Day Fourteen: Mutiny in Molde

Dear Readers,

I hit my “attempting to be a good sport even when I am uncomfortable” wall in Molde, Norway at around 11:55 AM this morning.  We went on our usual bus tour to see the sights, then for the afternoon we were supposed to kayak in the fjords.  It was raining, cool and cloudy, terrible weather for kayaking.  Not wanting to repeat anything like my “trekking in the rain on the slippery hiking trail in inappropriate clothing experience” in Orkney, I bailed and let Doug go alone.  Right at 12:30, it stopped raining and the sun peaked through the clouds, but the tour had just left.  

Ingrid, our tour guide today, was Norwegian and couldn’t seem to give any information in English that made a lick of sense.  It was a disjointed rambling about WWII,  some gold bouillon and the King of Norway.  So, here is what I learned from Ingrid with Google to clarify:  1.  After the German occupation began in 1940, Haakon III, the King of Norway, fled north up the coast from Oslo to Molde with his family and a boat load of gold bouillon in tow.  2.  The Germans followed and broke through the British blockade on the coast and bombed Molde, destroying over two thirds of the city.  3.  The King escaped with his gold and with help from the British, and lived out the war in England.  Ingrid said that the King was well loved because he cared so much about his country.   I fear I am missing a large part of this story, because he doesn’t seem like that great of a guy to me.  

Due to a big fire in 1916 and the WWII bombing, Molde has only one place in town that has historic buildings, the Romsdal Museum, where they have moved an old village into town.  There we sat in an airless room and watched children dancing traditional Norwegian dances in traditional Norwegian costumes.  Then the kids asked people from the audience to dance with them.  Maybe I should have held out for the kayaking.  

Fun fact:  Norwegian houses are traditionally painted either red, yellow or white.  Red was the cheapest paint to make, so barns and fishing villages are most often red.  Yellow was a step up from red cost wise, so many houses were painted yellow.  White was the most expensive paint to make, so it was a sign of status or wealth.  Thus, the white farmhouse and the red barn.

I’m having bus and queuing nightmares.  We stop for a photo op and the tour guide says we have five minutes.  Ten minutes later, everyone has finally gotten off the bus.  Then, it takes at least ten minutes for everyone to get back on the bus.  I pray for patience.  It also helps me to think of Grandma Roofener.