No More Norway Notes

We've moved south now, following the last lingering days of summer as they creep down the continent. We're resting and re-packing in the south of England at the home of a dear friend who is crazy enough to allow us to make her our base camp. We blow in with bags and bikes as, babbling excitedly, we occupy her washer, bathroom and child's bedroom. She now calls the room, that is usually her 11 month old's cosy, wee bedroom, the "camping room." We've strewn our belongings and selves about its wee space. 

We're off to France on the weekend to attempt a cycle tour. Have we panniers? No. Bikes? No. A route in mind? Not at all! But we have helmets, a spirit of adventure and will be meeting my sister-in-law there who will quickly whip our dithering into shape. 

Our Norway sojourn ended with a fond farewell to Sjobakken and our hosts. Mountain Dad asked that I let you all know that he hit his thumbnail with a hammer. I am aware that I have already mentioned this but I think he needs you to know, just how much it has hurt. The bruising has extended beyond the nail, into the cuticle around the nail and the finger beyond. The nail has begun lifting from the bed. Tune into this channel for live updates as they occur and send donations of sympathy to yukon_shea1. 

After farewelling our Workaway, we sped as fast as the meandering Norweigan main highway would allow. This meant averaging 60-80 km per hour; infuriatingly unexpected long days as we'd calculated a 497km trip would take us about five hours. The actual time of eight hours meant pulling in for dinner at a ridiculously late hour. But the kids were in good spirits, despite not being able to see each other over the bags stacked between them in the car. Mountain Dad's superpower is packing, like Tetris. His sense of economy drives him to select the smallest rental car possible and then labour diligently with our mountains of baggage as he tucks and folds, slots and sometimes forces things into every space possible. At each car rental company we have been to, the sales assistant has looked dubiously from our luggage to the car and back again as they ask us in sympathy if we're sure we're right with this one? Cheerily, Mountain Dad always reassures them that "we'll make it work." And we do. 

We road-tripped from old friend to old friend, as we moved south towards Oslo. Every night we were greeted by warm hosts, delicious meals and inviting beds. We left Norway with the impression that while it is very expensive to adventure there, it is all made worthwhile by the people, the landscape, the culture, the history, the attention to detail, the aesthetic. Mountain Dad left there saying that he really does feel he is part Norwegian and thinks he could quite likely become a farmer. He's repeated it so many times that I found myself asking if perhaps he would like to move out of town, once we return to the Yukon, and purchase some land and try this thing?

While he mulls over the reality of his fantasy, we look ahead to the gypsy lifestyle that we will assume once cycling in France. A bientot!

Overlooking our farm Sjobakken

Home schooling, Sjobakken style. We're getting the hang of it now. 

Inside our Sjobakken cabin

Outside our Sjobakken cabin

We borrowed our hosts motor boat for a little buzz around the fjord. 

Last night at Sjobakken, picnic dinner.