“Wait, once more. You actually walk out into the middle of a forest to spend the night there? Why on Earth would you want to do that???”
Garima seemed totally lost, as table talk during lunch had veered to that particular Norwegian pastime of ‘gå tur’ – that is, to leave civilization behind for a few hours or days, just be at one with nature and one’s own company. While I guess I was the most eager of my colleagues in that department, there wasn’t a Norwegian alive who didn’t have at least childhood memories of walking into the boonies, be it as part of a school outing, the scout movement, or just for the sheer heck of it. It was what we did, I guess. Part of what made us what we were, for good or bad.
I could see it being a somewhat exotic pastime for an expat from Chandigarh, India, though. She giggled a little nervously, as if she wondered if we were pulling her leg. “I mean, even downtown Bergen looks positively barren” she observed, nodding towards the window and its scenic view of what passed for downtown Bergen. “And yet you go to even more remote places, not despite, but BECAUSE they are more remote?”
Murmurs around the table. I shrugged and suggested that while I could see it sounding strange to someone being airdropped into our little neck of the global woods, I also believed it was a key experience if one was to ‘get’ Norwegians, as it were – as this tradition, while not kept up by all, was seen as quintessentially us.
Murmurs were accompanied by nods of approval. Garima shot glances around the table, her large, brown eyes locking on each of us in turn, seemingly still trying to figure out whether we were serious or not. All 5’4″ of confused Indian looked rather ill at ease, never liking to be reminded that she didn’t quite understand what was going on. She started inspecting the massive truss of black hair normally draped over her shoulder and chest, as she was wont to do when nervous.
I hurried to explain that we weren’t talking about any kind of extreme wilderness stuff, here – it could be as simple as walking a little along a footpath in the hills behind your house, taking a stroll along the seafront – or, perhaps, if one felt like it and had access to a suitable cottage, spending the night before returning. Roughing it even more in a hammock, a tent or even sleeping on a mat directly on the ground if that was your thing.
“I think what does it for me, at least, is the quiet and the lack of anything happening. Say, I’ve a small cottage I can use whenever I feel like it – about an hour and a half from here, near Voss. After I’ve parked, it’s a mile or so to walk, and once I get there…” I sighed, reliving a number of pleasant stays, both alone and in good company. “Once I get there, I get a fire going in the wood burning stove, prepare a warm meal and some coffee, then… Well, go for a walk if the weather’s agreeable, read a book if it is not, perhaps just sit outside watching the day end. If I’m quiet, I can see various game come out of the woods as evening falls…”
Visibly relieved, she left her hair to its own devices and nodded, hesitantly. “OK… I guess. Still sounds a little strange, but then again…”
“Yeah,” Harald chimed in from the corner. “Erling’s a bit of a weirdo in that respect – he can fell what, eight, nine deer every hunting season, but he’s content just watching them graze along that small lake of his…”
Garima looked startled. “What, you have a LAKE? And wild animals?”
I nodded. “That I do. Oh, and don’t get the wrong idea, Harald has even come along for hunting there a couple of times and I don’t mind, it’s just not for me. I’m happy to eat game, I’ve just never taken an interest in actually hunting myself. I’ll let Harald do that, then I can help skin, quarter and preserve whatever he shoots, instead.”
A couple of the others chimed in, too. “You should go there once, Garima – hell, it could be argued it is Erling’s own expat integration service, didn’t you take Wasim up there last year? He enjoyed it, didn’t he?”
I chuckled at the memory. Yes, Wasim, our Pakistani chemical engineer, a couple of years my senior at 44, had been (Good-naturedly!) cajoled into coming along a summer weekend last year when we’d found he had absolutely no plans whatsoever for his summer holidays, as COVID made going to see his parents outside Karachi a no-go and he could well do without visiting his relatives in Norway – a couple of cousins in Oslo and their extended families.
Wasim hadn’t struck me as the type who’d enjoy such an outing particularly well, but much to my – and, I believe, his – surprise, he was thrilled, claiming the (very) basic amenities brought back childhood memories of being with his great aunt and uncle, who’d eked out a living as subsistence farmers. Musing over coffee on the porch as the sun set, he’d observed that now that he led – for a day or two – a simple life by choice, it had much more appeal than it had ever had when being by necessity.
He’d since borrowed the cottage a couple of times, bringing friends to what he claimed was the archetypical Norwegian experience, last time chucklingly returning to the office observing that he’d be most surprised if whoever built that cottage way beck when had even entertained the thought that a day would come when a bunch of Moslem guys had tried to figure out which way to orient themselves come prayer time inside that very same cottage.
I’d have to hand him that it was unlikely they’d paid much attention to that during construction. I’d grown to appreciate Wasim a lot – while he could seem quite aloof at first, once you got to know him and found that much of his aloofness was simply his way of distancing himself from settings he didn’t quite understand and, hence, to avoid the risk of making a fool of himself – well, he was a genuinely nice guy and I hoped we’d find an opportunity to go there together again.
“That he did, to the extent that he’s gone there on his own a couple of times afterwards – well, bringing a couple of friends, that is. I haven’t been able to make him go full tilt Norwegian and becoming a semi-recluse, yet.”
Garima giggled. “Well, if HE can enjoy it, it can’t be too bad!” she exclaimed, before excusing herself somewhat. “Not that I know him, I mean, he just… Well, he sure seems to appreciate creature comforts at least as much as the next guy, right?”
“That, I think, is part of the appeal. Not that staying in a cottage is meant to be an ascetic experience or something, but the break from everyday life makes you appreciate both being there and returning to your daily routine.” Nods.
“OK, I’m in,” Garima chirped. “If you’ll let me come along next time you go, I’d be happy to try it. What do I need?”
“Oh, nothing much, really” I replied. “Sturdy footwear, warmer clothes than you think you’ll need for the season – with summer on the wane, it can get quite nippy in the evenings – that aside, nothing but your usual bright mood and a sleeping bag should you wish to spend the night.” I blushed a little. “There’s a small bed loft in addition to the bunks in the main room; you can shack up there.”
She nodded. “What, two bedrooms? And this is what passes for ‘primitive’? Will a pair of regular boots do, by the way? Like the ones everyone uses when Bergen is being Bergen?” Garima had soon picked up on the reputation Bergen had for being a quite rainy place.
“Yes, that will do nicely – they’re not what you’d want to wear for a long hike, but seeing as we’ll only have to walk about a mile and can bide our time, that will do. Would be no use sending you shopping for this and that, I mean.”
“I guess I have all I need, then,” she chirped. “This’ll be interesting. Don’t keep me waiting for too long, hear?”
That being settled, lunch was pretty much over and we scuttled back to our offices. First thing I did was check the weather forecast for the weekend. Clear skies, rather brisk, but no rain. Now was as good a time as any, I figured – late September could still seem quite summer-like in the daytime, but the evenings grew colder fast; we might as well head out on Friday, if Garima didn’t have any plans. I brought up the office IM client and hailed her.