Mapping the Gap

Not sure we deserve such luck, but we’ve just had the pleasure of being Norwegian house guests this past weekend. It was a diversion not on our original itinerary, another flight of fancy we allowed to twirl into our days. Our friends, whom we affectionately refer to as “The Norwegians,” were a blessed meet-up in Lombok, Indonesia back in March. We were two long-term-travel families stranded on Lombok during Ramadan, us mothers reaching through the ethereal wavelengths of Facebook for a kindred family with whom we might find a jive. Or maybe we didn’t even dare hope so high. We were just desperate to stir up the chemistry between our kids. Regardless, we struck luck, which turned out to be an early peak for us in the friendship department. At a beach club meet-up, we stumbled upon that happy fortune where both kids and parents hit it off, the kind of rare chemistry that pleases all… and hopefully makes for friendships that last lifetimes.

So, when our Gap Year path took us near-enough to their obit (London), we found ourselves sucked into their clever and quirky world, and we didn’t even feign resistance to the invite to invade. Over just two and a half days, The Norwegians gave us the VIP treatment in the city of Trondheim. We just touched the tip of the cultural Norwegian iceberg but are already entertaining fantasies to return one day when the coffers are more robust… Norway is not for the faint of budget!  It was a jump, even from London- which I have yet to blog about.

Our family entered this whirlwind weekend feeling weary and questioning our sanity for such an ambitious excursion in the midst of an already saturating stint of travel.  But, action is usually the right answer, and we’ve been shot out the other side of the vortex certain of one thing: Those Norwegians sure know how to do things. What a truly impressive culture. Classy and clever. Ingenious and energetic. Sophisticated yet grounded. Rugged yet refined. Warm and bright… and yet so intimate with extremes of cold and dark like most of the world never knows. We were there in summer, so all of this winter wonder was only the topic of conversation… or perhaps one would say “interrogation” as I’m very curious about the shadow half of the year, when the sun rises only for a couple hours a day or not at all.  Here’s some of what I gathered…

Our hosts and their fellow countryfolk seem to survive the darkness by an active embrace of the cold.  Many people in Norway do struggle with regular depressive episodes in these months of little sun, and I imagine this is worst for people who live or work alone.  People tend to hibernate from the social scene in these days of darkness, affectionate relations reduced to nods and waves.  I envision it as a time of deep inner reflection, which sounds alluring, but a little can go a long way in this realm, depending on the demons we keep.  Winter is long, and the lightless days last months.  One’s dark night of the soul could go on for weeks without a solar reminder of life-giving light.  “A new day” doesn’t probably feel like one. I am both intrigued and fearful of where my mind would go in the months around the winter solstice.  Where does this whole nation go internally?  I think you can sense a depth of spirit in these people.  To be born at such northern latitudes, you need to be able to sit with your Self for long periods with regularity. And you need to get outside.  A lot.

Our friends combat this threat to mental health by getting in ski time whenever possible, soaking up all the sunlight they can in the tiny hours provided by the tilt of the Earth.  They stay active, they hike, they snowboard, they get in the car on Fridays and hit the Swedish cabins with family and friends.  (Just don’t forget the gear so your whole family doesn’t die if you have car trouble.) They also bike to work in the slush and snow, which sounds crazy to me, but it’s something everyone just does. It’s an obstacle, but it’s also a gift. This braving of the cold is bred into them young, it seems.

Babies are actually put outside in strollers to nap every day in the winter.  All year long, actually.  All bundled in down blankets and wool, they breathe the freezing air and inhale their native ways.  I get a tingle to consider all the tiny breaths breathing Norwegian heritage deep into the cells of their swaddled little bodies, puffs of indoctrination vapour being returned to the frosty air.  It’s a tradition you have to Google to believe. The primary school kids have one day a week outdoors no matter the weather- all year, all-day lessons in nature, once a week.  What must they know of the world that the rest of us haven’t been allowed the routine intimacy to understand?  And how does this intimacy impact their experience of the world for the rest of their lives?  While the rest of us hideaway all winter and moan, they send their kids to spend a day of each week in the dark and the cold.  How does that not change the blood?  When I express my astonishment to my friends, they laugh and explain that it’s all about the gear.   They wear a ton, but it’s the culture. Not a difficult feat. Not a question.  It’s the way it is.  I suppose it has been so for centuries.

And this lifestyle of cold embrace is not just about tolerance or acceptance.  It’s a full absorption of what to me seems a daunting aspect of Mother Nature’s character.  Not so for The Norwegians.  Our hosts even got married in an igloo and slept in an ice bed covered in reindeer skin on their wedding night. Their wedding guests did communal shots off of a snow ski and celebrated on the snowy slopes. They use hot water piping underneath the floors to heat their house, but they sleep with the window open every night of the year.  They adapt.  They allow.  They embrace.  Like the Triestini in La Bora, they draw strength and character from the unique offerings of their spread of land. And, of course, most inspiring of envy, the Northern Lights dance across the sky of their backyard, visible from burrows of blankets on their roof-top deck.  What a life. 

Yep. Thoroughly impressed. And we didn’t even witness all this Nordic sophistication of solar shadow and icy landscapes.  Still, even in the season of the midnight sun, those Norwegians so clearly know how to do things.  Have a look.  It’s obvious to the seeing eye, I think.   

A big Takk to Norway and our dear friends, The Norwegians… this word seems too few syllables to capture our gratitude. What a gift friends are. What a place is Norway.