From Scandanavia

Greetings from Arcadia,

It’s not often in my life I’ve felt that I’m missing out by not being able to pick up a paintbrush and create a sweeping landscape from oil or watercolors. I have never felt inspired to create art; even watching Bob Ross paint “happy little trees” mostly just made me sleepy. The last time I can remember feeling a sense of loss from my lack of artistic talent was probably when I threw away a My Little Pony coloring book in disgust because I couldn’t make the horses look “real” enough. So, it was a novel feeling when the words “God, I wish I could paint” actually floated through my mind while driving around northern Norway, and trying desperately but failing to capture the colors with my woefully inadequate camera and photography skills. You wouldn’t think a snow-covered landscape would have such a variety of lovely and subtle colors, but the deep aquamarine interspersed with steel gray blue of the sea, the almost iridescent light green of a frozen spring, the splashes of red and orange of little cabins and boats, and the deep blacks and browns of the mountains came together to create an incredibly beautiful landscape that was impossible for me to fully capture on a camera. I needed a full palette to recreate the beauty of Norway.

This is all to say, in so many words, that Norway – it’s stunning. Breathtakingly beautiful is an overused phrase, but I couldn’t come up with enough superlatives to cover what is undoubtedly a breathtaking country. The taking away of my breath may also have something to do with the fact that I decided to visit this part of the world, above the Arctic Circle, in March, where it’s still very much winter, despite what the vernal equinox says. The term “snowpocalypse” doesn’t exist here, partially because Norwegians are a stoic people not given to overstatement of any kind, and also because the snow is always too deep to handle with your average-sized snowplow. The snowplows here are monsters, and if you don’t have studded tires (which I didn’t), then you’re going too slow around that hairpin turn with no guardrail and freezing ocean cliffs on one side, and you should get the hell off the road (according to the locals).

What I did have was a tiny, little electric car –  a mistake of epic proportions, that I was only starting to realize as I drove around looking for the spot where you’re supposed to load the cars onto the ferry that takes you over to the Lofoten Islands. This was a mistake born more out of sheer stupidity on my part than malice on the part of the Norwegians (I booked the car with the thought that it was probably a smaller, fuel efficient car, not knowing it was fully electric). They like electric cars here. I even did a double-take watching a Tesla taxi drive by. There are electric charging points all over the country…with the notable exception of the one place I happened to be traveling to. The distances I would be trying to cover and the (heretofore unknown to me) fact that electric cars lose sometimes up to 30% of their range when it’s below freezing made the electric car a catastrophically bad choice for my particular agenda. Looking back, I have an out-of-body experience in my mind’s eye, watching myself take the keys from the rental car guy with the same dread and strangled cry of “NOOOOO” in my throat that I would have watching myself open the door of a haunted house. I had heard the term “range anxiety” in connection with electric cars, but the actual anxiety part of it seemed exaggerated, until I was driving in a snowstorm down a deserted Norwegian road at 1 o’clock in the morning with 100 km to go and 98 km left on the battery.

So, let me backup a bit. I had Norway on my “someday” bucket list, but hadn’t actually planned to go because it’s an expensive country, and I didn’t think I’d have the time or money. That is, until I found myself with a two week hole in my schedule and a $69 one-way flight from Austin to Stockholm dangling temptingly on the screen in front of me. Booked. I was interested in dog sledding in Norway – an interest gained solely from a day trip I took four years ago with my mom and sister to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. Despite the fact that I had been recovering from a horrible bout of tonsillitis and bronchitis, I’d had a blast sledding there and left wanting more. The thing about Norway in the winter though, is that it’s a destination spot for winter tourism, including other dog sledding tourists who had the forethought to book their tours a year ago. After sending numerous, increasingly desperate emails to dog sledding outfits around northern Norway, I finally found a place that would take me on a few day trips, and off I went. Side note – that $69 flight was actually a one-off direct flight arranged by SAS Airlines so Scandinavians could visit the South by Southwest festival, so I was on an airplane filled with hungover Swedish music nerds coming home from Austin.

I started with a quick overnight in snowy Stockholm, Sweden, on my way to the Lofoten Islands of Norway, of which I knew nothing but that it looked beautiful in the few photos I had seen, and it seemed quietly picturesque, like the kind of place you could find yourself in a cozy cabin (or the quaint little fishermans’ houses, called rorbu). After four flights in 48 hours, the ferry ride over to the islands was uneventful, though I had never taken a car on a ferry before, and was thankful to be able to follow the example of other Norwegians who knew the drill. The first night was spent in a B&B in the village of Å (pronounced like “oo”). The proprietors of this establishment clearly had put a lot of thought (and laminating plastic) into the signage, which was plastered on almost every surface. There was a sign, written in three languages, to tell you where to put your shoes, how to open the window, how to use the kitchen appliances, and even a reminder to close the door on the bathroom (which, I hate to say that’s an obvious one, but apparently it warranted a sign). They ran a tight ship, and I felt like I had to tread very lightly so as not to create a disturbance that would necessitate further signage. I was happy to leave after two nights, with my little car. The village of Å is extremely quiet and there isn’t much to do there, other than the Norsk Fishing museum, which was not that informative, given that it’s self-guided and all the signage is in Norwegian. The village’s other main feature is that it’s the end of the road, quite literally, for the main E10 highway that runs all the way through the islands.

My next day was the only day of clear and easy driving in an otherwise luckless driving experience in Norway. It was clear and sunny, but cold, and I worked my way along from the bottom of Lofoten, stopping frequently to take pictures of one amazing sight after another. I also stopped at a glassblowing shop and watched the owner, Åse, a second generation glassblower working on his latest creation.

My next stop was an AirBnb outside of Leknes, a charming little apartment with heated floors and a nice view of the surrounding mountains. Unfortunately, that view was obscured for most of the three days I spent there by howling snowstorms and some truly abysmal island weather. When you mention the weather, the locals just shrug and say “that is Lofoten.” Unintentionally, I happened upon Lofoten in the midst of their main fishing season. They fish cod by the hundreds of thousands, which come here to spawn from January to March. I had booked a trip out onto the water to witness this fishing frenzy, but it was cancelled last minute because of the weather. So, I went snowshoeing instead.

First time ever on snowshoes, and it was in a blizzard. Thankfully the Norwegian guide and four Swiss guys who were on the tour with me were all kind enough not to make fun of me (I am already uncoordinated on my own two feet, but strap a pair of giant snowshoes on, and it’s kind of like watching a slow-motion trainwreck). The tour was mercifully cut short, due to the fact that we were walking up and down snow-covered hillsides in order to see vistas that were completely obscured by stinging sleet and snow in our faces. Our guide then led us onto the pier in Svolvaer to see where all the cod come to dry. The fish will hang for about 3 months before they are completely dried and ready to be packaged and shipped. I wish I had more pictures of the beautiful scenery from the pier, but my phone actually shut down because it was too cold. My fingers agreed, and I felt the extra-long, extra-hot shower was well deserved that night.

The next day I was snowed in, and spent the day reading, nice and warm with my heated floors and a good book. Not actually a cabin, but it was still cozy and I appreciated not having to worry about driving my little electric car in a snowstorm. Unfortunately, my luck didn’t turn the next day, since I was scheduled to go on a northern lights tour and it was still snowing as I left the apartment around 6 o’clock in the evening, with just enough light left to drive into town (about an hour in good weather, but it ended up taking two). I made the mistake of following Google’s directions on the coastal road, instead of taking the E10 main road…and to call it white-knuckle driving would be the understatement of the century. The coast road is extremely twisty, narrow, and runs right next to the ocean on one side and a sheer rock wall on the other, and in many places does not have any sort of guardrail. Since I was worried about the range and being able to make it home in my car, I drove without any heat, bundled up head to toe.

The northern lights tour ended up being a private tour because no one else had signed up to drive around in a snowstorm, unlike the crazy American lady. My tour guide, Geir, is a retired professional photographer, but he leads tours because, in his words, “retirement is boring.” We drove north to get out from under the snow and find some clear skies. After about an hour, we stopped in a parking lot when we saw some faint light activity in the skies overhead. While keeping an eye on the sky, we walked around trying to keep blood flowing to fingers and toes, but the lights remained too faint to really be able to see.

Around midnight, I was ready to call it, but Geir kept insisting that we had to be patient to catch the lights. I had plugged my car into an outlet in town, but was pretty sure it wasn’t charging because the indicator light wasn’t on when I left for the tour. I was anxious to get back and make my way back to the apartment while I still had some charge left. Half an hour later, we started driving back toward the city, and lucked into an amazing light show. We pulled off the road again, as the lights blazed overhead. Thankfully, I was able to leave the photography up to the professional and I got to stand there, with my head back and my mouth agape, watching the most beautiful light show in the world. Even Geir was excited, because we got about 10 minutes of very strong light activity, clear skies, and they even “danced” for us. We finally went back to town (with intermittent lights flaring across the sky on the way back) and Geir showed a lot of concern for my electric car predicament, so he insisted on driving me to a nearby charging point. We spent the next 30 minutes in the freezing depth of the night trying to get the charging station to work, and despite his assistance with the Norwegian instructions and giving it the Try, Try Again approach, we were never able to get it to charge. So, I told Geir I would attempt to make it home, and once I promised to text him when I made it back safely, he let me get on my way. After another frozen-toed and purple-knuckled drive with the bare minimum charge I needed to make it back on deserted, icy roads, I was thanking my guardian angels and kissing the heated floors when I finally made it back safely around 2 a.m.

My reprieve from the stressful driving was brief, as I got some sleep, and then packed my things and left for Lodingen. This was yet another terrifying drive in a howling blizzard, where at points I actually had to stop the car in the middle of the road and wait for the snow gusts to clear so I could see the road in front of me. I also had to stop halfway to charge it at a shopping mall, which wasn’t a fast charging point, so I walked around a Norwegian mall for three hours as my car charged and slowly got buried in the drifting snow. When I finally made it to my overnight stop in Lodingen, I made myself a giant bowl of chicken noodle soup and went almost immediately to sleep. By the next day, I was so fed up with the electric car and driving without being able to feel my fingers, that I finally gave in and paid the ridiculous surcharge so I could trade it for a regular gas car. Bliss, driving with heat on full blast.

I made my way north, off the Lofoten islands to Bardu Huskylodge, in the middle of nowhere, Norway. I was excited to start the dog sledding phase of my adventure, and celebrated this by reaching the lodge, unloading my stuff, then promptly backing my car into a snowbank. It was stuck in wet, heavy snow up the the rear window, and after numerous attempts to dig out, rock the car forward and back, and put something under the wheels, lodgekeeper Ben instructed me to leave it there until it the snow stopped. So, I went to my adorable little cabin, Helge Ingstad (named after a Norwegian explorer), which boasted a grass roof, a wood-fired stove, and all sorts of antlers, reindeer skin, and interesting cabin-y decor. This was exactly what I’d had in mind when planning a trip to Norway in the winter. It was perfect.

The next day dawned clear, sunny, and cold. I was ready to get started on my sledding adventure, and helped Ben clean up around the kennels and feed the dogs breakfast (a gruel made of assorted meats from the local abattoir, fish oil, and hot water – it’s like husky goulash). While the dogs licked their dishes clean, we set up the sleds, which are handmade so they can be easily repaired on the longer expeditions. Ben showed me how to put the harnesses on the dogs, and I tried in vain to figure out which dog he was pointing to when instructing me on which harness goes on which dog (I struggled with the Nordic names at first). We pulled the dogs over to the sleds (or, more accurately, they pulled us) and hooked them up, his a team of 10 and mine a team of seven. I know this is cliché, but it really does come back to you like riding a bike.

After about 10 minutes, my muscle memory kicked in and I was leaning into the turns like it hadn’t been four years since my last time on a sled. There’s something incredibly satisfying about gliding along with a team of happy dogs pulling you through beautiful snow and hearing nothing but panting and the shushing of the runners on the snow. There’s a sort of trance you fall into, or maybe it’s more like meditation, but it’s incredibly peaceful. It’s a really special feeling and I fell in love with dog sledding right then, in a beautiful, deserted, snow-covered Norwegian valley.

Ben wanted to break new trails in the valley, so with a little encouragement, his team pulled off the trail and started wading through belly-deep snow. At one point we were even sledding on a frozen river, and if you ever wanted to know what true terror is, I’ll spare you the need go dog sledding in Norway and let you in on the secret: true terror is careening along a mostly-still-frozen-but-not-quite river with a dog team that you cannot stop because the brakes don’t work on ice and seeing a slush pile ahead that indicates an area that is starting to melt. Thankfully the ice held, even though a few of the dogs fell into the slush hole and got wet, we made it over and out of the river in one piece. I would like to personally thank my team, lead dogs Shika and Ronja, and Alaska, Mooka, Totil, Storm, and Marit. They don’t really care about being known on the internet, so I thanked them in a way that only dogs can truly appreciate, through long belly rubs and letting them lick my face.

The next day, after spending a couple hours digging my car out of the snowbank (we finally got it free by the expedient of jacking up the front wheels out of the deep trench they were in), we harnessed up the dogs again for a run on another clear and sunny day. This time my team consisted of Shika, Ronja, Marit, Reina, Frost, and Mikkel. But, perhaps because the dogs sensed that it was Saturday, or maybe it was just that it was nearing the end of the season and they were tired of running through the valley, they lagged and were not really focused on running, especially Ben’s lead dogs. Even though I was hoping we would make it into Sweden, since we were just 8 km from the border, Ben finally had to call it and turn for home. They just weren’t feeling it and you can’t make an animal do what it does not want to do. That’s the first rule of dog sledding. Ben suggested that we should give them a day off on Sunday, even though we had been planning to do a short run in the morning. Normally they would be able to rotate dogs, since they have nearly 70 at the huskylodge, but while I was there the great majority of the dogs were gone on a 17-day expedition/tour, led by the lodge’s owner, Jan. I was disappointed, since I came to do as much dog sledding as possible, but I understood the first rule of dog sledding and settled for a quiet day and a visit to the nearby Polar Park.

The Polar Park has a collection of animals native to the polar area of Scandanavia, and because I was there on a weekend, I and a large group of tourists were able to follow around one of the keepers, who had a bucket full of meat chunks to tempt the lynxes, wolves, and bears. I also saw reindeer, another type of northern deer, and a couple of very sleepy moose, who spent the entire time I was there laying down near the edge of their enclosure. People kept coming right up to the fence to take pictures, and the chatter of dozens of tourists gawking at them seemed to have a soporific effect. I’d like to think that human babble and the swish of snow pants is the moose equivalent of a white noise machine. The bears had just recently come out of hibernation and were eager for treats. The male bear seemed to enjoy sitting on his haunches and waving around his front paws, in what I can only describe as a bear-like hula dance. Since this earned him extra meat chunks he was happy to oblige us, though the keeper insisted that they had not taught him to do this.

I haven’t yet mentioned what was one of the best parts about staying at the huskylodge at this particular point in time, and that thing is puppies. Five of them. Three months old and precocious as the dickens. They were named after Arctic seas, so Barent, Hudson, Baffin, Bering, and Kara were galloping around the lodge, getting into every possible thing they shouldn’t be, harassing the older dogs, wrestling each other, peeping inquisitively in my cabin, and jumping on me every time I went outside.  Charles Schulz said it best, “Happiness is a warm puppy.” And these puppies were bundles of pure joy and so fun to have around as I spent my last couple days at the huskylodge, readying for the long journey home.

The journey home involved five flights over the course of two days. I went from Narvik to Bodo to Oslo, where I got in early in the morning and spent the whole day exploring the city. I didn’t know this, but Easter is kind of a big deal holiday in Norway, and most of the country has the week off. So, even though Oslo is a major city and the capital of Norway, it was oddly deserted. The hotel staff explained that many people have cabins in the north and escape the city for the week to ski and relax. Walking around a semi-deserted city is a little bit odd, in a post-apocalyptic kind of way. After partaking in a $30 salad in a restaurant near my hotel (food in Norway is really expensive), I went to see a quintessential piece of Scandinavia at the Viking Ship Museum.

The museum has three ships that were unearthed in farm fields in Norway within the last hundred years, along with dozens of artifacts that were buried with the ships, which were used as tombs for aristocratic vikings. The ships are absolutely beautiful, and obviously crafted by unparalleled masters of their trade, but I was most surprised by the beauty and elaborate detail of the ordinary objects buried in the ships. The vikings infused intricate metalworking into things like bridles, buckets, and pots. There were even gold-laced fabrics that had amazingly survived over a thousand years underground.

Two flights and two panicky runs through the airport later (I still haven’t learned my lesson with booking layovers less than two hours), I was back home in Utah and ready for a full meal and good night’s sleep. And that’s where I am now, home for two short weeks to celebrate Dan’s big 3-0 birthday and rest up for my next adventures. I’ll be exploring western Europe from April-June, so I’ll have lots to tell you in the coming months. Thanks for sticking with me as I took time to get used to my new home and spend time with my little family. It’ll be hard to say goodbye for two whole months, but I’m looking forward to some new adventures in Arcadia.

Yours in the arctic and the desert,

Sarah