_ACROSS COUNTRY DRIVE._
POSTING SYSTEM AND MANNER OF TRAVELLING IN THE
INTERIOR—CHARACTERISTICS OF THE NORWEGIANS—A DAY’S CARRIOLING—A
MORNING WALK—RIVAL INNKEEPERS—SCENES IN THE HAY FIELDS—OUR THIRD
DAY’S RIDE—RESTING AT SANDE.
There are but few railways in Norway. From Christiania are several
short railroads to places in the immediate vicinity; two lines go
into Sweden; and extending northward to Throndhjem is the longest
railroad in the country; on the west coast a railroad extends inland a
distance of about sixty miles, both from Bergen and Stavanger, and this
completes the railway system of Norway, which reaches but a very small
portion of its area.
Its well-organized system of steamers penetrates far inland through the
network of winding fjords, forming a reliable and comfortable means
of communication, but in the country lying between the fjords, and in
immense tracts unreached by steamers, the sole means of conveyance are
the stolkjærre and carriole, drawn by the hardy Norwegian ponies.
The roads are built by the Government, but are kept in order by the
farmers through whose land they pass, which must be quite a burden upon
them. Many of the roads are excellent, though in the more mountainous
districts they are naturally rough and hilly. They are divided into
_Skydsstationer_ (posting stations), at intervals of from seven to
twelve miles, at which the farmers are obliged by law to have a certain
number of horses in readiness for travellers, who enter their names
in a book, the number of horses wanted, and the station to which they
are going. There is a fixed charge, the distance being reckoned in
kilomètres (five-eighths of a mile), which amounts to about seven cents
per mile; the distance from one station to another, and the amount to
be paid, are always given in the station book.
The stations where they are bound by law to give you a fresh horse
within half an hour are called _fast_, in distinction from others
called _slow_, where the farmers do not have the horses on hand, but
must send to the neighboring farms for them, and the traveller is
sometimes kept waiting several hours. The charge at the slow stations
is a little over four cents a mile; the horses are equally good and
fast, but it is often very tedious waiting for them. The slow stations
are now rarely found except in out-of-the-way districts.
The station is generally a large farm house, which in more frequented
places has grown into an inn or hotel; and at most of them one finds
good food and lodging, everything neat and comfortable, and the charges
extremely reasonable.
The stolkjærre is an open two-wheeled cart, generally destitute of
springs, with a seat accommodating two persons. The baggage is of
necessity limited in quantity, and is placed in the rear, with a bag
of oats for the horse strapped on top, and above all is perched the
_Skydsgut_ (post boy) or _Pige_ (girl), ranging from twelve to twenty
years old, and at times a woman or a man takes the place of the boy
or girl, who jump down to open gates, walk up the hills, getting on
again with surprising ease, no matter how fast the horse is going.
Two persons in a stolkjærre pay a fare and a half; if alone you pay
a single fare, and the boy or girl sit beside you and drive if you
desire them to, but they always offer you the reins on starting.
In case two ladies occupy the stolkjærre, who are unaccustomed to
driving, the boy or girl drives from behind the seat. The carrioles
are genuine bachelor arrangements, with a small seat for one person,
the baggage strapped on a bar behind, upon which sits the boy. The
carrioles are much easier riding than the stolkjærre, and being lighter
the horses travel much faster, but they seem to be disappearing from
many sections, and the solitary traveller is often forced to take a
stolkjærre, which is the same price for one person.
It is said that the natives themselves are giving up the use of the
carrioles, but their scarcity is partly due to a firm of tourist
purveyors in Bergen, called Bennett, who have obtained control of all
the carrioles along many of the routes of travel, and furnish carrioles
of their own, which are really superior to, and more comfortable than,
those belonging to the natives. You must pay an extra charge for a
Bennett carriole. Many travellers rent them for their whole tour
through Norway, but they generally prove an elephant which eats its own
head off, from the numerous charges for transportation across fjords
in row boats and steamers, and the expense of returning them to the
starting point when the journey is finished.
Many ladies seem especially to enjoy carrioling, and if they do not
care to drive, the boy in the rear drives for them.
The horses are small, generally of a light cream color, the manes
trimmed short and standing up straight like a zebra’s; they are
wonderfully sure footed, and it is seldom that one shies, or that the
driver has any trouble or any accident occurs. They are slow walkers
and not very fast travellers, five to seven miles per hour being the
average gait on a tolerably level road; they travel much better when
following a good leader than when by themselves, and know at once who
holds the reins, showing better speed when the boy or girl is driving
and talking to them in Norse, than when urged on with the whip by a
tourist talking in a foreign tongue. The natives treat them very kindly
and stop any attempt at abuse or overdriving by strangers. Towards the
end of the travelling season the horses naturally become tired and lazy,
but you are often given a fine animal which it is a delight to drive.
By this old-fashioned way of travelling one becomes quite well
acquainted with the simple, kind-hearted people, and their mode of
living; also in passing through the country in this leisurely manner,
its grand scenery and striking characteristics are indelibly fixed upon
memory. There is a delightful feeling of independence, and freedom
from all hurry and anxiety; when you come to a fine bit of scenery,
or anything of especial interest, you stop as long as you desire; and
in climbing the hills you have plenty of time to enjoy the views,
or a chance to rest yourself by walking, if cramped from riding. In
fact, a journey by stolkjærre or carriole has all the advantages of a
pedestrian tour, without the attendant fatigue.
But the greatest charm of a trip through Norway lies in the people
themselves. They inherit their free, independent nature from the
Vikings and Norsemen of old, and are as democratic in character as in
government; they have an independent parliament, regulating everything
pertaining to the affairs of the country, and are like a republic
owning allegiance to Sweden. The absence among them of the servility
and obsequiousness that one finds among the common people of most
of the European nations is refreshing, especially to an American;
but though they impress you with the feeling that they are men, with
rights and privileges which should be respected, they are neither
familiar nor presuming in their intercourse with strangers. They are as
unsophisticated and genuine as children, sincere and honest in their
dealings, and extortion is almost unknown.
They lack the outward politeness of the bowing and fawning hotel
keepers and waiters, so often encountered among other nations, nor have
they an unending supply of polite words and forms; but you are always
received with a true politeness, which is the expression of genuine
kindness coming from the heart, and the best of everything available
is placed at your disposal. They are intelligent, well educated, and
uniformly religious, and to one who could speak their language, the
journey would have an added pleasure, as they are very sociable and
communicative; even across the barrier of a foreign language they send
the impression of an especial interest in you, and a desire that you
should be favorably impressed with their country; those who can speak
English, or who are able to understand your feeble Norwegian, are ever
ready to impart information.
It seems to be the universal verdict of all travellers in Norway, that
its people are more delightful and truer hearted than in any other
country in Europe; and many Englishmen, after their first summer in
Norway, return home to a diligent study of Norwegian, and in successive
summers revisit the country, to become more intimately acquainted with
its people, who have so deeply impressed them by their straightforward,
kindly nature.
Although of late years a great stream of travel has flowed over Norway,
yet its people do not seem to have been spoiled by modern civilization;
and whoever goes to Norway to-day, with a disposition to treat the
people with politeness and consideration, will receive the kindest and
most sincere attentions.
From Hellesylt we started on a three days’ drive of eighty miles
across country to the Sognefjord. As there were no carrioles to be
had, we selected, from the row of stolkjærres, one having the most
spring to the supports of the seat, and entering our names in the
station book, paid for the horse to the second station, twelve miles
distant, the fixed price given in the front of the book. On leaving the
inn we slowly wound up an ascent crowned with a picturesque church,
overlooking the sparkling fjord; then the road mounted a rocky gorge,
in whose depths foamed a noisy river, until we came into a mountainous
region, with views of several glaciers and deep valleys. The road was
tolerably smooth and hard, but extremely hilly; the bright-eyed boy
of fourteen perched on our baggage behind jumped down to walk up all
the hills, and to open the numerous gates across the way. As our horse
was fresh and active, the twelve miles were soon accomplished, and we
reached a forlorn station, where we gave the boy a fee of five cents,
and after shaking hands he started back with his horse. We now changed
into two carrioles, with fresh horses, and both of us had a _Smuke
Pige_, a pretty little maiden of twelve summers, sitting on behind.
Two stolkjærres started off at the same time, one of them with a very
fine horse leading. I came next with a dilapidated carriole, and
a small, slab-sided animal, with a great wound on one side, which
in healing had drawn the horse out of shape. His whole internal
arrangements seemed to be loose, for as he travelled there was a
most appalling rumbling and rattling; he was stiff and lame, and
broken-winded, and was the greatest wreck of a horse I had ever seen;
nor did I ever come across such a miserable one again while in Norway.
I refused at first to take him, but he was the only one available, and
as it was but five miles to the next station, most of the way being
down hill, I thought he would be able to reach it. He started out
apparently with hardly strength enough to keep himself from complete
disorganization, but the spirit and pluck of an old race horse lay
dormant, and was soon aroused; he was determined to keep up with the
spirited leader, who was going at a tremendous pace, and we tore down
the steep hills as if the evil one were after us. I could not hold him
back, and expected any moment that the rickety carriole and wheezing
horse would collapse. The horse in the rear was pressing hard upon us,
and his mouth at times almost rested on the golden-haired _Pige’s_
head, which so filled her with alarm that she shouted to the horse,
serving to increase his speed. Thinking he might drop dead in the road
if he continued at this pace, I turned out at one side and let the
others pass, but even then I had hard work to keep him down to a gait
suited to his bodily infirmities, and I arrived at the station not long
after the others.
We waited an hour for dinner, but the time passed quickly, as the
little village of Grodaas is most charmingly situated, at the head of
a narrow fjord within a circle of the ever-beautiful mountains. The
distance to the next station is six kilomètres, but the whole way being
an ascent of steep hills we were charged for eight, this means being
adopted to recompense the farmers for the extra work and time of their
horses; in coming in the reverse direction only six kilomètres are paid
for.
The horse and _Pige_ walked most of the way, it being all the horse
could do to pull us up, and it soon became so steep that we likewise
got out and walked. The _Pige_ was a demure little girl, who modestly
lowered her eyes every time we spoke to her, and when we gave her a few
cents as she left us at the next station, she took us timidly by the
hand and dropped a pretty courtesy.
Here we both started in carrioles for Faleide, most of the way being
a rapid descent. I had a strong, sure-footed horse, which I at first
held back with a tight rein, as we descended a steep hill strewed with
rocks; but he behaved so strangely that the boy looked over from behind
to see what was the matter, and taking the reins, which he allowed to
dangle at the horse’s side, uttered a Viking yell, starting the horse
almost into a run, and down the hill we went as if coasting down a
toboggan slide. I held my breath, thinking we might come to an untimely
end, but the horse never made a misstep. After that I allowed the reins
to lay loose, and the horse took his own gait in descending the hills.
They really seem to enjoy going at their utmost speed descending, but
at the slightest rise they settle into a walk.
At Faleide we found a modern hotel, built out from a wall of rock
high above the road, its wide piazza commanding extensive views of
the fjord and the grand mountains, with glaciers descending into the
valleys. While waiting for the arrival of two boatmen, for whom the
landlord sent to a neighboring farm, we had an inviting supper, served
by a maid in national costume, with snow-white head-dress, in a dining
room whose windows looked out upon the beautiful panorama of mountains
and fjords; then we were rowed, in an hour and a half, past the
numerous farm houses amid pleasant fields sloping down to the water,
to Utviken, which we reached in the twilight hour, as a peaceful calm
rested on the dark mountains, and the rippling fjord gleamed with the
vanishing coloring of a vivid sunset.
Leaving the little inn at six o’clock the next morning, we started
to walk to Red; between the two places is a steep hill, over two
thousand feet high, which is so abrupt, that even the Norwegian horses
are obliged to descend from its summit the greater part of the way
at a walk, instead of at their usual breakneck speed; so it is more
enjoyable to walk, and the distance can be accomplished in less time
than by stolkjærre.
We needed all the bracing effect of the morning air, as we proceeded up
the steep zigzags of the well-made road, every few steps unfolding more
extended views of the fjord, with little settlements dotting its green
sides, and with its rear guard of eternal mountains. We left the path
and visited a cluster of sæters, but found the rude huts deserted.
The summit of the hill is a dreary plateau strewed with great boulders,
from which is a striking view of mountain peaks, with valleys branching
in various directions closed by glistening glaciers, while gleaming
among their barren surroundings are lakes and fjords.
We sat down to eat the lunch that the innkeeper’s thoughtful wife had
placed in our pockets on departing, but in the warm sunlight we were
surrounded by a swarm of flies, which nearly devoured us, lunch and
all; such blood-thirsty and persistent flies we never encountered
before, and they fully demonstrated their ability to accomplish their
year’s work during the few weeks of the short Norwegian summer.
At the little hamlet of Red we found two rival hotels, the Victoria
and the _Wictory_, the proprietor of the latter being as mixed in his
orthography as was Sam Weller. The rival innkeepers are engaged in a
bitter warfare, which is participated in by the guests of the hotels,
for in all the station books on the roads to and from Red were comments
of travellers, praising one hotel, and denouncing the other. These
comments were so exaggerated and contradictory that they defeated
their object, and caused one to decide, if possible, to give both
hotels a wide berth. We stopped at the Victoria, as it was the first
we came to, and ordered a lunch and two boatmen to row us down the
lake, as the proprietor said there was no steamer; no sooner had he
disappeared than the keeper of the Wictory across the way walked over
and informed us that his steamer left in half an hour. We immediately
countermanded both the order for the lunch and the boatmen, and giving
the keeper of the Victoria our opinion of him, embarked on the steamer,
concluding that the Wictory’s landlord must be the saint, and the
Victoria’s the sinner. This was one of the few instances where we found
the Norwegians’ simple nature had been perverted; whether by inherent
depravity or by foreign travellers we know not.
The steamer was a small craft manned by two men, the captain combining
every position on board except that of engineer. It was a much
preferable way of making the journey to being rowed ten miles across
the lake. The rocky cliffs and mountains rose to dizzy heights, and
numerous waterfalls leaped down their sides into the clear waters of
the lake.
Our next post by stolkjærre was an extremely interesting one. The
rough and hilly road led through a narrow gorge thickly strewed with
huge blocks of rock, a small river dashed and foamed below us, and
shutting us in on both sides were the lofty mountains. Then we came
out into a broad valley with views of several offshoots of the great
Jostedalsbræ, the largest glacier in Norway, descending from an immense
plateau of snow and ice into the valley. The road skirts the Jölster
Lake, a beautiful expanse of clear water, with its sides studded with
farms. The fields were full of haymakers, the girls dressed in the
pretty costume of blue homespun skirt, white waist and bright bodice,
some with their flaxen hair coiled into a knot on the very top of the
head, others wearing jaunty peaked caps, all being barefoot, with black
gaiters buttoned around the ankles.
The hay is dried on racks, like a section of rail fence, composed of
six or eight rails, sometimes wire being substituted for the rails,
built at the sides and down the centre of the hay fields; the grass is
mown by hand, and much of it, on account of the numerous rocks, has to
be cut, a handful at a time, with a sickle; the girls hang the grass
upon the rails of the racks so as to allow a free circulation of air,
which during the cloudy days hastens the curing process, and even
after a long rain only the outside of the grass on the upper rails is
spoiled. The haymaking is a long and laborious process, and as there
is much bad weather and rain, the haying season extends through the
greater part of the Norwegian summer, and it is often weeks after the
grass is hung upon the racks before it is sufficiently dried, and ready
to be removed and carted to the barns.
We frequently saw what is called the “hay telegraph,” a stout wire
stretching into the valley from a clearing high above. The grass is
cut, dried, and made into bales, which are attached to an iron ring,
and sent down the wire, high above the trees, into the valley below.
Wherever there is a level tract of land, and grass and oats will grow,
even though it is restricted in dimensions and is located high up the
mountain side, there we would see the solitary farm house. With what
astonishment must the Norwegians who yearly emigrate to Wisconsin,
Minnesota, and Dakota view the level boundless prairies, after living
on these contracted farms, where only with much labor can they gather a
scanty crop from among the rocks!
At the next post station we found every horse out, for a prolific
English vicar, accompanied by his wife and seven daughters, the long
list of whose names—Deborah, Rachel, Olivia, etc.—were entered in the
station book, had just passed through, sweeping away every available
horse. All the horses near by were at work in the hay fields; the
_Pige_ refused to go farther with her horse; and as it would require an
hour to send to a distant farm for one, we decided to walk to the next
station.
A beautiful, hard, level road extended along the edge of the lake,
through pleasant pastoral scenes, with picturesque little villages with
rustic churches, and fields near the road from which the haymakers sent
us cordial greetings.
After our long ride the ten-mile walk was an agreeable change, and with
appetites such as only the bracing and sweet scented air can give, we
arrived at sunset at Nedre Vassenden.
The inn was an old, rough house, unpainted on the exterior, situated
at the end of the lake, with charming views of its placid water and
background of blue mountains; but the interior was neat and inviting,
and a motherly old woman gave us a hearty welcome, and soon served us
with a supper of fried trout, fried eggs, rich milk and cheese, some
delicate marmalade, and wheat, rye, and graham bread.
At all the inns in Norway we found three kinds of bread, which were
invariably good.
Our room overlooked the fine rapids formed by a river flowing from the
lake, and in comfortable beds we were lulled to peaceful slumber, by
the sound of rushing waters. After a substantial breakfast we left the
dear old lady, who had won our hearts by her kindness, as well as by
her culinary skill, and she gave us a warm handshake as we paid our
moderate bill of three crowns (eighty cents) each.
An old farmer was perched on the back of the stolkjærre, who was very
talkative and the embodiment of good nature, so that we regretted more
than ever our imperfect knowledge of the language, and inability to
understand him. The road followed the banks of a river, and skirted
occasional lakes amid park-like scenery, with beautiful waterfalls
coming down among the dark pine trees. Every few minutes the farmer
would point to the water and utter _Mange Lax_ (Many salmon), which to
him was the chief attraction. It began to rain and we put on our rubber
coats, which filled the farmer’s heart with unbounded admiration, and
as he reached forward and softly stroked them with his hand, he asked
how much we paid for them, like a simple unsophisticated child.
The rain came down in torrents as we drove up to the inn at Forde, and
we were glad to avail ourselves of its shelter and treat the farmer to
beer. We then toiled up some terribly steep hills, from which all views
were obscured by the thick clouds, and arrived at a rude station where
the farmer left us; it was a _slow_ station, and we were forced to wait
in a miserable building for over an hour, while a horse was sent for
to a distant farm. Starting once more, we drove down a steep descent
through the blinding rain, till we came to Sande. We had intended
continuing our journey ten miles farther, to a pretentious hotel at
Vadheim, but the moment we stepped inside the inn we fell in love with
it,—the impression was so cosy and homelike.
From the hall—which seemed like a reception room, as no stairs were
visible—opened through wide doors, on one side the parlor, on the other
the dining room; ivy climbed over the doorways and around the rooms;
flowers and birds, cases filled with English and Norwegian books, racks
with pipes and ornaments, tables covered with English newspapers, near
which were drawn easy chairs, were about the rooms, and everything was
so neat and inviting, with such an air of comfort and restfulness,
that we decided at once to remain several days. Herr Sivertsen, the
proprietor, although a University-educated man, does not speak much
English, but he made us welcome and sent a maid to take our orders, who
had lived several years in America, and who greeted us in our native
tongue.
We were soon served with a good dinner and met some pleasant people, as
pleased with the inn as ourselves, who on their arrival intended simply
to stop for dinner, but had remained several days.
During four days it rained almost incessantly, and we congratulated
ourselves on being so comfortably housed. The irregularity regarding
sleep which attends a tour in Norway, where during the perpetual
daylight one is led into constant travelling and sight-seeing while the
weather is pleasant, calls for occasional periods of rest, to enable
one to “lay off,” and to store up a fresh supply of sleep and strength,
and also to mentally digest the impressions and information one gathers
so abundantly.
We found Sande a perfect haven of rest; our rooms and beds were clean
and comfortable, the food abundant and well cooked. The pleasant
acquaintances we made, and the genial home feeling pervading the place,
rendered our stay there one of the most enjoyable of our experiences in
Norway. Often during the day travellers would arrive, either to take
fresh horses and continue their journey, or to stop for a meal or the
night, which would call us from our reading and writing, and animate
the otherwise quiet place. At one end of the house was a room used
as a shop, containing an assortment of hardware, gingerbread, boots,
soap, jewelry, in fact everything to satisfy the moderate wants of the
natives, who drove up in their stolkjærres to do their trading, their
costumes and quaint ways furnishing interesting studies.
One day as I was walking in the rain a farmer stopped and spoke to
me, then putting his hands on my rubber coat, tried to unbutton it;
thinking he wished to know what time it was, I opened my coat and
showed him my watch, at which he shook his head, and taking my coat in
his hands carefully examined it, inside and out, and with a look of
great admiration uttered, _Hvad koster det?_ (What did that cost?).
When I told him fifteen crowns, he shook his head at such extravagance,
and saying something which far exceeded the bounds of my Norwegian
vocabulary, gave me a handshake and went his way.
When the rain ceased and the sun reappeared, we were more than
ever charmed with the place, for we then saw the beauty of its
surroundings. Across a swift, flowing river before the inn was a range
of low mountains flecked with snow; while mountains towered in the
rear, enclosing the fertile valley with its fields and farm houses.
In every direction we found pleasant walks; up the valleys extending
among the mountains; along the river’s bank by a road winding among
fragrant pines and up the mountain sides for the extensive views. But
the favorite excursion was to a series of lakes flowing into each
other, and forming imposing waterfalls as the water leaped over a high
ledge into the lake below, and seethed and foamed as it flowed onward
for another plunge.
Several of the guests were sportsmen, who returned at night with a good
supply of trout caught in the lakes, and an occasional salmon taken
from the river,—which graced the breakfast table.
In these delightful surroundings the days, both sunny and rainy, flew
quickly by, and we were prepared to start with new zest for other scenes.
ON AND ABOUT THE
SOGNEFJORD.