The stones meander in a sort of staircase – as indeed that is what they are – designed by 12th century Cistercian monks to traverse a steep portion of the 3,000-foot climb between their monastery on the banks of Sørfjorden and the plateau high above. Hundreds of stones, hundreds of steps, 616 to be exact. Did the monks organize themselves into a sort of ecclesiastical chain gang and quickly put them in place? Or, perhaps, it was the duty of every monk heading up from Sørfjorden to hoist an additional stone until it was eventually done. Thoughts to ponder while catching one’s breath.
Not only the Cistercians’ feet wore the stones smooth, although they had 327 years to do so. Fishermen, hunters and trekkers have used the steps as a route into the Hardangervidda Plateau, now Norway’s largest national park, for hundreds of years. Our boots were but the latest in the centuries-old parade.
With 12 others, I was traipsing through Norway's lacey network of western fjords on an itinerary as much devoted to understanding the culture of the country as to a leg-stretching adventure. With guides Vidar Rasmusen and Arjen Meurs leading the way, it was day five of our seven-day trek when we reached the misy plateau to spread our picnic by the edge of a rushing stream.
Folly to jump in, even if it had been a rare day of Norwegian warmth; the rush of water feeds into the aptly-named Skrikjo¸ which translates to “Shriek,” a waterfall that, were it not divided by a rock interference, would be the highest in the world.
Skrikjo helps irrigate the orchards of Hardanger, Norway’s fruit basket, that stretch for miles along Sørfjorden. Our stream-side picnic included Hardanger cherries grown plump and sweet in the long days of the far-northern summer. The monks not only lugged about stones but planted Sørfjorden’s first orchards.
“Norway: Bergen and the Western Fjords,” is a recent addition to the dozens of treks offered by Country Walkers, a Vermont-based company with the motto: “Explore the world one step at a time.” On this trip, our first steps took us through Bergen’s historic center, a designated UNESCO heritage site beside the city’s inner harbor, Vågen, the heart of Bergen since its beginnings.
Following a city guide we visited sites that the German Hanseatic merchants, who made Bergen one of Europe’s great entrepots during the 15th century, would easily recognize: the fortress of Bergenhus with its burly Rosencrantz tower; the pointed gables of Bryggen, the Hanseatic’s surviving offices and warehouses and the incomparable natural setting – facing the sea, back cradled in the arms of seven mountains.
Each first Sunday in June, thousands of locals take to the hills with the goal of reaching every summit in a single day. We took on but one, and – feeling a bit guilty about abandoning so soon “one step at a time” – that aboard Fløybanen, the funicular that whisks passengers to the top of Mount Fløyen for a bird’s eye view of the city and its surrounding fjords with the silvery shimmer of the Norwegian Sea beyond.
Our city walk was but a warm-up for the next day’s trek into the Bergen Nor-wegian Arboretum incorporated into 125 acres of rocky gorges and mossy hills along the Fanafjord. Following a picnic lunch, Vidar and Arjen changed into their Speedos to dive into the fjord. “When you see the sea, you have to jump in!” Vidar jubilantly explained as he dried off from what is evidently not just a Norwegian thing to do as Arjen, a Hollander, expressed equal enthusiasm for his icy laps.
It is the rare Norwegian, from commoner to king, who doesn’t relish their unspoiled countryside. The right to do so is ensured by the 1957 “Lov om friluftslivet” (Outdoor Recreations Act): “At any time of the year, outlying property may be crossed on foot, with consideration and due caution.” Shouldering their rucksacks, they stay in a cabin or lodge – hytte – located at the crossroads of the country’s extensive network of trails.
With “consideration and due caution” we approached, not cabins but two luxurious country hotels for our overnight stays. Our first, Hotel Solstrand, has welcomed vacationers for more than 100 years at its idyllic location overlooking Bjørnafjorden. Borrea Schau-Larsen, the third-generation proprietor of the family-owned hotel, greeted us saying that not only does she, too, enjoy a good walk but also shares Arjen’s and Vidar’s zeal for leaping into the fjord, which she does every Wednesday with friends: “Blowing and snowing, no matter. We jump in. And it is good!”
Hotel Ullensvang, owned by the Utne family since its founding in 1846, was the base the second half of our trip. Located in the village of Lofthus on land claiming a long stretch of Sørfjorden’s eastern shore, it was here that the 19th-century composer Edvard Grieg found inspiration for many of his compositions. His “composing cottage,” self-described as “no more than a wooden box with a piano and a stove” remains in the hotel’s garden. One evening after dinner, we walked through the stillness of the village to Lofthus’ 12th-century stone church for an organ and piano concert featuring works by Grieg.
Grieg traveled the Hardanger by foot and horse with internationally acclaimed violinist Ole Bull – ”the Nordic Paganini” – the two finding themes for their music in the region’s centuries-old melodies and traditions. A short ferry ride delivered us to Ole Bull’s Lysøen island, where we walked the 13 miles of trails that wind their way through fjords and fauna to end up at his idiosyncratic house, an architectural gem that marries Moorish flavor with Norwegian simplicity.
One day’s walk followed a fjord-side path to the village of Os to visit the boat works where the light, flexible, fast and strong “Oselvar” boats used along the Norwegian coast for nearly 2,000 years continue to be crafted. Another day’s trek included a visit to a 12th-century “stave” church. Only 29 of the original 750 ornately carved structures survive, and they are among the world’s oldest wooden buildings. Before dinner one night at Hotel Solstrand, Jan Boettcher, an acclaimed rosemaling or “rose painting” artist shared examples of the artistry with which Norwegians have decorated their furniture and implements since medieval times. “I learned from my grandfather who learned from his father who learned from his father,” she said, adding that only recently have women participated in the rosemaling tradition.
Kjersti Bondhus greeted us at Ola Løo, a traditional farmhouse where a lunch of perfectly poached salmon freshly pulled from the sea, boiled potatoes just emerged from the earth, and a salad of greens harvested from the farm garden awaited – fuel for a walk into the Bondhus Valley, following the cascading rockiness of the rushing Bondhus River to the mirror reflections of Bondhus Lake with the blue and green ice of Bondhus Glacier streaming out of the mountain ahead. All indications that Bondhus is far from a new name on the edge of Maurangsfjorden.
Reaching the lake, we were given the option of being rowed across by Arjen or continuing on toward the glacier via the lakeside path with Vidar. Yet another example, as with every day’s walk, of options made available for varying levels of hiking endurance and expertise.
Had it been May 17 instead of mid-August, Bondhus Glacier, an arm of the famed Folgefonn, would have been dotted with skiers in national costume annually celebrating their country’s frozen landscape with a day devoted to skiing across the ice flows. Risky business, it would seem, given the cautionary signs we encountered warning of the glacier’s deep and wide crevasses hidden under covers of snow.
Our trip ended where it began, in Bergen. Looking at the map, our boots had not taken us far from the “Gateway to the Western Fjords,” as the city calls itself. Yet, one step at a time, following Arjen and Vidar, we had plunged deep into Norway’s spectacular beauty and cultural soul.