No place like home...in Norway
As many of you know, my dad is Norwegian.
He was born in the tiny village of Todalen, located on the country's West Coast, at the end of a long fjord.
A two-hour drive south of Trondheim, the place is stunning and one that holds a thousand memories for me.
View of the family house and South side of the village of Todalen
Memories of being a little girl in a foreign country, of seeing and hearing my dad speak Norwegian with his brothers and sisters, cousins and aunts, parents and nieces and nephews. Of cutting down Xmas trees in the cold snowy forests. Of riding a sleigh at a 2PM sunset. Of hearing stories of trolls under bridges and neighbourhood gossip (guess who's sheep gave birth?). Of feeling like though it was all so unreal to my young head, I knew in my heart I was of this land.
Ten-year old me and my Bestamor (Grandma)
I went back to Norway two years ago. I spent two glorious weeks in Oslo, Trondheim, Bergen and Floro. And, of couse, Todalen. Sleeping by myself in the family houe that my dad gew up in, loitering in the empty kitchen that still smelt like the waffles my then 96-year old, non-English speaking Grandma would make me. Freaking out at the sounds the old house made in the night. And poking around forgotten corridors, drinking expensive Norwegian beer and perusing old photo albulms.
Photos of the house...
The house
My cousin Arvid's dog Knuten and I on the front lawn
The street (house is at the end, on the left)
My cousin Bebe and I, on the steps of the house
Where I slept, my aunt's old bedroom
getting into old chests of wardrobe
The sky at Midnight by the fjord
Next week: A photo essay of the town....
He was born in the tiny village of Todalen, located on the country's West Coast, at the end of a long fjord.
A two-hour drive south of Trondheim, the place is stunning and one that holds a thousand memories for me.
Memories of being a little girl in a foreign country, of seeing and hearing my dad speak Norwegian with his brothers and sisters, cousins and aunts, parents and nieces and nephews. Of cutting down Xmas trees in the cold snowy forests. Of riding a sleigh at a 2PM sunset. Of hearing stories of trolls under bridges and neighbourhood gossip (guess who's sheep gave birth?). Of feeling like though it was all so unreal to my young head, I knew in my heart I was of this land.
I went back to Norway two years ago. I spent two glorious weeks in Oslo, Trondheim, Bergen and Floro. And, of couse, Todalen. Sleeping by myself in the family houe that my dad gew up in, loitering in the empty kitchen that still smelt like the waffles my then 96-year old, non-English speaking Grandma would make me. Freaking out at the sounds the old house made in the night. And poking around forgotten corridors, drinking expensive Norwegian beer and perusing old photo albulms.
Photos of the house...
Next week: A photo essay of the town....
Labels: Memories, Norway, Photo Essay, travel
posted by Wanderlusting at 8:29 PM
5 said they wanna go too:
Great post, thanks for sharing! Must have been a great experience as a child growing up in Norway :-)
Looks gorgeous. Is norway one of the countries that hardly ever gets dark?
The house looks like it is from "Shipping News" ( if you have ever seen that amazing film??"
Also, for some reason, it reminds me of Shetland ( perhaps its the light)
Anyway, its simply beautiful
I have been to fjordland as well, it is beautiful. Actually I will be there this summer also. What a cute house and village! I would be interested to hear what you thought of the culture there.
The last image i much like a puzzle I did when I was ten, looks the same as that house and the mountains
Post a Comment
<< Home