There’s something about waking up in Sogndal that really eases the mind. Perhaps it’s the imagination-defying view of the sunrise over the fjords. Perhaps it’s the lack of responsibility that I enjoy while here (although, amusingly, I’ve been waking up earlier than I do in the United States, even though my job requires early rises).
Needing to kill some time before our afternoon plans and to fill in some of the gaps of items we inevitably forgot to pack, we started our morning walking around the town center mall and the waterfront area and grabbed some breakfast. (Total waffle count so far: 3.) I was saddened to discover that the local coffee roastery, Sognefjord Kaffibrenneri, which was under construction the last time I was here, seems to still be either closed or only sporadically open. I believe that Lars mentioned yesterday that he is familiar with the owner, so I may need to do some more research into the status. Needless to say, I am very eager to try a local espresso bar and try some of their coffees, so I remain hopeful that there will be opportunities. At the very least, we will visit Dampskipskaien, a local cafe that overlooks the Sognefjord, at some point.
Our marquis appointment for the day was an audience with Erik Foss. Erik’s parents, Karl and Brita, had six sons, five of whom still live in the Sogndal area; the sixth, Bjarne, who visited my family in Madison, Wisconsin in the 1990s, sadly passed away many years ago. Of the six, Erik is the eldest, and as a result it is his daughter, Bente, and her husband, Arild, who now are the caretakers of the ancestral Foss house. Erik’s house sits on a plot just down a small hill from the house, so his property gave us the first good vantage point to check out the result of recent demolition followed by renovation that the ancestral home has undergone. There has been an obvious commitment to honoring the original look of the house, as the untrained eye could be forgiven for thinking there had been no demolition or reconstruction at all.
Few people can keep up with my dad’s grasp of Foss family history, but Erik is a glaring exception. He shows the same ease of recalling names, places, connections, dates, and anecdotes, delighting in sharing memories of his many good years of life. There is something immensely satisfying about earning a look of praise from Erik, often followed by his warm, booming laughter. “Du må eta, kar!”–“you gotta eat, man!”–is one of Erik’s favorite ways to remind you to partake in his hospitality. Erik was a car salesman for many years in Sogndal–we often joke that he sold the entire town their current vehicles–so he is well known, well liked, and well visited. This last part is particularly important, since Erik experienced the tragic loss of his dear wife, Kari, since we were last here. Kari used to sit and have breakfast with my dad during his early visits to Sogndal, having also exchanged many letters across the Atlantic with him, and her absence is deeply felt. I appreciated that Erik shared with us his struggles with loneliness but also his appreciation of the many friends and family who surround him on a daily basis. Erik has always made clear the special bond he feels with our family, and I have always admired his resulting honesty and vulnerability. I look forward to several more visits on this trip.
Where the Waterfalls Mean Home 
Superb summary of Visit 1 with family patriarch Erik. Many more sessions to follow, and likely a roadtrip or two. Online, Erik is a man of few (written) words. In person, he is a man of few pauses. I have always said that when are gone from Sogndal, I can always hear Erik’s voice in my head. And I cherish the sound, as it triggers decades of great memories together.