There is nothing quite like a long and scenic train journey. When the opportunity to travel from Oslo to Bergen by train presented itself on one of our planning nights, we jumped at the chance. Using the Rail Ninja website, we booked 4 seats together in the first class cabin (a splurge of about 20 CHF extra per person) to convey us the 6+ hours west to Bergen.

The train station, Oslo Central, was only a short walk from our hotel. We arrived with 25 minutes to spare before our train arrived, so we grabbed some coffee at Starbucks and opened the brown bag breakfasts our hotel had kindly packed for us to go. There were little sugared donuts inside, along with two sandwiches each and two juice boxes. The train station was cavernous but warm, and the announcement screens were digital and modern, flashing the amount of time before each train arrived and on which platform one could find it.

We found space in the overhead near our seats, and within moments of us sitting down, we were off. The first handful of stops were just outside of Oslo, with views of suburbs and wharfs, but as the hours progressed, so too did the scenery. Autumnal fields and foliage blurred red, orange, and gold outside the window. We zoomed past cow pastures and mountainsides, foaming rivers and gorges, and eventually, at 1220 meters above sea level, swirling snow and partially-frozen lakes and ponds and mountainsides.

We passed the time chatting and eating our sandwiches before taking turns, in pairs, to visit the cafe car, which was in Car 6 (we were in Car 1). The trip to the cafe car was a journey in itself, trying to stand up straight as the train rocked over the rails. We passed through the second class, a family car with a small jungle gym, sleeper cabins, and a bicycle car before emerging in the cafe car. Kelly and I ordered two orange cans of Frydenlund Juicy IPA, whose can art depicted a man in a horsedrawn cart gazing nobly ahead, his cart packed with beers above a slogan that read “For those of us who love beer”. Kelly and I were among those us! (I did spend a good hour of the train journey trying to learn basic Norwegian through DuoLingo, which I should have been doing weeks ago. There’s some overlap with German for sure, but by the end of the trip, I could only really confidently say “thank you” and “beer”.)

The IPA was delicious, but the taste was elevated by the scenery passing by. We weren’t allowed to bring our drinks back to our seats, but the cafe car offered small tables or, even better, stools anchored at the windows so you could observe the scenery. Even better, the bartender served our beers with what looked like sheets of paper.

“Do you know what this is for?” he asked us. We shook our heads, and he explained that it was a sort of placemat for the beers. One side was a little sticky, and by placing that down on our counter, it ensured that the beers didn’t slide all over as the train sped and rocked onward. This was a very special level of efficiency which we all respected.

Kelly and I enjoyed some catch-up time over those train beers. Conversation with a friend is always nice, but when its set to a backdrop of rushing waterfalls or snowy ponds, it’s even more special.

By the time the train slowed and announced Bergen as its final stop, we couldn’t believe 6 hours had passed. But the adventure wasn’t over.

Our AirBnB was located somewhere outside of Bergen, so our arrival in Bergen’s train station and the bright, fall bustle of the town was short-lived. We figured out the ticket system and hauled our luggage onto a crowded bus bound for Loddefjord Terminal. This, we’d been told by our AirBnB host, was the nearest grocery store to the house that also happened to be open on a Sunday.

The store was called “Joker”, and the letters were scrawled on the outside in green bubble font.

“I love going into grocery stores when I’m in other countries,” Kelly said as the bus turned into the terminal. “It’s always fun to see what they have.”

We had made a list on the train ride and decided that it would be best if Dan sat with the luggage while the three of us went in to divide and conquer the list. We left our bags with him and made our way to the front of the store.

“Do we need a cart?” I wondered out loud. We opted instead for baskets. These may seem like minute details for a shopping trip, but I share them because the moment we stepped through the doors, the quiet order and efficiency of the train journey mutated into a scene of sweaty, cramped chaos.

Here was the only store open on a Sunday: it had, at best, five small aisles on the right and one narrow aisle leading you into the store, with produce and refrigerated goods on the left. The width of the aisles was barely enough to accommodate one person walking normally, forcing you to engage in awkward dances with strangers each time someone appeared from one of the aisles on the right. You’d smile awkwardly at each other, and then turn sideways so they could sidle through with their bags or backpacks jostling you as they went.

The pressure was on to get in and get out. Upon entering the store, you were greeted immediately by fruit and a beer case, which we discovered was locked after Michael pulled on the door a few times.

“Oh right,” he said, “it’s Sunday.”

As we gathered apples and bananas, other Sunday shoppers waited behind us to even gain entry to the store, a shoppers wishing to purchase fruit were forced to block the doorway. It was as if we were on one of those competitive shopping TV shows, with the added disadvantage of not knowing what exactly we were putting in our cart. Was this tomato sauce, or a tetrapack of pre-made spaghetti? Was that cream cheese, or sour cream?

In the end, we did alright, and tried our best to paint a picture for Dan, who had missed out on all the excitement.

Loaded down with groceries, we returned to the bus terminal to discover that only two buses made the journey out to our AirBnB. The 42 was our best bet, dropping us about two minutes from our place. The 42 had come and gone about ten minutes ago and would not come and go again for another 45 minutes. That left us with the 43, which would get us fairly close but would require us to walk the last 18 minutes.

With no other option, we boarded the 43 and rode it out to Feriehjemmet, where the pneumatic doors closed with a hiss and deposited us on a rather lonely road that stretched in either direction and was bisected by another road that led up. This was our way.

The sound of our suitcase clattering over the sidewalk filled the quiet Sunday afternoon as we made our way over rolling hills. Michael had two backpacks on, which he assured us felt “balanced”. I can’t complain; my grocery bag was light.

When we finally reached the roundabout, Google Maps led us down a hill and to the back of the house, which offered us a glimpse of all that would be ours for the next 5 days: a sprawling deck ensconced by boxy hedges, a small hot tub, deck chairs, a pizza oven, a bright green lawn, a fire pit. The lawn was cordoned off by a loose rope, and after some debate over whether we should traipse over it or not, we decided this would be a bad first impression and we should go around the other way.

“Oh look,” said Kelly, pulling up the AirBnB listing. “It says here, ‘Google Maps often leads guests to the back side of the house’.”

Luckily, the walk to the front wasn’t far, though we realized immediately that we could have easily climbed over the rope and accessed the place.

It didn’t matter. Once we were through the front door, we found ourselves standing in a beautiful, warm, open space with lots of windows facing out onto the sea (which looks a little fjordy if you ask me). Weak afternoon sun streamed into our kitchen, which was spacious and offered up plenty of countertop. A set of binoculars rested on the table beside piles of hiking maps, travel guides, and printed out restaurant recommendations and information from our host.

The bathroom floors were heated and warm against our bare feet, and as if the place wasn’t grand enough on its own, our host had left us 6 beers in the fridge and a bottle of red wine. We quickly shrugged off the chaotic energy of the grocery store with a homemade pasta dinner and a dip in the small but pleasantly toasty hot tub under a starry sky.

We were going to like it here.