Saturday 3 September 2022--As noted yesterday, my Airbnb is just a few yards up from Kongens Gate, Ålesund's pedestrianized main street; but it's quite a steep hill, so steep in fact that at some point they gave up on the bottom end as a viable junction and installed a stairway, making the street a dead end, at least for vehicles. There's a nice café down on the corner, where I have a pastry and coffee for breakfast. After, I go for a look around the harbor. It's gloriously sunny and pleasantly cool, and I know it's the perfect day to go up to the observation platform on Aksla, the little mountain above the town.

The lookout on Aksla has a bit more than half the elevation of the one on Fløyen. Instead of a funicular, there's a stairway of 418 steps, with plenty of benches along the way for tired old geezers to rest. The view from the top is spectacular--there's a bank of mist far out to sea and a few puffs wreathing islands and inland peaks, but the sky is otherwise cloudless. I share the platform with a parade of cruise ship denizens who come up the road by bus. Cheaters! They come and go, come and go, come and go...every now and then, I think I should probably descend to town and find something else to do, but I'm quite sure I won't find anything better to do than this. Wander around the peak a bit, then have lunch in the café downstairs. There's bacalao, a tomato-based fish stew made with klippfisk. $22 a bowl would be rather pricey (what isn't around here?), but there are free refills, and two good-sized bowls are very filling.

Klippfisk, or clipfish, is dried salted whitefish, usually cod. Dried cod has been the economic spine of the North Atlantic region for many centuries, providing vital protein with a long shelf life to Europe and beyond. Simple drying as a method of preservation requires a cold and relatively dry climate; it's still done, the product called stockfish, in northern Norway, where I am headed in a few days. There is historical reference to the stockfish trade in the ninth century, and undoubtedly it goes back much farther. The advent of relatively cheap salt, imported from southern Europe, in the 17th century made salting economically feasible, and eased the strict necessity for particular climatic conditions.

In 1835, the government of Spain imposed large import duties on goods arriving on foreign ships. To avoid these, Spanish merchants sent ships to trade directly with Norwegian fishing ports, Ålesund being prominent among them. This trade bypassed middlemen in Bergen (which I assume would never have been possible when the Hanseatic League was in its heyday), resulting in better prices and greater prosperity for Ålesund. There were cultural benefits, as well; accounts of the time describe a party atmosphere when the Spaniards were in town, with music and dancing in the streets. The Spanish ships arrived loaded with salt, and the recipe for bacalao came along, too. It remains popular in Norway today. Being accustomed to fresh fish from my local supermarket, I am not really fond of the texture of the rehydrated fish, which must be soaked for several days before use. That doesn't stop me from enjoying my two bowls.

I finally head back down the hill, reluctantly, after hanging out for four hours. Time for a nap, a rather long one. I'm out for an evening stroll around the harbor, featuring a gorgeous sunset. Think briefly about getting some dinner, but my belly is still full of bacalao. Make my way over to Molo for a few pints instead.