The White House
The traveler caught a glimpse of the white house outside the bus window. It was just a momentary glimpse and he would not have remembered the moment or the house had he not taken a picture.
What was it about the white house?
Strange, the traveler thought, it was a farmhouse without crops or animals. Perhaps it was the ordinariness, a plain white box look, symmetrical but for the front door, that revealed nothing of the personalities of those who lived there. The bus was on its way from the western coast of Norway, from Ålesund to world-famous Geiranger with a stop in Ikornnes. If you are counting in kilometers, it is around 120 km passing through and over three distinctive fjords, watching all the while spectacular landscape unlike anything the traveler was familiar with. The roads were two lane, adequate for the summer traffic, and winding, as they make their way along the waterway with a ferry or two to cross to the other side of a fjord.
It was not unlike the farm houses in Maine, where the traveler had been the summer before. Nor was it unlike the mountain cabins in Montana where private people went to get away from the city. To the traveler, the White House would forever remain a mystery like so many places.
The traveler put down his camera and continued to watch the scenery roll by. The traveler was looking forward to Geiranger, the waterfalls, the hiking trails and people.