Bryggen is the face of Bergen, a row of narrow, tilting, brightly painted wooden gables along the north side of the harbour. UNESCO listed it as a World Heritage Site in 1979, and the postcards are accurate, though the reality is a little more interesting than the pictures because people still work and live in it.
The wharf was the centre of the Hanseatic League's Norwegian trade from the fourteenth century until the middle of the eighteenth. Merchants from Lübeck and other German towns lived there in strict, almost monastic communities, controlling the export of stockfish, the wind-dried cod from the Lofoten and Helgeland coasts that fed much of Catholic Europe on fast days. In return they brought grain, beer and cloth. The Norwegians who fished had little choice but to deal with them, and the resentments that built up are part of why the Hanseatic office closed in the end. Some of the old rules, such as bans on women and fire in the living quarters, sound extraordinary today.
Beside the wharf stands the Bergenhus fortress, with the stone Håkonshallen, a thirteenth-century royal hall, and the Rosenkrantz Tower. Behind the town rise seven hills, and a funicular runs up Fløyen for a view across the roofs and the harbour. On the opposite side the fish market sells smoked salmon, whale on occasion and sandwiches, and the whole waterfront smells of sea and frying.
Reaching Bergen on a motorbike is simple enough, since the roads from the east come down through tunnels and fjord valleys, but within the city you need patience. Tolls apply on the approaches, and parking in the centre is limited, so find a motorbike bay and walk. The cobbles can be slick when wet, which is most of the time, and the steep lanes behind the wharf are best left to those on foot.
For fuel, use a station on the outskirts; the old town has none. For food, there are many places by the harbour, from simple stands to serious seafood restaurants, with prices that match the view.
Go early in the morning or in the late evening, when the cruise crowds have gone and the light is low. Then the old gables look as they did to the German merchants, tall and watchful over the water.