Taking a break from installing a show in Stockholm, my wife and I had gone shopping in the Old Town. We came across an antique shop selling Russian Icons that I really liked. They were only a hundred or so years old but reminded me of early Renaissance paintings, like those of Duccio or Cimabue. There was one of a Madonna and child set behind a sculpted silver background that I particularly liked. At the time I didn't have the courage to buy one but had promised myself that if the exhibition went well, I would. A year passed and I returned to Stockholm, this time on my own on a day trip. I was there to photograph three people in order to make their portraits. To my surprise the gallerist asked me to make a portrait of himself as well. I took this extra commission as a sign that I should splash out and buy the Icon. As soon as the photo session was over I headed off along the harbor front. I had a lot of trouble finding the antique shop and when I finally located it, it was closed. There was a sign in the window that someone translated for me. It said the owner would return in a half hour. I was running out of time to get back to the airport but I wandered around and bought some presents for my family. The shop remained deserted so eventually I gave up and left to catch my plane.
Despite driving all day I didn't feel tired enough to go to bed. Our baby was eleven months old and wakes at the slightest sound, so I didn't phone home but watched some Norwegian television. The reception was poor so I turned off all the lights and looked out over the bay taking some photos as the light disappeared. My flight back to London was fairly early the next morning. I wandered back down to the reception desk to arrange for a wake up call and a cab over to the airport. The concierge had been rather unpleasant and know it all earlier in the afternoon but now she was more helpful. Although it was the airport hotel and I imagined the North Sea was icy cold I could imagine bringing the family here for a quiet rather old fashioned holiday
In my frustration at missing my flight and assuming that it was a pretty simple hotel I had asked for the best room. They had given me the suite at the very top of the hotel. At first I swore under my breath struggling up the stairs with all my bags but the rooms were great, like a separate little beach house on the roof of the hotel. There were windows all around the living room overlooking the darkening sea. The walls were hung with photographs of Stavanger as it used to be at the turn of the century, each one with an explanation of what had changed since then. I settled down with my book on the wrap around sixties sofa
The huge split level lobby lead down to the Sixties Scandinavian style bar and restaurant. Log fires burned and a wall of floor to ceiling windows lead out onto decking with sand dunes beyond. I had been sitting in the car since early morning with hardly a stop except the ferry rides, so I immediately walked down to the beach. The waves and sand were soothing and familiar. I heard and felt a thundering and was suddenly passed by a horse ridden at full gallop by a beautiful young woman. At he end of the bay the sand gave way to boulders but I carried on past a deserted school stepping stones out to the headland
The ferry landed a long way from Stavanger. The road was much bigger now with dramatic bridges jumping from one small island to another. The landscape and the mood were very different here. The islands of bare rock were low with scrubby dry vegetation. The few buildings were large, modern and industrial with the occasional oil depot. I began to realise that I might not make the plane and became rather erratic in my map reading. If the airport was to the north of town I might just make it but it turned out to be well south of town by the beach. `even if I hadn't had to return the rented car I wouldn't have made it. Sweating and resigned I arranged to take a flight the next morning and took a cab back to a hotel I had seen on the way in. The hotel was the old airport hotel and turned out to be one of the nicest hotel I have stayed in
My luck changed and I just made it onto the ferry. This one was much larger than the others with a covered car deck and a lounge above. The fjord opened up and the mountains became a series of peaked islands. I didn't feel like returning to civilisation and I left the lounge to stand out on the rear deck. The trip took much longer than I expected. If I could find the airport easily I might just still make the flight but for the time being I watched the distant mountains shrinking behind us
It looked like it was going to rain all day, in fact it looked like it was always raining here. Waterfalls cascaded down the rocks next to the road. I drove through tunnels and over peaks, plunging down into silent valleys. Despite the winding road I overtook everyone I came across though after having to wait impatiently for a straight bit of road. The villages were perched on the edge of steep slopes. They looked hard working but well kept. As I travelled West towards the sea the mountains became less sharp and lower. I feared that I had taken the wrong road as the one I was on was very narrow and deserted. It could hardly be the main road to Stavanger
By driving fast I reached the end of the fjord minutes before the the ferry was due to leave. There was one articulated lorry waiting. The driver told me that the approaching ferry was not the one we wanted, that our ferry must be running late. He stayed in his cabin while I filmed raindrops in puddles near the slip way. This delay was using up precious time and I realised I was going to have to push pretty hard if I was to make my early evening flight from Stavanger back to London. It was stupid of me not to have got up earlier and caught the previous ferry
Breakfast was served by the very elegant, elderly owner of the hotel. She was dressed from the last century with greying blond hair pinned high on her head. She was polite but very quiet. The whole hotel and village were quiet. I saw no-one else but the blond woman and her equally Nordic husband. He was smaller and bearded like a sea captain. He clearly knew all about the region and it seemed their family had run the hotel for generations. He sketched out a route for me on the map pointing out where I would need to take ferries. The first ferry was an hours drive away and I would have to hurry to catch it. He thought the journey to Stavanger would take eight hours but I reckoned I could shave some time off this by driving fast
It was good to get out of the car and stand for a while. I filmed the water and photographed the view, feeling like a tourist. If I was a tourist I seemed to be the only one on the ferry. The other vehicles were trucks or driven by people who looked like they were on business. I thought of romantic American films set on the lonely North East coast but somehow this seemed bigger and quieter. We turned to meet the far side of the Fjord and seemed to head for a sheer cliff. As we approached I saw there was a jetty and an entrance to a tunnel. We drove off the ferry and straight into a tunnel that read ten kilometers to go