Living as a hermit, or choosing a solitary existence, are not life-style choices many consider in today’s extroversive society.
The longer one steps back from the crowds. The hustle. The bustle. The rush. The noise. The adrenaline charged atmosphere. The more difficult it is when human contact becomes necessary.
We’re now far from the cold north. Remote roads with little traffic. Early season campsites with us and another. The bleak and rugged landscape has softened. There are fewer and fewer sharp pointy bits. The pretty white blankets have disappeared. Melted into the distance. Replaced with lush greenery. Houses seem bigger. Larger gardens immaculately manicured. Fewer SUVs. More Tesla’s. Many more.
Route 13 comes to an abrupt underwater ending. Stavanger lies some 14k across this part of the Boknafjorden. There’s no ferry. No bridge. No Status Quo. Instead we head down down, deeper and down. 292 metres in fact. We enter (for the time being) the worlds longest and deepest subsea road tunnel.
We come to surface in the fourth largest city in Norway. Like a couple of moles from hibernation; eyes squinting as we adjust to the glare. Feel our way to Mosvangen Camping. Get there early. 11am! It’s a first come first served inner-city site. Reservations and bookings not taken. They know how to squeeze custom. 200 pitches. It’s heaving. 198 already in use. We grab 199. Load up with sarnies. Then walk the 3k lakeside track into town.
The centre and quayside are also heaving. Has a liner docked? No. There’s a party atmosphere. Stalls. Sideshows. Demonstrations. Live music. We’re not used to it. Too many people. Mrs S imagined a quaint old town port. Cornish style. The weather has brought all and sundry from far and wide. They’re celebrating Norway’s oldest Cathedral’s 900th anniversary.
An hour inside the combined printing and cannery museum provides a short detour from the cacophony of the festivity. Amply aided by the heavy metal reverb (they love it).
Twenty-two thousand steps later we step back into Beastie.