As I headed down it became less bitterly cold. Small, fast streams followed the road and ran down the black rock faces making them glisten in the low sun. After ten minutes of hair-pin bends the road swept straight down into a valley. It was a relief to see the intense greens after the desolation of the high mountains

The tunnels become longer and when the road emerged, it would cling to the mountainside almost vertically above the water. Each tunnel had a series of signs which told you increasingly how many kilometres you had come and decreasingly how many were left to go. I suppose this would help you to decide which way to walk out if you broke down, it was also encouraging. I entered a tunnel that counted down from seven kilometres. The usual , slightly grim, excitement of being in a long tunnel turned to impatience but on leaving it I found myself on a narrow ledge in a queue of cars waiting to board a serious looking ferry. The road stopped dead so there was no choice but to pay the tough looking man who sold the tickets and board the ferry

I had been driving along the top of the mountains for more than half an hour. Despite being so high there was a claustrophobic airless feel to the place. It was freezing and silent and the light seemed filtered and weak. I turned the heating on, opened the windows and put the Dido CD on full blast. My worries began to lift as the road dipped downwards. and the landscape opened up below me

After a few frustrating dead ends I found a road that wasn't on the map but seemed to lead up, out of the valley and into the mountains. There were no more farms up here. they were replaced by the occasional ski chalet or hunting lodge. The trees thinned out and those that remained were short and unhealthy looking. There were patches of dirty snow by the roadside as I climbed higher. I came to a wooden barrier. It was raised but didn't seem inviting. A large sign in Norwegian probably stated that this was a private road but I chose to ignore it

No other cars were around as the road levelled out on the top of the mountain range. It looked as if the road was hardly ever used, posts were pushed into the ground on either side of the single track and the many small lakes I passed were all frozen over. It was desolate and charmless. There was no sign that the road was leading anywhere other than the occasional locked up hunting shack. Who would want to spend time up here I wondered, and what would they shoot? I had wanted to leave the valley but up here there was little to see, just dirty snow, broken trees and a lowering cloudy sky

I soon realised that I was on the wrong road. This rather endless road, ran along a fairly well populated valley that was taking me back too far to the East. I checked the map and revised my route. I was half way through my journey and still felt I hadn't really found the sort of views that I had imagined. In my head I heard my wife telling me to enjoy what was around but I reckoned that if I could cross the river, I might find a small road leading me North West across the mountains and then I could swing back down towards the coast and my Hotel. It would be a lot longer than the route I had planned and I had booked a meal at the hotel for that evening at eight o'clock but the distant mountains looked a lot more appealing than the busy valley that I was in

The road was busy and I only stopped occasionally, keen to push North. The villages followed the same pattern that I had seen the day before, nestling on the shores at the end of long, narrow lakes. I was higher now and it wasn't so hot anymore. In Oslo they had said that the unusually good weather was going to continue but I don't often have luck with the weather and I worried about the gathering clouds

I followed the Audi estate a short distance to the gallery which was a shop front with more space in an old stable building in an inner courtyard. We were joined by the gallery director whom I'd met earlier in the year in my London. I looked around the space with the two of them trying to imagine various works that I might hang in the different rooms. I took some photographs and then we all left. Marina, the gallery owner drove me to my hotel which was luxurious and elegant. Later that evening we all met in a stylish restaurant and, wary of talking too much after being silent for two days, I told them a bit about my trip. I heard about their lives and the gallery and we agreed to make an exhibition the following year. I slept well in a comfortable room. The over helpful young concierge used the inter net to book the hotel that the gallerist had recommended and explained how best to leave Oslo

I took a turn off into town at random hoping that I would recognise something. I didn't and anyway I didn't know if the gallery was even in the centre of Oslo. I cursed myself for being disorganised and after driving aimlessly for a while, making illegal "U" turns, I stopped on a local shopping street. It felt odd to be back on a pavement with urban people passing me without a word. I went into a cafe and ordered a coffee so as to get some change for the phone. When it came to pay the pretty waitress said that she didn't take Euro's or Swedish Krona's. She said I could have the coffee for free and directed me to another shop where I might find a cash machine and a pay-phone. I made contact with the gallerist and it turned out that by chance I was on the very street where the gallery was located. After returning to the cafe to pay for the coffee, I stood on the curb and watched the townsfolk pass by until she arrived

The road was busier now and it wasn't possible to stop at will, anyway I was keen to reach Oslo now, so I photographed through the open window with the smaller camera, the larger one having run out of batteries. The sun was getting low and reflecting off everything including the cars in front of me. Colours were becoming intense and strange with a kind of dustiness in the air. The windscreen was filthy with bugs and dirt and it took some concentration to drive. I realised that with no mobile, no map of Oslo and no Norwegian money, finding the gallery would not be easy. It didn't seem to matter too much, it had been a good day and I wasn't late. I had shown in Oslo before, in a group show in the nineties with a number of other British artists. It had been mid-winter and I remembered cold walks in the centre of town and ice skating and snow-ball fights in the suburbs. Group shows have a way of infantalizing the artists but also creating a sense of camaraderie. I don't seem to do so many shows like that anymore