This must be what Skyrim feels like

They say that in the south of Norway it rains more than 300 days a year. This has been a particularly wet year. I woke up in Stavanger and it was raining. I had breakfast and it was raining. I checked the ferry timetable and it was raining.

I went to Stavanger with the purpose of seeing the Pulpit Rock. No way was rain going to stop me. When a break in the weather came I jumped on a ferry, caught the bus and started a hike that over 150,000 tourists make every year. Many of them with their dogs.

Wooden path, not raining - so far so good.

The path was mostly made of rocks. When it was flat I stepped or jumped from one to the next, but more often than not it seemed to be going straight up or down and I realised, in a moment of nerdy shock, that this must be how my Skyrim character feels.

Sorry, Knut. You're a trooper.

A ways into the trek there was a signpost indicating that the marked path (spray-painted arrows) split in two - cliff path and hill path.

Does anybody pick the hill path? Does it even really exist? I have no idea.

Around the cliff path it became clear that the clouds, which had held off for most of my journey, would not hold off much longer.

Bit of weather coming in

With such a clear destination in mind (the rock, always the rock) it was tricky to take the time out to enjoy the views on the way up.

Not at Pulpit Rock yet, so not allowed to enjoy this

The last hundred meters or so were the most interesting. At one stage the path fell away, with a single rocky outcrop, only a few inches wide, provided the only foothold to cross. It was scary for me, difficult for people with shorter legs, and very interesting for those who had brought their dogs.

But it was all worth it for the spectacular Pulpit Rock...

...can you see it?

Six hundred meters straight up and completely encased in fog. In a rain cloud.

I took a few photos from the edge but they came out white. No view at all. A little to my left was a girl lying with her hands out over the space.

"Move forward," her boyfriend called. He was holding a camera. "It doesn't look like you're over."
"I'm not going forwards or backwards," she said. "I'm not moving anywhere."
"It's not much of a photo," he said.

As they pulled themselves upright I asked if they would mind taking my photo.

"Why don't I get one from over there?" Tiff offered. I agreed.
I sat on the edge with my feet out over... nothing. Tiff took a photo and checked the result. "Hang on a sec," she called. "I want to get another one."

Take the photo take the photo take the photo take the photo...

The record will show that I've sat in a similar spot on the Grand Canyon. This was a completely different experience. There is nothing beneath you, nothing at all. With the fog all around us, if somebody slipped off the edge they would just... disappear.

For scale; the white streak is a passing tour boat

Kyan and Tiff and I went exploring around the hill and found some spots where the cloud had cleared to get some better shots.

Just to prove I was somewhere awesome

It rained harder on the way back down. By the time I reached the bottom I was drenched, but happy that I had made the journey. In the forty minutes I had until the bus arrived, I amused myself by taking photos of the car park.

This isn't even scenery. This is just where I caught the bus.

I was exhausted. The pamphlet had said it was an eight hour round journey, but I was back inside six. I got a pizza to eat in my room (it was a really good pizza, they seem to make really good pizza in Norway), watched the Olympics, made some waffles (love these hotels) and went to bed.

I'm Bergen

Every few hours I would wake as the engines roared to life to pull us out from a pier. The ferry kept operating all through the night. Combined with the white night (the sun sets at night in the north, but it never really gets dark) it made for a strange sleep. I found it reassuring after a while; I never woke up wondering where I was.

I rose at what I thought was breakfast time but turned out to be not-quite-breakfast time and went to take some photos. I had to be careful not to stray too far. With an average passenger age around 86 I suspected there would be a rush for breakfast as soon as it opened.

Everyone wanted a photo of this little house

It was too windy to stay outside all day, and long stretches of bare coast provided few photo opportunities, but I felt bad sitting inside and reading (though I am reading Justin Cronin's The Passage and it is fantastic). In the end I tried to find a seat close to a window and the bow where I could check for upcoming photo opportunities.

There were many

As we approached Bergen the scenery changed. The hills and mountains became greener, the houses which had been built on strips between the slopes and the sea were built further up.

Still lots of cool islands

Entering the city from the water gives an appreciation for its layout I never got again, once I was wandering around it. Bergen is spread all about the fjord, anywhere there is land to build on.

But still very green, in summer

It was late when we got in. I had to wait for the next day to get a good view of the city from above.

A change of scenery

"This will be my first night train," I said to Bjorn, who was sharing my cabin.
"That's strange," he said. "Why?"
"We don't have them in Australia."
"Oh, I see. I've been making this trip now maybe thirty, maybe forty times. It has become very boring. Where are you going?"
"Trondheim."
He whistled. "Long trip. Been to Norway before?"
"No,"
"You will like it, I think."

Sweden from the train window. Very pretty.

We reached his stop a little after five in the morning. I spent the rest of the trip to Storlien snoozing and taking photos from the window of the train. The landscape did not change much as we travelled; nice houses on the edge of lakes and rivers, all very flat.

Lots of trees, also

Storlien itself was deserted; a ski town closed for the summer. The train to Trondheim took us to the border. The change was stunning.

Norway: not so flat

My supervisor had told me that the trip down the fjord into Trondheim was one of the best train journeys he had ever taken. It was easy to see why. The train followed a fast-flowing stream all the way down to the fjord. Mountains rose and fell away on either side. Small communities were built into the pockets of flat land against the slopes, between the water and the stone.

I hadn't slept well on the train and crashed a little when I reached the city. But the sun stayed up a long time, so there was still opportunity to explore.

This photo was taken just after 9pm

I found a lovely spot for dinner and tried a local specialty; fish soup.

It tasted exactly as good as it looks.

Of beavers and creeks

We left the Liar to have a big sleep in the nice hotel room in Avon and drove over to Beaver Creek, where we had been told we could hike some pretty trails and take some stunning photos.  Both proved to be true.

The Talk, and the village of Beaver Creek.

From the village we headed uphill, walking trails when we found them or straight up the ski-runs when we couldn't.

The Hammer running up that hill

What surprised us was how cold it wasn't.  While there was a noticeable difference between being in the sun and the shade, it was quite a warm day made warmer by the exertion of heading up hill.

We were not very high up at this stage

We were even lucky enough to see a bit of wildlife; mostly birds, but a few mammals as well.

Dear oh deer.

And it was worth spending the morning heading up to see the Rockies stretched away to the north.

Oh, those mountains.

The Talk got the skiing itch very badly.  It was all he could talk about for most of the walk down, and the next few days.

The Talk informs me this is some 'sick free-styling.'

The empty ski runs felt strange as we stumbled and slid down them.  It would be curious to see them covered in snow and rich, white people.

Empty chairlifts are eerie.

That night we ate at a hamburger place in Edwards and went to bed early.  In the morning we would drive for at least 10 hours and cross two state borders.

Go CU!

Around the corner from our hostel in Denver was a nice little hipster cafe, the name of which I have completely forgotten.  Nevertheless, we ate there every morning we were in Denver.

Not the biggest table I've ever used.

After breakfast the Talk, the Skeptic and I made the journey to Boulder.  We had tickets to the football; the Colorado University Buffaloes were playing the Baylor Bears. The CU campus is set in the shadow of the Rocky Mountains, and it was a stunning day; the Skeptic and I both left a little sun-burned, much to our surprise.

Scenic CU.

 A group of tailgaters invited us to join them for a couple of drinks before the game, and we watched the marching band warm up and rehearse.  This was a completely alien experience for three Australian lads; not only would we never see activity like this on our University campus, we would never see it at all.

The CU marching band, doing their thang.

The band go through their paces before every home game; if the Buffs are playing in the afternoon, they have to begin rehearsal at dawn.  This makes them unpopular with the nearby dorms.

Baker Hall, right opposite the band

We were told that we had to head towards the stadium before the game started so we could meet the team's mascot, Ralphie.  Ralphie is a full-sized adult bison.  She is also a lady bison.  She leads the team onto the field at every home game, and before the game poses for photographs.  This is the fifth Ralphie.

Ralphie.

During half-time we returned to the tailgaters to have a couple of beers.  Their tailgater of choice was an ambulance.  They walked us through why an ambulance is the best vehicle to convert for this purpose; it's large, has a good engine and is already wired for electricity.  This particular fanbulance was kitted out with a grill, satellite television and a roll-out tent at the rear.

The Tailgater was a converted ambulance.

Unfortunately the Buffs lost, but the experience of our first college football game was unforgettable.  We stood on the bleachers in the student section, shouting our trachea dry and shaking our keys to make as much noise as possible.  Fight, fight, fight fight fight!

The Buffs about to kick a field goal.