The Bridge to Nowhere

The Oresund Bridge was opened 14 years ago to connect the cities of Copenhagen and Malmo. Truly an amazing feat of engineering. It is 7.8 km long as it crosses from Sweden to the newly created Island of Peberholm. Here, the road does something amazing. It just vanishes. 

I had led the Windy convoy through the toll booths, negotiating hard in my fluent Swedish. Ok, the Swedish guy wanted to practice his already perfect English, so I let him. With my 10 trip discount ticket secured, the rest of the rabble followed me through like a bunch of jostling school children. 

As we approached the Island of Peberholm, I was beginning to wonder if the ticket I had bought was such good value any more. Bravely I let some of the more eager teams to overtake. Peberholm didn't hold much of a draw to be honest. Limited history, zero population, not even a parking space. 

Thankfully, I didn't have to explain to the others that we had been fiddled. The road disappears under ground and then under the sea to reach Denmark. An interesting bridge/tunnel combination. 

Having arrived in Copenhagen, all following our own brand of Pratt Nav, the group bomb burst. 10 different variations of how to get to the same camp site 10 miles away. Of course, ours was scouring the area for Albanian Goat Tracks. Luckily few and far between in Central Copenhagen. 

Camping Bellahoj is relatively convenient for seeing the city. I'm afraid any other descriptions of the place are going to be less favourable. It looks like some playing fields next to a housing estate. The corregated iron toilet block resembled a sheep shearing shed. Still, there was plenty of space. Lucas was able to drag as many teams as he liked in to a game of football. 

It seemed we didn't have a single kroner between us. Well, maybe some Swedish and Norwegian but not Danish. Thankfully the camp site is equipped to deal with such eventualities. I managed to purchase a large handful of bus tickets to get us in to the centre. 

Tivoli Gardens, a World renowned attraction. More amusement park than gardens, but they do have plants and ponds. Lucas was happy with the rides. My wallet, less so. Jo took him on the Goldmine ride and managed to break it so got some bonus tickets given to her.

Eileen dragged me kicking and screaming in to the man crèche and made me drink a small beer. 

Most of us linked up for dinner. Hercegovina found us space for 25 and we were entertained by some live Gypsy music. A bit of a shame our Tarmaccers had accidentally ordered food elsewhere, they probably would have enjoyed it. All you could eat buffet, a Bosnian style restaurant in Denmark with Romany style band playing American tunes. Never did Elvis Presley on the accordion sound so good. 

Lucas was strangely able to persuade a good number of normally (relatively) sensible adults to try break dancing to gypsy music on a stage in the restaurant. We said a fond farewell to our Spanish contingent, Raquel, who flies to Madrid tomorrow. I hope we shall see her on a future Windy 500. 

The Tarmaccers

It's a well known fact that Scandinavians in general speak excellent English. Most are fluent by the time they leave school. Having been brought up on a diet of ABBA songs and Volvo adverts (all in English of course), your average Swede will have little choice but to learn to speak English (albeit with a jolly, sing-song accent that we all love). However, both ABBA and the Volvo advertisers only use a very plummy sort of English accent. Once your poor Swede is faced with any sort of regional accent, they are stuffed. Next time you meet a Swede, just try singing a Wurzels song to them. I have done, they just look bemused. Be it a West Country accent, cockney, Scouse or Irish, it's bound to confuse. 

So, when two rough looking geezers, a bit dishevelled from a week or two on the road, pitch up in a white van at your camp site and tell you that there are 9 other similar groups turning up soon, I'm guessing if you couldn't tell a Dorset accent from an Irish traveller accent, you might be a little apprehensive. Team George, searching for a place to stay rather than a place to tarmac. 

I still think the 'No English Groups' rule that Aspen Camping enforced was a little over the top though. Perhaps Dave tried to sell them some lucky heather or pointed out that their gutters needed cleaning. Either way, we found ourselves at the far superior Liseberg Camping. 

Awaiting our arrival there were Team Swede. Anna, Jonas and Martin. Veterans of last years Windy 500 in their Peugeot with the exhaust fixed with baked bean cans. 

They are hoping to be on the next Windy 500, college and jobs permitting. 

It was a long old drive down from Hamar, past Oslo and across the border for yet another new country for me. I was even allowed to drive as I had whinged a bit the evening before. We blew the last of Eileen's Norwegian jubblies on sweets and other rubbish and got lost near the border as the dear sat nav advised us to drive up a road for a mile then do a U turn. Stupid bloody contraption. It further amused itself by taking us through a Swedish housing estate, trying to persuade us to jump over a barrier across the road. 

Jo was happy. We found a wine shop. The prices not much different to UK prices. She stocked up and had a silly grin on her face. Not much of a beer drinker is Jo. Or tequila or Jaegermeister either for that matter. 

It was an alcohol free evening for me as I had to drive out to the airport to collect the last 2 team members. Young Lucas, number 2 son and his other grandmother Kath (or Dwarf Mumsie as she prefers to be known, probably). Their flight was late so we ended up creeping quietly through the camp site at around midnight. Well, I say creeping. More like driving a rattly old camper van with an unhealthy engine though the campsite.

So, that was Gothenburg, that was Eileen's birthday, that was the Mowlams' 36th wedding anniversary and that was Sweden. Off to Denmark again tomorrow. The Oresund Bridge, Tivoli Gardens and the Mermaid Statue. More importantly and rather depressingly, the ABBA soundtrack gives way to bloody Aqua again. Surely Denmark you can do better than bloody Aqua ? So long Sweden and 'thank you for the music'. 

Olly to the Rescue

I would like to point out that I did not join in the mocking of poor Steve when he ran out of fuel 3 miles from the campsite. I would also like to point out that I had not been in the drivers seat for 2 days. Now that I have completely absolved myself of all blame...

Eileen had left Jezebel with at least half an egg cup full of petrol. Jo was first in the hot seat in the morning as we set off towards Hamar. Having quickly established the evil trick that Eileen had played and that the nearest fuel station was 6 miles back towards Oppdal, she took the brave decision to head towards Hamar and a filling station 23 miles away. 15 minutes later I was making a sheepish call to the rescue limo. At least they were discrete. Well, apart from the blaring air horns, the photos and the immediate postings on Facebook. 

So, after the embarrassing delay (I gave the team a good dressing down, including Sean. Well, he did overfill the oil last week so it's only fair that we keep on bringing it up. )

We popped in at Lillehammer on the way. Two reasons for this, to see the Olympic Ski Jump and also to do an interview for Norwegian Radio. 

You know how it is when you start a sentence and you aren't quite sure how to finish it and you end up saying something which wasn't quite what you meant.... Well, I think I shall gloss over the interview contents and tell you all that it was fine and dandy. 

Sveastrada Campsite near Hamar is on the edge of the lake. Sean immediately grabbed his new fishing rod and fishing tackle and set off to catch us some mackerel for tea. I had heard that Norwegian freshwater mackerel are cunning fish, so it was no surprise that, like every single fisherman who had tried to catch one before, he was unsuccessful. How did I have such a blonde son ? 

Our last night in Norway was taken up with the nail game, but a drinking variation. Tequila and Jaegermeister. What a lovely mixture. I'll miss Norway. Getting fed up with A-Ha though. Let's get those Abba songs on !

Heat

Well, it turns out that we have visited Norway during their coldest summer in 120 years. Who's stupid idea was that ? It was bad enough for those who stayed south of the Arctic Circle. Those who ventured North were reporting snow and freezing temperatures. There were also some dubious reports of elk being spotted. Team Trigger even had photos, but it could have been a cow with antlers photoshopped on. 

We departed the campsite at Alesund, with its rude and grumpy owner to head towards the Atlantic Ocean Road. It  meant taking the ferry to Molde again, my third trip on this particular ferry in 24 hours. 

We were travelling in convoy with Teams Milly and George (or should it be George and Mildred ?) until we got the pleasant and picturesque town of Bud. Gary and Dave announced they were in Central Paris, well according to their sat nav. They were taking it apart to teach it a lesson. 

The Atlantic Ocean Road is every bit as bleak and windswept as you would expect. Small granite islands are dotted off the coast and some scrubby vegetation cowering from the stiff breeze and rain. The cold, damp air whistling through the van was getting to us all. 

The road starts off with the iconic humped bridge. 

After that the road hopped from rugged Island to rugged island. I don't know if it was just the ridiculous amount of stunning scenery we have seen over the last week or just the cold and drizzly weather but I have to say I was a little disappointed with the Atlantic Ocean Road. 

Teams through the day had been checking in from Oppdal.

Team Olly had driven through the night to get there and we found them at the camp site wallowing in opulence in a log mansion. The Mowlams had a shed in comparison. As more teams drifted in, we congregated in the west wing of the mansion, with central heating, Sky tv and sleeping quarters for a full battalion. 

It wasn't just us making use of Team Ollys facilities though. Steve and Raquel ran out of fuel 3 miles from the campsite. A quick phone call and a limousine with fuel can arrived 10 minutes later. Now that's what I call Windy service. 

Such service. It wasn't long before we would need our own rescue by limo. But that tale can wait until tomorrow. 

Up in Smoke

Whilst the others slept on, I was up and about doing some washing and experiencing 4 seasons of weather in an hour. Another stunning location for breakfast on the banks of Geirangerfjord. 

It was a bit chilly, but nothing compared to those teams who had chosen to venture up to the frozen north. Not a lot above freezing at the Arctic Circle by all accounts. 

We were on the road before 11am, winding up the famous Trollstigen Road. The views were just getting better and better. 

Again we found snow on the ground (and rain in the air) at the top. 

Alesund was apparently burnt to the ground in 1904 and rebuilt in the Art Deco style of the time. It's a pretty town. Their big celebration in the town is on Midsummer. What a stroke of luck ! Alright, I knew about this before we arrived. 

For the last few weeks, a bunch of avid Norwegian arsonists have been hording wooden pallets, nailing them together in a big pile. They do this every year for the amusement of the Alesund population. In 2011 they managed to achieve 40 metres. This years was a smaller, but still impressive 32 metres. 

I had a quick wife related errand to complete before the lunatic arsonists got down to the evening's business, a drive to Molde airport to meet her Jo off her flight. 

We arrived back to find the others hob knobbing. The mayor, a nice chap called Paul, had invited them in to his fishing house to watch the festivities from the balcony. He was grateful for what the British had done for Norway in the War apparently. 

4 ape-like lunatics without harnesses were hanging off the top of the tower taking selfies on their phones. If this wasn't enough to make a Health and Safety Inspector start sweating, then when they lit a large barrel of something flammable on the top then scrambled down as fast as possible, he would have been gibbering. 

The party at the base continued without batting an eyelid. Some raucous Norwegian singing and drinking was going on and no poxy smouldering bonfire was going to put them off. In fact the base of the fire made a convenient urinal as the beer flowed. Falling cinders and lumps of burning wood falling around their ears was a minor irritation. 

Families and children slowly started to drift away from the party as the lower tiers caught. 

"Most years it falls over" we were cheerfully informed, "they often jump in to the water to escape". I think that Health and Safety Inspector would have succumbed to the inevitable heart attack by now. 

It finally crashed in to the water, narrowly missing several foolhardy boat owners who had claimed ringside seats. 

1am, with darkness not arrived, we said farewell to the very hospitable mayor and headed back to the campsite. Another excellent day in Norway. 

The Bottom of the Ladder

The ladder is Norwegian for ladder. Today's useless fact and doubly useless as the Norwegians insist on writing most of their road signs in English. They all speak fluent English and even A-Ha sing in English. I know it's easy for us lazy Brits who tend to learn a few French words and little else, but it's a shame seeing the constant eroding of these cultural differences between countries. I travel abroad because its different and foreign.
Anyway, breakfast. I emerged from Jezebel in the early sunshine to see on many of the teams already packing. Seven of them getting ready for the long haul up north to encounter the Midnight Sun in the Arctic Circle. Their plan was to get to Trondheim for the first night, then push on from there. Definitely going to be a long drive, but it is one of the main reasons that we took the route to here around this date.
After the seven teams had departed, I settled down for a leisurely breakfast, sat out on the rocks in the sunshine with the phenomenal views down the fjord. 
So, just before 11am, we were off, heading north once more. An hour later I was paddling in a lake at the base of a glacier. Cold? Oh yes. This is one of the fingers of the Jostedalsbreen Glacier, the biggest on mainland Europe. A good spot for lunch too and for Eileen to acquire some tourist tat.
Another few hours of driving through this insanely beautiful country and we started to climb. The road was snaking up and up to a point above the Geiranger Fjord. Plenty of snow around and the temperature was dropping rapidly. Just over the peak, we got out to take some snaps and found it was snowing. June 20th and we had snow. Eileen was pleased to have his Norwegian hat with him.

We dropped down in to the village of Geiranger and saw a cruise ship in the middle of the fjord. The same cruise ship we had seen yesterday in Flam. I can only assume we are being stalked. 
Geiranger is one of the most visited fjords.It is nearly 100km inland at the end of the Storfjorden. High, vertical cliffs on both sides and plenty of waterfalls makes it a stunning location. Our campsite was at water level on the bank, about a kilometer from the village with a waterfall behind us and also the Trollstigen, the Troll's Ladder. This is the mystery road that I had shown people before we came out here. Symetrical winding switchbacks up a steep cliff above the fjord. That's where we are going next ....

The Living Daylights

The A-Ha theme continues...

Up bright and early, removing bowls and dishes of water from Jezebel. I think I got most of it. We were one of the first teams on the road, heading for Flam and it's famous railway. As we pulled away from Bratland Camping the drizzle eased off. Hoorah ! Apparently they have something like 220 days of rain a year here. 

There are many, many tunnels in this part of Norway. Lots of them several kilometres long. The final one brought us out close to Flam. There was a huge building like a block of luxury flats. Upon closer inspection it turned out to be a cruise liner ! We couldn't see the water from where we were. 

The Flam railway is a branch line that rises from near sea level to 866 metres over a distance of 20km. Some of the steepest railway in the world, including tunnels and switchbacks. Quite possibly some of the most expensive railway too, but the views are amazing. 

There is even a 5 minute stop for photos at a waterfall on the way. 

We were wandering back towards Jezebel when we spotted some local oiks defacing Team Ollys vehicle. We bravely chased them off but not before the scoundrels had done their dreadful deed. 

Fearing that we would get the blame for this, we scarpered. 

The next tunnel, all 24km of it had strangely lit areas at regular intervals. 

With the impending England match, no time to hang around. Well, just enough time to pop out to Borgund to see the stave church. There are only 27 in the world, 25 of them in Norway. Built around 1200 apparently. 

And so, one last ferry. The chicken in wine cooking in the slow cooker bringing on the hunger pangs and kick off barely 90 minutes away, we rolled in to Kjornes Camping. A fjord side location, camping just a few metres from the water. 

Snow on the hills in the distance, warm sunshine and lapping water. Chicken devoured and beers located just in time for the football.

I revealed a little bit of route information before the football which had the teams deep in discussion. Today, being Thursday and Saturday being the longest day, we were now only a few hundred miles south of the Arctic Circle. During the planning, I had tried my best to include the Midnight Sun North of the Circle, but with the distances and so much to see in Norway, it wasn't quite feasible. However, it was still an option. A fairly tough, hard going option, but possible to do. 

During the football John was sat with his laptop, plotting and scheming. He found a route, but alas it was setting off first thing tomorrow to cover some distance and wouldn't allow any time for sightseeing on the way. Straight up to Trondheim for a night, up to the Circle, straight back on Sunday to link up with us again on Monday. 

7 of the teams chose to take on the challenge. Was I tempted ? Well, I could see the appeal. To say you have driven to the Arctic Circle is no mean feat. However, most importantly I was due to collect my wife Jo from an airport on Saturday evening too far south to get to the Circle by midnight. Secondly, there are many things to see and do around our next scheduled destination, Geiranger. Thirdly, the weather forecast is good for where we shall be on Saturday and rain further north. I really hope they get to see Midnight Sun and that the trip is worth doing. Always the way hey, never enough time to do all you want to do.