Each of these photos was taken in Geiranger, at descending altitudes. A phenomenal geography that I was privileged to spend the past two evenings at.

Norway waterfall fatigue is a real thing. They are everywhere, the equivalent of dead kangaroos on Australian road trips. Even the kitchen tap of every place we've stayed has gushed rapidly by default. But you do see some occasional epic ones which make you pause.

Dalsnibba is the mountain where we stood in the snow, which then melts in spring to create the torrents which carve through rocks to create rivers, which gravity pulls over ledges until eventually the water reaches the fjord, carved by glaciers millions of years ago. Standing on the prow of the ferry that took us and the car from Geiranger to Hellesylt was an incredible experience, an hour of being a tiny human in a canyon of rock. Like the water, we had found our way through meanderings and cascadings to this point.

Sunrise in Kinsarvik is about 4:45am, and the sun sinks into the North Sea west of Bergen close to 10:30pm. With barely a cloud in the sky, that is a long day to be drinking, however that is what all the folks in their traditional finery seemed to be doing. The streets around Vågen were packed with happy, chattering people and a plethora of Norwegian flags. Further along down the alleys groups gathered around tables and makeshift grills, soaking up relentless evening sun and sometimes singing. Occasionally the ambience was interrupted by the faint whine of an electric engine as tyres traverse cobblestone streets.

The morning started with taking in the sunrise over the fjord, the very unexpected boom of some 7am fireworks, and a large breakfast including my first taste of brown cheese (pretty good with eggs) and of wreath cake. There were many flags.

Loaded up on food, we drove along the water towards Odda where the light sparkled once more on waters, snow-capped mountains, old churches, and apple orchards. And flags.

It's the simple things in life that make me happy, and I've written previously about how the first coffee of the day brings a euphoric focus to my moment in the present, doing this while hugging the winding lanes of the tourist road under a blue sky was peak coffee experience.

After some tunnels we reached Bondhusdalen - translated: Farmhouse Valley. We hiked into the valley along a path that took us past a vibrant blue lake and then up a forest slope to a very dry plateau that showed signs of being very wet at other times of the year. Into the valley, I didn't see any signs of a farmhouse other than a stacked rock wall which was probably a thousand years old. The rest of the landscape was dated by millennia. Ancient forest and towering, rocky mountain faces and the dust of ancient boulders beneath our boots. Along with hikers sporting Norwegian flags. And dogs (also sporting flags).

After the hike we drove to Bergen, including the first two ferries of the road trip, and many more winding roads. Nearly every shop was closed, but we did crash a community get together in a small town shopping mall where I devoured a kebab before we continued on.

After so much travel, nature, and wide open spaces, the transition to a Bergen downtown clearly many hours into the party was jarring, but once adapted and we'd explored beyond the nucleus of the revelry into was easier to soak up the atmosphere from a respectable distance. In an Australian equivalent, Constitution Day would be a combo of Australia Day (over exuberant national pride) and Melbourne Cup day (getting drunk in fancy clothes). Except Australia lacks the equivalent of the first days of sunshine after months of darkness and snow that precedes it.

Bergen is a very pretty town, and I envy the sense of community it exhibited on this day, among the colourful wooden houses and charming lanes. We went to bed as the sun was setting, and I was startled again by booming fireworks around 11pm as I drifted off to sleep.

Rock, water, logs.

There has not been a museum or art gallery in sight on this trip so far. Human history and culture has a place, but after 2023's tour of Roman stones and baby Jesuses, I made a conscious decision to make Norway 2025 a holiday dedicated to nature. This morning I sat on a boulder, eating fruit and nut muesli with yoghurt, watching the sunlight filter over the mountains to light up the fjords. On the drive back to Aurland I briefly shared the road with a tribe of goats.

We then drove from Aurland to Kinsarvik, stopping to eat chicken sandwiches at your average Norweigan rest stop featuring a raging blue river, mountains, waterfalls and trees. Vanessa clambered down to put her feet in the water which I was not brave or motivated enough to do.

The rest of the drive featured many tunnels - one with a roundabout in it - and a cool bridge. We also stopped at Circle K for coffee and a bolle.

Kinsarvik is a small town on a big fjord. We ate an early dinner of more chicken and salad from the local Spar, then drove up the hill to follow a trail along a gushing river.

At the base of a massive waterfall was a power-plant. We followed the pipe up to the top, taking in a second waterfall and even more trees, rocks, and water.

After returning back to the car and hotel, some 20,000 steps stepped and many of them over unstable rocks, we needed more fuel and so we devoured an ice-cream log cake.

WINTER
The Stegastein Viewpoint. 5° air temperature. Sun slowly descending over the cliffs rising up from the Nærøyfjord. Numb fingers trying to spoon fruit and nut muesli into my mouth. Windproof jacket, fingerless gloves, pants, woollen socks.

SPRING
The Flåm Valley so green and saturated that it looks Photoshopped. Walking the route of the railway. Tulips growing on the side of the road. The sun warm on the face, but breeze bringing pollen and a slight chill on the return to the fjord. Shorts, hiking boots, pullover, hat and sunglasses.

SUMMER
Post-nap fresh strawberries and yoghurt on the patio in Aurland. Water shimmering reflecting the clearest of skies. Shorts, tshirt, bare feet on the grass to take in the view.

AUTUMN
What it is at my house. I took this photo of a red tree to round out this post.

At customs in Oslo when I was asked to state my purpose for visiting I said, "To see your beautiful country." Maybe I just sound disingenuous when I'm jet-lagged, but the officer did not appear to like this answer. He implied that I'd be better off and warmer in Australia. I assumed he was still jaded about Scandinavia after a long winter. From my perspective, I felt like if he had a problem with people expecting a beautiful country he should take it up with his tourism commissioner.

After two nights in Oslo, I picked up the rental car around midday and began our three week roadtrip by first slowly rotating down a parking garage corkscrew, and then along the motorway towards the fjords and the first of what is sure to be many Circle Ks.

After getting out of Oslo we stopped for lunch by a body of water off the road, and ate bread and salad on a makeshift rock table. The scenery was both stunning and mundane. A horizon of pine trees rising up the slopes along the banks of the water. A slight haze of white cloud. It was beautiful, and yet also nothing compared to what was to come.

As the afternoon sun turned more golden and the roads narrowed we drove through an absolutely stunning array of landscapes. Fields of grass, forests, roaring rivers, snow capped mountains. Every bend in the road brought us to some new scene. Sheep grazing on the streep slopes. Immense tunnels. Bridges. After Gol, the road narrowed and we ascended higher until the snow caps starting looking closer and closer. Eventually we came to a large, frozen lake rimmed entirely by rocky peaks.

From there, the car regenerated battery as we descended curving roads and sharp bends and more tunnels. The last one was 25 kilometres long, and delivered us to Aurland where the evening sun was still high enough to sparkle across the water.

It was an incredible start to the journey, one that expelled any doubts about coming here and paying large amounts of money for chicken and toilets. If the rest of the trip is as scenic and stunning as this, I would say that the tourism commission is under-selling it.

Start around the waterfront and up the Opera House to the viewpoint before breakfast.

The pressure washer teams are out.

Take advantage of the free breakfast and free coffee for plenty of fuel.

Stroll across town to the Botanic gardens. Take in the spring blooms and different birds.

Follow the trams, bikes and scooters until you take the turn off for the scenic route back along Akersevla

Grab lunch from a salatbar off Karl Johan's Gate, as Oslo Domkirke strikes twelve with exuberance.

Savor lunch with the tulips and the tits in the old Børs' gardens.

Nap.

Summit the palace grounds and up the winding streets between embassy's to Vigelandsparken.

Meander around to find statues and dinner as diffused sunlight is further dappled, glimmering off the genitalia off countless sculpted figures.

Return along the same route and past the fountains along the Nationaltheatret Boulevard.

Duck out one last time to see the sun set over the Oslofjord.

This slip of the tongue has stuck with me since it was misspoken at the start of a webinar some months back, another life.

In early April, booking accommodations and scrutinising ferry schedules, Norway felt much more imminent than it did two days ago.

Work deadlines, life events, upcoming holidays, a moment to sit on the couch. Everything was happening in these parallel layers of time which felt unquestionably persistent.

The present was constantly becoming the past, so was the future. Memories of old houses, old exercises (side planks!), old injuries, old feelings. All mixing in with the new.

I haven't had a smoothie for months. I used to drink ten a week. I've been eating almonds almost daily, after forsaking them based on a blood test in 2023. I'm nothing but living echoes. My house is no longer mine. Driving around my old neighbourhood and GI tract I see new shops and changed roads. You move on, but time persists.