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night, where the proprietor was absent and the
fine ladies were unable to help us.
We start at 6.30 a.m., the first stage being an
ascent of the mountain which slopes down to the
fjord, by the steepest road, of equal length, now
remaining in Norway. The height of the ridge
is 2200 feet above the station, and the road is
an unsophisticated inclined plane, that proceeds
straight up, without any windings or other
engineering complications. We were advised to walk,
and followed that advice, for the five horses—all
S
we could get—were barely able to drag up our
luggage. None but an invalid or a lunatic would
attempt to drive up such a goat path.
The weather is wretched, and we lose the
splendid views of the Jostedal glaciers which are
promised to tourists who climb this hill and
proceed to Moldestadt. After topping the ridge,
we drive through wild country to Forde without
changing horses, and there find the boat with five
rowers, as ordered, waiting for us. An old man
tells us that another rower is necessary in
consequence of the storm, and we agree to the
additional cost of his wages. But this is not sufficient,
the old man further tells us. At all slow stations
there is a special legal fee, called “ tilsegelse,”
or fetching money. This is perfectly fair, as
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