Travelog of trip to
Friday,
June 29, 2007
My flight took off from JFK’s Terminal 4
roughly on time. It was a smooth, uneventful flight to
Schipol was fairly empty on our arrival. Still, it
took over an hour to get through security because I chose the slowest-moving
line for the “all passports” category. The plane took off and
climbed in a broad circle that gave sweeping views of the Dutch countryside and
Schipol’s many active runways far below. Once the plane reached the
scudding skies over the North Sea I fell asleep, and didn’t wake up till
we were descending towards the Norwegian coast south of
Saturday,
June 30
I surprised Dad and Elaine while they were
withdrawing money from the ATM in the arrivals hall. We all took out a bit too
many kroner—it would be a challenge to get rid of all our cash during the
remainder of the trip. The next step was the car rental, which took a bit of
time to settle because dad paid with a credit card despite listing Elaine and
me as drivers. The car had a keyless ignition—so it was always critical
to lock the doors and take the “keys” (actually just a remote unlocking
fob) along at all times.
The narrow road took us through some picturesque
forested valleys to the little town of
When we got close to Stalheim I recognized the
hotel on a spur of a mountain just before we went through a long tunnel. It was
connected to the main highway via a narrow road on one side, and by an
incredibly winding and steep road on the other. We checked into our small rooms
(on the second floor overlooking the parking lot) and then went and admired a
Ford Model A in the driveway. There was an early-model Ford convention taking
place that evening at the hotel, so dad periodically went to see what vehicles
were coming and going—eventually there were at least 30 of them parked
outside.
The view from the hotel certainly lived up to its
billing. Dad remembered the old German fortifications from the prior visit: the
Germans had built bunkers and pillboxes in case of an Allied attack that never
came. That evening we enjoyed a glass of wine and Elaine and I played a game or
two of chess. (I had to remind her that she had taught me how when I was a
kid.)
In the evening we had an expensive dinner at the
restaurant—and we had to wait an hour for the dinner seating despite
making a reservation because of the crowd at the hotel. My fish was good but
not worth the price we paid, so we agreed to try to do more meals on our own
using groceries bought along the way.
Sunday,
July 1
We had a hearty breakfast buffet of eggs, bacon,
cold-cuts and toast the next morning—in fact, it was roughly the same
menu every morning for the rest of the trip, which started to make me worried
about starting the days that way so regularly. We were back in the car by 8:30
and on our way to Gudvangen, the ferry port. We got there way early for the
first ferry at 10:20, so we waited at the large tourist restaurant overlooking
the dock and fjord while dad had a coffee.
It was a two-hour ferry ride to Flåm. There
were so many waterfalls and high mountain cliffs that after a while one stopped
noticing them. Furthermore, it was hard for me to stay awake due to jet lag.
Still, the weather was beautiful and there weren’t more than a few dozen
passengers on the large ferryboat. We enjoyed speculating what life might be
like in the picturesque farmhouses perched on high mountain ledges overlooking the
fjord.
The ferry arrived in Flåm just as the tourist
train for Myrdal was leaving the station; no doubt the schedule is planned that
way to give tourists time to kill shopping and looking around the town. We had
a light lunch and departed on the 1:35 train. Unfortunately, we chose the wrong
side, and sat in the hot sun away from the windows with the best views, up
until the very end of the ride at least when the tracks went over to the other
side of the valley. Near the top the train stops at a large roaring waterfall
where there is a semi-corny program of two women dancers in folk clothing who
walk out on an abandoned building above the falls dancing to siren-song music
piped in through unseen speakers.
When the train arrived at Myrdal there was a huge
crowd that came out and walked along the platform, but they all got right back
on the train to go down leaving us mostly alone in the station. Dad had an
ice-cream and then Elaine and I walked down the trail a bit to a spot
overlooking yet another rocky waterfall. It was a beautiful day with lots of
lovely views of the high mountains and their snowfields.
For the ride down we sat on the left side to take
in the view where you can see three tracks at once from inside a snow-shed
carved into the sheer rock flank of the mountain. Down at Flåm we bought
groceries and had a glass of red wine before boarding the ferry back. Again it
was hard to stay awake as the impressive scenery scrolled past—especially
since the only other distraction aside from the view was the cookies and other
snacks I had in the bag.
Back at Stalheim that night I beat Elaine at chess
a couple of times before trying to turn in early.
Monday,
July 2:
We left the hotel at 9 for Sel. For the first 90
minutes of the drive we were almost completely driving through long 10+ mile
tunnels through the high mountains between the fjords—one to Flåm,
the next to Laerdal (23 km). From there we took the car-ferry across the
Sognefjord, a short but cold crossing. Next the road got curvy and narrow as it
wound up the fjord and into the mountains; Elaine had a hand at driving for a
while. From there the road climbed steeply into the misty clouds, through a
landscape of barren rock and grass, and up to a snowy, desolate mountain pass
where we could see glaciers and lakes of snow and ice water. Incredibly, we saw
bikers fighting their way up the Sognafjell road as well.
From there the road descended down the hills into
Lom, where the famous Stave church is. We had lunch at an informal local place
(I had fish again), then drove on towards Sel. Elaine’s driving
instructions from the Internet directed us to take a left-turn before reaching
Otta. We were both a little surprised to find the route taking us up a steep
dirt road used for logging and over a picturesque forested mountain ridge. On
the other side we reached the
We turned up the mountain slope on the other side
to reach Høvringen and the Øigardseter Fjellstue. (Elaine and I
were impressed to see how high the road climbed to reach the seter.) The hotel
was beautiful, and there were so many wildflowers all around on the seter. On
arrival at the hotel we introduced ourselves to Kari, Arne Hovengen’s
wife, who initially thought we were a group of Czech tourists. She told us that
Hans Hovengen, Arne’s father, had just died a couple of days before. Arne
came in and talked to us briefly, and we decided that given all the family
business we should go off on our own for a little while to explore. It was
cloudy and a bit windy and rainy, but we had a good half-hour hike along a
small creek at the upper part of the loop road on the seter.
That night dinner was especially hearty: we had
pork tenderloin and potatoes, just like home. Elaine and I played Chinese
checkers and dominoes (Elaine soundly beat me at both) before turning in. Arne
and Kari had given us all single rooms overlooking the valley. I woke up
several times in the night and it was almost always light outside.
Tuesday,
July 3:
The next morning at Arne’s suggestion we
drove into the Rondane National Park on a dirt road looking for a little path
that would give a good panoramic view of the Sel valley. We never quite found
the right path (though Arne later said we’d gotten close), but we still
had a good time walking around on the rock and heather. It was a cold, blustery
day though, so I suggested going back.
At the seter we went to the little side-building to
look at the initials carved into the stone wall. Arne pointed out where his
son, Hans-Martin, had put his initials, not far from where my grandfather, Hans
Anderson Hovengen had put his own graffiti. Dad remembered how his mother had
been able to recognize a lot of the more obscure initials on her visit in 1972.
We took a group photo and I helped Arne and Hans-Martin move a children’s
swing set in the yard.
At noon we went down to Sel and found the old
family farm. It was amazing to realize that we’d driven right past it on
the way into town the previous day. Ragnhild met us at the door and showed us
the inside of the main farmhouse, which both she and her father had in their
turns updated with some modern conveniences (like heating, appliances, and an
open kitchen) while keeping the historically significant living room,
fireplace, and fittings along with the Norwegian style wooden furnishings. Dad
talked about how his father had remembered sitting on a bench along the wall
late in the evenings with his family, and how the elders told them to keep
their legs up off the floor because of trolls. Ragnhild had made a big stack of
waffles (served with jam), of which I had at least two thirds to myself while
dad and Elaine drank tea and coffee.
We worked for a little while drawing out the family
tree—Ragnhild had her own copy, but we filled in our side on a little
piece of paper. We also tried to sort out what branch of the family my
dad’s mother Clara had come from, the Rostens or the Vaspladsens. Ragnhild
suggested we not visit that farm because of a recent death in their family and
because the original farmhouse had been torn down anyway. Finally, we
reminisced about her visit to the
I learned two very interesting items of trivia:
Øigard apparently meant “abandoned farm,” and referred to
the fact that the place had been abandoned after the great plague of 1350.
Second, in Gudbrandsdal they pronounce “Anders” like
“Ahn-desh,” whereas in
After that we had a look around at all of the
buildings. One had been turned into a house for the tenant farmers, another
storage building had been turned into a bar/entertainment room with funky
modern lights shining down onto plain old wooden planks and simple picnic-style
furniture. There were three barns: the closest to the house was a nice
structure that almost looks like a church or schoolhouse but was actually the
stable. Next to that was the modern wheat barn built to store NATO/UN/Canadian
wheat 50 years ago—which both Arne and my dad remembered as having a
white roof, though that has now rusted to a nice brown. Lastly was the
1700’s-era livestock barn with its double stone wall. Ragnhild said the
farm is profitable if its land is combined with some of the others in the area.
Still, the tenants she had now were planning to leave and she would be needing
some others shortly. As for the rights to the farm, she could sell it, but
others in the family would have the right of first offer at a very low price
set by the government. She mentioned that the old patrimonial inheritance
system had been changed since my grandfather’s time so that the eldest
inherits regardless of gender.
Our last activity was to try to re-create the
photos dad had taken of Barb and Elaine climbing the little hill in back of the
farm. Elaine and I had the photo and we did our best—but we didn’t
manage to hike quite high enough to get the perfect angle. From the picture it
looks like the biggest change is to the town in the background, which has grown
considerably. Still, I was impressed at the number of other historic farm
structures in the area.
After saying our goodbyes we drove south to Otta where
dad helped us find the white church where the ancestral graveyard is. We spent
some time walking among the markers and taking a picture of the gravestone of
Anders (my great-grandfather), Marit (great-grandmother), Ragnhild and Asmund
(their children). We learned later the gravestone would have to be moved soon
since Hans had decided not to be buried there: there is apparently a time-limit
on how long markers can stand in the front of the graveyard without additional
family-members using the plot.
We drove a little ways on to locate the concrete
marker along the road marking where Prillar Guri supposedly helped set the
ambush of the Scottish mercenary troops in 1612. The battle took place, but the
Prillar Guri story is apparently mostly legend.
Our last stop was the little brown church in Sel,
where we saw the grave of Ragnhild’s father Anders, as well as the little
graveyard for the British troops who were part of the Green Howards—a
commando operation that had fought to delay the German advance in Sel in April
1940. It looked like most of a platoon had been wiped out.
That evening after dinner Elaine and I again
settled down to Chinese checkers in the Øigardseter common rooms.
Hans’ wife came out to talk to us along with Arne’s sister, who did
the translating. She talked about Hans’ last days, how frail he had
become, how he enjoyed his last two weeks exploring all his old haunts in the
seter and meeting with family. She said she recognized the family resemblance
in us.
Wednesday,
July 4:
The next morning we got an early start (after
saying goodbye to Arne and Kari) on our four-hour drive to Oslo. It was a rainy
day and a perfect time to depart, especially since the family in Sel were
getting ready for Hans’ funeral.
Once we arrived in Oslo it was difficult to find
the rental-car agency at the train station. I dropped Elaine at a corner nearby
and continued to circle in traffic—getting turned around in the process
and almost winding up on a freeway heading out of town. Elaine had her own
tribulations inside the train station, which had poorly marked signage for
“information” and an unhelpful information booth as well. We
finally reunited and located the garage and found the Hertz counter inside. We
were anxious because we thought we could make a 1 pm deadline to return the car
within three days. In reality, we had taken the car out early and needed to
make a 12:00 deadline—and at 1:45 we weren’t even close. The guy at
the counter said he had backdated the return by an hour, but later dad’s
receipt indicated we’d been charged for four days anyway since the grace
period was only 20 minutes or so. All around it was a frustrating couple of
hours.
We took a short (but expensive) taxi ride to the
Thon Stefan, our modern hotel in Central Oslo. The beds were plush and the
lobby stylish—and they had a big set of red hotel umbrellas for the fluky
rainy weather that is so common in Oslo. We had a good seafood lunch nearby at
an outdoor trattoria, then Elaine and I set off for a subway ride to the Munch
Museet northeast of the city center. It was a small, manageable museum with
lots of new security. The Scream had not yet been re-hung—it was still in
restoration after the recent theft—but there was a good selection of
other paintings that showed Munch’s evolution from an Impressionist to an
Expressionist. (We learned the latter term from a book on Munch in the museum
shop.)
At 6 we met Asbjørn and Ragnhild in the
lobby, and they took us to one of the more upscale places in town, the Grand
Hotel. We had a good conversation with them about our trip so far
(Asbjørn mentioned again his amazement at how little time we were
spending in
After dinner we caught a taxi to the
Thursday,
July 5:
The next morning after a good breakfast we headed
down to the port area for the ferry over to the Viking Ship Museum, which is
located on a island/peninsula on the other side of the harbor. It was a short
walk up a hill to the museum, which actually has three Viking ships that were
used as burial vessels for aristocratic Norwegians. After returning via the
ferry we stopped for a glass of wine and a little lunch at a nice restaurant
overlooking the harbor from the second floor. While we were there a downpour
started, and we were mesmerized watching the silvery raindrops sliding down the
waterproof black awning below us.
That afternoon we wandered into the
After checking out we headed to the ferry dock for
our overnight trip to
Friday,
July 6:
I slept surprisingly well. By the time we were up
the ferry had already passed Helsinøre and was approaching Copenhagen.
The breakfast area was busy but we found a table without a problem.
It was raining, so we didn’t miss much as the
ship pulled into its berth just north of town. We waited for the crowds to
disembark, then packed up quickly and walked ashore, where we hailed a taxi for
a quick ride to the Admiral Hotel. Our taxi driver laughed at the fact that we
three squeezed into the back seat rather than sitting in front, and he talked
about how the hotel was so close to the Amalienborg palace that one could see
the queen in her apartments from some of the rooms. The hotel was modern and
sumptuous with its softly-lit, thickly carpeted interiors, exposed brick, and
the heavy beam construction reflecting its past as a grain warehouse.
We walked through the courtyard of the Amalienborg
palace in the rain, then went on to the
Next we walked down the pedestrian tourist street
in the center of town followed by a guided tour of Christianborg palace. We
learned about alternation between Christians and Frederiks in royal line. The
tradition had been for each Frederik to name his firstborn son Christian, and
vice-versa—but since there had been two Christians early on the system
always resulted in moving backwards and forwards in the numbering
scheme—i.e. Christian X would be followed by Frederik IX, then by
Christian XI. The current, much-loved queen, Margrethe II, has unraveled the
problem by “doing two in a row”—i.e. by naming her son
Frederik. He will become Frederik X, and from then on (assuming cooperation of
future monarchs) the system will be easy to remember.
We walked back via the town hall and mobbed
pedestrian street, and shopped for a while in the Magasin department store.
Later we had drinks at a local pub while resting our feet after looking for a
sushi restaurant I’d seen advertised in the literature they had passed
out when we boarded the ferry. The restaurant proved to be across the street,
though we had to sit near the door because they were fully booked (despite
being empty when we arrived). The sushi was fantastic, but I ate a bit too
much.
Saturday,
July 7:
The next morning after breakfast we walked through
the pretty earth fortified ramparts and historic military barracks just north
of the hotel and visited the famous Little Mermaid. From there we walked inland
and waited for the train to Helsinøre. It was a 50-minute train ride,
during which time Elaine and I worked on Sudoku puzzles in the onboard
magazine. (It was simple to solve the “hard” puzzle but we only
managed to solve the “easy” one on the ride back.)
It was drizzling but pleasant in the little town of
Back in
For our last activity of the day, Elaine and I took
a brisk walk to the south side of town along the original earthen ramparts. We
saw an interesting spiral church steeple and some really modern buildings along
the main canal, but the ramparts were a little disappointing since they were
overgrown with grass and you couldn’t get a sense of the overall design
from walking on top. Still, it was a good pleasant walk.
That evening we had dinner at Oscars and dessert in
a tourist restaurant along the scenic
Sunday,
July 8:
Dad and Elaine had breakfast with me at the hotel
and we said our goodbyes, then I took a taxi to the airport. It was a nice
clear day. The flight took off with a modest delay, and landed in
Notes from
talking to dad at Stalheim about the family history:
Ragnhild Hovengen is the oldest daughter of Anders
Hovengen, son of Asmund Hovengen and grandson of our ancestor (my great
grandfather) Anders Hovengen. The Øigard/ Øverbø farm has
been in their family for generations. My grandmother’s father, Thor
Øverbø, inherited it. My grandfather’s father,
Hans Hovengen came to
Instead he went up to
Hans came back to
At the farm in Sel there are three homes. Whenever
an ancestor got enough money they built themselves a new house. One building
(the horse stable) has a weather vane with the date. In 1972 Dad stayed in the
second floor of the other house, which had no indoor plumbing at the time.
Anders lived in the main house then. When Anders lived there he wanted to put
in a furnace for heating, but he couldn’t since it was a national
historic site. To prevent him from going forward, the government opted to put
it in at their own expense.
The system at that time was that the eldest son inherits
everything. At the time of their earlier visit to the U.S. Ragnhild lived in
Grandma Øverbø was a Rosten and she
lived in another house they visited on a prior visit. (We later determined this
was the Vaspladsen farm.)
The seter: in the olden days farmers sent cattle to
the top of the mountain for the grass in the summertime. There were milkmaids
up there who made cheese—there was no refrigeration. (Clara said that
Hans “had a lot of fun” up on the seter visiting the milkmaids back
in his youth.) When Asmund inherited the farm and the seter he built a hotel up
there for tourists, as did other people. When Anders inherited, he wasn’t
interested in the hotel, so he gave that (or sold it) to Hans. Anders inherited
sometime in the 1950’s.
Dad’s
original trip to
Flew into Oslo and stayed there two nights.
Took the train to Lillehammer. Met the widow of
dad’s brother Knut and stayed there one night.
Took the train to Bødø at the end of
the line and stayed two nights due to an airline strike against hijackings,
which were just beginning at that time. Saw the big whirlpool there.
Flew to Tromsø and rented a car and drove
north to Alta to see the midnight sun.
Next day drove back to Tromsø and flew to
Trondheim, where spent two nights.
Rented a car and drove to the farm in Sel where
they stayed three nights.
Drove to Bergen via Stalheim and stayed in Bergen
for two nights. Grandma was sick so they took the train back to Oslo.
Everything was pre-planned with reservations except
for one night in Alta. All reservations were made by letter or by relatives in
Norway.