Norwegian fjords, mountains and waterfalls are the undisputed high points of our trip

Words don't do justice to the Norwegian landscape. Take magnificent, awe-inspiring, incredible, jaw-dropping and spectacular. Mash them up. Increase their emotional impact by a factor of 10. At that point, you might be getting there. 

While Norway's cities far outstripped my uninformed expectations, its mountains and fjords delivered exactly what the tourism industry promises. Quite simply, one of the most impressive displays of the majesty of the natural world that you'll ever see. A landscape of soaring peaks, towering waterfalls and mirror-like stretches of water in which humanity seems insignificant. The only experience in my life that can compare is taking a helicopter into the Grand Canyon. But Norway, thanks to its expanses of water and trees, is far more beautiful.

Our introduction to the deep fjords came at Stavanger, gateway to Frafjord and Lysefjord. I thought our experience would be limited on two fronts. I’d somehow managed to miss booking the tour up the fjords on a rib boat, and by the time I remembered our ship’s opportunities were sold out. But it seemed that wouldn’t matter, because we cruised into Stavanger harbour in fog so thick visibility was less than 50 feet. Even if you had the radar to navigate, there was nothing to see. But the BBC and the locals on the harbour side said the fog was due to lift at mid-day, some sun was burning through the mist and Fjord Safari, operating from the harbour a short walk from our ship’s birth, had two spots on its noon departure. We thought we’d take a risk and hope the fog would lift. It was one of our best decisions ever.

Visibility was up to a few hundred feet and the sun was peeking through as we left Stavanger harbour, but the moment we started up Frafjord it closed in again. The journey felt like something out of a high fantasy film as we sliced through glass-smooth water enveloped in the grey mists, almost on top of islands as they’d appear on one side or the other of the rib and then slip away. I realised just how much trust we were putting in our captain, Sven, because we were travelling blind. And then we started hitting pockets of clarity, where we’d see a stretch of water, a chunk of blue sky and a mountain top or two in the distance. But it wouldn’t last; we’d be back in the gloom in seconds. Slowly but surely, the open spaces became bigger and the mists smaller, until the latter were  banks of cloud floating over the water. Sun and blue skies took over completely as we turned into Lysefjord, an impressive suspension bridge spanning its width. 

Mountains towered on either side, occasional pockets of greenery near the water before the grey granite rose straight up. The water hardly moved, reflecting the world above in its inky depths. Behind us, the wall of fog remained. It was like we’d travelled through some perilous underworld to emerge in a magic new land. Our captain later admitted he’d been holding back tears; in more than 10 years of making that journey multiple times each working day, he’d never seen it so beautiful. 

There were “sights” to be seen in Lysefjord: Pulpit Rock, a cave at the back of a crevasse where bandits once hid out, a particularly striking waterfall plunging directly into the lake. But, to be honest, it was all so gorgeous as to be indistinguishable in its wonder. 

There were other boats here, and you can get cheaper tours, but the rib is the way to go. Once you climb into your all-weather suit (add a hard hat and you’ll look like an oil rig worker), you straddle a saddle-style seat, hang onto the bars in front of you and go at high speed. Sunglasses or goggles are a must for protecting your eyes, and people who chill easily may find the fresh wind on their face unendurable. But I loved it, particularly when Sven cut across the wake of other boats to give us some bounce on an otherwise placid day. The speed of the rib also means you get to spend more time in the glories of the deep fjord and less time getting there.

Stavanger itself is worth a wander, particularly for its picturesque old town. Uniformly white, clapperboard houses with decorative eaves, each garden was overflowing with blooms. Turns out the jet stream works here the way it does down the coast of the UK, creating a garden-friendly microclimate that meant even though we were further north, the state of the gardens was closer to home than Oslo. 

The next day found us in a small town called Eidfjord, at the very back of more than 100 miles of fjords snaking inland from the sea. Back in Stavanger, if you hadn’t booked something todo there were still plenty of ways to amuse yourself. Not so in this wildly picturesque spot. If you don’t make arrangements to get out of town, you’ll spend the day walking around the edge of the fjord and looking up at the encircling mountains and distant waterfalls. Which is no bad thing. But you’re in the district of Hardanger, which even many Norwegians, who are used to all this mountainous spectacle, consider the prettiest part of the country. You want to get out and see more.

We’d booked an outing to the Viking village of Gudvangen. Bottom line: the village billed at the main event was rather underwhelming, but the day was redeemed by the spectacular 90-minute drives in each direction to get there. If the journey had been any less glorious, we would have found the day’s hefty price tag to be a rip-off.

It’s not that Gudvangen was awful, it just doesn’t live up to its marketing. A lower price tag, a better lunch and a bit more attention to its margins and it might have been as memorable as the ride to and from it.  The village is a collection of traditionally-built Viking-style houses on the tip of a fjord, populated by historical re-enactors, some of whom are there long term and others from all over the world who apply to do a holiday here playing at being a Viking. With its international workers and its attention to set design, it’s all a bit Disney. And there’s nothing wrong with that. The problem is that Disney creates a complete illusion, removing all signs of the outside world  from your experience. 

That’s clearly the intent at Gudvangen, but a petrol station and sign looms over part of the village and traffic is clearly audible (and sometimes, with high lorries, visible) on the road outside. We were dropped off in a slightly bedraggled holiday village to walk into the Viking experience. Gudvangen doesn’t come down to the water’s edge; a fleet of small, modern holiday craft for hire cluster there while you walk up to the village gateway. Exiting through a gift shop was no surprise, but the fact that the volunteers weren’t aware of the meaning of the symbols on the jewellery they were selling was. And the gift shop empties into a cafe and a car park that has the feel of a truck stop in the upper Midwest. 

In this less than perfect illusion, guides do an excellent job of taking tours around key points in the village explaining Viking customs, religion, food, technology and fashion. Specialist colleagues worked at various shops … the weaver’s, the smith’s … and explained what they were up to. You could wander into the chieftain’s house, ask him questions or take him on at a Viking game similar to chess. Booths for archery and axe throwing let you get into the action. Clearly built for large groups, a banqueting hall saw us sitting at long tables and eating a three-course Viking menu of soup, roasted pork and yogurt with fruit. It was deeply average, and totally missed the opportunity to elevate things with a horn of mead and a bard telling us tales of the gods while we ate.

Fortunately, we were blessed by a tour guide from whom we learned more about Norway in three hours on the bus than in our other three days in the country put together. The fact that she was a young Italian woman is an interesting commentary on the global nature of the tourism industry these days. The scenes along the drive were so gorgeous as to make Gudvangen an almost inconsequential comfort stop rather than a main event. 

We visited two spectacular waterfalls on par with any of the ones so famous in Iceland. We stopped at a picturesque hotel to look down a monumentally deep valley with jagged mountain sides that’s captivated generations of Norwegian artists. We made our way down hairpin bends and drove through precious farmland carved out of anything not vertiginous. As the only Brits on the bus, we were highly amused by some “Say No to EU” barns. (And wished someone would have tested the viability of getting a “Norway-style deal” before we jumped off our cliff.) We drove around lakes that reflected their surroundings with the clarity of mirrors, and crossed bridges so high we were practically flying. 

Later that day, to the accompaniment of a sinking sun that wouldn't set until almost 10pm, we sailed down Hardangerfjord to return to the sea. Mile after mile of mountains, forests and the occasional farm making the most of some level earth. When smaller fjords branched off from the main one, whole new vistas opened, like gateways into new worlds. The soft colours of twilight made it all the more magnificent. Most of the passengers seemed to be on the outside decks and there was a hushed atmosphere. Even after two days surrounded my such beauty, it was inspiring a hushed awe.

Gudvangen, I could take or leave. The day’s drive through the Norwegian countryside, the rib safari in  Lysefjord and the sail out Hardangerfjord were my undisputed high points of our Scandinavian adventure.

Efficient, beautiful and cultured: Norway's cities surpassed all expectations

Fiction abounds with stories of time travellers who find themselves in a futuristic society, marvelling at advances and feeling primitive in comparison. You don't need to imagine that. Just visit Norway.

Staggeringly efficient infrastructure drops the jaw. Massive tunnels cut through mountains, complete with underground intersections and roundabouts. Lights change patterns and colours to keep drivers alert. In other mountains, streams are directed through giant turbines to produce energy while the magnificent landscape appears untouched by human hands. In cities, vacuum tubes below the streets whisk recycling to the appropriate disposal plant; when relevant it's burned, with carbon capture, and the energy diverted to schools and old people's homes. Whether in city or countryside, there's not a scrap of rubbish or a splash of graffiti. I saw no derelict buildings or grubby parts of towns.

Fleets of sleek electric ferries whisk cars and passengers around the coast, roads appeared free of potholes despite incredibly harsh winter conditions and car charging points are abundant. All that renewable energy may seem surprising in a country that's the 12th largest producer of oil in the world. Turns out the Norwegians don't use much of their oil, nor do their citizens take its profits. The country ploughs the money into that spectacular infrastructure and saves for the future. 

Is it any wonder I felt that I'd stepped back into a broken, inferior past when I returned to Gatwick Airport?

My introduction to this remarkable country left me wanting more. A return, and a push much further north than our ending point at Bergen, is now on my bucket list. Our sightseeing divided between the urban and the magnificently rural, with days in Oslo and Bergen and another two amongst the fjords. I'll cover the cities in this entry and come back to the fjords next.

OSLO

Given that my reference point for Scandinavian cities was Copenhagen, Oslo felt like I was back on familiar ground. While Stockholm sprawled and demanded public transport to get from place to place, the historic heart of the Norwegian capital is, like the Danish one, compact and easily walkable. The main difference, of course, being that Oslo is ringed by mountains. While the metropolitan area spreads up those slopes, pretty much everything a first-time visitor will want to see is within strolling distance of the waterfront. 

The city centre sits on two bays divided by a promontory once guarded, and now merely beautified, by Akershus Castle. 

The bay to the east was once the industrial heart of town and is now under intensive redevelopment. The strikingly modern opera house sits on the water here, as well as the new Munch museum. The main train station is a few blocks off the waterfront and big ships, both industrial and passenger, dock on this side. (Our smaller vessel put in right next to Akershus, but locals told us all cruise vessels are soon to be banned from this picturesque spot.) Most of the east bay, however, is taken up with glittering modern office towers, many with architecture as interesting as the opera house, which is supposed to resemble an iceberg. I suspect if you were coming to Oslo for business, you'd spend your time on this side.

The key tourist sights, however, are off the west bay, which is a good deal more picturesque with its handful of masted sailing ships and old steamers tied up at the piers. Historic buildings and parks frame the waterfront. Both dominant and aberrant on this scene is the City Hall, a charmless lump of mid-century modernism. It's exterior is "enhanced" by sculptures that look like they came from the same factory that supported Stalin's PR machine. Everything else is so damned beautiful up here that you have to forgive the city hall, however. Like a warthog amongst the sleek animals of the African bush, its ugliness makes it loveable in contrast. 

The inside of the is more attractive and definitely worth a look, since you can pop in for free. A vast, open space shows off murals celebrating the lives and traditions of the Norwegian people. It's still all in that disturbing fascist/socialist style that makes you worry the thought police are nearby to haul affluent capitalists off to a labour camp. But some of it is pretty. If it looks familiar, it's because this is where the Nobel Peace Prize is awarded every year. My star sight at the building, however, is to be found in the landward-facing courtyard outside, where large carved and painted panels tell stories from Norse myth.

The heart of town lies just beyond this, with a theatre, university buildings and grand hotels and businesses of the 19th century. They surround a long, rectangular park dotted with statues of worthy Norwegians. Everything slopes up hill, and a grand avenue on the inland border leads to the monarch's palace. It's ringed by parkland, adding to what feels like a very green city.

When left to my own devices, my top objectives were Akershus Castle and the Oslo History Museum. (First choice would have been the Viking Ship Museum, but it's closed for a major renovation for at least another year.) 

In a league table of Scandi capitals with the best Viking loot on display, Oslo's History Museum brings up the rear. But if you're here in pursuit of the Viking past, as we were, then it's still worth a visit. There's one main display gallery with an array of artefacts arranged in old-style cases. Clearly, the Oslo curators put all of their attention into the rotating displays; the current focus is on animal imagery. Here you'll find state-of-the-art interpretations with dramatic lighting, music and holograms, plus a lot of gorgeous stuff. Bears, eagles, ravens, pigs, horses and more all get the sinuous Viking treatment, working gold, silver and gems into everyday objects to elevate them to priceless art.  The museum building itself, though not worth going out of your way for, is an unusual mix of Viking revival and art nouveau.

Akershus Castle was built centuries after the Viking era, though it shows off a similar martial brio. It's primarily the creation of Denmark's Christian IV, who wanted a suitably royal, Renaissance-style palace when he visited. (Norway was part of Denmark at the time.) While a good deal less lavish than his main residence at Rosenborg, it's still a beautiful building to wander through and offers wonderful views out over the harbour. The best comes at the very end, with a newly-restored stained glass window in a medieval hall. The restored glass only dated from the early 20th century to start with, but was medieval in its inspiration and had been almost totally destroyed in a terrible fire. The current masterpiece of light, and the video that explains the process of its rebirth, is worth the admission fee.

A bus tour included by the cruise company got us to two key sites beyond walking distance. The first was the Vigeland sculptures in Frogner Park, which seems to be at the top of every tourist itinerary here. The magnitude of Gustav Vigeland's achievement is obvious: 212 statues created over the span of his career, plus metal gates and fountains. No wonder it's often called (inaccurately), Vigeland Park. The problem with the dominance of one man's vision, of course, is that you really need to love his work to love the place. And I fear Vigeland's blocky, naked figures left me a bit cold. They writhe, they play, they fight, they love. Some even battle dragons. But they all seem a bit lifeless in their stolidity. I thought the figures in the metal gates were his best work here, and rated his lesser-known brother Emmanuel's window at Akershus ... yes, same family ... more beautiful.

The trip continued on to Hollmenkollen ski jump. Had I been an independent traveller I wouldn't have spent my own money or time to come up here to see an out-of-season sports venue, but it certainly has a novel appeal to those who come from places where athletes don't routinely throw themselves off mountains. Once you take a look at the slope, however, and wonder how anyone could have been mad enough to invent this activity in the first place, there's not much more to do up here than admire the view and look through a wildly overpriced gift shop. The best thing to see is a wonderfully lifelike statue of a dog (far better than any of the Vigeland stuff, IMHO) who's broken free from his owner and is wrecking havoc in the landing zone of the jump slope. Norway may appear perfect, but evidently dogs here are badly behaved here, too. 

BERGEN

Given Bergen’s position alone on a coastline of dramatic wilderness in the Far North, I was expecting a bigger version of a charming fishing village. Wrong. Norway’s jumping off point for trips even further north is just as sophisticated, cosmopolitan, affluent and beautiful as the capital. Sure, there’s a charming historic harbour graced with another impressive royal castle (this one solidly medieval) and a commercial waterfront dating from Hanseatic trading league days, now a UNESCO World Heritage site. On our visit a dramatic tall ship was in town. All very snug, quaint and old world. 

But the suburbs stretching into the hills and islands beyond are modern and obviously affluent, other areas of the town centre show off Victorian and early 20th century civic pride, and stretches of gleaming glass office buildings celebrate university and technological prowess. 

Sadly, we had less than a full day to explore. And by that day … the last full one of the cruise … we were running low on sightseeing fuel. While we enjoyed one tour, we didn’t have the energy to push into town on our own that evening. Bergen needs a return visit.

From all the tempting options on offer, we’d chosen an escorted tour to composer Edvard Grieg’s house with a concert on site, plus a stop at one of Norway’s famous stave churches on the way back.

I have become a lot more discriminating over the years in my cruise excursion booking, and now tend to only go for options that would be complicated and hassle-filled to put together on your own. This one qualified, as both sites were well out of town and not near each other, though both are open to the public and you could, in theory, make it here on your own. 

Grieg’s house at Troldhaugen is definitely worth a visit for classical music fans, but I wouldn’t recommend the journey for even the most devoted without the addition of music. (Though ours was a tour-specific concert, there are performances here daily at noon.) Otherwise, there’s not all that much to occupy you. 

The composer’s place, on the tip of this particular promontory, greets visitors with an intriguing modern sculpture of him in profile and a sleek, modern visitor centre. Inside you’ll find a small museum that explains his background, musical philosophy, lifestyle and enduring love story with his wife, Nina. I’ve never visited a museum dedicated to an individual that’s done a better job of presenting its subject as a wholesome, loveable, nice person. In an age of flamboyant romantic composers, Grieg was an unremarkable good guy, delivering on his projects, regular in his habits, beloved of his friends, supportive of his community. The museum goes out of its way to point out that not only did he go on record, publicly, against the miscarriage of justice that was the Dreyfus Affair, but he refused to meet Wagner (the quintessential example of a bad man who produced great art) because of the German composer's anti-Semitic views.

Grieg's house is a comfortable but modest late Victorian affair, two stories of wood with big windows, and carvings decorating the eaves. A glassed-in front porch takes in the views, which are magnificent. Visitors only see a few rooms on the ground floor, stuffed with the Griegs' personal mementoes including presents and letters from friends around the world. Unfortunately management had just changed its rules, not allowing outsiders to guide in the house but not providing their own guides, so our rushed walk through was disappointing. 

The main point of the visit, however, was the concert. That delivered. There's a purpose-built hall here tucked into the hillside, its grass roof making it almost invisible from the gardens. Inside, an ultra-modern auditorium seating about 250 slopes steeply to a stage holding a single piano, framed by an enormous window behind it. Thus the music of a man constantly inspired by nature is delivered in front of it. This is the same view he composed to, from a garden hut immediately below. The music was all too brief ... half an hour's race through a procession of beautiful melodies. Most evocative, for me, was Wedding Day at Troldhaugen. Not only one of his most familiar works, but the one written about the very home we were visiting.

On the way back to the ship we stopped at a replica of the Old Gol stave church. The original, moved from another location in Norway, is in Bygdøy Folkemuseum, but this exact copy stands in parkland and is easily accessible without an admission fee. IF you know where you are going. The bus brought us through a residential district, parked at a traffic circle next to a retirement complex and then we walked for five minutes down a woodland path to come upon the church in a clearing. It's an impressive and romantic setting, made more so by the fact we were the only people there at the time. Sadly the building is surrounded by an ugly chain-link fence and the interior isn't open to the public much. The extra security came in after a group of Satanists snuck into the place and burnt it down. (It was almost reassuring to learn all wasn't completely perfect in Norway.) So this is actually a replica of the replica.

Fortunately, traditional woodcarving skills must still exist here. You'd need to be far more of an expert than I am to tell copy from original. Stave churches are wooden constructions from the earliest years of Christianity in Norway, always made of wood (the load-bearing posts are the staves), characterised by steep roofs and decorative Viking-style carving. The Gol church builders were hedging their bets, with Old Norse dragons roaring out of all the eaves that sheltered the Christian rites. This is a beautiful spot and deserved to be lingered over with a sketchbook and silence. But that's not the way organised trips work. So after a 15-minute photo stop we were on our way again.

I've always thought the sign of a good holiday is leaving a place too soon. I certainly departed Bergen with a wistful sigh. We'd barely scratched the surface. But Norway's cities were just the starter course. The main event was all about nature. For that, read my next story.