25th August 2014

Last night, even though our route should have taken us straight down the neighbouring fjord, for some reason we had to sail a good 16 miles out into the North Sea, only to turn around and steam back into the fjord arm that leads to Geiranger. This meant we were tendering into port again, and once more, we were woken by the glorious racket of the anchor chain clanging out of its housing. This time, however, as seasoned sailors, we knew exactly what it was and simply pulled the pillows over our heads until the clatter stopped. This style of wake-up call has one definite advantage over our usual methods: it doesn’t just sweep away the cobwebs of sleep, it obliterates them!

After breakfast, we headed on deck, where we were greeted by the most dramatic fjord yet. The mountains seemed to wrap around the ship, tight and towering. Since it’s a UNESCO World Heritage site, I suppose it had to stand out from the others. And, to be fair, it did. It looked like a fine day ahead, but with the height and proximity of those mountain walls, we could barely see the sky, let alone the weather creeping in behind them.

With no firm plans for the day, we decided to hop off the ship and see what was on offer. We found the tourist office on the quay straight away. While Sue browsed a nearby shop, I studied the information boards outside. Spotting a bus trip to the summit of the highest mountain in the region sparked my interest. When Sue emerged from the shop, I suggested that, for a change, we ride up a mountain rather than slog our way up it. She readily agreed, so I grabbed two tickets, and less than five minutes later, we were whisked away, along with half a bus full of equally relaxed passengers, upwards, in style!

Winding our way through a series of hairpin bends, we found ourselves climbing well above the surrounding mountains of the fjord. In fact, that large, jagged peak I’d assumed would be our destination next to Geiranger was soon well beneath us. We made a brief stop for photos, looking down at the town and our ship, which now looked like miniature toys scattered in a model landscape. Up we went, higher and higher until we finally hit the snow line.

But still, our driver didn’t stop. Instead, he announced that we were in for an “extra treat”, a rendezvous with the Oslo bus. We continued along a flooded cwm cradling a crystal-clear blue lake, apparently 90 metres deep. Eventually, we reached a T-junction and parked. Some ten minutes later, out of a dark tunnel bored into a sheer cliff face, the Oslo bus emerged. Heaven knows how long that tunnel must be, as the mountains above stretched endlessly. The bus didn’t stop, no Oslo passengers today, I suppose!

  

Our return took us back around the lake to a toll road (yes, complete with barriers) nestled at what felt like the edge of heaven. St. Peter was clearly on his lunch break! From here, the road snaked into a series of endless hairpains (no, not hairpins, they were far sharper, bordered on one side by a drop so sheer it would make your hair curl). Unsurprisingly, this road led straight up to the summit and nowhere else. I’ll let the photos do the rest of the explaining!

After nearly half an hour at the top, feeling thoroughly chilled despite the bright sunlight, we reboarded the bus for the ride back down. With no additional stops for non-existent Oslo passengers, we were soon back in Geiranger. We hopped off at the hotel above town and ambled over a charming bridge and path to the museum. After several photo stops, we began our descent along a metal walkway, tracing a gushing, frothing stream as it cascaded from the mountain heights above, crashing its way down until it met the tranquil fjord below. Along the way, we bumped into Rob and Jan, who were heading up, but we kept the chat brief; the waterfall spray had us steadily soaked by then!

Reaching the port, we decided to continue our ascent along the road to the small church, part of the UNESCO site. Plenty of tourists were already gathered, though most chose to stay outside, snapping photos. We ventured in and were met by the sound of piano music drifting through the quiet space. A recital was scheduled for 2 p.m., and the pianist was rehearsing. We listened to a few pieces until he closed the piano and disappeared through a door at the back, signalling our cue to leave as well.

Back at the quayside, we meandered through the handful of shops before finding a sunny spot to relax and wait for the tender to ferry us back to the Oriana. Once on board, we made a direct line to the Conservatory (with a quick cabin stop) to replenish our well-spent calories.

Later, Sue headed to the stern to soak up the sail-away music and lingered to watch the breathtaking scenery slip by. Over the intercom, the captain announced a unique manoeuvre: as we approached the famous Seven Sisters waterfalls, he planned to stop the ship in the fjord, rotate it a full 360 degrees, giving everyone a prime view of both the Sisters and the towering waterfall on the opposite shore. Even better, a rescue craft would be launched to film the spectacle, a first for the Oriana!

Curious, I joined the crowd on deck. True to his word, the captain brought us to a graceful halt between the waterfalls, and the ship slowly began its spin, a 15-minute, jaw-dropping pirouette in the middle of the fjord. At one point, we paused to allow a ferry to squeeze past us, which added to the drama. As we rotated, the captain chimed in with some thrilling facts: there were 110 metres of water below us and just 250 metres between our stern and the fjord walls on either side. It certainly felt closer! What an unforgettable, unexpected treat.

Famished from the exhausting task of watching waterfalls drift by, Sue and I made our way to Al Fresco for a well-earned drink and some nibbles. Through the windows, we watched as waterfall after waterfall slid past, and marvelled at the precariously perched little houses clinging to cliffs or set right at the fjord’s edge. Who would choose to live there, and how on earth did they get there? It was a mystery wrapped in scenery!

With a “smart casual” evening on the agenda, we changed in the cabin and headed to the theatre for some pre-dinner entertainment, a splendid movie music set by the ship’s orchestra. All our dining companions were in attendance for the evening meal, where we swapped stories of the day’s adventures and then somehow found ourselves in a spirited debate about the best TV series to binge.

The late show in the theatre was a lively medley of songs and dances from beloved musicals. And in a surprise announcement, we learned that the show we missed last week (due to a mysterious stage malfunction) would be making a comeback in two days. Cheers, P&O, for giving us an encore attempt!