While our previous run-ins with soggy weather have been mild at worst, today’s rain was the most oppressive we’ve encountered yet; the showers were ceaseless, blanketing the city in a wet, dreary haze for the entire day. Tomorrow’s weather, most unfortunately, appears primed to be much of the same. Alas, we tried to make the best of the situation.
At the outset, it was time to replenish some of our basic living supplies, so we headed back to Sogndalsentrum (the city center) to stock up. While there, we were overtaken by a shared family vice: the urge to shop. I must admit we have behaved ourselves quite well through our stay in Sogndal, but our discipline faltered at last. Fortunately, we each found some goodies to bring back with us.
A particular shop of interest on this trip was Vinmonopolet–“The Wine Monopoly” in English–which is a government-operated liquor retailer that is also the only store in the country legally allowed to sell any beverage with an alcohol content higher than 4.75%. This paradigm of controlled liquor sales is probably the most marked difference from the U.S. that I have encountered in Norway, though the contrast in management of the public’s alcohol consumption does not stop there. We have spoken with many of our relatives while here about the notable strictness of Norway’s drunk driving laws, which begin to impose severe restrictions on a person’s driving privileges after just the first offense (and the minimum standard for what is considered an offense is also markedly lower). Interestingly, however, the age limits are not as restrictive: beverages with a low alcohol content, like most beers and hard seltzers, can be consumed starting at 18, and the remaining options open up at age 20. From my limited and certainly not scientifically meaningful observations, this seems to inspire more honest conversation between parents and young adults regarding the intent to imbibe, as opposed to the underage connivery often seen in the U.S.
Our battle with age limits long over, my dad and I amassed a sampling of local elixirs to try for ourselves, including aquavit–a Norwegian treasure–made locally in Sogndalsfjøra; local beer from Flåm, courtesy of the Ægir Brewpub, where we dined only weeks ago; and some made-in-Norway spirits to enjoy (and share with friends) back home. As bartending is part of my job, I am excited to try as many local offerings as I can (while maintaining consciousness, of course).
With our materialist cravings satisfied, we spent the rest of the evening at the home of John and Reidun, also meeting for the first time with Anna, Sigrid, and Amalie, and reuniting with Annvei and Jon from our earlier day spent at Jermund’s house. John was part of the troop of Fosses who visited our home in Madison many years ago, when I was around 10, and while faces have long since faded from my memory, I was delighted to find that the lone quirk I remembered about him has remained true all these years: his fierce fanaticism for Elvis Presley, whose likeness featured prominently even on the household’s wine of choice. Truly, some old habits never die.
A spirited conversation ensued, lasting many hours, covering our many travels here in Norway, John’s frequent visits to Spain (he also owns a house there), and the younger women’s university studies (all are involved in medicine in differing capacities and specialities). We spent a hefty portion of the discussion zoomed in on American politics, which has consistently been an eye-opening subject for us. While we understand conceptually that the rest of the world has a relatively high level of awareness of our country’s political goings-on–an awareness we do not reciprocate–it has shocked us nonetheless to witness the degree of detail to which this is true. With only a few pauses for needed clarification or elaboration, Norwegians have been able to carry a political dialogue that is nearly equivalent to what we find in the States; indeed, if I am fair, their engagement with American politics surpasses that of a sizable portion of America. Many times in our discussion, we were reminded that our president’s policies–and the harm and volatility they cause–have reverberated around the globe. Much of the world suffers at the mercy of this madman, the collateral damage of American fatuity.
We concluded the conversation with some helpful suggestions for day trips and sightseeing opportunities, which only increased the urgency of our need for a break in the damp conditions. In the meantime, we will rely on fish cakes and aquavit to pull us through. All in all, not a bad consolation prize.
Where the Waterfalls Mean Home 