Where The Mountains Rise Up From The Sea
The wooden floor of the Nes Gard boathouse shakes as dozens of fists pound on tables in harmony. Mist clouds the bar windows as puffs of steam escape from the sauna outside, spilling out over the dark waters of Lusterfjord.
Mark Morris, guitar in hand, long blond hair dripping from his fjord plunge moments earlier, belts out a throaty viking chant while Anders Månum, the gregarious owner of the historic farm and guesthouse, serves up heavy pours of his “after-ski” special—lingonberry-studded gin and tonics.
“Long gone are the days,
When the vikings made way,
On ships through fjords long ago…
The frozen wet land,
There now stands just a man,
In Valhalla and Nes Gard below,
Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh!”
Even the Norwegians are singing. Or better: the Norwegians are singing the loudest. Anders is beaming, tapping his feet wildly.
It is our second night in the mountains of western Norway, but thanks to the openhearted Norwegian hospitality, it feels like we’ve been here for weeks.
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