Category Archives: In Darkness and In Light

Blog about moving to northern Norway.

Beauty and Sadness

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I had hoped this would be a happy post: the triumphant arrival… journeys end and all’s well, but it was not to be.

Friday began with a giggle. As part of Triar’s training, if I find him chewing on something he shouldn’t, I take it off him and give him something delicious instead. The unintended result is that he likes finding things to chew, not simply because he enjoys doing that, but because he can exchange them for food.

We were staying in an apartment near Gravdal, Lofoten for two nights and already he had brought me a tiny plastic knight from a travel chess set and two rather ornate clothes pegs with days of the week written on them, which I assumed he had found on the floor.

View of the apartment garden… and beyond.

I was somewhat surprised when I found him mouthing a third peg. I knew there was a basket of them in the bathroom, but they were too high up for him to reach and anyway the bathroom door was closed.

I was eating breakfast when I caught sight of movement in the corner of my eye. Triar was standing next to the fridge, moving very slowly, ears down in definite stealth mode. As I watched, he reached out gently and took something  into his mouth. I put down my plate and walked over to see what he had and laughed out loud. It was another of the ornate pegs, which were magnetised on one side. Obviously he had found a wonderful source of cleverly disguised fridge decoration, for which he knew I would pay him in food… which of course I did.

We spent the day driving round the southern end of Lofoten with Triar. As we were staying two days, Kiwi and Susie the guinea pigs stayed in the flat for a day off. I have lots of photos, which I will share with you tomorrow. But today’s blog is dedicated to Kiwi.

She was an old lady when we set out. I knew the journey was a risk before we left, but the early stages had gone smoothly. She and Susie seemed so much at home in the car, strolling out and eating as we drove, that I had almost forgotten to worry. I had noticed, back in the cozy hytte a couple of days earlier, that one of her eyes looked watery, but as she was still eating and drinking, and there was very little discharge, I pushed the tiny twinge of concern aside.

But on Friday, late in the evening, as I went to give them a last bit of salad before going to bed, I noticed she was making a strange noise. Every time she breathed out, there was a tiny grunt, and there was a definite effort that hadn’t been there before. We went outside and found her some dandelion leaves – always her favourite. She ate one, then seemed uninterested in taking more. We took her out of the cage and I encouraged her to take some vitamin C from a teaspoon.

She looked a little better on Saturday morning. We gave her more water and vitamin and this time she fought a little, as if she had more energy. The vet practice was closed, but we found a pharmacy not far from the flat which, to my relief, sold us some antibiotic mixture recommended by Guro, a wonderful vet from Tu who specialises in small furries.

We decided to make a run for home. It was only five and a half hours and we would stop a few times and syringe her some water. If I could get her home, and into her own cage with plenty of fresh air, I thought I could nurse her back to health.

It didn’t work out that way. By the time we took her out for the second time, I could see there was something far wrong. The brightness in her eyes was starting to fade and I’ve seen that look before. I wished I had thought to ask the pharmacist for some saline I could have given her under her skin, but even if I had done so, I couldn’t have warmed it up. We got back into the car, and she crawled into the little wooden house I had bought them last winter. Within a minute or two of setting off, she became very still.

By the time I found somewhere else to stop, she was gone. I took her out of her cage and held her a while at the side of the road with tears running down my face.

We left her there, among some beautiful flowers, halfway up a steep little valley. John held me for a moment. I was glad he was so calm. And then we drove on, and now there was no hurry to get home, and no little furry body to nurse and the happy arrival I had in my mind became instead a time of emptiness.

So tomorrow I will post the pictures of Lofoten, and the things we have done since we arrived here in Finnsnes. But this chapter is dedicated to Kiwi, a beautiful, calm, kind little guinea pig with a heart of gold. Goodbye little friend.

 

Circle of Light

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We reached the Arctic Circle yesterday. As you can see there was some snow, despite the fact that we are in the later stages of summer.

Our road trip is going well. I hadn’t mentioned it in my last blog, but we met Wivek and Trifli (Triar’s mum) and had dinner together the night before we stayed in Mo i Rana. Here’s the loving reunion (with apologies for the unromantic, muddy car park setting).

The road trip is going well, though repacking the car has proved to be somewhat traumatic. Up until two days ago, I had been cooking breakfast and washing up, and John had been cramming all our worldly goods back into the car, but I could see this arrangement was getting him down. He gladly took me up on my kind offer to swap. Since then, we’ve had a pistachio ice cream cone for breakfast one day and a slice of cheesecake this morning. No complaints from me!

The scenery was beautiful as we descended from the mountain where we had crossed into the Arctic Circle. Within the circle, in summer, there must be at least one day when the sun doesn’t dip below the horizon for 24 continuous hours.

Melting ice and snow rush down the mountainside, carrying their chilly waters into the valleys far below.

And in the valleys the flowers grow so tall they’re almost at head height. The sweet warmth of their scent is wonderful.

We stopped here for an impromptu shower…

…then shivered our way to a campsite on the edge of Fauske in the late afternoon sunshine. This is the view from the cabin where we stayed.

This morning we took a boat to the Lofoten Islands. For now, the mountains are swirling with mist, but I hope that tomorrow the weather will clear.

Goodnight again and thanks for reading.

Almost Arctic

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Does clearing and cleaning a house ever go fully to plan? It never has for me, and this time was no exception. Having loaded most of our worldly goods into the moving van the day before, we realised that we had wildly overestimated how many things we could fit in the car alongside a large dog cage and a guinea pig hutch. Not only that, but in a moment of wide-eyed horror, we discovered we had forgotten to empty the tumble drier. Inventive as ever, John piled the clothes into boxes, and the guinea pigs ended up on a pedestal. Unbowed and undeterred by the lateness of the hour, we set out at seven o’clock on Friday evening and drove to Flekkefjord.

We had stayed there back in February, with no idea that the world was about to be turned upside down. I also had no idea then that almost six months later we would use our knowledge of all the local back roads to find a place to camp.

Despite the long hours of daylight, it was well and truly dark before we began to set up our tents. Feeling our way around in the light of the car headlamps, we bent our tempers and several tent pegs, but finally everything was complete.

 

 

The green tent in the front housed me, my son John, and Triar the dog. He slept remarkably well. The blue tent housed… the guinea pigs, Kiwi and Susie. Clearly we were intent on camping decadence (although John’s allergy to hay might have played a small part in the decision). Washing hanging in the background gives a homely feel… but reflects the disorganisation that occurred when I put the washing machine onto a short cycle after work… quite forgetting the (still accidentally full) tumble drier took four hours and seven minutes that we didn’t actually have.

Before going to sleep, I went outside. Looking up through summer trees, the sky was bright with stars. A soft breeze cooled my skin. Somewhere in the distance, the gentle clank of a sheep bell sounded. Retiring into the tent, I lay down and felt Triar slip into place beside my feet.

Day two began well, with a walk in the sunshine. We realised though, as we repacked, that the complex jigsaw we had created the night before, slotting a guinea pig cage on top of boxes, would rapidly become untenable. Rolling down the back windows and dropping things in as they were raised was not a great long-term solution. We drove on to Kristiansand, looking out for a pet shop.

Spotting one, we parked in the shade and took Triar out of the car. We needed someone to charm the staff, and he seemed the most likely. We bought a new, smaller travelling cage for Kiwi and Susie, and with Triar’s inspirational waggyness, managed to persuade the staff to dispose of the old one.

It was something of a relief to find that Kiwi and Susie seemed perfectly happy in their new cage, as well as in the car. Indeed I can recommend a cavy road trip. Sitting at head height behind us has finally convinced them that we are mostly harmless.

I don’t have many photos of the early days of the trip. We made it as far as Oslo on Saturday, and found a place at a campsite. Although the lack of bedrocks was an advantage, there were far too many people around for my liking, not to mention a plague… of mosquitos. Eaten, but not discouraged, we drove on the next day to Trondheim, stopping only for some pastries, and then later to look at Ringebu Stave Church.

Unfortunately on Sunday evening, the fine weather began to break up. Clear skies were replaced with ominous clouds. Abandoning the tents seemed a good idea, but as we were turned down by potential rental hosts, one after the other, we began to despair of finding a roof over our heads to shelter from the impending storm.

We were rescued by a local schoolteacher. Sending us his phone number in a clandestine code (private lettings being forbidden by the website we were using) he offered us the use of his family hytte. Lots of Norwegians very sensibly have a weekend retreat situated less than an hour from home. We were a little nervous as we followed his car up the longest unmade track in the universe… after all, who knew if he was actually an axe-murderer? Scandinavian horror films must surely be based on something or other…

We needn’t have worried. He took us to the most wonderful cabin, complete with a turf roof, candles and a wood stove.

There was running water and electricity too… not always guaranteed. The composting toilet in the little shed out the back only added a little aromatice piquancy to the situation… but at least it was painted a very calming blue.

And Triar very much enjoyed the garden, even though it was still very wet by the next morning.

Though we were reluctant to leave, we dragged ourselves away this morning and turned back onto the E6 northwards. The southern farmlands gave way to tall pine trees. We spent the day driving through a forest that spread in every direction as far as they eye could see. The mountains grew higher too, wild and rocky as we drove up to Mo i Rana, where we are staying tonight in another rented house.

I’m not sure when I will be able to write again. I had hoped to update a little more often, but this evening is the first time I have had the magic combination of simultaneous electricity and internet.

It’s been a wonderful trip so far, and as we go further north, and the motorways near Oslo become a distant memory, we plan to take our time a bit more. After all, I don’t start work for a week… and there’s so much more to see. It all depends on the weather.

Tomorrow morning, we will reach the Arctic Circle. It’s all very exciting! But for now I have to go to bed.

Night all!

To The North!

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“Pure ‘Northernness’ engulfed me: a vision of huge, clear spaces hanging above the Atlantic in the endless twilight of Northern summer, remoteness, severity… and almost at the same moment I knew that I had met this before, long, long ago. …And with that plunge back into my own past, there arose at once, almost like heartbreak, the memory of Joy itself, the knowledge that I had once had what I had now lacked for years, that I was returning at last from exile and desert lands to my own country, and the distance of the Twilight of the Gods and the distance of my  own past Joy, both unattainable, flowed together in a single, unendurable sense of desire and loss….”  C.S.Lewis.

***

I wonder how life would have gone, were it not for COVID-19. I can recall the fascination I felt, back in late January or early February, searching on social media for information from Wuhan. I watched with interest: those alarming films of people dropping in the street, reading that China (of all places) had gone into a lockdown so tight that people were not allowed to leave their homes.

It filtered through to me, as I watched those posts unfold, that something big was happening, though back then I had little sense of impending doom. That came later, as the virus began to spread. One by one, day after day, new posters appeared at work, telling us how to cough, to wash our hands, to use gel as we entered, notices in Norwegian and English and several other languages I didn’t understand. The canteen shut and then the borders of the country: closed to anyone who didn’t live here.

And as I watched the figures fall in Norway, I watched them rise in the UK.

I miss my parents. That is undoubtedly the worst in all of this. I had been looking for a new job for a while with no success. But with spring, the realisation came that I was no longer tied to Rogaland for my son’s schooling. And in the midst of a wave of homesickness and fear for my parents, who by now were locked down themselves, with no obvious end in sight, the grand idea came to me that perhaps now was the time to return to the UK.

But it was not to be. Though I found a wonderful practice close to my parents, who wanted to employ me, they were unable to make me an offer. They had sold the practice a year earlier to one of the corporates, and the corporate had a moratorium on taking on new staff due to … coronavirus.

But by now anyway, the insanity of a move back to the UK was starting to hit me. With the increased border security, it was unlikely I would be able to get the dog into the UK, let alone the guinea pigs. Juggling quarantine requirements would mean I would have to find somewhere to stay when I returned to the UK. It would need to have furniture, as mine would take a while to arrive. Likely many shops were shut, and even if they weren’t, I probably wouldn’t be allowed to go. Quarantine with no bed and no TV…

In the midst of all this chaos, a job popped up in the North of Norway. Mattilsynet (the Norwegian equivalent of the UK Food Standards Agency) were looking for a vet. The duties were very wide ranging, as often happens in remote places. Lower population often results in less specialisation… and that has always suited me. Easily bored, I love doing different things. And so I applied.

The interview was tough. I’d had a few by then in Norwegian, but it didn’t get much easier. I’d applied for an old job that I’d done part time before, and had been turned down, I was told, on account of my language skills. This time round I was prepared for the type of question. I had even thought up some possible answers. But explaining the concept of working as part of the management team of a fast growing chain of emergency clinics, covering all the complaints without the expertise of the best (and only specialist) veterinary insurance company in the UK because my boss wanted to prove to them that we could manage without them, is not the easiest thing to translate, not least because veterinary emergency clinics are unheard of here.

Then there was a medical question about cattle. I was sent a text with a scenario and had to answer questions around it. Despite having ten minutes thinking time, I translated one of the words wrongly, and therefore gave a confusing as well as incorrect answer. I think it was at that point I considered just blurting out that there was no point in continuing, because it was obvious we were all wasting our time.

So I wasn’t particularly hopeful. Still, I had a job which was almost full time. We weren’t on the streets, or likely to be. And then, to my astonishment, a contract arrived. No explanation, no welcoming phone call: simply sign here if you want the job.

I signed it of course. It was so precious I didn’t want it to slip through my fingers. And then I contacted them about accommodation and about moving and about how I wouldn’t be able to start on the day that was written on the contract because, with the best will in the world, I couldn’t start there the same day I finished here, because there was 2000 km in between.

All that happened only three weeks ago. And in one week’s time, I will be driving north to take up my new post. It’s a thirty hour journey and I will be taking it with my son John, our dog Triar, and a pair of guinea pigs.

Triar – our wonderful Kooiker

We will be camping! I hope the weather holds. John is planning on walking and lake swimming. I’ve bought a new car to take us up there… well I say new. She’s seven years old, but my first BMW… all wheel drive. I wanted something that could tackle snow.

I am about to move up into the Arctic Circle: Land of midnight sun and interminable darkness.

And I hope to take you with me!