August 9, 2018. I went to the tourist office and asked about the route. A very kind and tall man named Sven helped me. The drive became beautiful after I crossed into Norway, though I didn’t realize I had entered until I saw a flag on a house pole. Norway doesn’t manage forests communally like Sweden—no clear-cuts, just smaller parcels. In Tynset, I visited the ethnographic museum and another museum that wasn’t really a museum. A woman upstairs was writing about resource use from the Røros copper mine and how it affected the area. She told me to go there, so I did.

I learned that Trondheim Cathedral and many buildings in Copenhagen had copper roofs sourced from Røros. A few industrialists and the Danish king made fortunes, but the mine owned and exploited all natural resources and people within 45 km for 300 years. Early 20th-century photos show a treeless, devastated landscape. The mine went bankrupt in the 1970s. Was it worth it? Huge slag piles remain, reminding me of the Kennecott mine in Alaska. Industry is fragile.

I saw laborers’ shacks and nicer houses, the largest church in Norway, costume exhibits, and mining operation models. I drove along a stunning river. Fly fishermen were parking along the highway to chat. I crossed a wonderful suspension bridge. I should have stayed in that beautiful river valley, but as I approached Trondheim, there was traffic, roadwork, and speed enforcement—everyone seemed afraid. I was stopped for a breath test. Trondheim had charming wooden houses and a cathedral, but I missed the wilderness. I warmed to it a bit after walking around in the dark and talking to Langa. At 11 p.m., I left and found a place to sleep near Ridval at a trailhead.

August 10. I woke up to rain and packed up my tent wet. I returned to Trondheim for a cafe latte in the old town, though it was crowded with loud German tourists. I walked around and saw the bike lift up the hill. At the tourist info office, I bought tickets to the Archbishop’s Palace and the cathedral. It rained. The cathedral was impressive, with a film about the restoration after roof fires. Many statues are missing. The palace had statue fragments, an old mint, and a copy of the armory. I saw the Knights Hall where the archbishop would dine near hot air vents while others froze. The treasury displayed regalia—crowns, scepters, velvet, and ermine robes.

I walked back to town, photographed warehouses, and visited a library built inside church ruins. I met two French women, one from Paris who translated signs for me. She has a summer house in Trondheim. I left around 6, heading toward Bergen. I had to take two ferries. The GPS didn’t show them, so I passed four slow cars. One man got angry, took a photo of my plate, and said I endangered him. He had sped up while I was passing on a hill, nearly forcing me off the road. I felt ashamed and worried about repercussions. In Norway, drivers can report speeding and trigger fines or license suspension. I was shaken. I called Kanga and talked for an hour, deciding not to continue to Bergen. It was a stormy night. The garbage can blew over. I stayed in Kvisvik just after the Halsa ferry.

August 11. I woke to clearer skies and drove to the lake. It was Saturday, and a flea market was happening at the only grocery store. Many overweight people—maybe Americans? Locals seemed to lack exercise options and affordable food, with prices rising tenfold over the past decade. I ordered strawberry and cheesecake slices. Both tasted strange—rubbery with fake whipped cream.

I drove to Ålesund. On the Molde ferry, I chatted with a woman from Seattle visiting with her husband and two boys for the first time in 20 years. She couldn’t believe the food prices—$30 for a hamburger. I decided to buy bread and Nutella for dinner.

I stopped at an ethnographic museum with old fishing boats and an exhibit on racing skiffs after church, a dangerous tradition that sometimes led to drownings. Some boats had washed ashore from other villages. Viking ships from 800 AD were found in peat and reconstructed impressively. Weddings were taking place nearby. Spanish and Italian tour buses arrived. The homes in the museum were in poor shape, unlike those in Stockholm’s Skansen.

I walked around downtown in the rain, got soaked, and followed a trail uphill to an old church and cemetery, then down to the park and old town. I saw the fishmonger statue. I spoke with Shawn for a while and decided not to go to Bergen—it required two more ferries and 7.5 hours of driving. I feared getting stuck behind slow vehicles or being stopped by police. A woman at the Scandia Hotel helped me decide. I headed toward Andalsnes. It was a beautiful drive. I kept jumping out to take photos. I arrived in an empty town and walked up a trail to a viewpoint. I found a quiet boat parking area and slept in my car.

August 12. I woke to people unloading boats next to me at 7 a.m. in the rain. Why so early? I walked around town and talked with a woman at the Grand Hotel, which had been bombed in WWII. British ships had helped evacuate gold from the Nazis. The Norwegian king was hiding nearby. People were taken by train from Trollveggen. I saw a train car used for deportations. Another story involved people trying to escape by boat but being caught due to Nazi infiltration.

She told me women earn less than men and that Latvians and Lithuanians work harder for lower wages. Unemployment is high among young locals, who she said are lazy. Fishing jobs are hard—3 weeks on, 2 weeks off. Her boyfriend is trying to get disability but it’s difficult. Minimum wage is $2,000/month; rent is $800. Food is expensive. Taxes on sugar, alcohol, and cigarettes. We talked for several hours. I had coffee and gelatin cheesecake at an organic cafe. The woman working there said there was no snow last winter due to climate change. It had been over 90°F many days this summer.

I visited Rødven stave church past Isfjord. Very pretty. Then I went to Lillehammer, which had been recommended. I stopped at an open-air museum with water-powered sawmills and flour mills. I also stopped at a gorge with a carved river and impressive bridge. Slow traffic made the 4-hour drive feel longer.

I finally arrived and walked around town. It was pretty. I drove a long way across the river to find a place to sleep. It was cold, so I stayed in the car. I confirmed a Couchsurfing place in Oslo and contacted Jen.

August 13. Roadwork from Lillehammer to 60 miles outside Oslo took over an hour—29 to 39 mph the whole way. No passing. Tractors didn’t pull over. It was a mess. In Oslo, I walked around the castle, fortress, and train station. I met Jen, who’s lived in Oslo for 10 years since marrying a Norwegian. She helps refugees get housing and is currently homeless. We had a lovely stir-fry and salmon dinner. She shared her story. Her apartment on the east side was brick and nice.

I went to my Couchsurfing host’s place. Four people in a tiny space, plus the host and me. I volunteered to sleep in my tent. I met a nice Italian couple, Maria from Milan and Paolo from Rome. She was born in Cork, Ireland—a Black Irish.

August 14. I gave the Chileans a map and helped orient them. I spoke with Ivan and gave him phytocillin for his cold. He and his partner Sasia were sick. I said goodbye to Bjart, my host, whom I had grown to like. He was a health food nut. I returned to the folk museum to see the Reformation and folk art exhibit. It was thorough. I also read all the signs in an apartment exhibit, which gave me insights into recent Norwegian culture. It felt more like the rest of the world.

Then I visited the Fram Museum about polar exploration and Amundsen. I learned a lot. I walked around Oslo again and passed a huge queue for a Roger Waters concert. It was a pretty city, but I was ready to leave. At 7 p.m., I drove toward Gothenburg. I stopped in Tanum to see the Bronze, Iron, and Stone Age petroglyphs—a UNESCO site. I slept near the Litsleby site, home to a giant Odin-like figure, the only one wearing earrings. The wind in the trees was very relaxing.

August 15. I woke to rain and gave thanks to the grove. I returned to the rock carvings. One figure—a large man with a spear—stood out. I wondered if some figures with raised arms were originally in poses of adoration, with weapons added later. I visited both Litsleby sites and then another, where I walked on the rock and broke my sandal. I took it as a sacrifice to the gods or ancestors. I visited the museum and petroglyphs, feeling altered and reflective. The nearby farm recreated Bronze Age life. A man was cooking rock cakes. I had a great buffet lunch for $13 and felt nourished.

Later, I went to Fossum and saw the petroglyph of the profile of a woman with a pony tail, hands raised. Then I headed to Kungälv. I walked to the castle and along the old street, with the smell of cookies baking and ABBA playing from a vintage car rally. It was a quaint town with a pretty river and estuary. I continued to Gothenburg, which was packed for Pride Week. It felt a bit unsafe in places, so I left after a few hours. I drove south and took a long time to find a place to sleep. I talked with Kanga and finally camped near a castle by a road under construction.