Tuesday May 19th 2015 Ringebu Kirke, 23 km + a few km. detour


Moose droppings

Stenen daken

Stone roofs

Gudbranddal staat o.a. bekend om zijn oude boerenwoningen

Gudbranddal known for its old farm houses, often painted red


Beter één vogel in de hand dan de lucht van 10, of hoe was het ook weer?



Cranes in the field

Culinair hoogstandje: eland

Very special diner: moose

Overal veel goudveil

Overal veel goudveil

Lunchpauze bij een conditorei, buiten, brrr.

Lunch break outside , at a lunchroom brrr.

Kerkje van Favang. Was niet de bedoelde staafkerk. Voor niks omgelopen

Church of Favang. This was not the stav church that I wanted to visit. Detour made in vain

Nog eens Favang kerkje

Favang church once more

Stijl bergop

Steep uphill

Wel mooi landschap

But nice scenery


Naar een mooi lichaam mag men kijken

A beautifull body may be admired

Ringebu, met zijn typisch Noorse staafkerkje en mijn herberg. Daar moet ik heen

Ringebu, with its typical Norwegian wooden stav church. and my hostel. That’s where I have to go

Helemaal in de teer, zo te ruiken. Dat dit nog geen pyromaan heeft aangestoken.

Completely tarred, I can smell. A wonder that no pyromaniak ever set it afire


Fraai gedraaid boompje achter staafkerkje

Nice twisted little tree behind the stav church


Is this the in the Netherlands very rare doorgroeide boerenkers, here abundant

Herberg Glomstad

Hostel Glomstad

The beginning of the day was good, a bit of sunshine, although rain was predicted, a large breakfast, at a table at the window overlooking the valley.
I still remember a conversation yesterday with a catering entrepreneur. My question: are you originally from here ?, the following answer came: I stem from a farm in Trondheim (200 km from here). My ex and my son of 11 were living there too. I had a job in telephony, from morning till night behind the screen. My ex got a new boyfriend and moved to Trondheim, 200 km in the opposite direction from here. Then I saw my son much less frequently: 450 km. away from my child. That was the end. Our family farm, along with all it got, I sold and with my new girlfriend I started a catering facility in the mountains of Gudbrandsdalen. Here I am 1.5 hours closer to my son in Oslo, I can fish, relax. The entire contents of my family farm, I sold. Only the pictures of Bjornson, who were collected by my mother, I kept and hung those here at the wall. Bjornson was the composer of the Norwegian national anthem and lived on the other side of the mountain. My mother was a fan of him. She named me Bjorn and many kids in my family were called Bjorn. That’s why. In these pictures composer Bjorn has a very strict appearance. When the national anthem also is that strict, one should be sure not to laugh. One shouldn’t laugh anyway with a national anthem. Why not? So I had another interesting meeting. Because of the personal story, I just made a picture. I ‘m interested in those stories of people who make a turn in their lives and make a new start. And then see what happens.
Again, the story of a wolf that was shot recently. Is it one wolf  that has been spotted by everyone, or many wolfs swarming to and fro?
I look out the window and see a finch, a beloved birdie at Dutch cage-birds lovers. Yesterday I saw bullfinches, green finches and of course also the in our country common book finches, all beloved wild songbirds for the aviary. The place is full of fieldfares, to us a winter visitor. All crows are hooded crows. Spotted a few dippers. These are birds, crawling under water on the bottom of fast flowing streams to  forage there. Very rare in Nl. Of corse our sea level country has few fast-flowing streams. In passing, a picture of a group of cranes. Paul and Lee, what do you call it? A farce? And judging by Tosca’s discoveries all deer here have only three legs. Today she dined haute cuisine: moose leg. See picture.

While discussing fauna, I also mention a few plants. The teeming gold veil. As far as I know, that is rather or very rare in the NL. Photo. In Wahlwiller, Z-Limburg, where our vineyard is situated, and in very close proximity, is the only place in NL. The “doorgroeide boerenkers” The plant favours stony, churned-up soil and in my country there isn’t much such soilHere I see many of those? (Photo), just like our weed shepherd’s purse, which it closely resembles. In some places in the forest grow groups of blue liver flowers, related to the anemone, which we don’t see often in Nl. Unfortunately not seen today, so no pictures.
Interestingly, the same burial mounds here as we have in the Vijlenderbos where I live and like those in Denmark. From Iron Age, hundreds of years BC. Has there been one and the same culture from here to my place? On my journey one sees that one can walk within 2 months for En.. At in En. And Ger. hiked Töddenweg / Handelsweg were still pedlars of Poland in the 19th century to Nl and back. Now, what is left of the nomads of peddlers, pannenlappers, scharensliepers, fairground people, musicians, horse traders, for convenience but all called gypsy, especially if they look like something exotic. In Greek times, there were itinerant migrants. When they looked darker the former Greekst  called them Egyptians, corrupted into gypsy. Don’t we too apply the word gypsy  only to the darker skin migrant? White migrants are simply called caravan dweller. Interesting phenomenon. My father had a southern appearance, my mother northern. My appearance is more her type. Not so much risk that I will be mistakenly taken for a gypsy. Therefore I should have been more alike a Huijben. Soi!

It began to rain soon and it never stopped. Parts of the route were well marked and other parts Badly. I had do stumble straight down through a steep, swampy meadow, 100 m. or so off, thereby climbing over fences with my backpack, lifting Tosca because she has not learned to climb fences yet. Though the Norwegian troll forest may be misty and mythical, but nine hours walking steep up and down with a back pack, unsure whether you go right, no longer makes you sensitive to that sacred mystique. Until I got a bit more downhill, where the temp. is a few degrees higher and even a hazy sun showed up for a few minutes. That makes up again for the previous hour. My legs do not complain. Those now are like shock concrete, like my feet. Uphill Tosca pulls me and that helps. Downhill, I let her go, if that is possible with the cattle and any traffic. Before I reach Favang I made a 3 km. detour, hundreds of meters downhill, to see a typical Norwegian stave church. There with Tosca I crossed the cemetery, happy that she did not climb higher on the culinary ladder, by changing from elk bones to human skulls. see pictures. Next we had to climb uphill God knows how many hundreds of meters in order to get back to the forest trail to Favang.
In Favang I get a coffee at a conditorei and have my lunch. I discover that the stave church was no original stave church, so the heavy detour and effort were in vain. Note also deteriorating, oeuf! (Used in Maastricht for “moron”).
I’m calling from the conditorei Ringebu if I can stay in pilgrim hostel Guild Vollen.  A  Dutch speaking lady answered me. The real stave church is in Ringebu. Picture. My lodge in tavern Guild Vollen is right next to the church.
Of course I dream of  cozy chatting to fellow travelers, but upon arriving at 5 pm at Guild Vollen I turned out to be all alone again. Lonely Ranger, povre garcon, povre peregrino. Janke, originally a Dutch Frision lady, has been living here for about 30 years with her Norwegian husband. In addition to the inn they do artfully woodworking, mostly carving, make honey, are interested in plants and birds, keeping bees. Janke and I agree that they will answer my many questions tonight. I’m curious. In the inn is a little storage of food that can be used for payment. Tosca is in the woodshed and stays very quiet, as usual, happy with her well deserved rest.

During my supper at 8 o’clock pm. comes Janke, my originally Frisian-Dutch, but now Norwegian, hostess to talk with me. I asked her how she ended up in Norway, how they came to woodworking, what she liked here and what less. She told me a story about a ministers home that had been empty for 5 years. She and her husband were going to  remodel it to turn it into a studio. And a pastor who,  5 y. after abundoning the ministers home suddenly demanded the property back to the church. Something that belonged to  the church, had to remain to the church. 12 years of legal fighting followed. Half of the village favoured the pastor, the other half her and her Norwegian husband. Finally together they bought a school with outbuildings elsewhere, so here, and they expanded their future: woodworking courses, workshops, hostel etc. Again such a turn in a life. Captivating. If one can’t adapt to change one will perish. The story of the wolf was also told here. Now I understand. Everyone knows it from the newspaper. I ask why tourist sights are indicated so badly, if at all. And that I seem to be walking all alone in Norway. All kinds of explanations on the traditional Norwegian life: farmers, conservative, pragmatic. All the beautiful old homes that are no longer functional, are allowed to just collapse. Like everywhere on my trip. Everyone participates in the moose hunt. As the summer season is relatively short, it is very busy in the summer, for example working in the garden, on the land, painting the house, reparations. Pipes should be placed 3 m. deep in the rocky soil, against the winter cold. So that takes a while. A fascinating evening. Back to bed too late, but tomorrow will be only 23 km!

Geef uw mening