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Bergen In the morn, I awakened to find bodies lying haphazardly everywhere. Apparently, during the night, our numbers had increased, with fellow passengers who had booked recliners helping themselves to air mattresses, until no less than fifty bodies bunched together on the cabin's floor. It looked like the aftermath of a giant orgy... with clothes on. Talk about safe sex. Showers were at the pool from eight to eleven am. I expected a lengthy line-up and rationed hot water. At seven-fifty, we were the first to arrive. I enjoyed a leisurely hot shower. The girl at the pool desk told us she worked four weeks on and four weeks off. "Lots of time to travel," she acknowledged. The waves in the pool were sloshing about two feet high, a real wave pool. When I pointed, she remarked, "Today is calm. In rough weather the waves hit the ceiling and I have to drain the pool." I suspect it would do a good job of draining itself. That Norwegian sense of humor kicked in: "Paging Dick Wit. Will Dick Wit please report to reception. Dick Wit." Rebecca and Arran joined us for lunch in the Mira room. We learned Arran had just finished law school. Rebecca was a Science journalist and just finished writing a book on New Zealand's volcanoes and earthquakes. From then on, whenever I found an insect, I would proudly present it to the Science Officer for inspection. Rebecca never let me down, always exclaiming, "It's iridescent!" Small islands dominated the landscape as we approached Bergen. It reminded me of the west coast of BC. Bergen is located in a fjord. We sailed under two high bridges, linking islands with the main land. Wood Norwegian houses and shops lined the U-shaped harbor and mountains rose dramatically behind the city. The setting sun filled the sky with huge pink clouds drifting lazily behind ship's masts. The ferry docked at nine-forty pm. As we prepared to unload, Arran relentlessly honked his raucous horn, much to the mortification of the Harley riders next to us. We were last to disembark, apart from two cyclists who hadn't even shown up for their bikes yet. A crewman cracked, "Guess we'll take them back to Newcastle." "Yep, the ones planning on navigating to the Arctic Circle can't even find their way off the boat," Arran guffawed. We went to the border officer. The guard told Sharon he liked her Norse surname. She responded she acquired the name through marriage. "Good choice," he told her. She explained she married me because she liked my legs. "Let's see," he motioned to me, peering out of his booth. "Oh, very nice." He stamped our passports and simpered, "Spend all your money in Norway." From the reports I had heard that wasn't going to be difficult. Next were the customs officers. "Nothing to declare." I breathed, "Glass containers filled with booze are too heavy." A ship's horn blasted twice, momentarily drowning out all sound. "Bad gas," I quipped. They chuckled and passed us through. Bergen was quite large; it is the second largest city in Norway after the capital Oslo. Two mega Russian cruise liners were docked on a port-of-call. On a Thursday night, the area along the pier was going full swing, packed with traffic and pedestrians. I stopped at a Mini Bank Instant Teller and picked up a thousand Norwegian Krones. Four-and-a-half kroners equaled one Canadian dollar. Sharon already called them Krullers. Rebecca found a camp spot beside an electrical substation building. Traffic rattled by noisily. By the time we erected the tents it was twelve-ten am and still not completely dark. It began to sink in: we were just below the Arctic circle. |
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