but not The Scream by Adam Berlin

The pilot says we’re starting our approach, expect turbulence, there’s a storm, and right before plane touches runway, KLM, the connection from Amsterdam, a gust pushes us too left. The pilot pulls us back, or the GPS or ILS, or another gust, and everyone applauds when the braking ends, not the way Europeans applaud landings but from making it down after danger, a story to tell, the time they landed in Bergen during Storm Hans (big enough to get a name).

Bergen’s got too many tourists. After the Munch museum, the famous one’s not there, and cinnamon rolls, Norway supposedly famous for its cinnamon rolls (they’re too dry), we’re drenched, ready to go.

In the morning, we pick up the Peugeot from Sixt rent a car (my tip to travelers: rent compact), and we’re off—to Voss, to Loen, to Aurland, to Stranda. We drive up mountains, down mountains, through mountains, around fjords, and feel the away we wanted. A few cars, a few tour buses, but mostly super-tall trucks, headlights too high/too bright in tunnels, tunnel after tunnel, some 26 km long (in 1, I make a U-turn after a wrong turn, and my son loves that—he’s 7) (saves us 25 km). My son swims in a fjord for less than a minute—2 jump-ins, too cold. We eat salmon and smoked salmon. We hike in mud (Storm Hans). We ride gondolas. We sneak onto 1 gondola at night. I tell my kid: Sometimes you need to break some rules. The guy who runs the lift is cool; end of shift, lets us on. We go up, go down, town and lake and mountains like a movie, wide-angle to almost close-up. 1 morning, my son skips his first stones. Some roads stop at ferry crossings. We drive on, get out of the car, look, get back in the car, drive off.

Rauma looks end-of-the-world. Rocks, wind, cold. Everything feels like jutting sounds. We drive down/up Trollstigen.

We pretend adventure, but it is too. The storm. The tunnels. The hairpin roads. The paintings that show faces ready to scream (but not The Scream).

Our last night’s in Osterbo. No one’s around except campers and staff, and the salmon’s good, and we hike. 2 sheep run away when we’re too close. I say: Is it something we said? Katherine jumps rock to rock gracefully. Eben smashes wide yellow mushrooms.

We drive back to Bergen. We’re flying to Copenhagen next. We’ll rent bikes and visit The Little Mermaid, but we already know: The Little Mermaid will be too crowded, like the room with the Mona Lisa. The statue will be okay (like the painting’s smile’s okay), but it’s a check mark, a picture to take without looking; so many people taking pictures, everyone’s shot will have people taking pictures.