gathered, slowly. I began to get a sense that I was surrounded by rather large, tall chaps. I asked dh, and he concurred. Vikings, he said, grinning.

Don't be silly, I told myself. Just because you write about them doesn't mean you have to collect them. But I kept up with the sneaky glances. There are tall men in the UK, certainly, and some of them, especially if they have outdoor, active lives, are good and broad across the shoulders. Go to a pub like the Pheasant at Stannersburn and many a husky Northumbrian lad will tower over you at the bar.

But the collection at Schiphol loomed around me. Not only broad shoulders, but heavy thighs, thick wrists - and so many in one place! I began to fear the plane might not balance up correctly.

There was only one problem - not one of these guys was blond. Every shade of brown, but not a hint of fair hair. Not Vikings, then.

In Bergen, the big men vanished. I don't know where they went, but they didn't go skiing, and they didn't go to Voss. Except for our driver. He was definitely one of them, and his name was Einar. His knees almost touched the dashboard, he was so cramped into the seat. First thing we saw at our hotel next morning? Three or four female staff all with silvery-fair hair. The typical iconic Norwegian colouring, and they were all big girls, too.

I kept looking all week, but I never saw a man - young, old, tall or small, with that same silvery-fair hair.

Odds and sods

This is Olavs Cross, perched on a tiny mound in Skulegata. I tried, I really tried to get a clear view of it, but it is surrounded by modern buildings.


Olav erected it in 1023 AD when the population of Voss converted to Christianity. It really looks a thousand years old, too. Such a pity about the surroundings.




This is a view of the pedestrianised town centre. The church stands just to the right, and behind the church lies the lake - Vangsvatnet.

Below is the Vangskyrkja - Voss Church (http://www.voss.kyrkjer.net/) built between 1271 and 1277 and still in use every Sunday.

Since the steeple is built of wood I should think it has been renewed a time or two, but the stone looks authentic. We didn't go in. I gather in the summer there is a charge of 15 kroner to look around - about £1.60. Reasonable enough, but I do feel that churches and cathedrals should be free and open to all.

I was warned that Norway was expensive. Coffee was around £2 per cup, petrol and diesel were within 20p of our own prices in the UK. Alcohol, however, was a real killer. We asked for the wine list the first night there, and soon handed it back without ordering anything. If the cheapest bottle of wine in the UK might be around £8-12 depending on the level of restaurant, then the cheapest bottle of wine in the hotel was 300 kroner, or £32.

And the prices went up from there!

We walked a short distance along the lake shore, but it was cold and damp and we had to move at a brisk pace to keep warm. If you click to enlarge the pic, you can maybe see the chunks of ice along the edge of the shore. More and more of the lake froze over as our week went on, and more and more of the cloud came drifting down the mountains. Two days out of six we did not ski - one day the weather was just to wet to contemplate doing it, and the other there was too much wind and the cable car did not run.

We don't think we will return to Voss. We probably had an unlucky week, but ... poor weather always colours the entire holiday and the constant cloud and rain was depressing.

Skiing in Voss

Heh, heh, in case you wondered - this is me on the slopes! The moment we saw the ray of sunshine - and there was only one - we rushed out and headed for the lift. DH took this on his mobile phone.

We're at Slettafjellet, heading for the drag lift over to my right. (Your left)

When a drag works well, it is really something. This one goes straight up a couple of hundred metres, and there were very few people about. In fact that was one of the delights of the holiday. We were able to ski at our pace, fast or slow, side to side or straight down - without the dreaded sound of skis hurtling down behind us. As with the slopes, we had the drag to ourselves. No sound but that of the skis hissing over snow, and a track that looked a dream in the sidesunlight coming across the slope. Dramatic ski scapes, photographer's dream. Nearer the top, the wind increased to such an extent that it blew me across the track. Snow spumed off the banks at the side, blew on the wind, made drifts across the track and our skis cut through. By the time dh came up behind me, (next drag) he said my tracks had disappeared.

A beautiful run down. Clear sunlight, every slant and curve of the slope clearly visible. Swooping down, as every skier dreams, with only the sound of the skis biting into the snow. And whoops of joy!

Rush to the lift, panting. Clatter through the turnstile, grab the drag, and up the slope again. This time, the sun vanishes, visibility drops. Near the top, the wind starts to moan. The bones of the face ache with cold, hurt with the cold. Pellets of snow drive into my eyes - why didn't I wear my goggles? Can't see where the disengage point is, wind blows me away over to the right of the track, it's here, let go, stagger off into a deep drift. Blunder around the lift head, can the wind really do this much damage in the time it takes to make one descent?

It can, I assure you. I stood on the top of that mountain, and couldn't see which way to go. If there's one thing I hate, it's trying to ski down a slope where the air if thick and grey, the snow is flat white and suddenly the ground drops away beneath you and you weren't ready for it. Your weight goes back, the skis points come up and you are halfway to disaster. It's like missing a step on the stairs, only worse because there might be another one coming up immediately and you can't see -

It was fun though. I got, down, obviously. And lived to ski another day.

Skiing, anyone?

With a Bang

I've started off the new year with a bang. I've expended £20 on submissions to agents.
So we'll see if that brings any results. Half went on printing out partials and half went on postage. As my dh said, "At least you might get somethng back from your £20. I never get anything back for the money I spend." So here's hoping. I have to say I don't have a lot of faith in agents, but perhaps I'm cynical.

I spent 2 days preparing, honing, checking the submissions, so now its back to normal business. There is a duel awaiting me out in the cool misty dawn somewhere in County Durham and I'm off to track down all those involved.

The skis have come in from the cold. They are lurking in out hallway, waiting to be taken to Norway very soon. Our ski boots are huddled up next to a radiator trying to get warm. Poor things. We've been watching weather reports - isn't the web so handy for this kind of thing? - and Voss doesn't seem to be any colder than Zermatt. I'm surprised, but when I think about it, Zermatt is at a much higher altitude than Voss, so the temperatures are probably about the same. I wonder if we'll see the Northern Lights?