Thursday May 21st 2015. Kvam 24 km

Look like Dutch Frisian horses

Typical farm with many extra buildings

Camping Kirketeigen, like the name suggests, next to the church. Because a church sometimes still is architecturally interesting and socially and religiously a focal point for a community, I made a few pictures again
This morning in the Sygard Gryting pilgrims shelter I first made a picture of the sheep furs between which this pilgrim slept. Not bad. My breakfast was brought to me by the landlord-peasant. I tried to talk about the death of his father, but no reaction. I praised him for the original atmosphere in which he had kept the whole of the buildings. We talked about the at least seven centuries old farmhouse. Just about all Norwegians still have a second home, often somewhere in the mountains, formerly used as a summer residence in the mountains, or a 2nd home, inherited from an uncle or some other relative. Also here in one of the buildings on the yard an uncle is living. They keep hundreds of sheep. I ask: can you earn a living with sheep? Our regional shepherd Ger always says that sheep money is being counted soon. In Norway, for a sheep one gets much subsidy as it used to be in the Nl. too. Ah, so that’s how it works. Again the shot wolf was discussed. But in the meantime there a new wolf was identified. In Oslo, he said, still live wolves protectors. There are here in Norway or in the province, I do not know, two groups of wolves protected. Sheep farming has completely stopped in that region, he continued. Also here we have wolverines. One such wolverine kills up to 100 sheep per year. So shooting, he explained. I ask, and the lynx? Oh, it’ll take one here, another there, but no more than it needs. And then there are occasional bears. Which often kill sheep or cattle, to eat only the udder with milk. The rest they don’t touch.
What was offered to me for breakfast as well as for lunch, I could easily finish now all at once, but I behaved well mannered, hoping and assuming I would find a little food while walking. The son of my host went along with a friend, with the car to go skiing on a 2000 m high mountain. I take a picture of my landlord and bye-bye. While leaving the yard still pictures of old gigs, and of the successor to the carriage, viz. the tractor, also antique (picture traktor for friend Hans), wooden troll-like beings against the barn wall.

Wooow, right away straight up, over a slippery, rocky mountain path, past and partly in a stream and it kept going on. Nice, but … I prefer to start slowly, and then later going faster like a steaming old tank. This is the wrong way around. The sun was shining and it did not take long before I took off the jacket. Clumsy dog, learn now for once and for all jumping over the fence. Should I lift her or let her stay behind? It was a beautiful mountain route along beautiful cliffs, dangerous, like when both collegue Yvonne and I  risked our lifes (?) walking in Italy. Except that in those days Yvonne helped me passing the most dangerous parts (Isn’t it, Yvonne?). And now I had to enjoy the dangers all alone. Moose droppings, a simple, open sleeping space for pilgrims (photo), collapsing old houses and barns, scenic views. A picture of a modern troll in a garden. Apparently these trolls are not all of them ugly.
The road markings are often plentiful and  then again entirely absent for miles. I hate that. Suddenly, after a long, not clearly marked descent I was on the highway again. Same story as yesterday. This time I’ll try to walk in the ditch. Something different than running outside the guardrail. See picture. I endured that during 5 km. before I gtot the first chance to take a side road, God knows where, into the mountains. Of course back up again. But that ends well, all right. Via some detours I ended at 4 pm. in Kvam. A conditorei, fancy huh. Time for Kaffee mit Kuchen. Ge eupent (or something the like, “open”) till 4 pm. I was still being served. Probably my sacred pilgrimage appearance helped me. She showed me where the camp was, because nowhere I saw a sign. I checked in at the camp site and got a cabin with a grass roof and even a ini-tiny electric heater. Am I the only one I asked. No, there is a funeral in the village and that brings guests here, is his answer. I really do not expect to have fun with them. There is wifi, but it does not work so far. I ring the bell of the camping reception because the reception is already locked. The manager is already gone. Now hurrying to the store, for in about 30 minutes, the shops will close. And perhaps I should buy food aslo for tomorrow, because I do not know if tomorrow I’ll get an opportunity during my walk. I’ll have to check it this evening. Tosca ran out of food tonight, so that means dragging an extra bag of food tomorrow. So I stay away from, or rather in the street.