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. I could turn back or risk a much longer journey. The road before me hair pinned down to a perfect green valley with a lake in the centre. A river thundered over flat rocks beside the road throwing up huge spumes of spray. I decided to push on but at the base of the valley there was a long stationary queue of cars. At the head of the line were workmen dressed in yellow oilskins directing a string of lorries past the cars. I asked the driver behind me if this was the road I wanted. He said it was but that there had been a rock fall up ahead and the workmen were clearing the road. I was using up any spare time I might have had. Eventually we were waved through and I began to overtake the cars ahead of me and race towards the town where I would make the final ferry trip down to Stavanger