After a week in Oslo, we parted ways.  My sister and Dad traveling to Sweden and me heading home to  a very patient family. 

Dad enjoyed every minute of showing his girls around the land that so captured his imagination.  A land with a history of exploration, both ancient vikings and pioneering polar races.

Vikings, polar ships and symbols

It is also home to many people who are dear to my father's heart.  It was a privilege to spend time with them. 

Detail from Oslo Town Hall mural series

Someone asked what took him to Norway in the first place.  The reasons are as complex as they are deeply personal.  Their meaning shifts over the years.  In spending the time with Dad, I sometimes feel we only got a glimpse of his version of history.  Yes, it offered adventure, and yes there was a woman involved.  But at a time when Dad was feeling most broken, in every sense, this distant land also offered the time and space that he needed to learn to walk again.

The Hytt, the car and the adventure

Sometimes the best places are the ones you find by accident. My sister and I loved Tronheim and cannot rave highly enough about Antikvariatet, the little bar we sought refuge in.  We arrived on a very sunny afternoon, so sunny that the parks were full of sunbathers.  In the evening we headed out and found some where for dinner only to be caught in a series of heavy sunshowers.  Looking at the blue sky above, you can see why we were so well and truly caught out.  Not wishing to be part of an impromtu wet t-shirt competition, we took refuge in the first place we could find.  Dad wisely left the choice of place over to us.  This is how we ended up soaking wet, in the most darling little hippie student bar.

Antikvariatet is in the historic Bakklandet area of Tronheim and if you look closely, it is the red building to the left of the bridge post in the photos above.  It has two bars, Musikkafe and Bokbar.  The walls of musikkafe are lined with music manuscripts and there are stacks of board games to entertain waiting diners.  As we dined, the bokbar was still preparing for that evening live music and not yet open.  We caught a glance of the book lined bar, kitted out like a vintage reading room, only with better beer.  The barman thoughtfully retrieved some for us to try too.




There was so much about Tronheim that intrigued us.  There's the Cathedral, Niadros that has been in a permanent state of rebuild since 1328. The face of archangel Michael was based on Bob Dylan as the sculptor was moved by his pacifist lyrics.  The way the city pours into the working harbour felt very much like Dunedin. 

We left with a lot unexplored and just waiting for us to return next time.

A little south of Roros, a little north of Tynset, there is Tolga.  We stayed here as we caught up with friends and enjoyed spring in Norway. I will let the pictures say it all.

Spending a few nights in the hut my father restored, was one of the great privileges of our trip.  While the restoration was a summer well spent for Dad, it's upkeep has been a labour of love for Dorotea.

Dorotea is the granddaughter of the original builder of this 1923 summer house.  Over the years the walls have been warmed with weaving by both her mother and grandmother.  The shelves are filled with favorite china.  The pile of guest books is a testament to her hospitality as there is an entry for almost every summer weekend for the last 30 years.


The house remains resolutely off the grid.  A gas stove, a reluctant nod to technology while the fridge remains a hole in the stone floor.  I thought this would mean early nights but hadn't counted on the long dusks of a Nordic June.  I found myself walking without a torch in the middle of the night.   The colors of daylight leached away each night, only to return in the morning.

 Much of my family history is rooted in the adventures my parents had before they met.  For various reasons, my father, Bob, kept returning to Norway. 

One such trip was in the summer of 1975.  Dad had a little British car that was made for driving on the other side of the road. I can attest to just how unnerving it would be as it took me days to adjust to driving on the other side of the road, when I was in the right sort of car.

With car, dad took off to a small lake and proceeded to help rebuild a dilapidated hyutt (hut, a Norwegian summer house). The hyutt was made in 1923 and ready for some care.  It was a little out of town, a fair day trip to get to by foot or bike.

The Sun shone a lot that summer.  There were lakeside parties, picnics and feasts.  With a set of wheels, it also meant that if there was a party anywhere in the vicinity, Dad and his friends were there.
As my sister and I traveled through Norway with Dad we were able to meet many of these friends.  We heard that tales of the summer my Dad spent by the lake.  A summer that the sun shone brighter and the parties were bigger.  It has gone down in history as "The Bob Summer".