rom aboard the Fleming 75 Nikita, I spy what looks like a miniature cable car. It starts at the dock and travels up — and up, and up, at least 500 feet — to a home high above Norway’s Geirangerfjorden fjord. Geirangerfjorden. It’s OK that I can’t say it, because I’m pretty much speechless looking at the fjord’s beauty. That home is along a shoreline that is a collage of forested slopes, towering cliffs, waterfalls, pastures and isolated farmsteads, some of which are built atop impossibly high, verdant plateaus. How the residents access them, or how building supplies were lofted up to these precipices before the days of cable cars, remains a mystery to me. One of the now-dormant hydroelectric stations here, Flørli, holds two world records: the second-highest fall, with a distance from reservoir to turbine of nearly half a mile, and the most steps, at 4,444. We’re happy to look up at that one from the yacht too.