Monday, 7. July 2008, 14:52:44
For anyone who has ever had to leave Norway, whether after a vacation or study exchange, you know how difficult it can be to say goodbye to this captivating place. It’s enough to make anyone want to uproot from their convenient suburban home, spacious SUV and nearby discount chain stores, and trade it all in for a hytte and a herd of goats. Even while living in Norway’s largest city, Oslo residents still feel the close proximity to Norway’s majestic nature and enjoy the simplicity of life. So when my husband was offered a position at his company’s New York office, my first reaction was, “absolutely not!” But after some deep introspection, I realized that my love for my husband outweighed my love for Norway and I agreed to transplant myself from the land of the midnight sun to the city that never sleeps.
As I depart from the country I now call home, it is with a heavy heart that I remember all the reasons my three years in Norway have been the best of my life. In David Letterman style, here is my “Top Ten Reasons to Love Norway” list:
10. 17. mai celebration
To see Norway at its best, visit during the Constitution Day celebration. Rain or shine the Norwegians congregate in the streets of their cities, decked out in their finest, and ready to may tribute to their heritage. The Oslo City Hall offers tickets to watch the barnetog or children’s parade from the palace courtyard, directly beneath the gaze of the royal family. I have long enjoyed simply planting myself down on the grass with a “krone-is” and watching the men and women in their bunads go by.
9. Island hopping in Oslo
Though Oslo isn’t exactly known for its beaches, it should be known for its multiple islands directly off the coast. The Oslo mass transit system offers ferries to several of the coastal islands, all of which boast numerous grassy knolls and swimming areas. My favorite island is Langeøyene, which was literally formed out of the city’s garbage. This island offers public restrooms, an enormous grass field for any kind of game or sport you wish to play, and a well maintained sandy beach. If you’d rather enjoy a meal on one of Oslo’s islands, visit Gressholmen, also know as Rabbit Island, for some simple Norwegian food and an encounter with the island’s many rabbits.
8. Cross country skiing
Since Norway is the place I learned to ski, I feel a distinct affinity for the country’s intense cross country skiing culture. Norway puts a great deal of effort into maintaining its ski trails for the many enthusiasts, and keeps them well lit for those wishing for a late night trek into the wilderness. The reward at the end of a long day of skiing is often just as pleasurable as the journey itself. A cozy fire, dry clothes and a cup of hot chocolate never feel better than after a day spent outside during a Norwegian winter.
7. Pølse med lompe at 7-Eleven
Not normally a hot dog fan, I must admit to indulging in this tasty convenience store hot dog served in a warm potato tortilla. At the low cost of just 35 kroner, you can top your dog with potato salad, relish or the Norwegian favorite of shrimp salad. I always insist that my visitors dine at the 7-Eleven, found on just about every street corner, and take a bite of the løkpølse or onion hotdog, topped with potato salad, ketchup and the special “hot dog dressing”.
6. Cabin culture
In Norway, everybody knows somebody with a cabin. Whether staying at a cabin by the sea or in the mountains, Norwegians flock to these remote escapes whenever the opportunity presents itself. Many Norwegians boast about the degree of “roughing it” they endure during their mountain adventures. To truly show your cabin endurance, you must stay somewhere so remote that your car cannot reach it, you should not have the convenience of running water, and you must walk through snow and ice to reach the outdoor toilet. Only then have you had a truly Norwegian “hyttetur”.
5. Engangsgriller
Many Norwegians, especially in Oslo, live in apartments and are unable to enjoy backyard barbeques as Americans are accustomed to. To compensate, Norwegians are big fans of engangsgriller or “one time grills”. These disposable grills are sold at every grocery store for just 20 kroner and can be used in most public parks.
4. Sunshine at midnight
June is a magical month in Norway. It seems as though daylight never ceases. You go to bed before the sun sets and awake long after it has risen. Nothing is more revitalizing than summer in Norway after a long, cold and dark winter.
3. The fjords
The majesty of Norway’s fjords has long been what draws the tourists year after year. My first fjord experience was in Flåm, during a visit with some girlfriends. We took the Flåmsbane down the winding curves of the mountainside and rented a cabin along the water in this quaint city. I highly recommend the boat cruise (four hours roundtrip) through the fjord or renting a bicycle and touring the trails along the water’s edge.
2. The Norwegian people
Since I am married to a Norwegian, I would be remiss not to include the fine people of Norway in my top ten list. Though shy at first and often difficult to get to know, Norwegians can be the most loyal of companions. Honesty, integrity and fairness rank high on the list of qualities many Norwegians possess. Once you get to know a Norwegian, he will be your friend for life.
1. Social welfare system
As an American, the benefits of the Norwegian welfare system never ceased to amaze me during my three-year stay. I underwent an appendectomy and childbirth while in Norway and paid absolutely nothing. I am currently enjoying my one year of paid maternity leave, compliments of the Norwegian government, and my husband will soon begin his six week of paid paternity leave. As the saying goes, Norway takes care of its citizens “from cradle to grave”.
Originally appeared in Viking magazine
Friday, 16. February 2007, 12:54:07
I thought it was a piece of cake when I was 16, so how difficult could a driving test be at the age of 25? After nearly one year of living in Norway, I discovered that my American driver's license was no longer valid and I was required to apply for a Norwegian driver's license if I wanted to drive in Norway. Since I was still within the one-year limit, I was able to exchange my Minnesota driver's license for a Norwegian one on the condition that I pass the practical driving exam.
Other foreigners who have either exceeded Norway's one year limit or whose native country's driving laws do not comply with European driving standards are subjected to a grueling 34 hours of lessons, plus written and practical exams. Norwegians are required to take lessons for driving on ice, snow and in darkness. Having come from Minnesota, I was fairly confident in all of those areas, but at the same time quite relieved that I was exempted from taking these lengthy and costly courses.
The first step to taking my driving test was to find a car to rent. In Norway you cannot simply use your personal vehicle, but rather you must use a specially equipped vehicle, outfitted with several safety mirrors, passenger side brakes and special signage on the vehicle indicating that the driver is a learner and without a valid license. These special vehicles can only be rented through official driving schools in Norway, and often to rent them the driver is required to purchase at least one lesson from the school.
I signed up for lessons at the Majorstuen Traffic School, as it was one of the few schools that offered lessons using an automatic transmission car. Most cars in Norway are manual transmission, since automatic transmission cars are priced higher and less fuel efficient. Coming from a family that has only owned automatic cars, I had never learned how to drive a stick shift.
I met my instructor, Øyvind, on a rainy, dark December afternoon. Upon our introductions, he was quite obviously dismayed to find out that I was not in fact handicapped. Apparently, the only people who practice drive with an automatic transmission car in Norway are handicapped...or American obviously. I explained to him in my best Norwegian that I was not in fact disabled in any way, but rather simply did not know how to gear. He chuckled a bit at my expense and we proceeded to his Skoda station wagon to begin my training.
My first mistake was backing up before releasing the emergency brake. Øyvind explained that that was an automatic failure, one that I was not to repeat during my test. How was I to know that Norwegians are so crazy for their emergency brakes, even on level ground? The remainder of the two hours passed largely incident-free, with the exception of Øyvind forcing me to pull over a few times after I'd broken one Norwegian traffic law or another. I learned to yield to all cars coming from the right unless a sign with a yellow diamond is present. I also learned how to master a roundabout, drive through intersections despite the lack of stop signs and yield to all buses, street cars and pedestrians no matter where they're coming from.
At the end of our two-hour session, Øyvind strongly recommended that I take another lesson. Feeling quite confident as a driver of nine years, I declined his offer and proceeded to rent the Skoda wagon from him for my test day.
A week later I met Øyvind again at the Risløkka Trafikstasjon in Oslo, a half hour before my big exam. He made it fairly clear that his confidence in me passing this test was waning, especially as we drove around a bit prior to the exam. When the examiner entered by vehicle I knew I could not afford to fail, literally. The cost of this exam plus the rental of the car was several hundred dollars. I buckled up, adjusted the mirrors, released the emergency brake and put the car into drive.
Maybe she felt sorry for me because I couldn't operate a stick shift or maybe she just liked Americans, but by some miracle I passed the exam. I had remembered all the Norwegian traffic laws, taken extreme caution when a mother and child were crossing the road and had made friendly small talk through the test - appearing relaxed and confident. As she left the car, she informed an expectant Øyvind that I had passed. His reply was, "One more dangerous driver on the road." With that he got in his Skoda and left while I went inside Risløkka Trafikstasjon to have my picture taken. I can now proudly say that I have been a licensed driver in Norway for one incident-free year.
Originally appeared in Viking magazine
Friday, 22. September 2006, 11:59:06
If you ever want to truly test the strength of your relationship, live with your partner in a 300 sq. ft. apartment for at least one year. Nearly two years ago I moved into my fiancé Emil’s studio apartment in Oslo. Emil had purchased the apartment two years prior as a place to live while he completed his studies. It was the perfect pad for a single guy who doesn’t care if he has to keep his clothes in the kitchen cupboards or whether the toilet is actually bolted to the floor. It was a typical Oslo apartment: small, efficient and economical. As an American, I’d grown accustomed to enormous closets, full-size refrigerators and stable toilets, but in Norway Emil’s place was simply koselig or cozy.
After one year of living in such close quarters, we decided to upgrade. Having never sold or purchased a home before, the entire process was foreign to me. The first step was to hire a realtor and get the apartment appraised. Next we hosted an open house or visning, and to our great luck, a bidding war ensued over our apartment. Bidding wars over apartments are common occurrences in the Oslo real estate market, as the demand is high and the number of apartments is relatively low in comparison.
With three months to go before the new owner was scheduled to take over our apartment, we eagerly began an intense house-hunt. We knew that we wanted to stay in Oslo, but were unprepared to deal with the prices. Recently reported by The Economist, Oslo is the most expensive city in the world, and housing is no exception. As I longingly gazed at advertisements and attended open houses for two million kroner, one-bedroom apartments, my mother ever-so-gently reminded me of the fabulous single-family homes available on the outskirts of Minneapolis, complete with a backyard and several bedrooms, for the price of a small Oslo apartment.
But Oslo was where we had settled and high prices in this city are not optional. Anyone who has ever house-hunted in Norway knows that the best place to conduct the search is
http://www.finn.no. For three months I spent hours pouring over this site, getting increasingly more proficient at planning our visning-filled weekends.
I learned quickly not to fall in love with apartments in Oslo, as the process for buying an apartment is very competitive. Emil and I bid on a two-bedroom, newly renovated flat in a popular, centrally-located neighborhood in Oslo. We smartly bid below the asking price and expected it to be a smooth, easy process. The realtor phoned and informed us of a counter offer from an eager buyer in Trondheim. Having already planned out where I would put the furniture and the paint colors for the walls, we became increasingly aggressive bidders. We went back and forth with our competitor from Trondheim for several hours, until finally the price was simply too high and we were forced to back down. I still drive by that apartment every once in a while and try to catch a view of our Tronder rival...but it's been difficult due to the massive, noisy and inconvenient construction project right outside the building.
The apartment we finally did buy proved to be worth the wait. We were relaxed about it, not in love with it, and felt that it was just right for us. It was a gorgeous weekend in May when we placed our bid, and I think too many people were out enjoying the weather to bother attending a visning, to our apparent luck. With no counter offers, the apartment was ours in just two hours time. We signed the papers and moved in.
No longer keeping our clothes in the kitchen has been a great luxury for us and we would never trade our koselig Oslo apartment for a single-family home in America’s suburbs
Originally appeared in Viking magazine
Tuesday, 16. May 2006, 10:00:00
The first thing I was told by my fellow American ex-patriots upon moving to Norway was that I would never find a job. Most of the Americans I had met in Oslo were living in Norway because of their husbands, wives, boyfriends or girlfriends. Very few actually moved to Norway for the fjords, cross-country skiing or easy access to lutefisk, let alone an actual job. I was told horror stories of the law-degree carrying Frenchman, fluent in five languages and boasting 15 years of experience, who applied for 250 positions in Norway and didn't get a single interview. I began to ponder careers I never before had considered: driving a taxi, selling pølse med lompe or hot dogs, maybe even working on a fishing boat.
The only thing I had going for me was my Norwegian sounding name (which might fool them at first glance) and my limited knowledge of the Norwegian language. My luck changed the day I met a fellow American who had managed the impossible: a job in her field of expertise. I learned from her that the key to job searching as a foreigner is to use your foreigner-status to your advantage. She said to find Norwegian companies that are looking to expand internationally. A common mistake is to target companies that are familiar such as General Motors or Microsoft, when in actuality those companies are looking for Norwegians to help them reach the Norwegian market. With this knowledge and a few months of patience, I finally managed to find employment.
The day I started working at Opera Software was one of excitement and relief. I was relieved that I was finally one of the lucky few to be employed. I could stop worrying about how I would renew my next residency permit, where the money would come from to pay for the extremely high cost of living, and what I would do with my time now that I was living in Norway. But it was only when I was presented with my Norwegian employment contract that I truly realized how lucky I was.
My utter awe over Norwegian employment benefits began when I was told that every employed person in Norway, no matter the profession, is by law entitled to five weeks of vacation per year, an amount that takes most Americans several years to earn. Vacation in Norway is consider to be a right rather than a benefit of employment and Norwegians even have a name for the time of the year when most people take a month off - fellesferie or common vacation.
On my first day of work I inquired after the average working hours. I was informed that 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. was the legal limit, anything beyond that was considered overtime and should be compensated for in some way.
Five weeks of vacation, a nine to five work day, all of this seemed too good to be true…but there it was, printed in my contract. It made me wonder why everyone wasn’t hopping the boat and heading over to Norway for the good life. I was reminded of a phrase from a book about living in Norway that stated, “Americans live to work while Norwegians work to live.” I was truly starting to understand what that phrase actually meant.
If I should ever return to the United States I think I will find it difficult to re-adjust to the rigorous American work ethic and measly compensation packages in comparison to Norwegian health and vacation benefits. I will miss wearing jeans to work everyday, the lack of corporate hierarchy and five-weeks of vacation. I guess I’ll just have to enjoy this worker’s paradise while it lasts, taxes and all.
Originally appeared in Viking magazine
Tuesday, 21. March 2006, 15:17:36
A strange phenomenon in Norway is how baby carriages are often parked outside stores, like you would park a bike or car. While the parents shop, the babies are left outside to sleep. It seems that the thought of kidnapping does not even cross a Norwegian’s mind.
In the entryway of my apartment building you can find a sleeping baby every day from four to five in the evening. One day the baby was crying, so I knocked on the door of the parents’ apartment. The mother seemed grateful that I had alerted her. We chatted a bit and I asked her why she leaves her son in the entryway every day. She explained that she thought he needed fresh air, and what better place than right by the front door where there’s a constant breeze?
Thursday, 9. March 2006, 14:06:36
My parents had to know when they named me Berit that this would happen. Growing up in Minnesota, eating lutefisk and lefse every Christmas and attending Norwegian language camp during the summer, how was I not to think that Norway was the most idyllic place in the world?
My grandfather would tell me stories of how our family members left their mountainous Norwegian village for the flat plains of northwestern Minnesota, with great courage in their hearts and high hopes for a prosperous life on the farm. He and my grandmother traveled back to the land of our ancestors several times, and each time they recounted the majestic scenery, friendly people and high quality of living. I knew it was a place I had to see and experience for myself.
I studied abroad in Norway twice while attending the University of Minnesota. After graduating, I worked for a year at the Sons of Norway Headquarters in Minneapolis, where my interest in Norwegian culture continued to grow. After that, my desire to move to Norway was stronger than ever, compounded by the fact that I was dating a Norwegian man.
I moved to Oslo to study, look for work and pursue happiness. Throughout this journey, I kept a diary documenting the ups and downs of being an American abroad. I’ve decided to share a few of my experiences in a series of blog posts. More to come....
August: The Police Station If anyone thinks moving to Norway simply means buying a plane ticket, they are seriously mistaken—as I found out first-hand. In order to obtain my student visa to Norway, I had to first apply to my nearest Norwegian Consulate General. After a couple months, they sent me a letter stating that the Norwegian immigration authorities had approved my application. Unfortunately, the process did not end there. Upon arriving in Norway, I had a maximum of seven days to report to the foreigners’ division of the local police station. Here my fate was decided after they reviewed my paperwork and passport.
Experienced foreigners told me to arrive at the police station as early in the morning as possible. Apparently, when the doors open at 8:15 a.m. an average of 150 resident hopefuls are already waiting outside. I arrived at 7:30 a.m. and found the line stretched around the block. Taking my place in line, I stared ahead to the man in front of me, whose passport read Somalia. He held his hands in his pocket and nervously shifted his weight from foot to foot. I imagine the anxiety my ancestors experienced at Ellis Island to be similar to what this Somalian man was experiencing. For both of them, there is really no turning back.
After one and a half hours, I managed to get by the two guards ushering people into the police station. Looking around, I felt as though I was in any country other than Norway. My companions were Middle-Eastern, African, Asian and Eastern Europeans. I strained to hear another English voice and failed. A feeling of guilt came over me. These people were not in Norway because they love fjords and fish. They were forced to flee from their countries and now were attempting to obtain residency in one of the few places that might possibly take them in.
After another two hours or so, I was finally called to the window and made it through without a problem. The man helping me stamped my passport, smiled and said, “Vær så god” (“Here you are”). I marveled at how quickly that went, especially compared to the others I had watched—others who truly needed to be here.
WIDGETIZE