Waffles and hot chocolate
What better excuse to go out in the cold than the possibility of hot chocolate and waffles?
So, with the prospect of food and drink indoors in the seated position (lunch is usually taken standing up beside an often unsatisfactory wind break) we headed off into the high mountains to a cabin at a place called Prestholtseter.
Prestholtseter. A veritable oasis of warmth and hot comestibles
It was cold all day and mostly we skied directly into the bitingly cold wind. With windchill I estimate it was around minus 20 degrees centigrade. But the 2 1/2 hrs, mostly uphill, to the Prestholtseter hytte (hut) was well worth the effort.
Mrs P, disproportionately happy with her bowl of goulash soup.
There had also been a hot chocolate in the above photo, but by the time I got the camera out Mrs P was already smacking her lips over an empty mug.
We lingered in the warmth of the hut before heading back out for the 7km (4 mile) ski up and over to Ustaoset and the bus back to Geilo.
Me demonstrating how to potentially get frostbite by putting skins on with bare hands. Doh!
(No fingers were lost in the taking of this photo.)
Human or android? Somewhere underneath all that is Mrs P
I shall gloss over the fact that we missed the last bus, well actually it missed us. The bugger drove straight past! Maybe he saw the Union Jack on my hat and thought, “This one’s for Brexit!” as he accelerated off into the distance. (So much for glossing over it.)
Time for an aside, a bit of self-congratulation with a side order of bigging someone else up.
There is s chap by the name of Christian who I follow on Instagram because he is doing the Norge på langs this year. You can follow him too by clicking on the link.
Anyway, I sent him a little message of encouragement and received the following reply:
“I was planning this trip last winter and found your blog very inspiring.”
Inspiration. Moi!? Even more surprising is an Englishman inspiring a Norwegian. It’s a wonder my head fits through the door anymore.
Self-aggrandising ends.
The following day was planned to be a gentle one. Mrs P is after all a beginner and has been out four days in a row. However, on waking up, a quick look at the weather forecast suggested that this day would be the best day to ski over to a cabin at a place called Tuva.
At nearly 19km (12 miles) it’s a long trip, especially for a novice and a tired one at that. Fortunately, it was her idea, so off we set.
Mrs P finally realises that there just ain’t gonna be no chair lifts.
Tuva is a privately owned turist hytte (tourist hut - Norwegian is sooo easy… sometimes) that the lovely Dagmar, who taught me how to roller ski in preparation for my attempt at the Norge på langs, is forever telling me to visit, because, she says, they do such wonderful waffles. So, I felt I owed it to Dagmar to visit. Mrs P was sold at the word, “waffles.”
“Did somebody say waffles?” Mrs P speeds on ahead.
High on the Hardangervedda plateau it’s a beautiful trip. David and I did it last January during one of Norway’s worst winters. We didn’t see a thing all day. Just white. So this was a stunning day for a return visit.
This halo phenomena around the sun is called a 220 degree halo. Spoiled only slightly by a passing airliner.
It took a couple of hours to get there with Mrs P being buoyed by the sight of a dog sled team in the far distance on a route that looked like it might converge with the hut at Tuva.
How is it that Mrs P, usually so myopic, can spot a cute furry creature from several miles away yet at home it’s, “Can you read that number plate (3 metres away)? Is it an R or a B, 7, or maybe 2...”
Anyway, the dogs were waiting for us there much to her delight.
Tuva. Legendary waffles and husky dogs. What’s not to like?
Time to sample this legendary sweet treat of leavened dough cooked between two patterned irons, also known as waffles. I describe them because my photo opportunity rather fails to illustrate said waffle because my appetite overrode my urge to take pictures.
Quick! Take a pho… Too late!
Dagmar was right. Delicious waffles. No jam or cream required. Apparently they sell around a thousand a day during the Easter holidays!
Outside, Mrs P heads off to visit the doggies…
…who think she looks like lunch. So, she doesn’t get too close.
A lovely ski back down to the lake involved a very long descent and therefore snow plough. Nordic skis are not the same as downhill skis. There is no heel attachment, so ‘turns’ are not possible. Three kilometres of snow ploughing down steep slopes should be tough for a novice, but not Mrs P who has always been the absolute master at the technique on all types of skis.
Mrs P’s relaxed ski down to the frozen lake, Ustevatnet.
A three kilometre ski back across the lake gave some opportunities for ice photos. Here are three with captions for the Vanilla Ice fans.
Ice…
Ice…
Baby. (Alright, stop)
Do tune in for my next blog. Not only do I get to go skiing again with the inimitable Trond and spend a delightful evening with him and Karin at their beautiful cabin, but I am also going to be doing something rather, whats the word?
Stupid!
If I survive there is one friend back in the UK who owes me a pizza.
