.: boat, train, bulli :.

Although Norwegian poet Olav Hauge was reflecting on getting to Trolltunga (an adventure that I think we are saving for our next visit) when penned the verse,''Not car, nor plane, not haysled, nor clunker – not by Elijah's chariot of fire! You won't get any further than Basho. He got there on foot,'' I think those words apply to many amazing sites we've seen so far and got there by hiking. Nonetheless, one can discover some wonders by alternative means of transportation and we treated ourselves to two today. 

We rose early at the campsite in Lærdal (which I was quick to dismiss as some overpriced and family-friendly tourists' trap at first but actually turned out to be a quite nice over-niight spot) to catch the ferry back to Gudvangen. 

A three hour tour via Kaupanger and many otherwise inaccessible settlements along the Sognefjord, the longest and deepest fjord was an incredible experience, getting more and more outstanding as we approached our destination, crossing the tributary fjord called Nærøyfjord, the narrowest yet navigatable by ship, profoundly beautiful flanked by high mountains and honoured as a UNESCO World Heritage site (Weltkultur Erbe). 

I wondered with all the spectacular places we've seen, why Norway had relatively few of such sites, at first, and although I can certainly name some other contenders, I completely agree with that choice. After the ferry docked in Gutvangen, we again burrowed through a series of tunnels—not repeating our same journey underground precisely but we had previously sailed past this beautiful fjord on subterreanian routes in tunnels—and first stopped at an enchanting little village in a cove of another arm of the Sognefjord, the Aurland branch, called Unredal. It was a former pirate outpost, supposedly, with reportedly the oldest and smallest church in Norway. Unfortunately, the church was covered in scaffolding and closed for repairs but we enjoyed a coffee at dock cafe with a panoramic and priceless vista and learned a little bit about the village's true history—tobacco plantations and goat farms, a rowdy herd of which we had to carefully navigate around to get to Unredal. 

Next, we set up camp in a resort town called Flåm—after exploring the harbour area—to eventually mount the valley via the historic Flåmsbana, the twenty kilometer stretch of track to Myrdal. The two hour journey was quite impressive and afforded us a side of the region, steeped in the stuff of industry and advancement we would have otherwise not seen.