Anastasia

I am 32, and every day I fall in love with Norway anew – a country where fog glides across the fjords as casually as conversations in a village café. My school fascination with Scandinavian sagas led me to the language, then to hiking trails from Senja to Jotunheimen, and now to a desire to understand what life is like in Oslo in January and what the fishermen of Lofoten dream of. I listen to the northern wind, read newspapers on the boxes and almost every evening try to cook something Norwegian, so that I can understand the taste of the country not only with my eyes. I ask the locals about what is important to them and carefully write down the answers in a notebook: from recipes for skillingsboller buns to the intricacies of “dugnad” – collective mutual aid. I am interested in how culture is woven into everyday life, why the frost smells special here and how the ice on the lakes teaches patience. I am not a tourist in search of pretty pictures, but a student opening chapters about the north with someone who has long called these hills home.

On this blog, I share discovery after discovery, not as an expert, but as a neighbor who dropped in to borrow a spoonful of cinnamon and stayed to listen to family stories. I write about things that excite me: how to find silence in Sonjefjord in the middle of July, why dialects are carefully preserved, why a tiny parish market can tell you more about a country than any guidebook. I try to listen first, then write, and if you, Norwegians, spot an inaccuracy, a hint is the best gift. My admiration is born not from postcard views, but from the simple way you say “takk for maten” at the common table. Thank you for letting a curious foreigner into your everyday life; I feel the generosity of this trust and cherish it. I invite you to walk alongside me, to share notes, smiles, and that quiet feeling that the north can warm better than any words.