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".

Given a chance my sister would sell her soul to be a professional foodie.  There was no way we were going to Paris without eating ourselves silly. We were duly sent of food adventure with a few tips from our amazing hosts, Grannie Annie and Stuart.

If you are planning on similar adventure there are three things to remember

1 - One block back.  Try not to eat at the restaurants right next to the tourist attractions.  Walk around a little, start looking for somewhere at least one block back from the attractions and look for where the locals are eating.  This is how we found Mad' Cafe, one block back from La Madelaine.  To call this place a hole in the wall might be exaggerating its size.  To be seated, the waiters have to lift the table to let you past, to the wall mounted bench seat.  But what it lacks in size, it makes up for in style and taste.  The duck confit was to die for.  The place was packed and buzzing with people making the most of their leisurely lunch breaks. I would have gladly returned there day after day.

2- Un pichet s'il vous plais - a pichet is a small carafe of house wine just the right size to go with lunch for two. The classy way to know when to say when.  If the pichet is empty, it must be time for coffee.
3 - Coffee Gourmand - A selection of minature desserts served with coffee, or the (tea) gourmand if you prefer.  It is not like each dessert is scooped onto your plate with a little spoon,  instead it is made in a small size.  Think of miniature creme brulee and tiny chocolate mousse.  We are still trying to identify the divine white fluffy dessert that came on our plate at Mad' Cafe.  The closest I can find is something called snow pudding.