Norway’s fjords are the kind of place you see in photos and think, “That can’t be real.” Towering cliffs, water like glass, air so crisp it stings. I arrived in Bergen with a vague plan to explore the fjords, armed with a backpack and way too much confidence. Slow travel’s my thing, but I took it to a new level—by getting completely, utterly lost.
I’d booked a ferry to a village called Flåm, famous for its scenic railway. Easy, right? Except I misread the schedule and ended up on a boat to a speck of a village called Mundal, population: maybe 50. No trains, no buses, just me, my journal, and a whole lotta fjord. Panic set in as the ferry chugged away, leaving me on a dock with no cell signal. Slow travel’s great until you’re stranded.
Enter Lars, a fisherman with a beard like a Viking and a thermos of coffee he shared without question. “You tourist?” he asked, chuckling. I nodded, sheepish. He took me to his family’s café, a wooden shack serving fish soup that warmed my bones. Over bowls of creamy cod stew, Lars told me stories—tales of Viking ancestors, storms at sea, and a whale that once followed his boat. I scribbled them down, forgetting my predicament.
Mundal wasn’t on my itinerary, but it became my favorite mistake. The village was a postcard: colorful houses, a tiny bookstore (one of Norway’s best!), and a fjord so still I could see my reflection. I wandered, sat on rocks, and wrote about how plans fail but magic happens. Lars introduced me to a weaver who made wool blankets, her loom clacking rhythmically. She showed me how to thread the wool; my attempt was a tangle, but she laughed and gave me a scarf.
Food was simple but soulful. At the café, I tried rømmegrøt, a sour cream porridge drizzled with butter and cinnamon. It sounds odd, but paired with dark bread and local cheese, it was comfort in a bowl. Lars even taught me a few Norwegian words—mostly about fish, but I’ll take it.
By some miracle, I caught a late ferry back to Bergen, but Mundal stayed with me. Slow travel means embracing the detours, the moments you didn’t plan. I didn’t see Flåm’s railway, but I got a scarf, a story, and a lesson: sometimes, getting lost is the best way to find something real.
