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Norway Journal, Day 8

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View of Hafrsfjord from Yterroy. You’ve read about the Hafrsfjord in my Erling books.

June 18: A big day for me. I got up in good time to get going to put my Viking togs on and get some breakfast before we headed out for a fjord cruise. It was raining as predicted, but clear skies were obviously coming on. We caught a big motorized catamaran doing a circular course through the Hafrsfjord. Our first stop was Ytterøy, an ancient peninsula where there’s a “bygdeborg” (a hill fort for local defense). We debarked and took a walking tour that involved a lot of climbing to the top of the hill, where there was a performance of Haraldskvadet (the skaldic poem about the Battle of Hafrsfjord) by a singing group (quite nice). Further on, a group with lurs (long, wooden traditional Norwegian horns) did an instrumental/performance piece that meant nothing at all to me. Perhaps it’s the sort of thing the Vikings really listened to, but to me it seemed postmodern and atonal. Our trip back down the hill was rather rugged, and involved some very steep descents. Some of the people around me were watching to make sure the old man in Viking clothes didn’t fall, which I have to admit was reasonable. The final descent had no handrails at all and seemed to me genuinely too dangerous for public use.

Another one of those plexiglass installations to spark the imagination.

Then there was a long walk along the shoreline (sometimes on top of half-submerged rocks). Happily, I came through neither broken on the rocks nor soaked. Finally we made it back to the quay, and caught another catamaran to Møllebukta, where the Viking market was being held. We walked around, and then my hosts left me by myself. I assumed they would take the further legs of the boat tour, but I guess they actually spent their time at the market. Their nephew the Viking enthusiast was with them, so it may have been to please him as much as me.

One of the Viking ships on the Hafrsfjord.

It was quite a deal. I’m told it’s far from the largest Viking market in Norway, but it was the biggest this American had ever seen. Hundreds of reenactors with their tents and sales stands ranged along several paths through an area around a brook. All kinds of goods for sale, artisans demonstrating their skills, the odd fight show or Viking game. We had a brief spot of rain, but the day had cleared up essentially. Beautiful weather, crumb-hungry seagulls swooping around, and in the distance the unforgettable Sverd I Fjell monument.

Viking battle.

I found my friends from Vikingklubben Karmøy, and they generously offered me a stool, where I took my seat. Except for a walk around to see what there was to see at one point, I stayed there, happy to be playing Viking in Erling Skjalgsson’s personal domain. The Karmøy people were good to talk to, and I was quietly and serenely happy. I’d been waiting for this day since I was 12 years old.

Me with the leader of Vikingklubben Karmoy.

At 4:30 my hosts began to leave, and so we went to Sola for pizza (I like to think of it as feasting at Sola), and then home to wind down.

A great day in my life. I will not demean it with a joke. I feel very happy.

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Norway Journal, Day 7

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June 16: Mari Anne and her husband Michael drove me out to Bø farm, near Randaberg, north of Stavanger, where Cousin Sigve lives (turns out he’s not actually a cousin, but a relation by marriage. But he’s had trouble finding relatives in America, and has settled for me). He’s retired, but used to be a farmer and was be involved in scientific breeding programs for hogs and cattle.

He told me he had a chest that had belonged to the grandmother of Prof. Sven Oftedal of Augsburg College, one of the people we study in the Georg Sverdrup Society, whose journal I edit. Oftedal’s mother, he explained, was born on a neighboring farm and he had acquired the chest.

Me sitting on the Oftedal chest. I’m happy to report I did not crush it.

He took me up to Hodnefjell on Moster Island (not to be confused with Moster on Bomlø, which I visited the other day). Some of my ancestors lived there and were converts to the Moravian movement. They heard about Hans Nielsen Hauge, the Lutheran lay evangelist, and invited him to visit them there. It was with them Hauge stayed when he first visited the Stavanger area. They became followers (“friends”) of his. One of their community was John Haugvaldstad, who went to Stavanger and became a prominent Haugean leader and businessman. He established several businesses, always with the goal of employing the poor and supporting mission work. I understand he was considered the de facto head of the Haugeans after Hauge’s imprisonment for leading meetings while not ordained. My relatives were friends and supporters of Haugvaldstad. There is a bust of him in Stavanger, outside the mission school.

Hodnefjell farm, home of my ancestors, in the background.

We visited Utstein Kloster, the only medieval monastery in Norway that remains standing. Smaller place than I expected, but very interesting. A chance to get in out of the rain, which was pretty steady all day.

We went to another medieval church, whose name I forget. But it is well preserved (or restored) and quite beautiful in a simple, Romanesque way. We visited a German coastal installation from World War II along the coast, which included gun emplacements and a tunnel through the rock.

On the island of Finnøy, we saw the replica of the sloop “Restauration,” in which Cleng Peerson led the first organized group of Norwegian immigrants to America. 52 people (53 on arrival, as a baby was born) traveled on this tiny vessel, which authorities later declared inadequate for the purpose and seized (after it had arrived). These people were mostly Quakers, along with some Haugeans, fleeing religious pressure from the state church. Finnøy was Cleng Peerson’s home.

The replica of the “Restauration”

Sigve also drove me past the one place he has found in the area where (he’s personally satisfied) Hans Nielsen Hauge set up a sea salt refinery. (After several years in solitary confinement, the pressures of the Napoleonic Wars induced the government to grant Hauge temporary parole so he could set up sea salt refineries to relieve the salt shortage. After he had performed this service well, the conditions of his imprisonment were eased a little.)

Plausible site of Hauge’s sea salt refinery.

Back to Sigve’s house and a lovely dinner with his wife and daughter. We talked quite a long time about Vikings and other matters. Then back to Sandnes and my hosts. I am stimulated but tired. I hope I’m not coming down with a bad cold.

Sigve and I.
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Life’s Just a Bowl of Beer-soaked Skittle Cherries

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Here’s a bit of English idiom trivia I came across recently. The phrase “life’s just a bowl of cherries” is the title of a 1931 Broadway number. “Life is just a bowl of cherries. It’s not serious. It’s too mysterious.” I link to an Ethel Merman recording here because she’s the one who inflicted this song on the inmates of New York’s theater trade.

This phrase clashes a bit with the British saying, “life’s not all beer and skittles.” Some readers among us may assume that’s a reference to candy, and I would like to know how many people, if any ever, would drink beer while eating Skittles. (Wait. Since I hamstring myself through perpetual research while blogging on trivia, I found a 2020 report of a beer brewed with Trix and Skittles, which goes to show, children, that if you believe in something hard enough, even a very bad idea can become a real boy.)

But life, as they say, is not all beer and skittles, meaning it’s not the intoxicating wonderland of your local pub wherein you can procure a brewed beverage and play a game of nine-pins–the ancient and venerable game called skittles!

The Gardens Trust did some research and writes, “Amongst the earliest references I could find are a couple of 14thc manuscripts which show a skittles game in which one skittle is bigger, differently shaped, and in most cases positioned so as to be the most difficult to knock over.  According to a specialist website . . . the throwers in the pictures are about to throw a long club-like object at the skittles underarm.”

Life, having been around for as long as it has, gets credit for a lot of things. Oliver Wendell Holmes gave us these two:

Samuel Johnson tells us, “Life’s a short summer,” and you can imagine where the killjoy goes with that idea.

Let’s bring it back around with this suggestion from Joseph Addison. “I value my garden more for being full of blackbirds than cherries, and very frankly give them fruit for their songs.”

Life is much sweeter with birdsong. I’ve offered my neighborhood aviators club blackberries, and I’ve seen a few takers this summer. Maybe they prefer cherries.

Photo by Engin Akyurt/Pexels

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‘Area of Suspicion,’ by John D. MacDonald

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It’s very good news in my world that the Murder Room Series is bringing out John D. MacDonald’s old stand-alone novels, and at a reasonable price. I flee from postmodern literature to these books like a cockroach from a kitchen light.

Area of Suspicion was published in 1954, long before MacDonald’s Travis McGee character was conceived. But it looks as if the setting of the opening must have stuck with him, because it’s right out of that series. Gevan Dean lives the life of a beach bum in Florida, in a community of beach and boat people who make a lifestyle of partying and casual sex. He doesn’t live on a houseboat like McGee, but the ambience is familiar. Gev used to run the family business, a manufacturing company, but he fled after he found his brother Ken in the arms of his fiancée, Niki. He went to Florida to forget. Lately, though, the party life has palled on him, and he’s been pulling back from his neighbors.

Then he gets word that his brother Ken is dead, murdered, apparently by a random robber. By the time he gets the news, it’s too late to attend the funeral. But there is time to attend the meeting of the company’s board, where the next CEO will be chosen. He’s going to go to that.

Back at home, in a fictional city, he is reunited with Niki, who’s as beautiful and seductive as he remembers. She tells him she made a mistake. It’s Gev she loves. All he needs to do is vote his shares for the current CEO, rather than for the old employee his uncle supports, and they can run off together and live happily ever after.

But Gev is suspicious. Something doesn’t smell right. The CEO Niki supports is a little too smooth, a little too ingratiating. And why has he fired all the best men Gev hired back when he was in charge? And was his brother’s murder really just wrong place, wrong time? When he starts asking awkward questions, Gev soon find himself facing physical threats. And a plot that’s deeper and more devious than he could imagine.

John D. MacDonald studied business at Harvard, so he writes about it with understanding and sympathy – something that’s rare in popular literature. He also had, even at this early date, an excellent way with his characters – they’re well-rounded and sympathetic, even the bad ones. Our hero Gev is smart enough to leave town for his own safety when the police suggest he do that(!) And the writing is evocative and spare, all at the same time.

Highly recommended. Cautions for sex scenes, though they’re pretty tame by today’s standards.

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Norway Journal, Day 6

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June 15: I experienced a certain measure of distress this morning, when I found that the zipper on my jeans had broken. Einar convinced me that there was no shame in wearing my Viking pants, so that’s what I did. I greatly missed my pockets, however.

We used Einar’s girlfriend’s car, and they drove me to Stavanger. We left right on time. It was a pleasant drive, interrupted by several tunnels of varying lengths (under fjords) and a ferry ride. We arrived in Sandnes, home of Mari Anne, a local historian, and her family, precisely on schedule. We were treated to a tasty lunch. To my amazement, we had buns to make sandwiches with, and no knives or forks. So everybody ate their sandwiches with their hands. You’d have to know Norwegians to know how surprising that was to me. In my experience, Norwegians always cut sandwiches up with a knife and fork. I can only assume they were going the extra mile to make me feel at home. (Only the same thing happened everywhere I went. I can only conclude it was a conspiracy. The idea that I’m mistaken about Norwegian eating habits is obviously absurd) I got to meet their nephew who is staying with them, and who is keenly interested in Vikings. This gave me ample opportunity to hog the conversation.

They took me to a store called Dressman (“Dress” in Norwegian means “suit,” so don’t get the wrong idea). There, in spite of the fact that you rarely see a Norwegian as fat as I am, we were able to find a pair of black chinos that fit me. This was a great comfort to me in my old age.

Then they took me on a tour. We saw the ancient stone circle popularly called Erling Skjalgsson’s Thingstead, though it’s certainly much, much older than Erling. A sort of Stonehenge thing, but the stones are much smaller and there are no capstones. Its original purpose is a mystery, but it provides plenty of scope for speculation.

“Erling Skjalgsson’s Thingstead,” as it’s called.

We went to Sola Ruin Church, which can plausibly be considered the site of the place where Erling worshiped (though not in this building, which must be later). If this is where Erling’s church stood, I’d wager he must be buried under the floor. Nearby, I assume, his farm lay, though no archaeological evidence has been found in that well-worked soil. So I greeted Erling again on his home ground.

The Sola ruin church. The Germans actually dismantled it during the war, but thoughtfully numbered the stones. So after the war it was simply reassembled, like an Ikea kit.

Then they showed me the two stone crosses at Tjora, whose age is uncertain but which are certainly among the earliest memorials of Christianity in Norway. There were originally four, but now only two stand, and their location has been moved a bit. Still and all… they are unquestionably early medieval.

The stones at Tjora. Unquestionably Viking Age. Certainly dating to Erling’s time; perhaps to Haakon the Good’s.

We also saw a weathered petroglyph near a farm fence.

Then back home for a delicious supper. They brought out a bunch of books about Vikings to discuss. And I tried to book bus tickets to Haugesund on the Norwegian mass transport web page, with great frustration, as I discovered that my credit card, which I made sure to be acceptable in Norway, is not usable over the internet (validation issues). A resolution was found, but not one that pleased me greatly.

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‘But Mr. Adams!’

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On this Independence Day, I interrupt my celebration of the Old Country to share this clip of my favorite number from the musical “1776.” William Daniels and Ken Howard were wonderfully paired as John Adams and Thomas Jefferson, and Howard Da Silva milked the Benjamin Franklin part for all it was worth. Fun and educational. Holds up well.

Cautions for some mild (by today’s standards) profanity.

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America, Imperfect as We Are

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Darrell B. Harrison notes Douglass’s words on the Fourth of July, saying the great abolitionist had more to say.

“Notwithstanding his well-founded criticisms of the prejudicial climate and construct of mid-nineteenth century America, Frederick Douglass never viewed America as being unique in that regard. . . . ‘I admit that during many years to come the colored man will have to endure prejudice against his race and color, but this constitutes no problem to vex and disturb the course of legislation. The world was never yet without prejudice.‘”

America was not unique in its mistreatment of immigrants and minorities, and we should not allow people today to make us believe it was. In fact, the holiness of the Almighty may be the very impossible standard to which we are comparing ourselves–many making this comparison without Christ in view.

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Norway Journal, Day 5

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June 14: I got up in good time to leave at 9:00 a.m., in spite of getting very little sleep. Our goal: Etne and Hardanger, two of the most picturesque areas of Norway.

Einar and Tore Ravn with King Magnus Erlingsson. Note the “Tinghus” in the background. I’ve told you about “Tings,” right?

At Etne we stopped at the statue of King Magnus Erlingsson, who was not the son of Erling Skjalgsson but of a later magnate, Erling Skakke (“Erling Wry-neck,” due to an old injury incurred during a Crusade-adjacent raid in the Mediterranean). Norwegian law said that only a king’s son could inherit the throne. The problem was, there were no acceptable kings’ sons available at the time. So Erling Skakke, who was married to a daughter of King Sigurd the Crusader, managed to get his son Magnus crowned. In order to wangle this, he agreed to have his son crowned by the archbishop in Nidaros Cathedral (Norwegian kings had always been elected by the Things up to that point). This was the first time a Norwegian king was crowned and anointed in a religious ceremony, and it won him support from the Church. Resistance to this innovation led to generations of bloody civil war in the country.

We also stopped at the ancient church on Erling Skakke’s one-time estate.

As we drove through the Etne area, I realized I had to tell my sister-in-law, whose maiden name was Frette, that she absolutely must visit the land of her ancestors. The Etne area features stunning mountain and valley landscapes, made doubly dramatic by the misty weather today. I thought it was some of the most glorious scenery I’d ever seen.

Langfoss

We stopped to photograph the Langfoss, one of Norway’s largest waterfalls. I don’t have words for it. Dramatic and powerful.

After passing through a long tunnel we reached the area of the Hardangerfjord, even more dramatic than Etne, though I might not have believed it. The drama was increased by the ridiculous precariousness of the road we took. It clung to the shoulders of the mountains, often only one lane wide. In some places, if you encounter a driver coming the other way, one of you has to back up into one of the periodic pull-over spots. Farms and even small communities teeter on mountain ledges high above you, and sometimes when the rock ledge falls away on your right, you catch a glimpse of an isolated clearing where someone has built a smallholding, in a valley or a fjord cove. It all took my breath away. I came home drunk with beauty.

The ferry to Skaanevik

We were delayed returning by a one hour wait for the ferry going to Skånevik, which used to be the address of the farms across the fjord where my Swelland ancestors came from (because before cars and road-building, the water united rather than divided). But that governmental arrangement has been changed now.

Viking ships docked at Kopervik.

After we returned, I was taken to visit Gerd, who I think is the oldest of my relatives on Karmøy, by Cousin Tor Bjørn. He also took me to the docks at Kopervik, where most of the Viking fleet was docked. Tomorrow they’ll head for Stavanger.

And so will I.

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Norway Journal, Day 4

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June 13: Another stellar day. No matter how I worry, things seem to turn out well. This worries me.

Got up, joined Einar’s friend Tore Ravn for a drive north. First through winding, narrow roads to a lonely farm on the border between Rogaland and Hordaland. There was a stone on the bank of the inlet (we couldn’t get close and it was raining too hard to walk through tall grass anyway) where Raven-Floki, one of the discoverers of Iceland, made a sacrifice before setting out to sea. There were originally three stones there, but two have been removed over the centuries.

Raven-Floki’s stone.

At Førde, we viewed an ancient Thing site which has been made into a park by its owner.

The Law Rock at the Thing site at Forde.

Then we drove north (passing through a tunnel under a fjord) to Stord Island and Fitjar. I’d wanted to see Fitjar because I write about it in my work in progress, and hoped to describe it better. This was the royal farm where King Haakon the Good was born and died. During the reign of King Olaf Haraldsson, its steward was Aslak Fitjaskalle, Erling Skjalgsson’s cousin and murderer.

Einar and I with Haakon the Good at Fitjar.

Then to Moster, on Bomlø island. This is considered the place where the first Christian mass was held in Norway (not true – masses were held under Haakon the Good) under Olaf Trygvesson. Later, in 1024, Olaf Haraldsson would declare the first Christian law in Norway, which included a provision for the freeing of one thrall at every annual Thing. We got to walk through the Moster Amfi, an open-air theater where they do a play about Moster every year. Einar and Tore Ravn are both members of the acting company. A local historian gave us a short lecture. Some of it I didn’t know or had forgotten. They told us he once played Fridtjof Nansen in a film.

Moster Church.
Tore Ravn, Einar, and our guide at the Moster Law Rock.

Then back to Einar’s apartment for a late lunch. Not long after, Cousin Anne Britt came to pick me up for my visit with family. First we went to her place and saw her mother. Anne Britt gave me a Constitution Day medallion, which I’ll be able to wear to future Constitution Day celebrations. Delighted to have it. Like Ibsen, I love wearing medals. Her mother gave me some family photos to keep.

Then to Cousin Anne Grethe’s house, for a cookout. Lots of relatives, lots of good food. A very nice time. Cousin Tor Bjørn gave me a very special gift – a nail from the Viking ship Draken Harald Fairhair, on whose construction crew he’d worked. He’d mounted it on a plaque for hanging on a wall. I’ll treasure that.

The Viking ship nail.

When I complained about trouble I’d had with the European sim card (French) I’d bought, Cousin Tor Bjørn – unknown to me – went out and bought me a Norwegian one, then walked me through setting it up. Much thanks to him.

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Norway Journal, Day 3

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June 12: An unexpectedly splendid day. I was rather glum as I got ready and Einar drove me to Avaldsnes. I was still feeling the walk (climb) in my legs, and the weather forecast predicted rain all day. However, it was only spitting a few drops when I arrived at the Viking Farm, and I sat on a rock to put on my Viking shoes and headed up to our camp. I was told I had fire duty again, but somewhat later in the day. I begged off with some guilt, as I’d been hoping to quit a little early and visit the Nordsjøveien History Center before it closed at 5:00. They said no problem, there were always plenty of volunteers.

The visitor turnout was low at that point. No doubt the weather was a major reason, but I’m also told Sunday is always lighter than Saturday, in terms of attendance.

I decided to get some good pictures with my old digital camera, and made a circuit of the place, snapping whatever seemed interesting. When the rain started coming down harder I ducked into the longhouse, where Kjell the musician was preparing to give his talk about the history of music again. This time I stayed to hear the whole thing. I was intrigued when, at one point, he delivered a farmer’s cattle call, “Kom baas.” I told him later that my father in Minnesota always called the cattle with “Come, boss.” Very likely transmitted directly through the generations from Karmøy.

By the time I got out of the longhouse again, the sun had come out and the day had brightened. More people had shown up to visit. The day had turned out all right after all.

I bought a hot dog for lunch, took some more pictures, and then went up to the camp to tell the leader goodbye. I explained I probably wouldn’t be participating as a Viking at Stavanger [editorial note: I changed my mind later]. Not that I hadn’t had a good time – it was great, and everyone was very cordial. But I’m old and tired, and my host had planned some other things.

An artistic installation on the sound, to give you an idea of what the place looked like when Viking ships sailed through.
Another view of the path up to the Avaldsnes Church. I had plenty of time to contemplate it.

Then I trudged up to the History Center (taking my time. Happy to report I again didn’t have a heart attack). The History Center has been built since my last visit, and I’ve wanted to see it for a long time. It’s devoted to explaining how the North Way trade route formed the germ of Norway as a country, and the importance of Avaldsnes on that route. As I passed the Viking ships’ docks, I noted that some of them were gone now. When I reached the History Center, I bought a ticket and went in. It offers an interesting film about the history of Avaldsnes and its place in Norwegian history, and then you can walk the exhibition using a recorded guide via headphones (English available).

The center has an impressive exhibition, though I think if they want the English speaking tourist trade, they might think about making it a little more accessible. English signage is limited, and I had some trouble figuring out how the sequence of exhibits worked. Also, how to operate the earphone device. In case I haven’t mentioned it, I’m old.

King Harald Fairhair and his Queen Gyda, as portrayed in the History Center.

Still, the center was on my bucket list, and I’ve seen it now.

As Einar was driving me home, crossing the Karmsund Bridge he noticed one of the Viking ships moving south through the sound by sail, headed for Stavanger. He did a quick U-turn in a roundabout and rushed to a spot he knew along the bank, where we were able to take photos of the ship as it passed by. I have never before seen a Viking ship actually under sail. That’s a bucket list item I hadn’t even realized I had.

Really an excellent day.