Onwards from Shining Oslo

As a multidisciplinary artist and writer, the directional flow of my creative work shifts across mediums. Sometimes my narrative writing flows, other times painting or drawing flows, and sometimes it’s poetry or songwriting that flows. Right now, though, the flow I am most interested in is the flow of being present in my experiences. So, I am going to keep this relatively brief and take my time in catching up.

I’m writing this entry from Arlanda Airport in Stockholm, Sweden, after a little over a week exploring Stockholm and Gothenburg, by way of a short stop over on the island of Galtö. But before crossing over into Sweden, I spent a few sweet and bright final days in Oslo Norway, where the sunny streak continued. 

Oslo on the day I first arrived

A view from the top of the Munch Museum

In the airport, I hear the word "Oslo" over the loudspeaker and it hits me with endorphins like the squeeze of a strong hug from a loved one. Hearing the word or seeing it on signage now at a distance from the place fills me with warmth. It also somehow harkens to a deep, elemental memory: as a young child, laying in bed at my grandparents’ lakehouse, watching the light of the early morning sun on the lake dancing on the ceiling. I remember lingering in bed, my mind wheeling with stories and creative ideas in the delicious moments right after dreaming. The memory of this visual has always signified possibility, imagination, and feeling comfy and at home with myself. Now, I find that this memory feels connected to, and layered upon with different vantages of the light glimmering on Olso’s harbor waters.  

The first stays in Oslo were a marked by taking in museums-- the Munch Museum, which I found to be a bit overrated and wasteful, simultaneously autere and extravagant in terms of its design and layout, and the completely epic and wonderfu National Museum, where I could have moved in and spent weeks looking, drawing, and painting diverse objects from the collection and exhibitions. I took saunas, and enjoyed live music, leisurely meals and a couple of excellent cocktails out on the town. I also jetted by ferry to the nearest fjord island of Hovedølya for a sunny hike. On from there, I experienced time with family in Kongsberg, and my cross country train experience, as you can read about in previous entries.

One of the floating saunas in Oslo, facing the Opera and Munch Museum

One of the thousands of collection works on display at the National Museum

A ruin on the island of Hovedøya

My final few days in the Oslo were spent connecting with friends. Notably, a Norwegian-American woman named Andrea who is a few years older than me, whose parents were close with mine 30 years ago and whose brother was best friends with my oldest brother for some years. Her family moved to the suburbs of NYC in the early nineties and our families connected as odd duck international people. Our moms famously enjoyed cross country skiing together on a snow day when school was canceled. When I visited with the family, her mom laughed, recalling that as a Norwegian, she did not understand that school could possibly be canceled for a “snow day.” The designation was more than celebratory recognition of a giant snowfall, as she learned when she tried to drop her children off at the shuttered elementary school.  Our parents’ weekend dinners, in my memory, seemed to last all night and were full of boisterous laughter. 

Before my epic adventure in western and central Norway, I reconnected with the family when Andrea hosted me for a lovely traditional Norwegian dinner with her parents, brother, and some of their kids. Her mom made a traditional reindeer stew– a dish that was memorably delicious. The meat, unique– earthy and salty. The creamy base, bright and full of mushrooms and herbs. I’m only an occasional meat-eater, but I found myself craving reindeer stew with lingonberry as the days went by.

As we parted Andrea gifted me a ginormous chocolate bar of "Norway’s best chocolate," (a designation that I have to agree with) Freia Vollmilchschokolade, a treat that really added to my comfort in my travels across Norway.

After our dinner, Andrea extended an invite for me to stay with her family at their home on the edge of Holmenkollen in Oslo if I were to come back through the city in my travels. She added, “I’m not just being polite!” That did the trick. I am so glad that my plans included another swing through the city, and that I took her up on the offer. 

Staying with her and her family marked my third stay within Oslo. Select observations from the stay:

• Golden are the hosts who say “make yourself at home,” and mean it genuinely. Andrea and her husband are those people. They included me in family dinner, pancake breakfasts, and even showed me the candy stash. 

  
  

• All the Norwegians that I have been hosted by are the doting caretakers of very fluffy, stereotypically beautiful and friendly Norwegian cats. I’m amazed that I have no picture of sweet Evie the cat. 

  
  

• The home lattes that Andrea, her husband and eleven year old daughter made for me were some of the best I’ve ever had in my decades as a drinker of lattes. No exaggeration.

  
  

• The skiers who live in her neighborhood are pretty badass. I saw a few of them-- but first heard them-- swishing and scraping by on their rollerblade skis, training for ski season. 

  
  

• A wonderful part of getting older is to experience reconnection with people from previous phases in life. It’s a joy to discover, how, having lived vastly different lives, two people can come together as adults and share a special connection. Though I remembered her as an occasional babysitter, I’m delighted to now count Andrea as a friend. Some of our connection might have to do with a mutual fangirl fervor for the writings and research of Brené Brown (Stay awkward, brave and kind fo’ liiiife). Or maybe our mutual admiration for Brown just signifies our likenesses. Regardless, it was such a special treat to connect with this old friend who I feel like I’m just getting to know. 

Andrea and I on top of Homenkollen.

Andrea and her family made me feel so relaxed and at home and that comfort allowed me to dig into a few final adventures in the city within a very short time span. I took in the fabulous Ekebergparken Sculpture Park atop a mountain in the southwestern part of Oslo. I also spent a glorious afternoon at the Oslo Badstuforening Sauna— the most epic sauna I’d experienced up to that point. It is a collection of various constructions and styles of saunas, floating on a dock on the harbor with ladders into the water. One sauna even has a terrace on the roof, and a high jump, where I built upon my streak of brave jumps for a person who used to be scared of heights. I also walked to the U.S. Embassy, a short walk away from her house, and attempted to get some help with my absentee ballot for the upcoming U.S. Election. But that’s another story, and one that’s not all that fun to recount. No pun intended, there. 

Chloe by Jaume Plense

Drømmersken (Dreaming Woman) by Knut Steen

Before I left Oslo, Andrea and her husband took me to the top and ski jump at Holmenkollen, where I got to take in the breathtaking sight of the city and the fjords. As we hiked a short walk through the forest and looked down at the glittering water, they shared interesting tidbits of Norwegian history and culture with me. I learned that there’s an old Olympic bobsled track from the top of the mountain that one can sled down in the snow. I heard about a portrait of Norways’ Kong Olav, riding the tram to the mountaintop with the common people in order to go skiing. In fact, apparently a photo exists of the king with a random stranger who had fallen asleep on his shoulder. I learned about the preschool education of Andrea’s husband, which was at one of the forest schools that I noticed during my travels in Norway. There, without plastic dolls and legos, they learned to cultivate imaginative play and resourcefulness by playing outside. I also learned that in Norwegian, there are many words for “mountain,” kind of like the way Eskimos have a myriad of words for “snow.” 

The ski jump

Standing atop the mountain, my eyes welled up. For the first time in a long time, these weren’t tears of sadness, stress, or grief, but rather a rush of gratitude and upwelling of a kind of sentimentality, and of hope.

I was in part pulled to visit Norway because of my ancestor and namesake’s connection to the place. She chose Oslo as the city to start a new chapter in her life. I don’t know much about her time in Oslo except that she moved there to follow passionate love, had a family, and lived out her days as a person who shined as “her own woman.” And now, generations later, my relationship with this part of the world is only beginning. 

The view of the city and fjords from the mountaintop

What began for me as an extremely friendly and spontaneous invitation from my distant cousin to visit Kongsberg had turned into an epic adventure across several weeks and different cities and regions all over the southern part of the country— with the sun beaming along with me auspiciously just about the whole time. The more time I spent in Norway, the more rewarded I felt. Discoveries and stimulating synchronicities kept appearing around every mountain curve. And doors to new adventures were opening to me, some of which I could only glimpse through. But I was leaving with a sense that I will return. 

In one synchronistic turn of events, Andrea and her family were headed by car in the direction of Gothenburg, Sweden, my next destination, to Galtö, an island just over the border. They were heading there to close up the family cabin’s boats for the season. They kindly invited me to join them. 

I would have been transfixed by the family's fridge magnet collection as a child.

The word in Norwegian for kindred is “slekt,” and it feels appropriate for explaining how I felt in joining with the family for the start of their cozy cabin weekend. I can’t imagine a more comforting transition as I set out on the next leg of my journey. 

The young waffle entrepreneur/chefs.

The main cottage and sea inlet.

We arrived late in the afternoon, the low sun drenching the pine and birch forest and adjacent sea inlet in a gold and orange glow. Andrea’s kids and niece arrived the day before and had set up a waffle stand to welcome us. The girls only accepted pinecones as tender, which luckily, were abundantly available on the forest floor.

The art studio cottage.

Andrea’s lovely, witty mother in law put me up in the old art studio cottage on the property. After a rowboat tour around the harbor from my fabulous host, I spent the evening dining on delicious homemade lasagna, salad, bread, and wine together with the family. Their warmth put me at ease, and I felt comfortable in an even deeper way than before. After dinner, we ended the night with a kind of cozy adult crafting session, talking about differences between Norway and the U.S., with all the ladies multitasking at various art projects and grazing on licorice and chips. Using the little girls’ pencils and markers, I drew this picture from a photo taken earlier in the evening, which I left as a gift for the family to thank them for hosting me. 

The adventure continues. My tiny pinecone tender lingers in my coat pocket, still available to touch, as do these warm, fond memories of Norway.