Tomorrow I leave for Norway. A popular tourist destination, but for me, a dream trip that began nearly 50 years ago.
The summer between fifth and sixth grade, 1968, I was part of a summer enrichment program for "gifted" students. I remember four things from that summer: it was at Central School where I expected to transfer for 6th grade with most of my 5th grade classmates from Yost, but instead found out I would be attending Bailly School where I would not know anybody; we put out a student newspaper printed on an old mimeograph machine that I learned how to use (can still smell that purple ink....); I made friends; and I wrote a report on Norway.
Why did I choose Norway? I can't recreate my reasons but I have some hints. My paternal grandmother was half-Swedish and I was named after her mother, a Swedish immigrant. While our Swedish heritage was not a major force in my life, my grandmother did make this great bread she called "Swedish Rye Bread." I grew up in a town with a rich Swedish history. I loved the Pippi Longstocking books (Swedish, I know). I liked the clean, simple lines of our new "Danish modern" furniture. I remember reading the book Snow Treasure, about young Norwegian kids who smuggle gold out of the country during the Nazi occupation. I like winter, snow, cold, and skiing. So, clearly, I had a Scandinavian predisposition. I think, in the end, Norway seemed more exotic than Sweden, and so I chose it. But, maybe some other student had already taken Sweden.
What I do remember, more than anything else about that report, is my mother taking me to the local travel agency to pick up some travel brochures I could use for illustrations in my report. In a family of seven kids, doing anything solely with my mother was unusual. I remember where the travel agency was, the rack of brochures, the kind lady that honored my request (even though I clearly wasn't booking a trip!)
Since that report, I've wanted to actually visit the country. Years went by. I made it to Iceland, Sweden, and Denmark, but never Norway. I fell in love with the writing of Per Petterson, especially his novel, Out Stealing Horses. I read Knut Hamsun, Jo Nesbo, and any other Norwegian author I could find. I think the dark, brooding view of life fit my life well at the time.
Now, this year I turned 60. Four years divorced, I have fulfilled all my financial obligations to others, and had no vacation or travel plans for the summer. It is time.
My biggest concern now is that my expectations are unrealistic, that I'm hoping for something from this trip that it can't possibly deliver. I'm hoping for the right mix of scenery, history, culture, and people.
I'll know in a few weeks......
