Day 5 - Voss Rafting, cycle to Grandvin

norway
Originally uploaded by wolftone.

Voss bills itself as an adventure destination, rather like Ronda (?) in New Zealand. It is an efficient machine which funnels tourists in, then hurls them into, off of, around, and over various things, then spits them out with significantly less money than when they started. I'm participating in the Machine with a whitewater rafting trip on the Randaulen.

The bus trip begins with a tantalizing ascent over sheer-cliffed canyons with boiling water beneath. Then the tour guide announces that we won't be rafting this section - only experts in kayaks do it at low water. Still, the section we did run duly plunged through its own (slightly less) steep gorge with its fair share of cleaved metamorphic rock and dizzying drops. Good rafting was had by all. I shared a boat with stig, rubert, cecilia, britt, and bente - all residents of a farm outside Bergen. (Actually, a "rest farm for city youth". Sounds like a euphemism, but I didn't want to ask for what.) Finally, I got to meet some real norwegians instead of the usual complement of germans and dutch. Talking with rested-youth cecilia, I was shocked when she asked me if I've been to Detroit. I didn't think that anyone here knew about the existence of my blighted rust-belt hometown, but apparently Eminem has popularized 8-mile a bit beyond the tri-state area.

I think I've solved the great Missing Kiwi Problem. There were few actual new zealanders running the tourist operations in NZ - it was mostly brits. It seems that all the New Zealanders are now running the Voss Rafting Senter and Norsk Adventures. These guys didn't even bother to give the safety lecture in anything but Engelsk.

Here's my favorite big of hyperbole from a Voss tourist brochure: "The impact on your life that the act you are now contemplating can not be overstated. ... You must choose. To go through life able to say 'yes, I did it', or to go through life knowing that you had the opportunity, but you turned it down and walked away from becoming the complete person you could have been." Wow. Not only are you a big wuss if you don't go bungee-jumping, but you're also missing out on self-actualization.

Following the rafting trip, I pushed over the pass then coasted down to Ganvin, where I am staying in a lovely little cabin by a lake. (Cold, but clear and clean - perfect for very very brisk post-cycle swimming.) This highway was really pleasant because it had a special bike lane, which let my mind wander a bit more than I otherwise would allow it to. Absolutely spectacular views coming down into the valley with the usual gushing waterfalls and sharp cliff faces. My jaw still drops and I can't help but laugh when I see all this. Jaded hasn't set in yet.

Dinner is canned tuna fish and raspberries picked from the church next door. What is the gelatinous goo that tuna is packed in? Eww.

My cabin contains a stack of guestbooks dating back to 1973. Little has changed since then based on the sketches and watercolors (!) in the books. Even the prices are still expensive - one brit couple in '74 was saying that they'd be happy to visit again once they could afford it. I left my own illustration showing my bike and bulging leg muscles.

Norway sucks for stargazing. We're too far south ofr midnight sun, but old Sol is never far below the horizon. It never becomes completely dark here, but there is a sort of deep twilight from 11p-4a. Nice, if you want a lot of daylight for outdoor activities. Still, I was hoping that clear air and small cities would afford lots of stars at night. Instead, I see about as many as in Boston. Since I'm light-activated and rise with the sun, this kind of schedule is kiling me. I'l die smiling though.