Chapter 4
The hotel had helpfully sent Erik a timetable of the shuttle boats he could catch to get to the island.
They were pretty regular, but with a big gap in the middle of the day.
Since, timing wise he was now in the middle of that gap and he was no stranger to the water, he decided to make his own way there.
He’d been on plenty of family vacations spent canoeing, camping, and hiking in the Canadian wilderness north of Toronto, and much preferred having his own mode of transport for this part of his adventure.
So he set off from the hotel, and headed for the place he’d found online where he hoped he’d be able to hire a kayak for a few days.
Greenkayak was on the quayside in Bergen, close to where he’d eaten the night before.
They hired kayaks out for free in return for you agreeing to pick up rubbish on your travels.
Since Erik was after a longer hire period than a few hours, and there was nowhere else he could find that hired kayaks without a tour of some kind being involved, he agreed to bring back two tubs of rubbish and made a donation to them in exchange for a week of hire that included the loan of a life vest.
He zipped up the life vest, strapped his pack to the back of the kayak and put the two empty tubs and the litter-grabber they’d provided between his knees, then set off.
Being on the water made the fjord seem even more enormous.
There were some huge boats moored along the quayside that dwarfed Erik as he paddled past them, and he was relieved to reach the open water where he was less likely to be mown down by a bigger boat.
He had to keep to the right until he passed underneath the huge bridge that spanned the fjord, then he checked there was nothing coming up behind him and paddled towards the opposite side.
He was looking for Radfjorden, and of course nothing was signposted, so he had pored over the map last night, making sure he’d have his bearings clear.
But now that he was on the water, without a bird’s-eye view, it was hard to tell if the tributary of water to his left was what he’d seen on the map or whether it was altogether too small to be counted as a fjord.
With beautiful scenery, clement weather and nothing pressing to do, he decided to venture down there since it didn’t matter if it was a wasted journey and he might have to turn back.
It was the wrong way, but it was worth the detour to see the small cabins dotted along the edge of the water, all with variations of jetties and docks outside them.
Rowing boats were tethered here and there, and as he paddled towards the end, because there was an end, the water became shallower and as clear as any he’d ever seen.
He dipped his hand in, letting it drag through as the kayak glided along. It was icy cold.
Back into the big fjord, he carried on until there was a large fjord that veered off to the left.
This had to be it. He paddled along, the land on his left slowly rising and becoming an imposing wall of rock next to him.
Then, after not too much longer, he spotted the island.
Strandg?rden. He’d made it. The tip of the island was all he could see, with the rest of it presumably stretching out in a long, thin line along the fjord.
He pulled up alongside the jetty, heaved his pack out, then his litter-picking supplies, and finally lifted the kayak clear of the water, carrying it over to the grass and hiding it behind a bush.
A wooden sign that simply said, “Lysg?rden”, with an arrow that pointed to the woodland behind, was the only thing to suggest this place was anything other than another small island in the fjords.
Pulling his pack onto his back, Erik stashed the litter-picking supplies with the kayak, then headed along the path and into the woods.
The sense of peace was stark, in a place that was already pretty peaceful, it settled on him and he felt as if he’d come to somewhere familiar.
Of course it wasn’t, but it gave him a sense of connection to the place which he hadn’t been expecting.
The walk through the woods was short and before long he emerged into a clearing where the hotel stood.
He’d read on the hotel website that the original farmhouse had been renovated and extended.
They’d done a good job. It looked as if it had been part of the scenery here forever, bedded in the clearing, not looking too new, with a wraparound veranda that made him want to pull out a book and take a seat there. Maybe later.
He took the steps up to the front door. It was already open, welcoming him into the hallway.
Compared to the outside, which was unassuming, the inside was not what you’d expect to find anywhere other than in a boutique hotel.
The luxury hit him in the face, and he felt a little uncomfortable standing there in his hiking trousers with his backpack on his shoulder.
‘Hello. Can I help you?’ Behind the reception desk in the corner was a small woman with brown hair in a ponytail. She was smiling at him, but he could tell by the way she spoke that she didn’t think he was a guest.
‘Hi, I’m Erik Anderson. I have a reservation.’
‘Right… Welcome to Lysg?rden.’ She seemed flustered and clicked the mouse a few times.
‘I emailed with someone called Emilie?’ He put aside the irritation that rose in him. It was a side-effect of being a grumpier person since his accident.
‘I’m sorry. I won’t be a moment.’
He could see the worry in her eyes, and for some reason, he felt bad for her. He wasn’t going to blow his short fuse on her. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Can I ask how you got here?’
‘I kayaked.’ Kind of an odd question.
‘No one’s ever done that before,’ she said, grinning. Her face transformed into something altogether more beautiful. ‘Guests usually use the shuttle boat service, so I wasn’t expecting anyone until later.’
‘Oh, right.’ It made sense now. She really hadn’t thought he was a guest. ‘I like making my own way if I can.’
Her smile was infectious, and despite himself, he smiled back at her, mesmerised by the way her blue eyes were sparkling at him.
‘And your name sounds Norwegian, so I wasn’t expecting an American.’
‘Canadian,’ he corrected, digging his passport out of his trouser pocket.
‘Sorry.’ She looked appalled at her error.
‘It’s okay. Happens all the time.’
‘It’s hard to tell the difference.’
That was annoying. Understandable, but annoying. But again, a nicer side of him prevailed, and he smiled, wanting to reassure her, and changed the subject to stop her from overthinking it.
‘I had a Norwegian great-grandfather. That’s why I’m here, to do some family research.’ It was the most he’d spoken to anyone since he’d been here, and it was nice to have an actual conversation. Especially with her. He guessed she was around the same age as him.
‘I know Emilie told you the room is small.’ Her eyes ran up and down him. ‘But for someone your size, it is going to be tight.’
‘I’m sure it’s a step up from a bunk in a hostel.’
She laughed. ‘It definitely is. But since you’re staying a week, we can move you if a better room comes up.’
‘Okay, thanks.’ He really didn’t care about the room, but if it made her feel better…
‘You’re on the third floor. Room 308.’ She handed him the keycard. ‘I’m sorry I don’t have anyone who can take your luggage for you.’
‘I can manage fine,’ he said. Although the third floor wasn’t ideal, taking the stairs was exactly what his physiotherapist would encourage to get himself going again after a couple of days of relative inactivity.
‘Well, if you need anything, please let me know. My name’s Ida.’
Ida.
‘Thank you, Ida.’ He did a weird salute with the keycard as he backed away.
What was that about? As he headed to the foot of the stairs, he looked into one of the rooms that led off the hallway.
It was a lounge room with large windows that looked out over the woodland and sofas that looked like they might swallow you whole.
He climbed the stairs, seeing the view change from the windows above the front of the hotel.
On the first floor, there were just trees.
The second floor gave him a glimpse of the mountains he had kayaked past, and by the time he got to the third floor, he could see the fjord. It was spectacular.
His room was right in the corner of the roof, and Ida had been right to be sceptical.
He laughed out loud when he saw the shower.
He’d have to sit on the floor to get any water over his head.
He sat on the edge of the bed and took his boots off, sighing with pleasure when his feet hit the sumptuous carpet.
Then he lay back on the bed, which, for a single, was a good size and very comfortable.
It was perfect. Just for a moment, he closed his eyes.
The next thing he knew, it was two hours later.
His immediate reaction was one of annoyance with himself, but then, what else would he have been doing?
He could give himself a break. This holiday was as much about re-energising himself after a tough year as it was about discovering his great-grandfather’s legacy.
He stood up and stretched, laughing again when his hands touched the ceiling. He pulled his boots on and went in search of some food.
This place was like no hotel he’d ever stayed in.
There was no one at the reception desk to ask about the arrangements for food.
Erik could hear voices coming from the room on the opposite side of the hallway to the lounge, so he headed in that direction.
The dining room had a more intimate feel than the lounge or the rest of the hotel that he’d seen.
It was decorated in a similar way, but the clever use of gauzy curtains and large pot plants had created nooks for tables of two around the edge of the room, leaving the centre for one or two larger tables.
Erik guessed that most people coming here would be couples, so it made sense.
‘Table for you, sir?’ A smiling younger man came over to him and handed him a menu.
‘Yes, thank you. You’re still serving lunch?’
‘We serve all day.’
His table was next to one of the large windows that looked over the woodland toward the jetty where he’d arrived this morning, although it wasn’t possible to see through the trees.
Erik chose a lunch of sandwiches. There didn’t seem like much of a choice from the menu which was mostly a list of drinks, but his server, P?l, explained that anything he chose would be good, and that what they offered depended on what supplies the kitchen had to hand on any given day.
‘The sandwiches will be two or three different kinds. Is there anything you don’t eat?’
‘No, I’ll eat anything.’
P?l grinned. ‘Me too.’
Without wishing to jinx himself, Erik liked the idea of being fed whatever there was. It made for a more authentic Norwegian experience. And that was long overdue after his burger and pizza meals of the past two days.
When the sandwiches arrived, Erik could see he’d made the right choice.
They were all open sandwiches on a wholegrain flatbread.
One had smoked salmon on top of some slices of cheese, one looked as if it were flaked fish in a tomato sauce and the final one was curls of brown-coloured cheese on top of a jammy-looking spread.
‘Eat this one last,’ P?l advised, pointing to the jam and cheese one. ‘It is almost like a dessert.’
‘Is this cheese?’
‘Yes. Brown cheese. I think you’ll enjoy it.’
It seemed unlikely. ‘Thank you.’
Erik tucked in. The flavours were delicious, especially after the past few days of airplane food, fast food and pizza. It was fresh, tasty, and left him wanting more.
‘Could I get another round of the same?’ he asked when P?l came to collect the plate. ‘And can I get a coffee, please?’
‘Sure. How was the brown cheese?’
‘Surprising.’
P?l laughed. ‘It doesn’t taste the way it looks.’
‘That’s it exactly. It looks unappetising to say the least.’
Based on his experience so far, Erik was looking forward to the week ahead.
It was very easy to relax here. The staff were so jovial; it was hard to maintain the cut-down-in-his-prime demeanour that had swallowed him up over the past eight months.
That had to be a good thing, although without that suit of armour, and without being a champion snowboarder anymore, he wasn’t sure what was left.
The most important thing was to remember that he was here for a reason.
He would give himself a break today, but then he’d start up his research.