A bit of R&R was in order today as the morning forecast washed away our tentative plan to see some more of the mountainside cabins at Fosskamben with Arnor and Kari, but the weekend shows a promising opportunity for a rain check.
So, we spent our morning catching up on some reading and, unfortunately, filling ourselves in on the latest news from home. While I cannot in good faith use the word “surprising” to describe the reports of our country’s leader using the National Weather Service as his latest coloring book, it certainly didn’t warm our souls to learn that the sheer insanity of this presidency has not lost any steam.
As our country–or, at least, the shockingly low percentage of it that acknowledges the reality of climate change (keeping in mind anything under 100 is “low” in this case)–continues its discussion of the best course of action and policy to tackle the crisis, it has been both refreshing and fascinating to observe the steps taken here in Norway to respect and protect the environment. Perhaps when you live amongst such awe-inspiring nature, it becomes easier to understand the urgency of the problem, though I am reluctant to sound as though I am offering excuses for our lack of action because I am not. From boats with zero emissions to a clear preference for natural trails over paved asphalt, it is clear we could learn many lessons from the Norwegian way of life. No country is without ways to improve, of course, but we must start somewhere, and we’ve now sacrificed the luxury of gradual, unhurried effort.
With the news from home at the forefront of my mind, I was struck by the words of Zadie Smith as I read from her essays:
Logically it should be easier, when a person is far away from home, to take bad news from home on the chin, but anyone who has spent time in a community of expats knows the exact opposite is true: no one could be more infuriated by events in Rome than the Italian kid serving your cappuccino on Broadway. Without the balancing setting of everyday life all you have is the news, and news by its nature is generally bad. Quickly you become hysterical. Consequently I can’t tell whether the news coming out of my home is really as bad as it appears to be, or whether objects perceived from three thousand miles away are subject to exaggerations of size and color.
In this case, while I am generally certain that all news about our president is indeed exactly as bad as it appears to be, it was at least calming to be reminded that there was likely much good happening at home to which we were not yet privy, and so we must soldier on and not give fully to despair.
We rounded out our evening with an invitation to dinner at Marit and Geir’s house, where we were joined by Arnor, Kari, Karl-Andre and Silje Marie (Marit and Geir’s daughter, the last of the three children I had yet to meet). Canine companion Marco also joined us, of course.
My first opportunity to enjoy a home-cooked Norwegian meal was, in a word, magnificent. Marit assembled a masterclass of a dinner spread, complete with potatoes, kraut, mixed vegetables, smashed peas, lingonberry, elbow pasta, and venison meatballs and chops–noting, importantly, that the meat had come from deer the family had hunted themselves. They were, without close competition, the best Scandinavian meatballs I have ever tasted. (And while I am sure the Minneapolis IKEA doesn’t mount the stiffest opposition, I am confident these could have stood up even to much more seasoned competition.)
Were this not enough, we were also treated to dessert of sherbet, homemade crème brûlée, coffee, and homemade plum liqueur–the last of which inspired a discussion of the strictly enforced drunk driving laws in Norway (yet another slice of wisdom we ought to borrow from this country). With apologies, you’ll have to envision this in your mind, dear reader, as I failed to obtain photographic evidence–perhaps intentionally, to avoid delaying my enjoyment of it any further.
The walk back to our apartment offered time for reflection on the generous hospitality and good conversation we’ve been so lucky to have here in Norway, with the city shimmering peacefully in the distance. I am very fortunate to have the opportunity to get to know these people I will now be able to call family. I hope I don’t butcher this: Takk for maten, Marit, og takk til alle for vennskapet ditt.
Where the Waterfalls Mean Home 