At dinner Monday night, there were only a few tables of us in the hotel dining room. The hotel had only been open a couple weeks, and guests were few and far between.

Late during dinner service, a man came into the dining room. He was greeted warmly by one table. After talking with those people, he moved on to the next table and welcomed those folks. Then it was our turn. I thought it likely he was the hotel manager. He regaled us with history of the hotel. Our food was getting cold, so he said he’d like to tell us more after dinner. Our timing and his seemed to be off for that to happen, so he later suggested he would try to catch us in the morning.

Sure enough, the man turned up at our breakfast table Tuesday morning, asking what we planned to do that day. We told him our primary purpose in coming to this area was to see the Telemark Canal. This comment brought him to life. He was so excited that we wanted to see this thing that, we learned, is his passion.

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Side note: The Telemark Canal runs from the town of Skien to Dalen, where we were staying—a distance of 105km. It traverses 4 lakes and 8 locks and was completed in 1891. (Our hotel was built in 1894 to take advantage of the canal traffic.) All but one of the locks are manually operated. About 25 years ago, the canal won an award for its restoration, which has made it quite an attraction.

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Our friend informed us that the canal was officially opening for the season on Friday. Wow! Too bad that information didn’t appear in our internet searches. The wooden boat, the Henrik Ibsen, would set sail Friday morning in Skien and arrive in Dalen early Friday evening. But we were leaving the area Friday morning.

The man could see how disappointed I was. He said we could see a lot of it, enjoy a scenic drive, see some of the locks, and make quite a day of it. He ended up spending quite a bit of time with us and carefully outlined our route on his phone so that I could see where we were to zig and zag. This was way more detailed than my map allowed. Without his directions and our trusty navigation system, we would have missed a lot of our canal “tour.”

So off we went, in search of the Telemark Canal. We took a set of nasty switchbacks up out of the other side of the valley. Breathtaking—and I’m not referring to the scenery. We drove along a pretty lake that was smooth as glass.

Then we went down another set of switchbacks to allow us to drive along two more lakes that form a part of the canal. This road was incredibly narrow and curvy and hair-raising. I think we were both holding our breath more often than we were breathing, but I can’t be sure of that. It was uncommonly beautiful, and we were lucky to have a clear, sunny day.

We saw our first locks near the town of Lunde.

Some segments of the canal.

Then we had some pretty intricate directions to take us to the locks that make the Telemark Canal notable. We drove something that reminded us of a cow path more than a numbered road. This was one of the gnarliest driving stretches we’ve ever done—and, remember, we did 4 weeks of driving the Wild Atlantic Way in Ireland a few years ago that I hold accountable for the bulk of the white hairs on my head. We could not get done with this particular section soon enough, and I promised Jerry that, no matter what, I would figure out a different route back to our hotel. We were not doing this drive in reverse for double the pleasure.

We did find our way to the very interesting Vrangfoss locks. Six stair-step locks bypass a 75-foot waterfall now used for power production. It would have been more fun to see a boat coming down the locks, but it was fun to see nonetheless. After the switchbacks and roads we had driven to get to this place and time, the least we could do was get out and walk along it and steep ourselves in it.

But then my challenge was to get us back to the hotel without the nightmare of the roads on which we had arrived. I managed to get us on a road that had two lanes and we eventually returned to Dalen on the same set of switchbacks by which we had arrived the day before. Hey, one set of switchbacks is better than two, trust me! And having two lanes for about two-thirds of our return was lots better than having nothing but the smaller roads.

On our way to dinner, we ran into our new friend, who by now I knew was Thor Halvorsen, the owner of the Dalen Hotel and the Henrik Ibsen canal  boat. He was leaving to return to Skien so that he could be aboard the Henrik Ibsen when it set sail on the canal Friday morning, and he wanted to wish us a good rest of our trip. We were able to happily report our success with the canal mission, especially finding our way to Vrangfoss. I told him there was no way we would have found it without his careful instructions. He seemed very pleased.

Since Thursday was 17 Mai, Norway’s Constitution Day and a really big deal all over the country, Thor asked what we were doing to celebrate and mentioned a local parade. He encouraged us to participate in the local festivities, but wasn’t sure of the times and details. A short time later, he arrived with a printout of the times for parades and speeches, etc., for each of the handful of nearby communities. Since it was all in Norwegian, he carefully translated it, so we could decide what to see and do. Along with this information, he brought us a copy of the book he had published about the history of the hotel, including his acquisition and restoration. He had inscribed and signed the book and gave it to us as a gift. What a nice gesture!

Thursday, Syttende Mai (17 May), arrived. The hotel was flying the Norwegian flag.

After breakfast, we took a walk along the lake then made our way to where we thought the parade was going to start. Since there was not a soul in that area, we headed the other direction in town until we saw a few people starting to gather. Everyone was dressed as if they were going to a wedding. Suits, dresses and heels. Then we started to see more and more people arriving in regional dress.

Finally, we heard some drums and music. Here comes the parade!

The hotel was abuzz with groups of people in regional dress until sundown. I had initially thought we should try to be in Oslo for this special holiday. But the crowds there are legendary—hundreds of thousands of people on the main boulevard to the palace, and the revelry goes on at a loud pitch all day and night. Having now experienced our Dalen celebrations, we know it was a real treat to be in a small community and get a sense of their Norwegian heritage. We also later learned that Telemark is more traditional than some other areas, so we probably got to see a more authentic expression of their national pride. The flags, the singing of the national anthem. It doesn’t get much more special than that.

Beautiful Lake Bandak, where our hotel was located, and the endpoint of the Telemark Canal.

On Monday, May 14, we drove north to Norway. Although we could have taken the big E6 highway, which runs from southern Sweden to the north of Norway, we opted for a slower and more scenic route. This decision was aided by a miles-long closure of the E6 that detoured us onto an alternate route we had considered anyway.

We crossed into Norway with no fanfare and only knew when it occurred by watching a change of route number on our navigation screen. About 10 minutes later, we knew it, too, when we were pulled over by a car with flashing blue lights. It was a Norwegian customs officer, checking to see if we were bringing in any alcohol or tobacco. The pleasant young woman quizzed us awhile about our past and future travels in Norway. She dutifully looked in our trunk and then sent us on our merry way.

We traveled only as far north as Moss, south of Oslo, where we stayed overnight (at a historic hotel, of course) near a ferry we would take across the Oslo Fjord the next morning.

The ferry was very Puget Sound-esque. It was smaller than many of the Puget Sound ferries, but similar. It was just a 30-minute crossing, with surrounding terrain that felt familiar.

We drove north and west into Telemark country. We were quickly in hills and forest, with distant views to snow-covered mountains and lots of farms dotting the hills.

Every home and farm has one of these stabburs, used for storage of household items and food.

We stopped to visit Heddal Stavkirke, the largest “preserved medieval church” in Norway. Erected in 1242, it was quite a sight, with its dragons on the rooflines and its 17th century wall paintings. When you see a picture representing Norway’s wooden stave churches, you are most likely seeing a picture of Heddal.

We were headed to Dalen for 3 nights. It is at the end of the Telemark Canal and has a storybook old hotel, the combination of which was the reason we were visiting this part of Norway. We had not had a sense of Dalen being in the mountains. I was thinking of canals, which I do not associate with mountains. As it turns out, I guess one should think mountains when one thinks of Telemark. We drove through areas of patchy snow, a clear indicator of how recently spring had arrived in these parts.

And then, suddenly, we were in switchbacks. Lots of switchbacks and a 12% grade, taking us down to Lake Bandak and Dalen. I had carefully—or so I thought—planned our route to avoid some of the more legendary switchbacks. So imagine my chagrin at finding ourselves on this route. (Note to self: Get a more detailed map next time!) Before we left Telemark, we would experience five of these lovelies. Good thing Jerry is relatively sanguine about driving them. Still….

Here’s a partial view of the switchbacks from our navigation screen as we headed down the mountain.

The Dalen Hotel is quite a sight in itself. Built in what is called the dragon style, it is quirky and has been lovingly preserved. Of course it meant trekking upstairs with the bags, but it had all the atmosphere one could hope for in a historic hotel.

From a library alcove, looking down into “the hall,” used as a lounge and bar.

The ceiling of the hall.

We were glad to make it to the hotel and settle in for a few days. Wednesday would be our day to see the Telemark Canal.

 

The following is not a recounting of travel sights, but a sharing of some musings about Sweden in general. (Sorry, no photos.)

We spent just shy of 2 weeks in Sweden. We had been in Stockholm for a few days in 2016. Other than that bit of city time, our only sense of the place was formed by what we could see from the train we’d taken from Copenhagen to Stockholm and the follow-on train train ride from Stockholm to Oslo. What we had seen was pleasant, if unremarkable, countryside. So we came to Sweden expecting it to be new and different from other places we’ve traveled, but unspectacular.

By and large, that was not an unfair assessment. But it would be completely unfair to leave it at that. We did not see spectacular scenery, except perhaps that clear, sunny afternoon on a cliff side with an unimpeded view of the Baltic. We saw a lot of pretty lakes and loved the little granite islands on the western coast. These were more quietly spectacular, perhaps. We certainly saw some spectacular architecture, some fine art, and lots and lots of history.

Just a few observations from our time in Sweden. [Warning: These may be, of necessity given our short time here, gross (and even untrue) generalizations.]

1. Horses. I’ve mentioned this a few times already, but we did see an incredible number of horses, horse trailers being towed, huge stables, and horse shows.

2. Swedes love to camp. We saw lots and lots of small motor homes and small trailers on the highways. We also saw lots of campgrounds full of the aforementioned. Many were parked in what looked like semi-permanent situations. They had elaborate awnings and attached canvas rooms that looked more established than an overnight kind of camping.

3. We also encountered a lot of motorcycles. At a town on the east coast, near a ferry that goes to and from Gotland, we saw several men in full leathers with “Gotland H-D” embroidered on their vests. Don’t know why, but we hadn’t thought about a Harley-Davidson presence. In another area, we passed a sign on a building for “Hells Angels Motorcycle Club.” Huh? We shared the road with many motorcycles. At Lacko Slott, we had a group of 8 people on 6 bikes staying at the Naturum with us. It was just more of a thing than we expected.

4. Volvo’s are everywhere. Now that’s not exactly a surprise. If not in Sweden, where? But I mean like 4 out of 5 cars. Volvo’s of every size and make and age, but lots of them.

5. Offsetting that is the funny presence of old American cars. We saw a Corvette, a 1956 Chevy, a 1957 Chevy, a 1964 Oldsmobile with flames painted on it.

6. There seemed to be an inordinate number of convertibles considering this is a northern country. The late arrival of spring and a lot of warm temperatures brought them out in droves. I just wouldn’t have thought there’d be that many around.

7. American franchises are alive and well in Sweden. Circle K is everywhere. McDonald’s and Burger King have a lock on the burger business. We saw Starbucks products in stores, but not any Starbucks shops. (Curious about the perceived absence of Starbucks, we researched and found that there is one each in the three big cities of Stockholm, Malmo, and Gothenburg, but that that may be changing.)

8. Sweden is in no danger of running out of cows and sheep. I say that because we saw the most amazing number of lambs and calves. Not just a few here and there but in prodigious quantity in each field with animals.

9. The sunlight is more intense here than at home. I assume that’s a latitude thing, but the quality of light is quite startlingly bright. Then there’s the whole thing about the time of year we’re here. We’re still a month away from the solstice, but the days are very long. At our last stop in Sweden, we had sunrise at 4:51am and sunset at 9:33pm. It’s a little disorienting in the mornings in particular. Our 45-degree latitude bodies think we’ve overslept when we awaken at 5:00am and it’s broad daylight.

10. One of the greatest things we saw, in terms of everyday life, is the existence of pedestrian/bike paths just about everywhere. They are nice and wide so pedestrians and bikes can share and pass each other easily. They are separated from car traffic by either a swale or a curb or a guardrail. There were some more remote areas where we didn’t see them, but they were few. And it is definitely a bike culture.You see people of all ages cycling everywhere.

11. Houses, by and large, are smaller. Certainly, we saw some large houses, but the average house is more diminutive than the average American house. Just like I mentioned earlier about motor homes and trailers. We never saw a large motor home, and we never saw a trailer longer than about 12-15 feet.

12. Everything looks quite prosperous. We saw no evidence of poverty. Properties are almost all in very good repair. Recycling is available everywhere. They actively discourage drinking bottled water and are very clear that their water is the best and can be drunk from the tap, thank you very much.

To sum up our time here, we were more taken with Sweden than we expected to be. It is, quite simply, a very nice place to be. Life looks good, people look happy. People were a little surprised to see us US folks, but they were uniformly helpful and pleasant to us. At our age, it is unlikely we will be here again, but it may be more of a possibility than we thought it would be.

 

On Saturday, May 12, we drove just 100 miles or so to the Bohuslan Coast. It is Sweden’s west coast—or the best coast as the locals like to say. This coastline runs only 160km, from Gothenburg to the Norwegian border. It is a coastline rimmed with cliffs and huge boulders and 8,000 islands and skerries—all of pink granite.

We stayed 2 nights in Lysekil (pronounced loo-suh-sheel), which is at the end of a peninsula about halfway up the coast. When we arrived, there was almost a carny atmosphere. It turned out to be a holiday weekend. Add to that the warm temperatures and the fact Scandinavia had had a very late start to spring this year, and you get the idea.

People were all over the waterfront. There was an incredibly busy helicopter giving (selling) 5-minute rides around the area. There were numerous tents or booths where you could get information—or I’m sure they would prefer you buy—anything and everything connected to boating, diving, and fishing. And, of course, there were places selling ice cream and seafood.

We checked into our hotel, the Strandflickorna, and hauled our bags up the usual couple flights of stairs. Ignoring the whole stairs thing, which has gotten a bit old, we may this time have found the fly in the ointment of the whole historic hotel routine. Our room was the smallest we have ever had. It was barely big enough to hold two twin beds. There was a very small bathroom, but that was about it aside from those two beds. We had to stop and think before moving and had to negotiate who could do what, when.

Cute hotel, set amongst pink granite boulders. Pretty breakfast room/restaurant. Tiny bedroom.

This was the whole room. Turn around, and you could see the bathroom door; otherwise, this was it.

We quickly headed out and walked to the harborfront. We walked out on the  quay and on a dock or two to see the boats, a number of which were for sale as part of the festival or market.

A pretty harborfront restaurant. Swedish architecture with its gingerbread trim, known as snickargladje or carpenter’s joy.

A view of the harbor.

We watched the helicopter flying in and out. Coming and going repeatedly, the helicopter was never on the ground longer than about a minute and a half.

Here it comes.

It’s on the ground.

Lift off.

And it’s gone again.

We walked to the top of the hill to visit the church that presides over the town. Ah, but apparently it is closed on Saturdays. That didn’t seem very welcoming.

So we found a different route down the hill through a neighborhood and made our way back to the hotel. We took advantage of the beautiful weather and one of the hotel’s many outdoor seating spots until it was time to go to dinner.

We ate at a very modern, open-kitchen restaurant on the Norra  Hamnen, or North Harbor.

Their menu was all about seafood, so we shared an order of fresh shrimp. It’s a messy job, peeling and eating these tasty morsels, but someone had to do it. In fact, we got their last order of the day and felt pretty lucky. They are bigger than our little Oregon shrimp. They’re much smaller than even the smallest prawns but have a prawn-like texture. I love all things shrimp, so I was a pretty happy camper.

Our table overlooked a boat harbor, and we got to watch dusk settle in and a lovely sunset.

 

 

 

 

 

 

On Sunday, we drove to Fjallbacka, several peninsulas north. It is a much smaller town, and we were instantly smitten. It leans a little toward boating chic, but it was such a pretty setting we decided to forgive it for that. A little island just offshore a ways was Ingrid Bergman’s summer home from 1958 until her death in 1982.

The town sits at the foot of Vetteberget, a high granite cliff. This picture shows the main square, named for Ingrid Bergman.

Here, too, we walked through the town and along the waterfront, watching all the people and boats.

 

 

 

 

 

 

As we returned to Lysekil, there was a steady stream of cars leaving the peninsula. Coming from Puget Sound country, seeing such a line of cars is when we would say, “Looks like the ferry just got in.” In this case, however, I guess it was just the end of a long weekend with only one road for coming and going.

With the town now much quieter, we decided to do something totally silly and totally us: We played 18 holes of mini golf. Some years ago, Jerry and I had plotted a strategy for publishing a guide with ratings of mini golf courses. We had played some fabulous, championship-quality courses, and we had played some courses where you had to clear away weeds to find your way to the holes. We decided a rating guide was in order. Since practically all mini golf courses have a windmill hole and because Jerry is half Dutch, our rating system would be windmills, not stars. A 5-windmill course would be the top of the line. We talked about this off and on for a number of years, and now it has simply become a bit of an inside joke to us. But when we saw this course not more than a 5-minute walk from our hotel, what could we do? A chance to play mini golf in Sweden? Yes!

It looked so easy, not really up to our standards. Either we are really out of mini golf fighting trim (the highly likely answer), or it really was that hard.  It has been awhile….

Of course we saw this area on a holiday weekend, but we can only imagine how busy it gets during the height of summer. Many shops and restaurants were not yet open for the season. People would apologize for things that weren’t available or weren’t working smoothly and tell us they had just opened. The season is short and intense—essentially mid-June through August. (Sounds just like the Oregon coast, which is truly busy only from the Fourth of July to Labor Day.)

This was an area that deserved to be both explored and lingered in, and we hadn’t allowed sufficient time for that—always the danger in planning a trip and booking hotels ahead. If I were to pick one place in Sweden to which to return, it would be Fjallbacka and the Bohuslan Coast.