Stepping Into A Postcard

My peppermint tea is helping, but it's cold up here high in the mountains. What I see out the rain splattered windshield is far different from the view I had earlier today. We have driven from lush green vallies with picture postcard waterfalls, around winding roads to Norway's longest fjord, to where I am now; the top of a snow covered mountain pass. A raging waterfall fed by the rain and melting snow is only meters from the van.

The road which led us here was dramatic. Sixty kilometers of hard packed dirt were followed by the twists of E16 along one of Norway's long scenic lakes. It was as if I'd stepped into the book 'Heidi'. At the end of the lake a guard rail protected us from the steep gorge below and then we were taken through rock-walled tunnels to the beginning of a second-gear climb. The road was wide enough for only one, me, and I beeped the horn at every curve. If this had been Nepal I wouldn't have worried about waking the locals.

As we climbed I noticed a change to the houses as well. In the green forested areas the houses were roofed with grass. Ancient wooden Stave churches from the 1100's stood overlooking blue lakes and clusters of wooden barns hugged the hills. Higher up the houses were spaced further apart and became more like rustic wood cabins. From where I sit now, I see only an old shed. It's time to draw the curtains now. My cup of tea is finished and it is late. The stripes of rain on the windows are blurring the ice and the waterfall and carrying away the postcard I walked into today.