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Voss, its a place in Norway, home of sheeps head dinners, bland food and extreme sports. Every year thousands of extreme people travel up or down to Voss for the world famous extreme sports week. You don't have to be extreme to attend, and lets face it, most of the people rocking out the hoodies just pretend to be extreme. You can spot them a mile off, milling around drinking beer and talking shit. Almost identical to extreme sports people infact, its all about the shoes!! So, Voss. If you are feeling extreme, head to Voss, well head to Norway first, then to Voss. It is situated a few hours drive East of Bergan, the rainy city. So head to Bergan, but you can get to Voss from any other part of Norway, they do have roads and trains, despite pushing on being a 3rd world country. 3/4 of the population own a tractor, the other 1/4 own the oil!! I digress! Following swiftly on from my last post. We rocked up at a ski resort called Folkenfonna, a glacier only open in the summer. It sits not far from Voss, 2 hours drive ish, and 3 hours north of a small town called Odda. Its small and plays host to hoards of slalom skiiers rocking out the 80s lycra look! It also attracts the cool kids. So feeling somewhat out of place in the flip flops and tevas, we approach the slopes with caution! Despite 3 seasons as a ski guide in the Alps, I still felt out of place, maybe it was the fact my clothing was practical, and not loosely fitted and hanging below my arse cheeks.
Posted by: RaftingCraig in Untagged on
Jul 7, 2009
'Is that the boat? I'm sure we couldn't see the boat before!' came a concerned voice from the passenger seat. Looking up I become slightly concerned, 'It's that Fluid Solo again, its always that boat, Joe, its always Joe and his boat. Maybe we should stop, check it out!' 'Maybe we should, I'm sure we couldn't see that boat, is that the Fluid? Trust it to be Joe's boat. Why is it always Joe?'
Posted by: RaftingCraig in Untagged on
Jun 3, 2009
Busy times, busy times. I'm finally back in Norway, rafting and kayaking, working my 4th season in this great country. Sitting in a call centre in the UK I found my mind wandering to what could have been. Why was I there, temp agencies, office work for an Adventure instructor, no thanks. Ah yes, money. After the Canyon that some call Grand trip, I was running short of cash. Beset by injury, I became a slave to the monotony of existance living. I took it upon myself to redirect my life, and for the good. 1 week later I was catching a ferry to the gusty green pastures Denmark, 18 hours on a ferry. The entertainment must be exotic, beer cheap and the staff friendly. Shorty after boarding, we conduct the usual wander around the boat for 10 miuntes finding our cabin, look around the cabin...bed, fold out bed, light, exit map, coat hook, shower, sink and toilet. Assured that I have not missed anything of importance in the cabin, I suggest we head to the bar. En route to the bar we encountered theentertainment, a high roller bringing in the big bucks I guess. Super Mario himself, minus Louigi and a bad Italian accent. The kids entertainment hour, superb. Up the stair we go, to the bar. A lofty barman appears, lets just say customer service was not his strong side. A short argument and fresh beer later, the quiz starts.
After eating the chicken and mustard pasta, chicken in mustard sauce, two rolls involving mustard and watching 3 and a half films, we finaly arrive in Las Vegas. No more mustard for me, and why did I have no choice except food with mustard, has no one complained about this before? Do airlines assume everyone flying with them must like mustard? Letter to a Mr Branson is needed, pickle would be a more fitting condement! Immediately after arrival, we are greeted by the friendly immigration staff, armed guards who look more like they should be guarding a store sellling nothing but old VCR's, black and white TV's and a few Amstrad computers. 'Where are you staying?' asks the burley lady behing the desk.
Stepping back into England, my heart sank as the realisation came that I would have to reach into the dusty cupboard and embrace the razor. The expedition beard would have to go, maybe I could apply as a model for a beard magazine, no that must be the expedition fever. Does expedition fever last this long? Does it even exist? One month I had been away, it was time to say good bye to the ginger tinged hair, not a good look. You are back to reality now.
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