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Fjords, Food and Other Natural Features of Norway

When we reached Norway, the terrain changed literally. The wide paved roads, some of them red, with clear markings down the center were behind us, replaced by roads with potholes and no dividers at all, seemingly stretching for miles ahead. Earlier I had wished for Norway, at last bored with the manicured land and pretty red houses of Sweden.

Now I questioned the whereabouts of this unrivalled beauty yet to come.

‘You do realise the scenery will be same,’ Paul said, focusing on the narrow curvy road.

“Not hardly,’ I boasted remembering crossing the Florida, Georgia state line as a child, after a visit with my grandparents –one state’s smooth roads barely discernible underneath the car tires, while the other’s were rough and rocky, as if the car had a flat.

Just then some free ranging goats and elks wandered across the road. Admittedly, our Swedish guide had warned us about Norway’s unregulated sheep, some sleeping on the roads in areas mimicking hinterlands, but she had not mentioned this lot.

As we drove by cautiously, we knew it would be slow travelling onwards. Not only would we have to worry about hitting carefree sheep and incurring the sorrow of doing so as well as a heavy penalty, but also we would have to fret about elk, goats and possibly reindeer, too.

And so we tarried and even if I did need to make a stop, we kept moving. With Sweden’s lovely rest areas replaced by small Wc’s akin to out houses and coffee stalls, we began to truly understand the meaning of a layman’s pit stop. We gave them a miss and pressed on to Roros, a debatably charming former mining town in Norway, which was added to UNESCO’s World Heritage List in the 1980s.

Glad to be in the middle of somewhere, we ascertained that it was the farthest that I had been north ever, some 444 kilometer (276 miles) away from the Artic Circle, Here we saw day, even if it was dusty, stretch well into night until around 11.00 p.m.

Also, Roros was where we got our first taste of good Norwegian cooking at Vertshuset, likely the best restaurant in town. From then on dinner would play a key role in our experience in Norway with family owned businesses serving up home made meals replete with fresh, local ingredients, featuring bread to my detriment. Glad you remembered I’m gluten intolerant. I forgot.

Still, the best of food was yet to come in Denmark, but that is another story.

Admittedly, however, Norwegian cooking made up for the cooler atmosphere, particularly further north, not only in the air, but also in the people. There, even hospitality staff served with a cool curiosity and watched us suspiciously. In the guests, we saw an austerity and a preserved a way of life. To my mind, we fell into what I call the outsider trap, suddenly aware of our differences and wearing them like they were an inferiority complex. In Sweden we had worn who we are with equality.

In Roros, at breakfast, we walked into a chilly room filled with middle aged to elderly Norwegians. The waiter found us a place with two ladies who smiled demurely but who kept silent. Momentarily, there seemed to be an inherent defense for a way of life that would cast a spell on our holiday. But thankfully, as we drove further into the natural beauty of Norway, the spell lifted.

An overnight in the Lom region, where we had another lovely dinner at the Fossheim Hotel, would see us through the fog, metaphorically. From then on any fog we experienced would be as mystical and beautiful as the very fjords it hung over.

From crossing Sognefjell, Norway’s highest mountain passage, beginning our fjord tour, to driving through Hallingdal Valley to ending our scenic drive in Oslo, Norway’s capital, we witnessed exceptional beauty, from close-up waters surrounded by glistening mountainous rocks, some snow capped, to distant lakes, bordered by grassy, robust mountains.

 

Need I say more about the fjords, both Sognefjorded and Hardangerfjorden; they speak for themselves. But I will say that Norway’s most burgeoning tourist town, Bergen, was well worth the visit, if only to see Bryggen, the unequivocally beautiful Norwegian street, which is on UNESCO’s World Heritage List, too. And then we went off to Oslo, the country’s capital. A smaller capital by comparison to many with a population of just over six hundred thousand of Norway’s five million people, Oslo is replete with character, culture and clean-cut folks, most of them seemingly with a clear conscious. Here is where I inadvertently left my reasonably expensive coat in the waiting lobby of a restaurant for two hours or more. I found it just as I had left it.

Never mind the surly taxi driver, who like the one in Stockholm over charged us or the young man in the cinnamon bun shop on the Bryggen, who wasn’t sure whether he should serve me or not. Norway is definitely off the beaten path and all the better for it.

HIGHLIGHTS:

THE FJORDS – Formed by glaciers during the ice age(s), Norway’s fjords are deep, narrow and elongated seas or lake drains, with steep land on three sides. Stunning scenery!

BERGEN – Norway’s most energetic city on the Fjord route. Bustling with lots to do and see.

  •  Bryggen – Pretty street with wooden houses – a UNESCO Heritage site
  • Funicular Ride – a train ride up to a high point over looking the city. Great views!

THE FOOD – Great restaurants, even in not so great spots, but fantastic at the likes of the Walaker Hotel in Solvorn!

INGENUITY – Engineering fetes all over the place in roads built in and over the mountains. The tunnels are built through the mountains and are complete with wi fi, roundabouts, etc.…the longest one we were in was 22 kilometers (13.5 miles).

LOW LIGHTS:

RAMBLING SHEEP – As cute as they are, sheep should not be allowed to hold traffic hostage, particularly at the mouth of a tunnel.

RESERVED LOCALS – Perhaps there is a shyness rather than reservation, as of the five million people, only a fraction of them foreigners.

ROAD TOLLS – Somebody has to pay for the new tunnels and the new roads. Never mind! They do stop charging when the work stops.

POOR ROADSIDE AMENITIES – Fuel up in the city or you’ll be walking for miles and take a restroom break, too, or brave a roadside stop.

 

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Sweden Exhibits Youthfulness, Despite Old Age

Until recently Freja (not her real name), whom I met when I first came to London 17 years ago, was all I knew about Sweden, her straw blonde hair, friendly smile,  ruddy cheeks; her eagerness to speak English; her proudness to be Swedish alongside her desire to be a part of the wider world.

Even after her boyfriend’s ex-wife of Afro-Caribbean descent referred to her as a ‘thing’, she responded with minimal upset as if she understood on some level the limitations of such thinking. It could have been just as easy to cry reverse discrimination and own the experience. Yet, she rejected it and got on with being Swedish in an evolving English country.

All those years ago Freja taught me all I needed to know about her country to enjoy a visit there—that Swedish pride, anchored in tradition, not only soars far beyond Nordic shores in its big brands–Ericsson, H&M, Electrolux, Volvo, SAAB, the Stieg Larsson books, and so on—but lives largely in its people, its very atmosphere.

From the warm welcome we received at Arlanda airport by our middle-aged lady taxi driver, who was pre-arranged by our tour agency, to the heartfelt farewell from the young man at our hotel, we felt a spirit of kindness, of willingness, and quite frankly of youthfulness.

Of course there were the anomalies—the calculating taxi driver, who doubled the fare while putting on a friendly face, and the surly waiter, who pretended to be deaf mute while serving us and chatted openly to others—but aren’t there always? Call them big city swindlers, as both incidents happened in Stockholm.

Never mind them and their limitations, we found Stockholm, in particular, youthful, very much a breath of fresh air in a world that can sometimes feel quite old and stale and is often trapped in racial and/or ethnic quagmires.

Surely, there are such predicaments in Sweden as in all cities, but with a largely indigenous population of just over nine and a half million people (more than two million of them in Stockholm); the attitude of acceptance for other ethnicities doesn’t appear to be a problem.

Also, most folks speak English. How superficial and selfish of me to report this happily, you might say. It’s not the only language in the world. Of course not, but the Swedes cracked the code years ago that their lovely Germanic language would keep them limited, thus from about aged seven learning English becomes mandatory, according to the hop on hop off bus tour we took in Stockholm. Really! Yes, we got with the tourist programme and weren’t disappointed!

Anyhow, English brings the Swedes together with visitors from as far away as Asia to as near as Finland, all of us greeted with a smiling ‘hey’ and it doesn’t stop there. Without a flinch, unless English is undeveloped or rusty such as in the countryside, people regaled us fluently with tales of history and explained menus and so on.

For example, our lady taxi driver prepared us for what was ahead Including the consistent pretty red houses, which date back to the 16th century. Then a special paint called Falu red was created and used in Falun in the copper mines in Dalarna. Nowadays, the red paint is used out of tradition up and down the country. Also, she mentioned the undulating manicured land, bubbling springs and placid lakes. In short, she described Sweden as a well-preserved country, yet a progressive one.

What she didn’t mention, however, was the fetish for old American cars, a theme we noticed around Sweden, town and country. Perhaps it is something to do with roots, as thick American accents were all over the place, namely the big cities.

America? Perhaps that’s why I took to Sweden so instantly. The hospitality there felt almost American. And like the good old USA, Sweden has much to offer and a few things not to be desired too, more than I can write about in one blog, hence the highlights and low lights, too.

HIGHLIGHTS:

STOCKHOLM – A world-class city with an old town heaving with cafes, shops and narrow cobblestone streets,  fabulous high-end shopping and varied museums–one of them, the Nobel Museum, which we visited.  

SALA SILVER MINE – A well-preserved mining village with guided tours of a mining shaft. Though it was cold and dark 40 meters below ground, it was a fascinating experience. But don’t forget walking shoes or boots.

GOTHENBURG – This is Sweden’s second city with petty canals and fun restaurants and home of the Avenyn, their street often referred to as the Champs Elysees of the South. Non mais belle!

OLD LINKOPING – An open-air museum, which shows what small town Sweden looked like one hundred years ago. A must see.

Low Lights:

Borlange – Not sure why we stopped in this town, except as a stopover. No hotels or restaurants of noteworthy calibre.

Gondolen – This is apparently one of the top restaurants in Stockholm but likely a tourist trap with good views of the city. Here is where we encountered the rude waiter and okay (at best) food.

In Stockholm, taxi drivers can legally rip you off because of zoning. Don’t ask me?

Hotels don’t necessarily provide a safe in the room, so on with the backpack, whatever your age and ability.

Next stop, Norway…stay tuned.

 

 

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A Nordic Road Trip: What Were We Thinking?

For years now Paul has teased about taking a Winnebago across North America after retirement. Fat chance, I always retort, that is, if you expect me to come along. I can think of few things worse. Seriously!

Born and bred in the Southern USA, I’ve had enough of extenuating road trips, endless highways stretching from east to west and from north to south, and standard and some substandard roadside parks and rest areas. I’ve long taken to the skies.

Still recently, however, Paul and I drove about 3,500 kilometers (approximately 2,200 miles) around Sweden, Norway and Denmark, after flying to Stockholm, where we hired a trusted Volkswagen Golf for the tour.

What were we thinking? Paul, likely, in true British style had high hopes for more sunshine and less rain, a big desire for wild adventure and an eagerness for plenty of surprise. Not to mention his laid back attitude about our accommodation.

I, on the other hand, longed for above average accommodation, haute cuisine–even if I am darn near intolerant of all things yummy–haute couture and a destination  relatively close to Georgia, USA, preferably with a spot of sunshine.

I know. I know. Distance is all relative, but at least we didn’t head off to India, Africa or on Paul’s much talked about round the world trip. Make no mistake about it, I am game, well at least for the first two, but not now with my mother being seriously ill.

Anyhow in compromise we ventured into lessor known parts of Sweden, unknown and well-known parts of Norway, and hotspots of Denmark.

Having done little or no research for the holiday, unlike us to be honest, we faced plenty of surprises, pleasant ones for the most part. At the last minute, however, I picked up a copy of Lonely Planet, after a necessary trip to my orthodontist in Marylebone. After nearly 10 years, my permanent retainer had broken. With a new one fastened securely, I found myself leafing through the travel guide on my Uber ride home and briefly glanced up to respond to the driver’s curiosity about what I was reading.

Just before then my eyes had feasted on Copenhagen’s Noma, voted the world’s best restaurant for the last three years in The World’s 50 Best Restaurants guide. Thus, I told him Scandinavia in a rather irritated voice, knowing there was no chance we would get into Noma at such late notice. People reserve for months in advance to get a table there.

‘Don’t go there,’ he said. I closed the book and looked ahead in dismay. His dark eyes searched my face through his rear view mirror. ‘It’s not a good destination for brown people,’ he said, explaining that though he was originally from Iraq, he grew up in Denmark.

Having read earlier on the Internet what the street committee had to say about racism in Scandinavia, long after the tickets were booked albeit, my heart sank to its lowest degree again. What were we thinking?

But then I remembered all the racial matters going on in the world, particularly  in my home country. So I tossed the cynicism out the window and got thinking again about the pending holiday, all the opportunities ahead.

The excitement of exploration opened my mind and pretty much kept it accessible throughout the entire two weeks. Thus, I found the Swedish people youthful and accommodating, with the odd exception here and there, the Norwegian scenery breathtakingly beautiful, save for the few rough spots, and the Danish cuisine, delectable, even if it is over the top expensive, not to mention my refusal to admit to allergies and intolerances. Never mind, it was worth it. And I did a bit of my kind of shopping, too, in both Stockholm and Copenhagen.

In short I am pleased to say we have been there and done that, even though we didn’t get much sunshine or less rain for that matter. Not to mention the less than average accommodation in some spots. Would I do it again? Not a chance in full. It was too much to cram into the short period of time, only affording us one night in most places, albeit this was more than enough in a few cases. The point it is, however, the trip was exhausting, though exhilarating.

Besides, road travel is not my thing, remember. A different option would be to take the trip off the road and do it my way–fly!  Still we not only racked up miles but also awesome memories, too, memories to savour for years to come.

What were we thinking? And what did we discover? Find out more here on sonjalewis.com. Stay tuned.

 

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Reading Leads To Bigger Ponds

Even if I can’t remember the first book I read fully, I have enjoyed reading ever since I can remember.  There is something about entering another space, if you will, and imagining, if only for the duration of a novel, for example, what it’s like to be in another person or persons shoes.

Granted some of the characters, particularly tragic ones,  wear shoes that are a bit too tight. Still, all one has to do then is to turn the page and eventually the tightness loosens. There, everyone can breathe again.

Real life can be a bit like that too, all too often, which is why I advocate reading, not only as an escape route, but also as a good practice to keep the mind open to different ways of life, different perspectives, different options.

I write about this in my July Huffington Post blog: Reading Leads to Bigger Ponds.

You know what they say, ‘life doesn’t have to be a closed book.’

Who are they, anyhow?  Never mind, why not open a book, a magazine and gain a different perspective.

 

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No Time Like The Present

As I write this blog, the present is fleeting, as it always is, fading into the past. Surely, there must be a way to pin it down, make it stay a bit longer. In theory, the answer is short and simple: take life day by day, one experience at a time.

In reality, however, it is far more complex and challenging and can sometimes become counter productive, particularly if trying becomes an obsession, causing the mind to revert to the  past and/or project ahead to the future.

This month in my Huffington Post blog, I write about living in the present, particularly during a crisis, a difficult time, for an overall better experience.

Let’s face it: the past has its place and will not be ignored. And the future, a good one anyhow, cannot be attained without some form of preparation and planning. The key is to recognise each experience for what it is or rather when it is for a more precious encounter. Check out No Time Like The Present  here and do feel free to join in the conversation on this website, on social media or on the Huff Post.

 

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It’s Trendy: That’s the short of Long Hair

Hair trends come and they go but there’s one that stays around all the time, even if it does take a back seat occasionally to other trends. Yes, you guessed it–long hair. Somewhere along the way, the belief that long hair is better than short got stuck in, making the topic seemingly a political one. But throughout history, many women have tossed the politics aside and successfully and stylishly challenged this belief.

There’s nothing like a good haircut. Still, cutting one’s hair can be a big deal. I should know; I have been around that block a time or two. But over the years I’ve learned the short of the long of it. Check out my most recent Huff Post blog for my revelation and find out  how to keep your hair trendy, too, regardless of its length, colour or texture for that matter.

And do feel free to have your say here or on the Huff Post directly.

 

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Charming London – A Love Affair

I can’t tell you how far back my love affair with flowers goes but nowadays it’s torrid, so much so that I get a weekly delivery just because. And I love showering people with flowers, too, and visiting the varied gardens and parks not only around London but also throughout England.

Admittedly, I’m not much for gardening but I ‘m a keen admirer, even if I haven’t ever been to the much talked about Chelsea Flower Show, which is on now. Why? I have no idea. Up until nearly three years ago, I lived within a short walking distance of the Royal Hospital Gardens, where it is held.

And what I remember most is the excessive vehicle and pedestrian traffic on my street, causing the most exciting fanfare, mimicking an amusement of some sorts, sunshine or rain. Good thing because the rain has been torrential this week. Yesterday it hailed, at least twice.

Anyhow, this got me thinking about places that I admire in London, places that are ever so charming and varied like flowers, but aren’t necessarily on the main tourist map, though the first one is more central that the other two. Twice now, however, I have taken visitors there, who simply didn’t know it existed.

So with schools already breaking for summer in the US in particular, I thought now would be a good time to share three of these charms, which are great places to visit for holiday makers and locals alike, again sunshine or rain.

That’s par for the course here. So grab your rain hat and your sunglasses, too, and off we go:

The South Bank – Sure, I am still a newbie to the London south of the river but in less than three years, I’ve likely spent more time on the South Bank than I have in the seventeen years I have lived here. Likely to do with Waterloo Station being a main artery nowadays but whatever the reason, it continues to be a pleasure.

Though there isn’t much shopping on the South Bank, that’s the only thing that isn’t there. From favourite foods to enticing entertainment, it’s happening.  As well as its festive atmosphere, the South Bank offers stunning views of the city of London.

Richmond upon Thames – Staying south, if you will, head to this charming village. Though popular with Londoners, particularly when the weather is warm, it shows a different side of the capital to visitors. Let’s say a smaller side with cobbled streets and hidden lanes.

Plenty of shopping here, including many speciality shops, but that’s not all. For a picnic or stroll or to just catch a breathtaking view, make your way to Richmond Hill or Richmond Park and at the latter, prepare for deer spotting.

Hampstead – Head altogether north for this pretty village on a hill. Fortunately, I spent oodles of time there working with the World Association of Girl Guides and Girl Scouts a few years ago and took endless opportunities to explore the many trendy shops and restaurants.

Filled with gorgeous English mansions and pretty side streets too, Hampstead is one of London’s most characteristic, and certainly most affluent areas. But if that is not what you are looking for, never mind. Go to the Heath and chill out there, enjoying nature as its most uncultivated finest.

Charming London! What a wonderful affair. I could do this for a long time yet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Charming London! What a wonderful affair. I could do this for a long time yet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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No Need to Compare Bright Light to Mysterious Smoke

I don’t know about a thousand words, but this picture certainly says a few – stroppy, serious, sad yet sanguine and simply Sonja.

Wrapping up our weekend in Paris at the Musee d’Orsay was delightful, yet I stropped at Paul for taking a close-up photograph of me. I so despise head shots and then on the way home on Eurostar, getting my second fix of magazines (the first one was on the way there), I read an article about self-image and how women could sometimes be their own worst critics.

Ouch – I sat up straight and considered the charge, flipping through photos on my iPad. The closer up the photo, the more unpleasant the emotion, proving me guilty as charged.

I found it unbelievable that I, so full of self-worth, could have self-image problems. Who would have thunk it? Of course, my problems pale in comparison to serious esteem matters, which are no joke whatsoever. Still the point is all the same – poor self-esteem leads to dissatisfaction, unhappiness, unhealthy living and so on, even if it is on a small level.

And who has time to be unhealthy, unhappy and dissatisfied when in Paris or London for that matter. So with memories of The City of Lights in the near distance, I took in the blustery air of The Smoke.

On the taxi ride home, I recalled returning from Paris to London last year with my BFF, godson and one of his friends. Having gone from one elaborately stunning hotel to a sedately beautiful one, I remember thinking that the Parisian hotel got the prize. I even said it out loud and suggested that the London beaut was a bit tired, though I wouldn’t turn down a night there anytime. I love the place.

The City of Lights shines
The City of Lights shines

Suddenly, however, this Londoner felt second-class to a Parisian. Oh dear. And now speeding through Bloomsbury, I was comparing the two cities again, having been caught up in the romantic atmosphere of Paris for the weekend. I compared the Seine to the Thames, Marble Arch to Arc de Triomphe (unfair!), our bridges to theirs, museums and so on and then it struck me that I needn’t choose one over the other.

Like their respective luxury hotels, one wears its opulence on its sleeve and the other is ever so mysterious. And to be honest, I like a little mystery now and again. No wonder I can’t get enough of Hercule Poirot.

And anyhow, I haven’t seen the real the grit of Paris, albeit it is a dirtier city than London, on the surface. Still they are both impressive cities, just different—one characteristically French and the other English. Come to think of it, so are many of those headshots of mine, different that is.

But one showing is enough, at least for this outing. No need to compare, seriously!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Perspective In The Eye Of The Beholder

And I thought my packages were extravagant–beautifully wrapped boxes from Net-a-porter, Matchesfashion.com, Harrods, etc.– until I saw the brightly coloured Lamborghini delivered to my neighbourhood recently.

On my way back from an hour of much needed training, I was contemplating my soreness and how I might convince myself to return to my computer to write (as I haven’t written for weeks, owing to stress masquerading as writer’s block) when I saw this expensive spectacle being backed off of a truck.

As I fixed my eyes upon it, suddenly fathomable prose struck me with an exciting force. Not that I hadn’t anything to write about before laying eyes on this car. There is plenty of that.

From the London restaurant where the tables have built in computers to order one’s dinner to the magnificent Alexander McQueen: Savage Beauty exhibition at the V & A, I have been a girl about town lately. Not to mention the enthralling yet dark play, The Nether, at the Duke of York theatre, focusing on life without consequences. Disastrous! Not the play, which is rather brilliant, even if it is haunting.

Anyhow, that’s three more blogs to come, but with stress addiction (to be explored in a Huff Post blog surely) I was stymied until I saw the Lamborghini.

Enchanted as I was, I moved past the car rather quickly and into my concierge to pick up my own package, which Paul ought to put into perspective now surely, don’t you think. And then back outside, I glimpsed the owner zipping into the parking garage.

Up to the truck driver I strolled and confirmed that it was indeed a Lamborghini since I don’t always get my cars right but I do remember a friend of mine pointing out years ago that ‘the darn thing has wings.’

Anyhow, the truck driver smiled in confirmation, albeit staring quizzically, perhaps wondering if I was a groupie of sorts of if I lived in a hole somewhere. So glad to be a writer again, I dispelled any groupie myths and moved along, knowing that on some level he must have known that I had seen my fair share of such cars in London. Who hasn’t? From Lambos to Aston Martins to Bentleys, they are all here.

At one point certain posh hooligans had to be fined heavily for drag racing along Piccadilly. Never mind this. The point is I had never seen one delivered or witnessed the owner admire it, accept it and take possession of it so to speak.

Something about this experience got me thinking coherently again. Although the car is lavish by most standards, it reiterated something to me about perspective—it is in the eye of the beholder.

With that thought, I tore into my rather modest package–shush it’s a Sophie Hulme handbag. Let’s hope Paul agrees. Regardless, there’s more to come soon, that is writing. Well, maybe packages, too.

 

 

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Hazy Weekend Coming Up in London

Just as well that I wasn’t able to get out for my run this morning. Dust from the Sahara desert has blown into London, once again, sending runners and many other outside enthusiasts inside for the hottest day of the year, yet to come.

A low-grade asthma sufferer, I remember all too well being trapped inside of a gym for days in 2012. This time, as the dust blew in, I spent the morning in my car, driving across London, gazing through the haze upon buildings such as the Shard.

My pre-planned trip to Essex to see my specialist about implants, dental implants that is, okay, had robbed me of the run anyhow, thus I wasn’t as gutted as before. Still, as I glimpsed the London skyline, I thought ahead to Saturday, realising that my plans would surely go up in dust.

In the morning, I had hoped to take to the Thames Path,  but meteorologists are forecasting blood rain, a term scientist use to describe rain when it is mixed with the red dust.

That means hitting the gym or giving my run a miss. Make no mistake about it, I am not above taking to the treadmill – oh no, not I. But do so dislike it, if only for the repetitiveness of running in place. Not to mention that on a Saturday morning the gym will be packed.

Excuses! Excuses! Sounds like a hazy weekend to me.