Snakes in Namibia

It goes without saying that Namibia’s wildlife doesn’t always stay out in the wild. From time to time, it creeps into the cozy, quiet suburbs, with real potential to create a ruckus; mayhem; even brouhaha. Perhaps a snake is spotted near the pool sunning itself. Maybe it’s luxuriating on the cool ceramic floors, or maybe it’s cozied up in the shadows of a closet. 

Lucky for us, we've only had garden variety snakes pass through our yard, skimming across rocks while chasing lizards. Whereas, our neighbor recently found a legitimately dangerous snake in his yard: a puff adder, a snake ubiquitous to Namibia. I'd like to say the situation ended well with the snake safely relocated, but the photographic evidence of splattered snake innards told me otherwise.

Brown, fat, and squatty with a skinny tail, the chevron marked puff adder is a crabby bugger that doles out a crazy painful bite if provoked. Furthermore, untreated bites (usually in the case of people living in rural conditions without medical access,) people will die about 50% of the time from shock as well as hemolytic, coagulopathic, and hemorrhagic responses to the venom. If they are lucky, the victim gets away with only tissue necrosis and severe edema requiring extensive skin grafting.

It's easy to see then why people are so hell bent on total elimination of snakes especially when humans are psychologically wired to be wary of dangerous creatures. They are part of a “legacy of our distant primate past, when the animals posed one of the greatest threats to our survival.” In fact, scientists think they’ve even pinpointed the exact spot in our brains that alarms us to present danger: the pulvinar, which processes the images the eyes capture into a series of signals, and allows the ability to sharpen our attention to the particular danger-filled object, such as a snake. This small part of the brain is part of the thalamus which is sort of a sensory processor. Simply put, it helps us hone in on perceived danger. Interestingly, the pulvinar also plays a significant role in diagnosing Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease, or CJD. On MRI, the pulvinar lights up like a fun house in patients with CJD which is a an incurable and rapidly degenerative brain disorder.

During a visit to N/a'an ku sê Sanctuary, the kids, Mark, and I participated in a snake education session that would cover the basics of snake safety along with a snake-show-and-tell, presented by one of Windhoek's premiere snake catchers: Francois Theart. When I made the reservation, I had spoken directly to Francois who was clearly passionate, educated, and driven in the field of herpetology; a man who I pictured would be a bearded, sixty year old professor wearing a button down safari shirt and shorts. Instead, we got a petite, Red Bull chugging, 26-year-old in baggy jeans and tinted glasses, who had taught himself everything there is to know about snakes. I loved everything about him.

For over an hour, Francois presented the crowd with an incredible amount of snake information: their habitats, their reproduction, their behaviors and mannerisms. He spoke at length about the apparent lack of anti-venom protocol in local hospitals and the profound costs associated with inaccurately administering an  expensive and toxic medicine. It makes sense when you think about it, but not all snake bites require the same treatment. Some bites don't require anti-venom at all, but instead could require skin grafting and wound treatments, like with a mild puff adder bite or a copperhead. He had been collaborating with international and professionally trained snake experts to create a standard operating procedure for handling anti-venom, an arduous project that should be (excitingly) finalized in coming weeks.

Francois' biggest soap box however, was trying to allay fears that 99.9% of the time, snakes want nothing to do with humans. They aren't looking for a fight at all, using their defense mechanisms as a last resort. I could see his point when he put a puff adder down at this feet in the snake pit. Pissed as she was, we could hear her hissing from 8 feet away, but she kept circling away from his reach.

Francois showed us a zebra spitting cobra, where I learned that any snake with "spitting" in its name has 90% accuracy for spitting venom towards the victim's eyes, resulting in partial or permanent blindness. This particular snake's head was shoved in a clear tube while Francois held onto the tail. Clearly, he wasn't taking any chances. Putting that one safely back into his plastic shoe box, Francois whipped out another snake of vague grey-brown color. It seemed anti-climatic after the zebra cobra's impressive black and white rings, but the grand finale (at least for the adults) was seeing the black mamba.

Black mambas are legendary for a very good reason: Death from a mamba bite is 100% certain without prompt and careful administration of anti-venom and resuscitative support, within 40 minutes, according to Francois. He admitted that his first (and so far only) snake bite was from a black mamba, ironically not in the bush, but at Hosea Kutako International Airport. As a famous snake handler, he was called in to manage the situation, but the mamba ended up biting him in the hip. 

I was eager for more details on the events that followed, but he wouldn't elaborate on anything else. Sometimes snake handlers are a real buzz kill. Anyway, these skinny gun-metal colored snakes have black mouths (thus their name) and are crazy long, reaching lengths up to 12 feet. Like with the others, Francois handled the mamba with a snake hook, having to readjust its wandering head from coming into arm's length. He held his own, but I could see the hesitation and respect he had for this animal. I can't imagine how he managed to speak while the mamba was out in the open.

Sure, the children thought the experience was really cool, but Francois brought down the house when presented a ball python for them to pet. In an instant, all fears were gone as pairs of tiny, eager hands ran down the python's skin. This snake was brought to Francois after police confiscated it from an unlicensed individual. Apparently in Namibia, special permits are required for all exotic animals, including snakes. So the ball python has more or less become the N/a'an ku sê Snake Experience's mascot. I commented that I know someone from the States who has used a ball python as a form of animal therapy for her children. He thought this was 100% awesome because ball pythons for some reason, have a calming effect to most people who interact with it. I wonder if insurance would ever cover that type of therapy? Probably not, but I like the idea.

How to deal with snakes:

We know to stay calm (good luck with that- I know I will be a shrieking mandrake if I ever see a snake in my home) as most snakes will flee immediately if they see you. If opportunity warrants, take a photo and for those up for a challenge, make it a selfie too. Identification is always good and really, who doesn’t love a good snake story accompanied by proof? When out hiking, as a good rule of thumb, avoidance is always a fine idea and give snakes wide berths on the trails. Oh and by the way, spray products such as Snake Be Gone or Snake Repel are totally useless.

To avoid snake bites, wear long pants and boots. Take care when collecting firewood, especially in low light. Always watch your step when hiking over rocks and logs to avoid a surprise ambush, and avoid dreamy strolls through tall grass.

Should worlds collide and you do get bitten, medical attention is of utmost importance, particularly if the snake is unidentified. Quickly remove any jewelry and constricting clothing and try to keep the victim still to keep the heart rate and circulation from rising. Whatever you do, do not cut the skin near the snake bite, nor attempt to suck the venom out. Tourniquets are a bad idea, as is application of ice or hot water. 

It's most important to self-educate.  Take the time to learn “what’s living where” because the dangers in Namibia are certainly different from those in South Africa. So where to look? Part of the "Environmental Information Service of Namibia", the website "Atlasing in Namibia" has a useful database of local species, where users can document, map, and photograph sightings around the country. This includes resources on not just snakes, but mammals, amphibians, birds, and plants too.  Or  you can check out the African Snake Bite Institute, for free downloads and education material. This site was developed by a well known South African snake expert named Johan.  

Of course snakes of Namibia have their own Facebook page. These days, who doesn't? Actually, the page is more like a public support group with the intention of educating the public on identifying dangerous snakes versus the non dangerous. The FB page contains "what is this?" of snake photos, plus documents on first aid, and details for snake catchers within the country - a handy tool for when not only ophidiologists (snake studiers) but people with ophidiophobia (fear of snakes) as well. For non FB people, Instagrammers can search #snakesofnamibia for some gnarly snake close ups. The photos I took at N/a'an ku sê were nothing short of sad. They were blurry and uninspiring, but the trip was still worth it and I can confidently identify what is a snake to what is not. Ha ha.

Will I have any Snake Experience takers for future visitors to Namibia?

Puff Adder, fat and VERY unhappy

Francois and the Zebra Spitting Cobra

Blurry black mamba but you get the idea of length.

A black mamba's head has a tell-tale coffin shaped head. Coincidence?

Petting the ball python. 

http://www.the-eis.com/atlas/?q=photo-guide-to-snakes

http://www.africansnakebiteinstitute.com/

https://www.facebook.com/groups/187156948143224/

The C28: Windhoek/Swakop Route

When we went on the C28 road, it was from Swakopmund to Windhoek, the opposite direction of how I ended up writing this blog. Really, the C28 was so fun and diverse that we are planning to drive to Swakopmund in coming weeks for the sole reason to drive it again. With extra barf bags and snacks that don't smell gross when they are barfed up again...

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If someone tells you to take the C28 road to/from Swakopmund, take it. Sure, it tacks on a few extra hours of driving, (even though it's technically shorter than the B1/B2) and is 90% dirt road, the sense adventure and epically gorgeous landscape make up for it. That's all of Namibia though, isn't it? 

C28 starts off as Sam Nujoma Drive in Windhoek, a street named after the country's first president. The fine, smooth pavement leads out of the city, past Daan Vijoen Reserve, and into the Auas mountains. Asphalt turns to dirt and the road compliments its winding self with your first views of Windhoek aloe plants standing in groups like "zombie sentries." A beautiful cooperative community has set up shop off the left hand side, complete with a sparkling white church and schools. When everything is so dry and vast, it's always a pleasure to see functioning and thriving life beyond the city.

Further in, the abandoned Liebig House stands alone on top of a hill with stern "forbidden entry notices" at the gate. Set on a stone foundation, faded yellow paint, rusted roof, and busted out windows, the house was obviously once extravagant. Built for farm managers of the Karl Liebig Company back in 1912, the house boasted a skittle-alley (German bowling) and the farm also had a school, shop, and post office. Cattle farming was only part of the Liebig company. According to Namib-web, the man himself, Justus von Liebig invented meat extract prior to the house being built. He had the mindset to provide alternative nutrition for those who could not afford meat. He named it after himself: Extractum carnis Liebig. Today we know it as Bovril, a red capped jar that is oddly stored next to Vegemite, a vegetarian yeast extract in the supermarkets. 

Through the years, the Liebig house went through other owners: a British secret agent, the South African Government, and Namibian photojournalist Margaret Courtney-Clark owns it now.

Not long after the Liebig house is a small four-room fort that was built as a German outlook post, but really, ended up being a place for soldiers to sleep off their hangovers. The sign at the base of the hill infers the same thing, and you can walk into the fort itself. Watch out for snakes though, because the grass is tall and untended.

Eventually, after a hundred more ups, downs, curves, and a region change from Khomas to Erongo, Bosua Pass peaks out at 1,728m (5,669 ft). There's two cool things to see here, and two not-so-cool things. First, there's a sign and map of the Kuiseb Ephemeral River Basin. Second, behind a pile of boulders is an open-air toilet. Obviously the view is cool, but what's not cool is that the toilet is a bottomless, rusted oil drum guaranteed to give you tetanus, and there's discarded toilet paper everywhere.

Moving down the backside, the landscape changes yet again. But, it's hard to describe: darker, greener, and definitely more vast. The road eventually flattens out, cuddled between two parks, Tsaobis Nature Park and Namib-Naukluft Park. There's no more fences to keep out the animals who will undoubtedly run across the road: oryx, springbok, and giraffe, to name a few. The birds get impressively bigger. On any particular day you may drive past a wake of lappet-faced vultures or a solitary kori bustard. Do animal sightings ever get boring? Not a chance.

Along the way, there are several detours of choice. Namibia Accommodation.com has a map to show what's beyond the C28. They are enjoyable because of their variability: hills striped with geological history, dolomite pillars that look not unlike the Organ Pipes in Kunene/Erongo region, sacred Welwitchia plants, and the eye-popping moonscape. If you do take the detours, remember to pick up a Namib-Naukluft Park permit to keep your travels on the up-and-up.

Finally, when the hills settle and you meet up with the above-ground pipeline, know that the end is near. Bland brown dust coats everything and it feels like the terrain deserves a few ostriches. While it is unlikely to see ostrich, you may enjoy cyclists suffering exercising, or sky divers floating in the wide open space. Dirt turns into pavement and the first signs of city life let you know that the next adventure is up: Swakopmund.

The co-op community's church and school buildings.
About an hour west from Windhoek.

The Liebig House was also haunted.
Must be one thirsty ghost way out here.

Von Francois Feste Monument

Bosua Pass toilet. The seat faces north, so it's not very feng shui.

Back side of Bosua Pass

Gnome-like rocks, as if they've been waiting for you all this time. Creepy.
Somewhere on the C28.

One of the ten vultures we saw taking flight.

Desert adapted giraffes.

Sweaters, Sand, Salt, Ships, and Seals in Swakopmund

Here in Windhoek, Namibia, we routinely get asked if we have been to Swakopmund or Luderitz yet. (Or, the Caprivi region, the Zambezi region, Etosha, Erindi, Sossusvlei, and about a hundred other must-see locations.) As non-beach people having lived on the beach for two years in Brazil, we weren't rushed to visit the beach, but acquiesced after dealing with confused faces of why it hadn't happened yet after one year of living here. We took a quick road trip to Swakopmund, one of Namibia's favorite coast towns last weekend. Due to veld fires (wild fires) the week prior, Windhoek had been congested with ash and haze that blocked out the sun and endless blue sky. We figured the timing was good to get fresh ocean air and do some fancy camping.

Getting to Swakopmund via the short route means driving on paved 2-lane highways for an estimated 3.5 hours. Add on another 60 minutes depending on how many semi trucks are on the road. It was an uneventful arrival and setup at our grassy campsite, and extremely cold (by Namibia standards, we have been here a year after all) with the low hanging humidity.  I had all my layers on, while Margo drenched herself with a forgotten sprinkler and Deets ran around in shorts, as usual. Night came quickly and by 8pm we were all huddled in our sleeping bags. 

By 6am all of us were wide awake, so the kids packed up their suits and towels, insisting they'd be swimming and fighting waves by 7am. The thing about Swakopmund water is that the Benguela Current swirls north from Antarctica making the water quite cold with biggish waves crashing against the shore. Rich in nutrients, it's a happy place for oysters to grow uncharacteristically fast, but not ideal for swimming, especially for a pansy-pants like myself. The Benguela is so important for Namibia, South Africa, and Angola that they created their own commission to preserve the precarious balance of sustaining the ecosystem and industries for fishing, diamond mining, and oil and gas extraction.

Like the sky, the water was grey and drab and no one was going to swim, so we went in search of coffee. The town certainly has a personality, but it's not one that wakes early. The only people we saw that morning were fishermen heading to the pier. We walked past mismatched architecture: 80's mod, deco, gingerbread, colonial, concrete fab, all tossed with ominous German war memorials that were stained with red paint. We saw the 1903 striped lighthouse used to warn sailors of the treacherous Skeleton Coast as far out as 20 miles at sea and a few taunting museums that wouldn't open for at least three more hours. A bloody Mary, espresso, and hot chocolates later we passed through a few touristy streets stuffed with souvenir and ice cream shops before making our way back to the campsite to get out of dodge and checkout Dune 7, south of Swakop on the C34, the country's highest dune at 1,256 feet. 

Dune 7 is pretty cool. There's no entrance free to pay, takes 15-20 minutes to climb/crawl to the top and its yellow sand is extremely photogenic. The trash there however, is not cool. We hiked past too many discarded bottles, cans, and grocery bags blowing in the wind. I pocketed some trash to feel better about it, but with an unattended park entrance, bus loads of visitors, and zero trash cans around, the gesture was fruitless. So we made a few sand angels, took nerdy photos, and ran down the dune to drive north of Swakop.

The C34 also takes you north to Cape Cross. Beyond, the road ambles further to Torra Bay and Mowe Bay where the desolate, unloving terrain of the Skeleton Coast rules over everything. To go beyond these places, you need things like permits, a guide, guts, jerry cans and your own water to gain entry. I dream of making this trek with the family one day.

Anyway, this crunchy dirt road has plenty to see. We visited the 2008 Zeila fishing trawler wreck, a boat destined to India to be used for scrap metal. Instead, it met its fate after the Zeila came loose from its tow line shortly after leaving Walvis Bay. If felt like the middle of nowhere until vendors swarmed the car with offers of colorful rocks, makalani palm nut keychains (sold at a premium), and a look-at-it seal skeleton laid out in the sand. I still can't figure out where they were hiding.

Onward, we drove past snow white salt pans, their factories, and lone road side stands selling chunks of pink salt. Up here it's the honor system, each stand with its own slotted plastic jar. I squealed with delight over this, and pretty much squeal about it now even though both kids all but eat their personal salt licks. Beyond that was the original spot where Diego Cao claimed the land for Portugal back in 1486, and Cape Cross where Cape fur seals live in the thousands. The grunting and the bleating and the smell was just SO spectacular as we walked upon the walkway made of 100% recycled plastic. Really though, we watched seals nap, fight, nurse, walk, play, and swim. Their sheer quantity stretched in both directions along the rocky coast. As far is grand finales go in Namibia, this was spot on. 

Mindful of our 5:30 dinner reservation at new brewery, we headed back for a final night in Swakopmund before blowing our minds a second time on the alternative road we took back home: the legendary C28...

Sweaters in Swakopmund. 

I will never understand bathrooms
with lighthouse themed decor.
Or any other room for that matter.

Sand angels. 

Deets right before he tripped, landed on his head,
 and rolled down the rest of the way.
No child was injured during this session of dune running.

Piles of sodium chloride drying in the sun. 

Zeila Shipwreck 

Cape Cross chillin' 

Two birds with one stone: naps and nursing. 

Pick your own!

Closing out Norway: Oslo

Back in a busy city for the last few days of Norway, the family and I naturally took to the streets. Public transport in Oslo is spot on well organized, so in between our characteristically long walks, we hopped on trams, buses, metros, and ferries while navigating the ridiculous number of museums available to us. One of the first things I noticed, were the manhole covers. At first I thought it was a man standing in a viking boat proudly showing off his weapons. Then I took closer look and realized it was a man standing on a woman. Well that just seemed oppressive, so I wrote the Norwegians off as misogynists and too hung up on their conquering mentality. 

But then I stood back a moment and did my homework. The manhole covers display Oslo's Coat of Arms, the man being Saint Hellvard, the city's patron saint. As most saints go, he was martyred for defending a thrall woman (slave) during the Viking Age (8th-11th century). St. Hellvard isn't standing on her, but rather she is laying by his feet while he holds up a millstone and a set of arrows. Norwegian kings were also big on lion decor, representing protection of the throne. I supposed this was okay, particularly when I read that Oslo's motto, "unanimiter et constanter" means united and constant. The entire country in fact is extremely proud of their heritage, their land, their capabilities.

As I mentioned, Oslo is packed with museums, most of which are based on Norway's maritime, viking history. Expert sailors for more than 2,000 years, the Vikings, explorers, scientists, and historians followed oceanic trails, seeking land, power, or knowledge. Naturally, we saw a lot of boats: wooden boats, sailing boats, even bamboo tiki boats were proudly on display. 

In the great outdoors, we wandered through playgrounds and loads of green stuff. Oslo's most famous park is the Vigeland Sculpture Park where all 212 bronze and granite sculptures are dedicated to the various human forms we come in. Some where beautiful, some were bizarre, and some were downright hilarious. The parks' most popular sculptures are the tower of bodies carved out of a single block of stone that stands 46.6 feet (14.2m) tall, and the bronze angry baby statue. Angry Baby perches on a pedestal just like the others, but one hand is brilliantly gold, polished from all the tourist hands touching him while snapping pictures. He also has a gold winky. Of course, right?

Museums and statues made for a full couple of days, but Mark and I did get a date night were we held hands and talked about... the kids. After a few beers chatting with a local restaurant manager and a brewmaster, we aimlessly wandered around trying to avoid going back home. Shops had long since closed, and crowded patios had dispersed in the pouring rain when we came upon a bowling alley. Inspiration took us and we put our names on the waiting list. As luck would have it, we ran into the same locals we had been chatting with and they invited us to join their group. So we bowled in headache-inducing rainbow light, practiced our non-existent Norwegian and made a few more memories that never would have happened if Mark wasn't so talkative.  He's alright sometimes.

Oslo's Coat of Arms
Credit: Mark

Vigeland Sculpture Park, open since 1940.

Heartbreak or hope?

Angry baby.

WWI propaganda, Maritime Museum

Wood viking ship from 920AD. Damn that's old.
Viking Museum.

All you need to know about viking history
is in a five minute animated film projected
onto the ceilings and walls. Viking Museum.

Viking mascot.

Bowling in Oslo.
Notably, the place shut down at 10pm.

Really Cold Things = Really Cool Things. Glaciers in Nordjord.

Now that we've tackled fjords, mountains, and waterfalls, let's move onto glaciers. They are everywhere in west-central Norway, and I imagine they only get bigger and sexier the further north you go. People just love gawking at these snow smushed monstrosities, including myself. It keeps my ego in check when I think about the destructive power glaciers have- they literally carve the earth and rock using nothing but patience and pressure. Plus, the ice is punch full of science and things valuable to our earth's existence. 

Get this: Norway has a glacier lab located under the Svartisen glacier in northern Norway, somewhere above the arctic circle. The lab is seven hundred feet underground and the 30-40 foot long tunnels were created using nothing but fancy hot water. Six insanely brave scientists study things like the rising sea-levels, seismic activity, and mineral composition, which is literally a historic map of the earth's formation. Can you imagine?! It's like the ultimate field trip for my kids. But since that isn't really feasible, I plan to take them to the U.S. National Ice Core Lab instead, during our next visit to Colorado. And since I've announced it on the blog, I am committed. Here, they store ice samples in really cool metal canisters to perform studies of similar nature and they offer tours which have to be booked well in advance. 

Anyway. The Briksdal Glacier is very accessible, it is hikeable in under an hour or you can buy a ticket to ride a mini-truck up. You get sprayed by waterfalls, entertained by fat goats, and there plenty of giant rocks for kids to climb on. Plus, it's kind of pretty, and I got to spend some "quiet time" throwing rocks in the water. For those who want more hiking, the Briksdal area has tons of other trails both easy and technical. Unfortunately for us, tummies rumbled and I got outvoted on taking a picnic lunch to tide us over between hikes. 

Approaching the Briksdal Glacier 

Kleivafossen (fossen = waterfall) on the way up.

Briksdal Glacier and runoff (seriously- no filter used)

My tribe.

Bevatnet Glacier, a random stop off as we drove south-ish.

Swimming in glacial run-off is cold.
Where's my trophy?

Snow: Gift of the Norwegian Gods

Back in Namibia, when I ask the expat kids what they miss most, they say: grass to play in. That's fair, considering the majority of the yards in Windhoek consist of rocks, dirt, or pavement. Our kids however, miss having snow. Even if given a choice between grass or snow, the cold white stuff wins every time. So when we went up the Loen Skylift (about 30 min from Stryn) and saw patches of leftover snow, it was clear we'd be spending all day there.

The Loen Skylift only opened in May 2017, but has since brought thousands of visitors to the top of Mount Hoven (1,011m) for spectacular views of the fjords and surrounding mountains. Everyone piles into one of two cable cars to be delivered to the top in under five minutes. The summit offers various trails across the top as well as advanced technical climbs that require skills in rappelling and rock climbing. I had a burning desire skip the lift altogether and hike it both ways: a) because I am a cheapskate - it cost the four of us 1,210 NOK, or 155 USD, and b) taking the lift felt so weak. But at the moment, the trails descending the front of the mountain haven't been completed yet. We would have had to walk 6km on a two-lane highway (with no safe pedestrian access) and then ascend a diagonal trail to the top. I swallowed my inner Scrooge and paid. 

Luckily we did get plenty of hiking in at the top where we had a picnic among the crunchy lichen. We even coerced the grandparents into taking family pictures before letting the kids off leash to play in the snow. While they threw snowballs at each other, we had plenty of time to people watch. There were some interesting birds in the vicinity. Interesting, as in half-naked, half-baked, twins in matching shorties and tasseled bikinis; shirtless, shoeless toddlers oblivious to the snow, tiny pebbles, and terrifying cliff edges; photo staging enthusiasts who carried a snowman down the trail to pose with.

Before we headed down, we stopped for beers and a bathroom break. Margo was washing her hands when I noticed her backpack was still filled with snow. I reached in for a handful and launched a snowball at the back of her head, right in the bathroom. Hilarity ensued, at least for the Schlinks (especially Margo, who thought it was great that her mommy broke behavior protocol). Other women stood there with mouths hanging open, deeply disgusted that I threw a snowball indoors. In a room, mind you, that needed all the help it could get in the cleanliness department (grossssss!) Damn. I went there. But nothing could bring us down because the snowy mountains are where the Schlink family thrives.

The Father In Law saying howdy! Credit: Mark

Down below, the town of Loen.

Matching 2017 family t-shirts designed by Deets:
Scotland's national animal is the unicorn; gradh means "love" in Scottish Gaelic.
Norway's national animal is the elk; eventyr means "adventure" in Norwegian.

Heaven.

Soaked socks, butts, backpacks.

Real true smiles.

A nice place to sit.

Waterfalls, Death, and Dragons: Fjords of Norway

There are so many waterfalls in the fjords of Norway, that after a while, my kids would only half respond with enthusiasm whenever Mark or I pointed one out. I was constantly impressed by the sheer power of the icy cascading water, and envisioning vikings throwing people over to their deaths. I actually don't know if vikings did this, but then again, I also kept imagining Toothless or Gronckle flying overhead. 

What's even crazier though, is that people lived and continue to live on top of the these steep, waterfall drenched mountains. They have for hundreds of years, doing stuff like FARMING on unforgiving, precarious land. On a ferry route from Gerainger to Hellesylt, an automated guide described how some families would leash up their children to keep them from going over the edge. Livestock routinely swan dove over the cliffs too, flying past stable footed mountain goats. But you can't beat the view, right?

In addition to waterfalls and fjords, this section of Norway is also hugely popular for its hair pin roads that wind around mountain passes. On a particular sunny day we drove up the Trollstigen, a skinny paved road that reaches 858m (2,815 ft) above sea level. Trollstigen's website link is adorable saying the views will give you an "adrenaline rush." In part that may be true when walking across the clear bottomed platform at the top, bu twe all know the real fun is riding your bike up and down the 10% graded roads. Mark and I were so wistful. It's been a long time since I've suited up in maxi-pad-spandex.

Ah. Well. Can't unsee that, can you? 

This flat, easy hike takes less than 30 minutes
for a literal behind-the-scenes waterfall experience.
It's a 15 minutes drive from Stryn. Park at the nearby school and head along the road.

Tvinnefossen

Behind the roaring Tvinnefossen falls.

Road/trail for Tvinnefossen.
The trails are maintained by Norwegian 4H,
and have toys and crafts to play with along the way.

Flowers along the Tvinnefossen trail. Credit: Mark. 

Trollstigen Road, view from the summit.

From Trollstigen summit, viewing the town of Gerainger

Views along the Trollstigen Road. Credit: Mark

The ferry that transported us and the car from Gerainger to Hellesylt.

Seven Sisters Waterfall, view from the ferry.

People lived these mountains! Incredible.
Dragon credit to Deets.