Leisurely start for a mid morning flight to Bergen. A taxi took me to my hotel for the night.
The driver was an Afghani, apparently things aren’t what they used to be over there, so he’s over here. Along with hordes of tourists. It is a nice place here, can not blame them, I’m here also.
After check in a walked to the nearby Floibanen funicular railway to catch a ride up the Fløyen mountain that sits above Bergen at a height of about 400 meters.
20 minutes later I was alone and breathing a sigh of relief. Taking a narrow track heading up the hill Google maps gave up on me. And I don’t think the tourist map was meant for this. North was too the left and south in front of me. Trusting my instincts, I found my way through pine forest, whose floor was covered with sun dappled moss. The edges of the track were fringed with occasional stands of raspberries.
The trees thinned out very rapidly to be replaced by patchy bogs, more moss fields, and blueberry bushes less than 30cm high.
Once I passed the Fjellhytten, literally mountain hut, the track started heading down again. The trees returned. When I rejoined the main track, the tourists returned.
But for a far too brief period, the mountain was mine, and mine alone.
