Moose droppings
Stone roofs
Gudbranddal known for its old farm houses, often painted red
Cranes
Cranes in the field
Very special diner: moose
Overal veel goudveil
Lunch break outside , at a lunchroom brrr.
Church of Favang. This was not the stav church that I wanted to visit. Detour made in vain
Favang church once more
Steep uphill
But nice scenery
A beautifull body may be admired
Ringebu, with its typical Norwegian wooden stav church. and my hostel. That’s where I have to go
Completely tarred, I can smell. A wonder that no pyromaniak ever set it afire
Nice twisted little tree behind the stav church
Is this the in the Netherlands very rare doorgroeide boerenkers, here abundant
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 soil. Here 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.
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