Km: 138

Latitude: 63.79

We had a lovely nights sleep in our secluded spot overlooking the small lake. When we awoke this morning about 6 other campervans had joined us overnight, and a couple in a roof-top tent were parked next to us. So much for thinking we were in the middle of nowhere!

Today we meandered through quiet country roads, avoiding the main towns around the area. We stopped at a train crossing, excited to get some “different footage.” But the train never came. 

The barriers were down, so we were trapped. One by one, cars gave up and turned around, but not us. Oh no, we were committed. Either a train would come, or someone would fix the barrier. Neither happened. So eventually, we admitted defeat and took a dramatic detour up a massive hill. At the top, I looked back down at the crossing… and yep, you guessed it. The barriers were up. Typical.

I’ve been seeing these hotdogs wrapped in bacon everywhere and they look really yummy. It’s not the sort I think I’d normally eat, but they are on every ferry and in every service station, so I figured it’s the Norwegian equivalent of a meat pie. So I decided to order one to share. It wasn’t cheap, about $14, but we didn’t come to Norway for cheap. We came for the experience. 

The long sausage came in a short brioche bun, so sausage was hanging out each end. We weren’t sure of the correct etiquette to eat it, so we made one up. Mike and I tried taking a bite from each end at the same time. Big mistake. Not only did we look ridiculous, but cheese oozed out all over us! So I decided to eat my half first, while Mike watched on longingly. It was actually really delicious. Cheesy, hot-doggy, and bacony. I’ll probably have another one at some stage.

Then we caught another ferry. Everyone got off and turned right. We turned left. No idea why. Everyone else seemes to know where they were going. Meanwhile, we’re out here winging it, changing our plans daily and trusting our gut… or occasionally Google. The problem is, Google loves main roads. We don’t. But Google doesn’t really get that, so sometimes it refuses to show us any scenic alternatives until we’re there.

The road we followed was the 720 and it was narrow and beautiful. I turned off to a little place I saw on our app which sat on the edge of the fjord. We drove down even narrower roads in the pouring rain until we found the spot. It was only 2.30pm, but the location was so idyllic, we decided to stay the night. The sun came out and we were even able to sit outside for a while. It was so peaceful, just the sound of the stream trickling into the fjord, the birds chirping and a cuckoo doing his thing. 

I was still patting myself on the back for a job well done, when a man on a digger arrived and started taking stones from the stream and making piles and shattering our peace! It wasn’t too big a deal. We were inside by this time, and I was busy working on a video.

I expected other campervans to join us, but after the digger man went we were all alone. It seems like we’ve gotten off the tourist trail a bit. Just the way we like it!

Vestnes to South of Orkanger – 218

Lattitude: 63.3

Today we caught the ferry from Vestnes to Molde, but this was no ordinary ferry. It was a super fast and super quiet ferry. It was an electric ferry! They are able to recharge the batteries while the cars are embarking and disembarking. The ferries are also super flash complete with cafeterias and toilets. All for a 20 minute crossing! Norway is very much about electric cars here. Most of them on the road seem to be electric, and there are charging stations everywhere. I’ve never seen so many electric Mustangs in my life!

Today was a day of following the main roads as there is no other choice. We had about 3 or 4 ferry crossings, a few long bridges and one 750 meter tunnel.

The day turned out gorgeous, bright blue skies, and Mike was down to shorts and t-shirts. To avoid the main city of Trondheim, we turned off onto quiet country roads which then turned into a dirt road. It was about 3.30pm when we found a beautiful spot just off the gravel road, overlooking a small lake. We decided to call it quits for the day and had an afternoon nap. 

Then it started raining.

I did a bit more plot-planning, and it seems like we’ve changed our minds yet again. 

We’re not quite at the midnight sun yet. Sunset is currently at 11pm, and sunrise is at 3.40am.

Oye to Vetnes – 138 kms

Lattitude: 62.6

Remember that long, low rumble we heard echoing through the valley last night? We brushed it off as just another mountain doing mountain things. But this morning, a quick Google search turned eerie.

Exactly 117 years ago to the day, just five minutes up the road, there was a massive rockslide which blocked off the river completely. Within a few days, the entire village was completely underwater. The cold has kept it intact, like a ghost town frozen in time. 

We stopped and had a look. The lake was smooth like glass, with reflections so perfect it was hard to tell where the water ended and sky began. Near the shore, we spotted a brick wall just beneath the surface, and the outlines of old buildings made from bricks. It was strange and a little haunting. Apparently, people scuba dive here to explore what’s left beneath. We wished we’d thought to send the drone up. That would’ve been the perfect way to see it from above.

We carried on to the small town of Oye, where the sun came out and everything looked like it belonged on a postcard. A beautiful lake, towering mountains, and a really fancy hotel that looked like something out of a fairytale.

Even better, they had showers in the public bathrooms. Actual showers. So we each had a much-needed scrub, emerging slightly less smelly than before. We also did some laundry by hand, since laundromats, are more like a distant memory on this trip.

After our shower, it was really warm and I dressed in t-shirt and shorts. Then we caught the ferry onwards, and the weather turned cold and we were back to layers and puffer jackets.

We drove into a large town and both decided we needed coffee. Norway doesn’t seem to have a big cafe culture here like the rest of the world. We found a cafe in a mall that had wifi as I thought I’d better get a video up. We had a coffee but it was really bad, so we won’t be drinking coffee out again. I don’t know why, but I thought Norway might have had nice coffee.

After this, the day turned a bit ordinary. We were back onto more main roads, and even though the scenery was still beautiful, it felt less remote. We continued on towards Vestnes where we would catch a ferry to Molde, and it started raining quite hard. We found a pull-off to take a break, and ended up staying the night. It’s actually a nice spot with toilets and a dump station. It’s off the main road a bit, and we didn’t really hear any noise.

I spent the afternoon trying to plot a route without tunnels, but it’s easier said than done. I don’t know what I was thinking coming to Norway with a tunnel phobia, but I thought I had it under control. And I did, until we arrived here and were thrown into tunnel after tunnel with no warning. Now, my irrational fear is back. But, it has been leading us on some interesting adventures so far.

Sel to halfway between Hellesylt and Oye – 185km

Lattitude: 62.08

Today had the wow-factor that makes you grateful for every twist in the plan. 

Yesterday’s rest day turned out to be a blessing in disguise. We’d been heading north, but something didn’t sit right. We’d been doing some last-minute research and realised we hadn’t been to the southern fjords. Did we want to miss them? We looked at a couple of photos and snap decision made. We changed our plans and decided to head west. We’re useless at sticking to a plan, but sometimes, that’s where the magic happens.

So today, we changed direction and drove towards the coast, and almost immediately, the landscape changed. The terrain grew more rugged, the road carving its way through a valley flanked by snow-capped mountains which were rounded on top.

But then we turned off the main road. and that’s when things got really interesting. The road narrowed to a single lane, snaking its way alongside icy lakes. The mountains had become more dramatic with their jagged peaks surrounding us.

Around every bend was another gasp-worthy view, the kind that makes you stop and take another thousand photos.

And then came the zig-zags, tight hairpin turns stacked one after another, back and forth down the mountain pass for 14 kms! Mike was in second gear as we slowly made our way down the 10% grade.

We reached a viewpoint that literally took our breath away. Below us, the Geiranger fjord stretched out, with towering cliffs that plunged straight into the dark water. It was the kind of scenery I expected from Norway.

We continued our zig-zag down the mountain and reached the town of Geiranger just in time to see a ferry pulling in. This was unexpected.

‘Shall we catch the ferry?’ I said to Mike, half-joking.
‘Why not?’ he shrugged, which is basically how most of our decisions get made.

Next thing we know, we’re sitting in line wondering how this turned into a spontaneous cruise. Then the guy comes to take our money. ‘That’ll be 1000 kroner,’ he says.

A thousand kroner! That’s about 90 euros! We looked at each other, shrugged, and paid anyway. At that point, it felt too awkward to back out, and besides, the sun had come out, the scenery was stunning, and honestly, it’s just money! (I can always get a job!)

While we waited to board the ferry, I stripped off my layers, suddenly super hot, thinking it must be at least 11 degrees. Turned out we had a high of 19! That was such a contrast to the previous few days. It’s funny, I’d be layered up at home in 19 degrees!

We drove Bertie on board, and he had a front row seat! The cruise through the fjord was gorgeous . Towering cliffs rose straight from the water, with waterfalls pouring out their sides. It was like sailing through a Norwegian version of the  Milford Sound crossed with the Doubtful Sound, only more enclosed, and somehow even more dramatic. We cruised for an hour before docking in the small town of Hellesylt, tucked into the end of the fjord.

And then came the question: Where to from here?

We didn’t have a plan. There was a larger, more official-looking road heading right, and a smaller, more suspicious-looking one veering left. Naturally, we took the left, and we were so glad we did.

The road narrowed to barely one lane in places, winding tightly between rock faces with waterfalls oozing out of them and snow-capped mountains towering over us.

We found a small pull-off overlooking a lake, surrounded by dramatic peaks. No neighbours, little traffic, it was a perfect place to stop for the night. Then we heard a long rumble.

‘Was that a rockslide?’ I asked. Even Mike looked a bit concerned. We went outside to check and all looked stable. So we shrugged, played a game of chess, and went to bed. Goodnight.

We woke up to snow! It was nicer than the horizontal stuff we had the other day and this was drifting straight down, all white and fluffy and pretty. It even settled on Bertie and he looked really smart in his winter whites.

 We decided to stay put for the day. We’d asked at the local shop and they said the snow further north had settled about 4 inches on the road. And this is a picturesque village to stop at. We’re in a carpark supplied by the church and they have a heated toilet!

The local church looked stunning this morning under a fresh layer of snow, its edges blurred against the white. In the churchyard, we found a row of Commonwealth graves, most of them English. Standing there as the snow fell, settling on the graves, brought a sombre tone to the moment. 

It snowed most of the morning so I worked on my videos, which had taken a back seat until now. Ems lent us a travel-sized chess set, and we’ve been battling it out. Neither of us is exactly a grandmaster… but at least we’re equally terrible, which keeps things fun!

Trying to find somewhere to upload my videos is proving to be another problem. We’ve not seen any cafes that are open, or anywhere offering wifi. Nor have we seen a shower or laundry services, both which are well needed. We might have to find a camping ground that offers these things, but most have been closed due to being off-season.

Stopping for a day also been a good test to see how our power holds up. We dropped to 87% overnight, most likely thanks to the diesel heater doing its thing. We figured we’d be running it all day, but surprisingly, it was warm enough without it. The high hit a balmy 6 degrees, and after the sub-zero temps we’ve been dealing with, that felt tropical! Admittedly, we were still bundled up in full Arctic gear—beanies included, so maybe it wasn’t that warm!

Heggeness to Sel:  126 kms

Lattitude: 61.8

High: 6 degrees

Low: -1

We started the day with a short walk. But could you believe it? As soon as we arrived it started snowing. But we’d planned to do this walk, so walk we did!

It was quite a novelty at first, the snow drifting down, all pretty and stuff, but then it started blowing straight at us, all freezing and stuff. I had forgotten to wear my buff, so my face felt like it was being blasted by an ice machine. I was convinced I was going to end up with a frost-bitten face. We walked faster, trying to keep warm, wondering how on earth we thought this was a good idea. We made it back to the car a little soaked (yes, snow is wet) and cranked up the heater.

After our ‘exercise’ we continued our drive north, climbing back into the mountains, fluffy snowflakes drifting down on Bertie. As we approached a mountain pass, a flashing sign lit up through the haze. Was it warning us to turn back? We looked at each other, shrugged, and pushed on.

We passed a few campervans, and even a caravan, driving down. If they could make it, so could we… right?

The drive was breathtaking. The mountains loomed ahead, cloaked in thick mist, their slopes covered in fresh snow. As we climbed higher, the snowfall fell heavier with each twist in the road. Walls of snow, easily two metres high, flanked us, and any hope of a scenic view vanished into a blur of grey and white.

Then the wind picked up, howling through the pass and sweeping snow across the road in swirling gusts. A thick patch had settled in our path, a ghostly barrier of ice and the road ahead hidden by a haze of white. Off to our right, a BMW sat abandoned in the snow, a warning of what could happen.

‘That’s it, I’m not going any further,’ I said. The snow was coming down up too fast, and that abandoned BMW wasn’t exactly inspiring confidence. Mike, ever the optimist, was keen to plough on, ‘It’s probably fine,’ he said, but the road ahead looked anything but.

I climbed out into the storm, snow stinging my face as I stepped onto the narrow road. The wind howled around me, flinging flakes sideways like shards of ice. I guided Mike as he attempted what felt like the world’s slowest and most stressful 20-point turn, nerves fraying with each careful inch. I kept a close eye on Berties wheels making sure they stayed firmly on the tarmac. I did not want to get stuck up here!

Every crunch of tyre against snow had me holding my breath, but we managed it. Facing the other way never felt so good.

Then came the next challenge, getting back into the car.

I yanked the door open, but when I tried to shut it, the wind slammed against it. No matter how hard I pulled, it wouldn’t budge. I clung to the handle with both hands, terrified the wind might rip it clean off the hinges if I let go.

‘Mike!’ I shouted over the roar. ‘I can’t shut it!’

He leaned across and grabbed my arm, pulling while I fought to wrestle the door closed. It may sound like I’m exaggerating, but I’m really not!

We headed back down the mountain in silence, just keen to get back to civilisation. By the time we reached the nearest town, the snow was falling even harder.

We made a beeline for the tourist information centre, hoping for answers, and maybe a little validation. The man behind the counter didn’t hesitate.

‘Yes, that pass is closed. Very bad weather.’ 

Mike and I exchanged a look. Just as well we turned around when we did, or we might’ve ended up like that poor BMW, frozen in time.

He pulled out a map and pointed to an alternative route. ‘You can take this road instead. Bit of a detour, about three hours.’

Not ideal, but considering the alternative involved being rescued out or sleeping in a snowbank, it sounded just fine.

As we stepped out of the tourist office, who should we see but the guy with the caravan we’d passed coming down the mountain earlier. He confirmed he’d turned around too.

Just then, a familiar little car came into view, barrelling toward the pass like it had something to prove. The Polski Fiat! We’d met those guys a couple of days ago and had been following their snowy escapades on Instagram ever since. Last we saw, their tiny Fiat was practically buried in snow and looked more like a snowmobile than a car.

They’re from Poland, and clearly built of sterner stuff. No hesitation, just full throttle, putt, putt, putting into the storm in all their 600cc 2-cylinder glory. We watched them disappear up the same mountain road we’d just bailed on, shaking our heads with a mix of admiration and concern.

‘Guess they’re a little hardcore,’ I said.

‘Or a little crazy,’ Mike replied.

They are both heading up to the Arctic, so we hope to see them again.

We sat in the van and had some lunch, followed by an afternoon nap. The sun came out, and we started to wonder if the road might open again. If we mucked around long enough, then just maybe…

A couple of hours later, we wandered over to the public toilets. The sign was still flashing: road closed. But when we came back out, it had stopped flashing. Had it just opened?

We checked the website and it was still marked as closed. Not very helpful. So we headed back to the tourist office to ask again.

This time, the news was different: the road closed signs had disappeared. It was open!

Although by this point, I was a little nervous about heading up there again. What I’d seen earlier had stuck with me. Icy roads, thick snowbanks, an abandoned car half-buried in white. It wasn’t exactly a pretty sight, and I think it gave me a touch of PTSD.

But the sun was still out, and the wind had dropped. We decided to give it a shot. Worst case, we could always do another twenty-point turn and come back down. We’d done it once, we could do it again.

But this time, the views were even more incredible. The mist had lifted, unveiling the mountains in their full glory. Instead of a hazy white blur, we could see clear down into the valley, layers of snow and rock stretching out far below. It felt like the mountain was showing us its best side.

But I didn’t fully relax until we started the downhill run and dropped below the snow line. As much as I love being in the middle of nowhere, with no one else around, this time it felt eerie.

The rest of the day was spent driving alongside rivers and beautiful turquoise lakes. We are low enough now that the snow has stopped and it’s just rain. The weather is supposed to be worse tomorrow so we are camping in a carpark near a small town, listening to the rhythmic patter of rain on Bertie’s roof.

Heggeness – 226 kms

Lattitude 61.1

We woke up to a van that felt more like a fridge than a home. Two degrees outside, and not much warmer inside. Thank goodness for the diesel heater and strong coffee. It was time to break out the winter-woolies we bought before we left. And to think we were worried about our air-con not working!

Today we wound our way higher into the mountains, climbing steadily until the landscape changed. Snow appeared on the hills and pine trees were sprinkled in white, just like little Christmas trees. I love how we leave home chasing summer, and end up finding winter!

There’s always something fascinating about the culture in a new country. While we were admiring  the view, we spotted something really cool: a man on a quad bike being pulled along by about eight huskies, all charging ahead like they were in a movie scene. We wondered if  this how he keeps them fit in the off-season, when there’s not enough snow for a sled? Whatever the reason, it was a brilliant sight that made us smile.

We kept climbing, winding our way higher into the mountains, the road curling through forest and rock until everything opened up. We’d reached a wide plateau, where the land flattened out covered by a soft blanket of snow. Scattered across the landscape were little ski huts, standing still, unoccupied for the summer, There was no one around. It felt like we’d stumbled into our own private wonderland. 

But the illusion didn’t last. By afternoon, we were rolling through one tourist town after another, the kind where outdoor shops and ski signs blur into one. We pulled in for supplies, but as we stepped out, the sky opened up. Real snow this time, not the pitiful flurries we’d seen earlier. It came down fast, pelting us in icy bursts and settling on Bertie and I wondered if this was his first time seeing snow.

As we drove on, the snow fell harder, blurring the world outside. It got thicker with every kilometre, and for a moment, I thought, what if this turns into a full whiteout? 

But then, as quickly as it had started, it stopped. The clouds parted, the sky turned a crisp blue, and the mountains reappeared like nothing had happened. 

We pulled over beside a lake, with snow-capped mountains rising in the distance. It was meant to be just a short break, and we stretched out for an afternoon nap with the sun warming the van.

But when we woke, the view hadn’t lost its magic, so we decided to stay the night. Technically, it’s just a rest stop by the side of the road. But with that view out the window, it might as well be a luxury resort! We’re just missing the hot tub! 

Lake Byglandfjorden to Atra – 250 kms

Lattitude: 59.8

Welcome to Day 11 and another day of stunning Norway. Nobody joined us at our camping spot overnight, and it was a very quiet night. Possibly too quiet!

Today, we kept to narrow roads that wound along the edge of beautiful lakes. Slick rock walls rose up on either side, shaped possibly by glaciers a long time ago. The scenery shifted constantly, and each turn offered something worth pulling over for. Reflections on the water. A waterfall. Or just a short nap.

Then we climbed higher into the mountains, navigating tight, twisty lanes that clung to the cliffs. Traditional wooden huts with grass roofs dotted the landscape, and goats grazed in the paddocks.

Before long, we hit the snow line  and the air grew sharp and cold. We pulled into a small town, where the locals warned us the weather was about to turn nasty, maybe even bring snow.

We continued to climb up and up, until we reached a peak. We felt on top of the world as we looked down on the town of Dalen. To drive down was a series of hairpin turns with sheer drop offs to the side, reminding me of the Million Dollar Highway in Colorado. We stopped at Dalen, a small town in the valley, to refuel, and everyone town looked very miserable. So we didn’t linger. 

We met a couple of Polish guys today driving Norway in their tiny little Fiat. It was all painted up and they have a following on instagram and tiktok. They gave us a couple of stickers and a cardboard thingy of their car which we have to make. We are doing it in style compared to them!

Then we went up again, over another mountain pass. It’s a little bit scary being in the passenger seat where the driver would normally sit. I’m constantly telling Mike to keep over! As we drove down another narrow, winding road with hairpin turns, a massive hydroelectric power station loomed on our right. Thick pipes ran straight down the mountainside, channelling water into the turbines below.

We drove into the town of Rjukan and I instantly felt the history oozing from its pores. I had no idea what history, just that there was a creepy vibe emanating from the town. We drove to the spot I’d marked to stay the night, but I already knew I wouldn’t be staying here. I can’t quite pinpoint why. Maybe it was the shadowy old buildings, or maybe it was just a gut feeling. I decided to Google the place, and wow, Rjukan has some interesting facts.

For starters, the town doesn’t get any direct sunlight from September through to March. That’s six months of the year living in shade! How freaky would that be? They actually installed giant mirrors on the mountainside to reflect sunlight into the town during winter.

But Rjukan’s past is even darker than its winters. During World War II, the nearby Vemork power plant was a key site for Nazi heavy water production, essential for developing nuclear weapons. In one of the most famous sabotage missions of the war, Norwegian resistance fighters blew up the facility, crippling the program and stopping a shipment that could’ve changed history.

And we drove right on through!

We continued on, looking for a place to camp. And then it started snowing! Okay, not real snow, just a light flutter. But it was falling ice, hitting the windscreen! There was a shortage of places to stay along this stretch. We eventually found a place off the main road (yes, less main than the twisty things we’ve been on.) It overlooks a river… and bonus, there are pit toilets here! 

Oh, and it’s freezing! We are thankful for our diesel heater!

Vigeland to Lake Byglandsfjorden – 175 kms

Lattitude: 58

We had a surprisingly great night’s sleep at a scenic carpark right off the main road. Today, we’re heading to the southernmost tip of mainland Norway.

It was another glorious, sunny day as we wound our way along narrow roads skirting fjords and charming boathouses. I don’t know why, but everything here feels ultra-saturated. It’s like seeing the world through an iPhone with the filters cranked up. The colours are incredibly vivid, almost surreal. Maybe it’s to do with how far north we are, but it’s probably just my imagination.

We reached the southern tip of mainland Norway and set off on a steep hike up to the lighthouse. As we climbed, the salty air grew stronger, and my lungs grew tighter. I must do more exercise! At the top, the lighthouse stood tall against the brilliant blue sky, offering endless views over the North Sea. The original lighthouse was powered by a coal fire, and we had the chance to explore the nearby caves where the coal was stored. They were dark, cool, and moody, still with a hint of coal smell. It was a fascinating glimpse into the past and added a unique layer to our visit.

Afterwards, we spent some time plotting our next move, keen to head north, but eager to avoid the major cities. Finding a route through Norway without driving through long tunnels is trickier than you’d think. But the upside? We get to drive through some wonderfully wiggly backroads with stunning scenery at every turn.

We stopped at a small museum, where a lovely local woman gave us some brilliant tips for road-tripping north. I’d been torn about skipping the major tourist hotspots like the Lofoten Islands. Part of me didn’t want to miss out, even though crowded places aren’t really my thing. Thankfully, she confirmed what I’d suspected: they’re beautiful, but seriously overrun, and there are plenty of less touristy spots that are just as stunning, if not more so. Most of them were already on my radar, but it was reassuring to have that insider validation.

We continued our journey north, searching for a camping spot for the night. We found a little spot which seemed perfect. It was a bit of a tight and bumpy squeeze, but Mike wrangled Bertie in, balancing us nicely on a rock overlooking a lake. But when we stepped out of the van we were swarmed upon by ants. And they weren’t little ants either, these were big brown man eating things! We needed to leave! Now! Lake view or not, we weren’t about to become part of the ant smorgasbord.

The next trick was to reverse out of the tight spot. I tried to help but as per standard, Mike ignored all my arm waving, yelling, etc. and then he almost got stuck in a groove, wheels spinning, kicking up grit and ants. A moment of fear crossed my mind of getting stuck here and being eaten alive. But, the professional driver he is, with the help of our adventure van, Bertie, they both made it out. It might not have worked out so well if it was wet.

A short way up the road we found a better spot to camp for the night, also overlooking a lake and under some pine trees. And no ants! We sat on the rocks at the edge of the lake, enjoying the quiet, the breeze, and the simple feeling of having nowhere else to be. So far, it’s just us here, no other vans, a stunning view and a few flying bugs which we weren’t sure were bitey or not. It feels like our own private slice of Norway.

The days are getting longer with the sun now setting at 10pm. I’m going to start putting the lattitude at the top of the blog. We are currently at 58 degrees. The arctic is at 66 and we hope to go as far north as 71 degrees. Hamilton sits at 38 degrees.

It was one of those gorgeous blue-sky days, and the four-hour ferry crossing was smooth as…until we docked.

No sooner had we rolled off the ferry than my worst fear happened: tunnels. Boom. Boom. Boom. Three in a row, not even time to catch my breath. And not your average tunnels, either. This was an underground maze, with forks and offshoots going god knows where. Mike missed our exit, and suddenly we were hopelessly lost in Norway’s underground. 

Eventually, we resurfaced and pulled into a shopping centre so I could calm my rattled nerves. We also picked up a Norwegian road atlas, because sometimes you just need to see the entire battlefield.

Mr Google kept trying to herd us onto the highways so I did my zoomie trick where I zoom in on the map and follow the wiggliest lines I can find. That led us to the coast, and oh wow, what a detour it turned out to be.

Norway’s southern fjords are absolutely stunning. Clear blue water and red timber houses perched at the water’s edge were just what I expected from Norway. It’s picture postcard, chocolate box and every other cliché you can imagine.  We couldn’t stop grinning at the sheer beauty of it!

But we should give some credit to France, Belgium, Holland, and Denmark. Their flat landscapes set up Norway to wow us as soon as we got off the ferry. It was like we’d been transported into another land (we literally had).

The afternoon was spent driving along narrow winding roads, every turn another beautiful scene. I found two really decent free camping spots, but Mike was loving the drive so much he didn’t want to stop. The weather and scenery was too nice.

We continued on but couldn’t find any decent camping spots. Thankfully, with the long evenings (it doesn’t get dark until around 10 p.m.), we had time on our side. Eventually, we found a free spot in a rest area just off the main road. Even their rest stops are ridiculously picturesque. We’re overlooking a pond, with picnic tables, chairs, and even toilets. Just a bit of traffic noise, but it didn’t bother us at all.