Giorgia joins a group tour to the beaches north of µþ´Ç»åø and finds herself learning so much more than she expected about the life and history of Arctic Norway.

My first day in µþ´Ç»åø started around 8 o'clock in the morning with an ice storm by the coast, and my persona standing in the very eye of the storm. When I left my hostel it wasn’t raining, so I ventured toward the Hurtigruten pier.

Suddenly round bits of the whitest ice were pouring down like they were being fired from all sides. It was hailing sweetener tablets! I hid my face in my scarf and stood motionless by a tiny cabin right there. 3, 2, 1… Soppy wet.

Read more: Exploring the street art of µþ´Ç»åø

Ten minutes later, and it was all gone: the ice rain stopped, the sky brightened up, and it was sunrise. I cautiously left my spot, and headed back toward ³§Âáø²µ²¹³Ù²¹ and the city centre. It was still a bit dark, the city half asleep, but the air was crisp and the sky clearing up fast.

I soon found myself in front of the Tourist Office, and ten minutes later I was booked on the three-hour Arctic Walk organised by around beaches north of µþ´Ç»åø.

Exploring µþ´Ç»åø city on foot

In the morning I had a stroll around the centre, visited the ¶Ù´Ç³¾°ì¾±°ù°ì±ðÌý(µþ´Ç»åø Cathedral) on Torvgata, walked past the (beautiful) library and the (beautiful) concert hall and, finally, made it to the harbour. I went straight to the very tip of the pier, where there’s (also) a colourful lighthouse.

I was there alone, and the pier was all silent but for the noise of the anchored boats quietly rolling in the low waves. The sky was pink, and cast a pinkish hue on all things around. It’s funny how ‘breathtaking’ can sound like an understatement at times.

The side of the pier overlooking the open sea is lined with seven large granite stonesÌýthat would look rather ordinary and shapeless if it wasn’t for the large, perfectly round see-through holes drilled through them.

The stones form the installation Ìýby contemporary artist Tony Cragg.

The work, put in place in 1993, symbolises the close connection between nature and culture, but also the sea and the land. It looks perfectly integrated into the landscape.

A bus tour to the beaches

I stayed at the harbour for as long as I could, till it was time to head back to the Hurtigruten pier, the designated meeting point for the walk. The bus was already there, and so were our two guides, while the other ‘walkers’ were only just getting off the Hurtigruten and approaching the bus.

After a short bus ride it was all nature around us but for a few cabins by the water. Usually I’m not a fan of group visits and group tours, especially when I’m travelling.

Read more:An Introduction to Saltstraumen

I must say, though, that I had a greatÌýtime and I learnt a lotÌýof new things about the Vikings, moose and reindeers, the deepwater coral reef, and seabirds like sea eagles and guillemots, both fairly recurrent sights around µþ´Ç»åø. It was great! We visited three beaches in total: ³¢Ã¸±è²õ±¹¾±°ì²¹,ÌýGravenbuktaÌýand Ausvika.

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As we walked down ³¢Ã¸±è²õ±¹¾±°ì²¹, our guide pointed out the shells and the corals scattered all over the beach. As she explained, the corals come from the deep-water coral reefÌýlocated off Norwegian mainland at a depth of up to 400 metres below sea level. They looked funny, all whitish and vaguely shaped like brains of different sizes. They came from afar.

³¢Ã¸±è²õ±¹¾±°ì²¹ also offers great views of Landegode island, located about 10 km northwest of Bødo. Its characteristic outline becomes quite a familiar sight when you spend a few days in the city.

As we all stood still, staring at Landegode, a seal peeked its round black head out of the water, then it disappeared into the almost waveless sea. It lasted a few seconds, but wow!

Gravenbukta

During the ten minutes’ walk from ³¢Ã¸±è²õ±¹¾±°ì²¹ to Gravenbukta the sun peeked out without warning, and the landscape changed suddenly. It must have been shortly before 2 o’clock, and a timid tinge of orange in the sky suggested that sunset was already on its way.

As for Ausvika, it’s easy to guess why it’s thronged with people when the season allows it.

Ausvika

The beach is nestled in a small bayÌýwhose shape from above looks like a perfect fan. The location is super scenic, kind of similar to Gravenbukta, but more spacious and slightly more remote.

As we left the beach, the final stretch of the tour took us down a path in the grass, partially through sparse trees. We walked past what used to be a burial ground from the age of the Vikings. The tombs had been subsequently looted at some point (hard to tell when), as suggested by the shape of the earth mound, where the Vikings had been buried with their – by now long gone – valuables.

We stopped on a hill where the rocks overlooked the sea. That is when our guides produced twoÌýhugeÌýflasks from their bags, and generously poured boiling hot meadowsweet tea into paper cupsÌýaptly handed around to all of us.

We stood there sipping tea, with the sea and the mountains all around us, while the wind blew hard and the sun prepared to set. Just then a sea eagle thought it’d be nice to fly across the blue skyÌýjust over our heads. It was so beautiful.

We eventually headed back to the bus, which took us back to the pier.

The Norwegian arctic in winter

Before µþ´Ç»åø I had never been to the Arctic in winter. I had always wanted to, but I’d never got round to it.

Standing on the beach that afternoon is one of those memories that got instantly and forever engraved in my mind even before it turned into memory at all effects. Blame it on the silvery light, the light blue-greyish water, snowy Landegode, the sea eagle, and the seal.

There are times when everything looks perfect and mesmerising as it is.

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A walking of µþ´Ç»åø's surprising amount of urban artwork.

If there’s one thing you can’t help noticing, it’s that street art is a thing in µþ´Ç»åø.

Why? Well, in 2015 µþ´Ç»åø was home to the UpNorth Festival, an urban art festival that first took place (also in 2015) in Sulitjelma, and it drew so much attention and interest that the experiment was replicated, also successfully, in µþ´Ç»åø.

In and near the centre there are five main pieces you don’t want to miss out on. They’re all equally monumental and truly beautiful. There’s no specific order to follow to track them down. As long as you know where to find them, you can easily zig zag your way around as you wish.

So let’s go have a look!

Phlegm

I started from the street called ³§Âáø²µ²¹³Ù²¹, one of the two ‘high streets’ in µþ´Ç»åø. Walk down ³§Âáø²µ²¹³Ù²¹ from the train station, and keep to the left-hand side of the street. When you reach number 18, stop and turn around. You’re likely to see it just there. What? Well, it’s not thatÌýeasy to explain. The work is called PhlegmÌýand the author is a British artist by the same name.

The artist’s works are almost exclusively monochrome. They look like they’re out of a storybook, and PhlegmÌýis no exception. Entirely painted in black and white, it’s a gigantic half-human half-animal creatureÌýwhose potentially scary effect owes more to its size than to its looks.

In fact, it is stunning, and the technique used makes it look like a large-scale pencil drawing. Take a closer look and see for yourself!

Golden Eagle

Keep walking down ³§Âáø²µ²¹³Ù²¹, and by the time you reach Tollbugata 13Ìý(which runs parallel to ³§Âáø²µ²¹³Ù²¹), you will be already staring in awe at the Golden Eagle by Belgian artist Dzia.

Painted on the wall right next to the Tourist Office, it displays the graphic, kind of geometric style of its author. Its dynamic pose and penetrating gaze, though, are as powerful as they can get.

I read that the artist ‘paints quickly and in situ to ensure that the original idea remains true to its form’. I can only imagine what he can do when he takes his time.

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The next stop is also not very far from Tollbugata. The easiest way to get there is by going back to ³§Âáø²µ²¹³Ù²¹ and walking to the very end of the street. At that point turn left and, just when the street starts going uphill and curving to the left, stop and look right. That’s

SoløybuildingÌý(Moloveien 20), and there, on the wall, is Spanish artist David de la Mano’s ²Ñ²¹±ô²õ³Ù°ùø³¾.

If one had to give a verysimplistic description of this work, it would be ‘a vortex of stick men with root-like feet’, or something along those lines.

In fact, the ‘crowd’ of black silhouettes that float all over the façade deserves more than that. The slender figures look like they’ve just been blown away by a strong currentÌýthey couldn’t resist.

A kiss between cultures

At Moloveien 20 you’re super close to stop number four. Keep ²Ñ²¹±ô²õ³Ù°ùø³¾behind you, and walk around the block of buildings in front of you. For example, cross over and take Dronningens gate (to the left of the building). The first street on your right will be Sandgata, so turn right there, reach number 6Ìýand…

Yes, you’ll be standing in one of the most nondescript spots in the whole of µþ´Ç»åø. But that also happens to be the location of A kiss between cultures by Argentinian illustrator and designer Animalito (aka Graciela Gonçalves Da Silva).

Her mural has much in common with cartoons and videogames, and it portrays the most spontaneous human gesture of love. The scene exudes such a genuine sweetness that it will be hard to suppress a smileÌýas you look at it.

And, yes, the car park where the graffiti was painted isindeed as ordinary as a car park can get, yet the coloursÌýof the mural brighten up the whole place.

Insomnia

We’re nearing the end of this walking tour around street art works in µþ´Ç»åø, and the next is not the easiest to spotÌý– at least, it took meÌýa while to realise how and where exactly to find it. The address is technically Storgata 30, but I believe it’s easier to get there another way.

From Sandgata 6 just go back the way you came, turn right into Dronningens gate, and keep going straight. Turn left into Havnegata (the third street come across), and then keep an eye on your left.

You have to enter the small car park that’s right there (this spot is called TjærandsengÃ¥rden). The mural is on one of the walls overlooking the car park, and you can’tÌýsee it from the street.

Insomnia, by Italian artist Millo (born Francesco Camillo Giorgino), is a large-scale scene of ordinary, everyday life. I read that in his works Millo uses mostly black and white with touches of bright colours here and there.

One of my favourite things is how he manages to paint such a hugemural, yet make it look like he has jotted it down on a post-it without even having that much time to ‘do it properly’. Obviously, it’s perfect as it is.

After School

Okay, I’ve saved my favourite for last. After School, by Russian artist Rustam QBic, is a bit further away from all the other artworks we’ve talked about so far. Go back to Havnegata and walk up the street till you get to Kongens gate, where you have to turn left and just keep going for about five minutes or so.

The address is Kongens gate 20, but you will know when you get there. I mean, it’s a little girl painting the northern lights with a spray can, how can you miss it?

It really is as stunning as the photo suggests: beautiful and superb technique wise. I won’t even go as far as describing the subject in detail, so poetic it is without adding unnecessary extra words to it.

There is a lot more to street art in µþ´Ç»åø than the six murals I have described.

For one thing, there are more of the large-scale kind, which I missed out on due to lack of time to explore the city and the simple fact that I didn’t come across them and didn’t know their exact location.

Plus, aside from the larger pieces, there are loads of smaller, seemingly casual worksÌýyou might spot here and there around the centre. One of them is a µþ´Ç»åø sign which includes the outline of a sea eagle.

Why? Because µþ´Ç»åø isÌýa city of sea eagles!ÌýBut that is another story.

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If you’re in µþ´Ç»åø, you go to Saltstraumen. Or, if you don’t, you’ve got to have a super valid reason for not going – e.g. you’ve already been there at least once.

I’ve now been to Saltstraumen once (so far), but honestly, not even that counts as good enough a reason to not go back again.

Saltstraumen is a small strait around 10 km southeast of µþ´Ç»åø. The channel connects the Saltenfjord to the Skjerstadfjord, and is where the world’s strongest tidal current happens to be.

The direction of the current changes every six hours or so: that’s when the maelstrom is at its most powerful.

The times of the day when the current is at its strongest vary, so there’s a dedicated, super detailed daily timetable to refer to. This way, one can easily double-check in advance when it’s best to go on a specific day of the year.

Safaris and group trips with local guides are very popular among tourists. What’s more, Saltstraumen is super rich in marine fauna and seabirds, which explains why sports divers and birdwatchers also like it a lot. Last but not least, it is a haven for fishermen, who take advantage of the current in the hope of a big catch.

I didn’t want to visit Saltstraumen on a group tour, nor did I know whether there’d be any planned at all during the winter season. So, because I was on my own and with no car, I had to rely on public transport.

But, again, also due to the season, buses were not uber frequent, so I checked the bus times super carefully the day before. It was my one chance to go to Saltstraumen during my stay in µþ´Ç»åø, I didn’t want to blow it only because I failed to check buses in advance.

The tide would be at its strongest around 10.22 in the morning, so I had to go for the 7.41 bus. The next bus would be too late: I wanted to make sure I’d be around the strait in the daylight.

The thing that welcomed me in the morning was… SNOW, and a lot of it. It had snowed nonstop overnight, and µþ´Ç»åø was coated in white. (Spoiler alert: it wasn’t going to stop. At all.)

During the bus journey I couldn’t see a thing: the windows were all blurry and it was pitch black outside. I had no idea where I was, and I was counting the stops in my head to keep up with the bus route. I got off at Høgåsen, and the bus left.

I stood there alone in the silence for about half an hour. I could almost hear the noise of the snowflakes as they hit the ground. Daylight came, but it felt much darker than the day before.

I boarded the second bus, got off at my stop and, again, the bus left. At first I was completely alone in the snow by the road. Then I started growing familiar with the surroundings. There was a church (closed), the Saltstraumen museum (also seemingly closed), the deserted road and… the bridge! The bridge over the strait! I knew my way.

Okay, be prepared: once you find your way around the strait, it’ll be tough to make an orderly plan of what to see in which order, because you will want to go everywhere first. I believe the itinerary I picked kind of made sense, as it allowed me to see pretty much everything in the area.

When I got to the bridge I realised I still had some time before the maelstrom reached its peak, so I thought I’d explore the area underneath the bridge first. It’s easy if you take the path right to its left. As I headed downhill, I came across a café (closed) and a souvenir shop (also closed).

I walked past, straight toward the channel. There the path turned right and, suddenly, the landscape was like straight out of a winter fairy tale, with snow-covered red cabins and a narrower channel right next to the strait.

The footpath then goes up the hillside, where it offers stunning views of the strait, the bridge itself and the open sea.

As I walked back to the bridge, I noticed that the current had gained strength. I soon found myself standing by one of the bridge concrete pillars. There’s an iron railing, so you can (relatively) safely watch the current, and see for yourself how fast the water flows. It’s unbelievable!

There’s also a tiny lighthouse just there but, apart from that, it’s all rocky shore and the rumbling noise of water.

Despite the (truly) terrible weather, two fishermen were effortlessly standing on the rocks by one of whirlpools, patiently waiting for some big fish to make their day.

Only the birds were even cooler than the fishermen: they were perched in small groups right along the edge of the vortex, lulled by the waves, seemingly oblivious to the strength of the maelstrom. They were so funny.

The view from the bridge doesn’t get less amazing. In fact, it’s from there that you really appreciate the proportion of the phenomenon and the size of the whirlpools.

Because of the thick snowfall, I could barely see a thing. The horizon was all blurry, it was white all around, and the water was almost black, except by the whirlpools, where it gradually changed to light blue, almost aquamarine.

I also reached the opposite side of the bridge, and went down to the shore. You have to be extra careful if you go down that way, though. The wooden staircase had a couple of loose and missing steps, and the rocks were super slippery.

I walked back to the bus stop in the heavy snow and, as two women hurried to the same bus shelter where I was standing, I realised that (aside from the fishermen) those were the first people I’d seen since I’d got off the bus a couple of hours earlier.

I believe the weather, the season and the (consequent) absence of people contributed to making my Saltstraumen experience fairly unique overall, and that’s is something I’m very excited about.

Just because I’ve been there once, though, it’s not that I don’t want to go back again, if you know what I mean 🙂

If you’re heading to Saltstraumen, you might find the local bus company's website useful – – and you can check with your hotel or the local tourist information office for the season's timetable.

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Hiking to Jegersberg, and beyond.

Hiking around the Jegersberg area with my Mum certainly counts as one of my favourite memories of the few days I spent in Kristiansand. To begin with, the walk to the start of the trail was sightseeing in its purest form. We left our hostel early on Saturday morning, so the streets were empty and silent but for the occasional street cleaner and early bird.

We walked down Dronningens gate, across the bridge over the Otra river, and through the Lund borough. We followed Østerveien road until… well, until Østerveien was no more. Where to now? But just when we thought we’d got lost even before starting our hike, we spotted a trail and a sign hidden behind the leaves: Jegersberg. Yay.

The Jegersberg trail would probably make anyone feel at peace with the world and with themselves. It takes roughly five to ten minutes to forget everything urban. Nor does it take long for the trail to grow steeper. And utterly breathtaking.

There was this specific point, where the trail overlooked a lake. Except, you could barely see the surface of the water, as it was almost entirely covered in water lilies. I can positively say that I’ve never seen as many water lilies as I saw in the Kristiansand area.

Apparently we liked that spot a lot, because soon after we left it to walk on we got lost, asked for directions, but probably failed to make the right turn and, after hiking for another twenty minutes in what we thought was the right direction, we found ourselves in exactly the same spot. Oh come on, seriously.

Then there was another spot, a bit further on, where the trail overlooked another lake, this time without water lilies, but equally stunning and peaceful.

Shortly after coming across that lake we got to a fork, at which point we intentionally left the main trail so as to reach a tiny little beach downhill. Again, it was all silent and still but for the crashing of the waves against the shore. ‘The sound of silence’ is a thing, I thought.

It started raining around lunchtime. (Tip: don’t ask yourself if it will start raining at some point, ask yourself when it will start raining. You’ll spare yourself a question.) We were truly ravenous by then, but we were lucky enough to find a trunk bench along the way, partly sheltered by leafy trees, so we thought we’d have lunch there. We sat on the bench, and happily retrieved our sandwiches from our rucksacks.

Two sandwich bites later, we looked up and saw two giant cows staring at us. They had been grazing behind the (very thin) rope marking the field across the trail, but the trail was very narrow, so it was like they were standing right in front of us. Okay, just act like they’re not there.

After a third bite, we looked up again: they’d got closer. Then closer. Then closer. I couldn’t say whether they were staring at us or they couldn’t take their eyes off of our sandwiches. Either way, they were massive. I’m not exceptionally familiar with cows’ behaviour, but really, they looked more angry than friendly. So we thought eating our lunch while walking was not a bad idea, after all.

It kept raining for as long as we stayed around Jegersberg. There was another lake, then more woods, then a lake (this time with water lilies), then woods. We only bumped into a total of ten to twelve people the whole time we were in the area. It was almost surreal. Then, suddenly, we were back to square one and the hike was over.

They say time flies when you’re having fun. Well, time also flies when you’re hiking through the woods, marvelling at unspoilt nature, mistaking one lake for another, and barely realising you’ve been out and about for eight hours solid. But for your Kristiansand experience to be complete, venturing out of town is part of the game, and Jegersberg a special place to be around. Trust me on that.

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Giorgia continues her hiking trip around Kristiansand with a trip to the islands of Odderøya and Bragdøy.

After two whole days of mainland Kristiansand, Sunday was all about islands, namely Odderøya and Bragdøy. They couldn’t be more different from one another. Odderøya is fairly large and separated by the city by the (narrow) Gravane canal.

It’s so close to the mainland that you barely realise you’re accessing an island as you cross one of the bridges connecting it to the city. Bragdøy is a tiny little island a bit further off the coast where, apart from a few cabins and a cafe, there is nature and nature only.

We went to Odderøya first thing in the morning, because we wanted to have a walk along the coast and see what the city looked like from the other side. Soon after crossing the bridge, we cut through the trees to find an access to the coast, and there it was.

The sun was already high, even though it was between 9 and 9.30 in the morning, the sky was cloudless and the water was incredibly transparent. Wow, no wonder they call it ‘Norwegian Riviera’. I don’t think I’ve ever dipped my feet in such warm Norwegian waters.

We sat on the rocks for a good 30 minutes before returning to the mainland in good time to board the first ferry to Bragdøy, the actual destination of our Sunday trip. Admittedly, of all the islands of the archipelago, we picked Bragdøy for no specific reason. When looking up ferry timetables the night before, the MS Bragdøya ferry timetable was the first we came across, and because it fitted well with our schedule for the day, we thought we’d pick Bragdøy.

I’ve no idea what other islands and islets of the Norwegian Riviera look like, but I can say quite confidently that Bragdøy is a tiny little marvel in itself. Plus, it was the opposite of touristy, which made it even more appealing to me.

As we got off the ferry, we saw dozens of Norwegians waiting to get on board and return to Kristiansand. They all carried backpacks, tents and portable fridges. A few of them even had amps and guitars. There must have been something going on the night before, like a music event or something, so a fairly large proportion of the local population (families with kids included) spent their Saturday night partying on the island. They were now heading back to town, sleepy and loaded with bags and the few beers left from the previous night.

After getting hold of a map of the island and having the blackest coffee at the cafe, we left the crowd behind, and picked our trail. There were three of them marked on the map: yellow, red and blue. We chose to follow the blue trail, which ran all along the perimeter of the island.

A little longer than an hour, and we were done. ‘Well, that was quick’, I thought. And we even kept a fast pace the whole way, as we feared it might take hours to return to the beginning of the trail. Oh the irony.

So much beauty in such a small-sized stretch of land. From above, Bragdøy must look like a green clump encircled by rocks. The trail goes through the forest, with occasional openings toward the coast, which is rugged and beautiful. But you can easily leave the trail anytime, and head toward the rocks, and see for yourself how unspoilt nature really is one of those things that make you feel like there’s still hope in this world.

You will probably notice private boats moored off the coast or at some unspecific point of the shore. Also, if you’re as lucky as we were with the weather, you won’t fail to wonder at the sharpest contrast between the dark, neat shadow cast over the trail by the leafy trees, and the white, almost blinding light cast over the rocks by the sun, which also made the water look even bluer than it already was.

By the time we got back to Kristiansand we thought that the sun had chosen to stay back, because the light was grey and the sky was white. We went straight back to Odderøya, because in the morning we hadn’t had enough time to have a proper look around. It was wise on our part.

Odderøya is a popular recreational and hiking area but, needless to say, the crappy weather explained why it was so empty and deserted when we went back.

Unlike we’d done in the morning, we followed the main road, past an art gallery and a music shop, until we reached a junction, and we had no clue which way to go. So, instead of turning right or left, we went straight, up the stairs going uphill.

We found ourselves on top of the hill, but really, where were we? Turned out, we had just got to the area of the island with the highest concentration of traces of military activity: cannon foundations, barrack ruins, and guardhouses. In the old days there were also a quarantine station (the largest in Northern Europe), a plague hospital and a cholera cemetery. Only in the early 1990s was the island opened as a recreational and hiking area.

As you probably can tell by now, we hadn’t really planned our tour around Odderøya, but somehow the island itself kept on revealing its magnificent spots to us one at a time. The next in line happened to be Odderøya Fyr (Odderøya Lighthouse), as was written on a wooden sign near the pine trees. What are we waiting for?

We followed the trail into the pinewoods. The trail was rather steep, but looked like a blanket of pine leaves. Plus, as I almost forgot to add, it was raining. It didn’t take long for the pine trees on our left side to disappear and be replaced by bare rocks that made the already misty view even more stunning and dramatic.

The final stretch of the trail is undoubtedly my most favourite, what with the foggy horizon, the seemingly endless sea and the grey of the rocks, which brought out the green of the pine trees.

While going down narrow rocky stairs along the way, I looked up and saw a house and the lighthouse in the distance. The lighthouse was sort of ‘perched’ on a low, protruding rock overlooking the sea, but the heavy rain and the strong wind made the rocks very slippery, so we didn’t stay for as long as we wanted.

The steep road we took as we left the lighthouse led to the very same junction we’d come across earlier. With hindsight, if we’d turned right in the first place we’d have got straight to the lighthouse. If we had, though, the walk would certainly have been much less exciting than it actually was.

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A short tram ride from central Trondheim is this vast forest with a network of hiking trails.

It's barely three o'clock in the afternoon, but I already feel like this is one of the longest days of my life.

I've been walking down this path for some fifty minutes now. I have literally no idea where I am and there is literally no one to ask for directions.

A couple of hours ago, after leaving the Grønnlia hut, I went downhill toward the lake Skjellbreia. The view was stunning. There was a glare, so the water looked like it was made out of silver, and melting with the sky.

Tiny blue dragonflies were flapping all over the place, and a tiny wooden bridge looked like it had been placed there to provide the hiker with the perfect snapshot. Soon, however, it no longer felt as idyllic: the path grew very narrow, and there was mud everywhere.

That is when, for the second time in a bunch of hours, I cursed the moment I didn't pack hiking boots or, at least, running shoes.

So here I am, in the middle of Bymarka nature reserve (around 2 km west of Trondheim) after a night of heavy rain, wearing a worn out pair of Tiger sneakers. I've had soppy feet virtually since I've been around the reserve.

Searching for Skistua

Back at the hut I checked wooden signs pointing uphill. ‘Skistua', read one of them. Skistua is, alongside Grønnlia, one of the most popular Bymarka spots. That’s where I’m heading for, I thought. The trail was rather demanding, but simply stunning.

I walked up this steep, narrow path covered in muddy earth and roots. The roots were thick, web-like, now and then forming sort of nature-shaped stairs leading uphill. Had it been sunny (which it wasn’t), I wouldn’t have noticed anyway, so thick were the branches above me. I could barely see the sky at all.

After nearly two kilometres uphill, the path went down. More ‘Skistua’ signs. But there, on the left, was another lake. Vintervatnet, I guessed. I ran to the shore, and dipped my hands in the cold, transparent water.

Standing by the lake, I looked around to take in the immense, borderless nature surrounding me. The only human traces visible to the eye were the cables of the ski tow (now closed) beside the lake. The silence of nature was hugely powerful and belittling.

I’d have loved to stay longer, but because I had no idea where I was, and it would take me a while to find my way back, I chose to return to the path. Except, I obviously and expectedly failed to return to the Skistua trail I was following. I found myself strolling down a broader path covered in tiny gravel instead.

So here I am now, at the point where I’ve no clue where I’m going. The sky is now overcast, I’m expecting heavy rain any minute now. Suddenly, signs reappear. As I’m carefully scanning the orderly wooden rows of place names, I see it: ‘Storheia 2.2 [km]’. Here it is. The highest peak in the reserve (565 mt).

I’ve secretly wanted to go up Storheia all day but, not having hiking boots, I thought I would make do with other trails. But hey, I wasn’t looking for this sign, it’s the sign that coincidentally happened to find me. There is no hesitation, not one second. Go.ÌýThe next forty-five minutes consist of the following:

1. Mud, mud everywhere. Even the wooden boards covering the muddy ground along the muddy trail are covered in mud.
2. Slippery rocks. A couple of times I instinctively have to randomly hold on to a twig of one of the sparser and sparser trees flanking the trail as I walk on. (Like a twig could save me from a fall. But hey somehow it works.)
3. The sky. The sun is now shining bright, it’s so warm, and the sky gets bluer and bluer as I approach the top. I’m too focused on the steep rocks to stare at the sky for too long, but every now and then I have to look up. I can’t miss it.
4. 4. You know when you're hiking to the top of the mountain, you’re almost there, and when you get to a flat spot, you’re like “I've made it!”. Except, as you turn around to congratulate yourself, you see the actual mountaintop fiercely showing off on your left, the tiniest Norwegian flag fiercely flapping on the very top.

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“Oh wait, that is the top!”, I say aloud, as I head for the top (for real, this time). I really am laughing with myself (kind of laughing at myself to a certain extent) when I finally make it. This is beauty in its purest form. I am standing, completely alone, on the top of the mountain. The wind is strong, whistling powerfully in my ears.

The mountains are green, covered in trees, with random rocky patches here and there and a couple of lakes that look deep blue from a distance. The air is clean, transparent, faithfully mirroring the clear, blue sky. The immensity of the 360-degree view cannot be put into words, I’m not even attempting to do that. It is so utterly stunning and breathtaking.

I feel so belittled I can barely stand. I mean, literally, I’m sort of awkwardly crouched, hands tightly clutched to the rocks. I keep turning my head back and forth to make sure I’m not missing anything.

It takes me a good fifteen minutes to regain some composure. Then, after one last look at the horizon, I hurry back downhill. When I finally make it back to the tram stop I am so overwhelmed by the past eight hours I cannot believe it has really happened. If I went back to Bymarka I would wear hiking boots the whole time and I would clutch a map of the reserve in my hand the whole time.

Usually I am a better hiker. But let me say, oh the beauty of discovering places as you come across them.ÌýThe beauty of not knowing, for once, everything in advance, and not missing it. Norway is one of those places where nature looks at its best. Rocky mountains meet salty water, and everything looks like it’s perfectly in place. Bymarka seems to be there to prove it.

How to get there

To get to Bymarka from Trondheim city centre take the tram from the top of St Olavs Gate to Lian, or bus route 10 from Kongens gate to Skistua. The tram runs daily, but bus route 10 only operates on Saturdays and Sundays. Find out more in our guide to getting around Trondheim.

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One of the more curious landmarks of Stavanger has an interesting meaning.

Sverd i fjell (literally ‘Swords in Rock') was a non-negotiable landmark on my Stavanger list from the very start.

As soon as I knew I was going to Stavanger, I started looking for things to see and places to visit. As soon as I came across a photo of the Viking swords I knew I had to see them.

This 10-metre-tall monument consists (predictably enough) of three swords planted in the rocky ground of a hill by the Hafrsfjord. The monument commemorates the , which took place in 872 and reunited the whole of Norway under the crown of King Harald.

I didn’t even bother to check how far it was from Stavanger. I simply left the hostel quite early in the morning and started walking in what looked on the map like the direction to the monument. Soon enough I was out of Stavanger, and strolling down a hilly road with coloured Norwegian houses on both sides. Nice.

Some 15 minutes later I was still strolling down the same hilly road with coloured Norwegian houses on both sides. Still nice, but no sverd i fjell in sight, and no one around to ask for directions, or how far I was.

A helping hand

Then a man appeared out of nowhere outside his house. He said I was going in the right direction, but it was still quite a walk. Fair enough, I’m in no hurry at all.

As soon as I resumed walking, of course, it started raining. Hard. Then harder. Then, ten minutes later, even harder. It got windy as well, and by then I only had meadows on both sides, so I had no shelter whatsoever.

Every now and then cars drove past, which made my clothes even damper. I was officially soppy wet. A car drove by, but then it slowed down, till it came to a halt right next to me.

“Hey, do you need a ride to the monument? Jump in!”ÌýI turned around, and there he was, the man I’d asked for directions earlier. Yay.ÌýThe car ride only took ten minutes, but it was so relieving and pleasant.

We talked about Norway, weather and Italy (which is where I come from): the usual topics of desultory conversation.

The three swords

He dropped me off by the water, across the street from the bus stop (there was a bus?!?), right in front of the monument. Thank you, unknown kind person.ÌýI walked uphill a few steps, and there they were in front of me. The three swords stood majestic and huge against the dark grey of the water.

It was pouring with rain, which made them look even mightier, as I got closer. They were beautiful.

They looked like they’d been there forever, like that was exactly where they belonged, and that rocky spot had been prepared specially for them.

Coincidentally, I reached the hill where the monument stood while a group of kids in rain slickers was just about to start a picnic on the shore. A picnic in the rain.

If one looked at the scenery from a distance, one would have seen the green of the hills, the grey of the rocks, the bronze swords towering over the fjord, and a bunch of brightly coloured tiny dots jumping and running all over the place.

I spent something like an hour, if not longer, standing on the rocks, my gaze shifting between the fjord and the swordsÌýI still remember that view as one of the most unique sceneries I’ve ever seen. I’d like to see what it looks like on a sunny day.

A powerful memory

The landscape would probably be even more breathtaking, even more so when the air is clear. But I doubt the overall effect would be as powerful as it was when I saw it. The heavy clouds and the misty horizon left a lasting memory.

But then, what really makes the difference is certainly not the weather, it’s whether one goes to Sverd i fjell or not. I’d say: go, without a doubt, go. And if you don’t feel like walking (or hitchhiking) to the swords, take bus 16 from Stavanger city centre and get off at Madlaleiren. Walk 200 metres down the main road and you’ll see them.

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To Væresholmen peninsula and back to Trondheim.

After walking Trondheim streets nonstop for a whole day, I couldn’t wait to leave the city centre and get lost in nature. And lose myself I did, and for a change, only metaphorically, as I managed to follow the exact route I had meticulously planned the night before.

I thought that the best way to reach Ladestien, the fjord trail, would be to follow the Nidaros pilgrimage route right from the hostel. This way, I’d be able to get as far as the Væresholmen Peninsula, which was my ideal destination. My actual ideal destination was Hell, a town located some 26km east of Trondheim. Except, I didn’t want to take any public transport, and because the following day I also wanted to go hiking, I had to make sure I wouldn’t be exaggeratedly tired in the evening. Væresholmen sounded about right.

I left the hostel early in the morning. I walked to Ringve Music Museum, cut through its gardens, and kept to the main road until I knew I had to leave it to cross through a residential area, where I soon gained access to the coast. At first, when I finally saw the water, I couldn’t believe I was already there, but as it turned out, I was.

It was stunningÌýbeyond words. The horizon was broad and spacious, the water was so calm it looked almost perfectly still, and the sky was thick with clouds. Each element of the landscape had its own colour, but the green of the trees, the grey of the sky and the blue of the water came in so many different shades that you wouldn’t know where to start to list them.

The woods cover an ample stretch of land all the way down Trondheimsfjord, which also explains why you’re unlikely to get lost: there’s one trail to follow, and one only. As long as you keep to it, you’re doing it right.

At some point, as I was strolling jauntily along the shore, I realised I had to speed up, if I wanted to make the most of the day. I had no idea how long the walk to Væresholmen would take, plus the sky was already heavily overcast with the occasional drizzle. I resolved to walk nonstop straight to Væresholmen. If I wanted to stop somewhere along the way, I could do it on the way back to Trondheim.

It took me around two and a half hours to reach the peninsula. Along the way, the widest variety of landscape snapshots played before my eyes like a slideshow. First, plain woods. Then, a clearing with grain spikes that formed waves as the wind blew and, a bit further on, an odd fountain sculpture that every now and then produced a somewhat sinister noise.

Then, woods again, after which came the beach. That’s when I almost got lost because I couldn’t find the trail. But then, a tiny wooden plaque hanging from a tree caught my eye. It had the pilgrimage symbol on it: exactly what I was looking for!

The slideshow resumed, while the sky grew a bit darker, so thick and dense were the clouds. I walked along a stretch of wetland, then past a church and its graveyard, then through what appeared like a newly-built residential area that looked almost uninhabited but for a few open windows and blinds. Then, more woods.

Only one thing never changed throughout the walk: the railway tracks running along the coast like a dark, seemingly endless line cutting through the green. Just when, according to the map, I was about to reach the peninsula, it started raining hard. I tried to find shelter under a tree, but to no avail. I was standing in what looked like a small car park surrounded by trees, no road in sight. What now?

I eventually spotted a trail. Yes! I ran toward it, and noticed it led straight to… the peninsula. There it was.

I ran down in the pouring rain, and sought shelter under a red toilet cabin roof. Thank you. It was still raining hard. I knelt down to shake some rain off my coat and hoodie, get hold of some chocolate from my bag, and when I stood up… I was lost for words.

It had stopped raining, the sky was clearing up, and the water itself turned into an iridescent light blue blanket. I ran to the peninsula, where I bumped into a friendly Norwegian couple that offered me (more) chocolate. We talked a bit, took a photo together, then waved each other goodbye. I stood there and contemplated the landscape for a bit longer.

On the way back to Trondheim, I walked off the main path and followed a sign to a cafe, ‘Pinnsvin Crossing’. Turned out, the cafe was in fact a house. The owners were a couple that opened their garden to travellers and hikers, and offered them coffee and/or ice cream. As they explained (actually, I spoke to the wife, an American from California that had moved to Norway to be with her Norwegian husband), they turned the building adjacent to the house, formerly a barn, into a boutique selling vintage items of all sorts. They were amazing. And so was the place itself.

After the nicest chat, I headed back to the trail. At some point I must have failed to return to my original starting point, because I realized I was pacing down a trail I hadn’t walked before. Which was cool, because that way I was able to walkÌýthrough Korsvika beach andÌýreach the very beginning of the Ladestien trail.

Just outside Trondheim I came across the gigantic megaphone donated to the city by the University of Science and Technology. I then walked through Svartlamoen and Lademoen quarters till, suddenly, I was back in town. I found myself by the Nidelva, where I sat for a moment, utterly knackered, but happy beyond words.

I can quite positively say that the Ladestien walk was one of the most amazing I’ve ever taken. Plus, because I went there on a Sunday, I bumped into all sorts of locals, including families with kids, lonesome hikers and bikers, and couples of all ages strolling hand in hand.

Norwegians love spending their spare time in close contact with nature, and honestly, can you blame them?

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