Bergen, Norway

Apology and explanation:

OK so I am not a faithful blogger but I vow to mend my ways. Last Wednesday, August 4th, we flew to Copenhagen where we boarded the cruise ship Regatta of the Oceania Line along with friends Marion and Cynthia who share the stateroom beside us. I intend to write accounts of each day at sea but so far have been caught up in enjoying all of the luxuries that I am forced to endure daily – food, drink, pleasant company. So I will begin my account of the trip on day 4.


Saturday, August 7, 2010
Today we awoke in Bergen, Norway. From our personal, wharf-side balcony we gasped in excitement at the panoramic view of the houses of Bergen clinging to the lush green hillsides; they look as if they have been poured from a massive jug full of multicoloured Monopoly houses and hotels.

As we left the ship and strolled out of the harbour area, we were met by one of the ubiquitous, red Hop-on-hop-off busses that greet tourists in tourist cities all over the world. Ours efficiently negotiated its cumbersome way up and down the steep, narrow old city roads and byways filling our brains with dates, dimensions and relevant data soon to be discarded with our VISA stubs and used Kleenexes.

We learned that it rains an average of 245 days a year here but, lucky travelers that we are, it did not rain on us. We enjoyed warm breezes and sunny skies and were most thankful that we had not arrived here in the soggy year when Bergen endured 84 straight days of rain. We found this record even harder to believe as the entire town exuded such optimism and cheerfulness. With its steep cobble-stoned alleys and rows of gaily coloured brick, stucco and wooden edifices, Bergen seemed an amalgam of both old Quebec City and Newfoundland’s St. John’s. Every ledge, balcony and garden no matter how small bloomed with hydrangea, geraniums and roses. Oh so many roses!

As the tour continued, we obligingly ogled statues of Norwegians of whom we had never heard, gasped in awe at fountains and modern sculptures that would make the Beaubourg in Paris seem outdated, and scratched our heads trying to name one Norwegian composer OTHER than Grieg.

At stop 12 we disembarked to take the modern funicular to the top of Bergen's Mount Fløien. Harry’s wheelchair status gained us immediate entry to the elevator (along with babies in prams and dogs) and seats in the much coveted first car. We loved our view of the sprawling city and a photo op with the resident Troll.

Back again on terra firma, we headed straight for the lively waterfront market and breathed in the intoxicating smells of fresh crab, lobster, shrimp, and crayfish mingled with the delicate perfume of colourful sweet peas and other summer blossoms. Elegant Norwegian red/white and blue flags waved gracefully along the quays where townspeople, market vendors and tourists negotiated their crowded way with respectful courtesy, smiling nods and multilingual greetings. With disciplined determination, we made our bumpy way back to the ship in time for a casual lunch and a noisy discussion of our wonderful morning in Bergen.