Norsemen, Meatballs & Midnight Rainbows: Stephanie's Final Norway Dispatches

I feel like I have been immersed in a crash course of Norse Viking history and so far, this is what I picked up: Norwegian Vikings were farmers first, working hard, rocky land along the fjords, then picking up other work depending on the season. Trading furs and fish, building and sailing those famous ships, and sometimes raiding, usually done by younger sons with no land coming to them or as farmers looking for extra income in the off-season. Another thing, turns out, the Vikings were into fashion. They dyed their clothing and with expensive colors, and used colors to indicate status. Think less 'fur and dirt' and more 'Norse couture.’ 

The raider image everyone tends to picture is just one part-time role among many, and not actually what most people would have done for a living. Before there was the Viking, there were — and still are — the Norsemen.

Another long drive got us to Nordfjordeid, where we hopped on a RIB boat, a high-speed inflatable boat that gave us an incredible ride through Norway's beautiful fjords to Davik. I forgot to mention that before we got on the boat two Vikings greeted us and suited us up in snow suit-like jumpsuits. I felt like the kid from A Christmas Story. 

This was fun, I loved being on the water. 

We arrived at Davik — a protected inlet with easy access to the open sea, the kind of spot that would've made practical sense for a coastal farming and maritime community back in the Viking days and today!

We were greeted by John, who is reimagining Davik’s waterfront, not by erasing its past, but by celebrating it. He is restoring its harbor and historic buildings to create a place where visitors can experience authentic Norwegian and Viking heritage while supporting the local community through small businesses and restaurants.

He is a very successful entrepreneur and the most charming, down-to-earth gentleman, full of charisma. He told us he wasn't great in school but has done very well for himself as a businessman despite that. I respect that.

We boarded a reconstructed Viking ship in full Viking attire. I haven’t played dress up with Karen since we were kids, this was so fun! I got into the spirit completely. We Ro! Ro! Ro!’d. 

Then, I had been asked to captain the ship (usually my sister is the captain, but not today). I was fully committed to this role and honestly felt a bit silly in a good way (too much fresh air maybe). Part of me is hoping the footage doesn't make the film —I have a feeling it will. I should have tried drama class in school. 

Once we docked the longship it was time to see who could throw an axe. It's a different sport here than the axe throwing back home. I could have literally hit a car or a person at the convenience store off to the side of where we were standing. No safety net, just trust. And with John instructions I got a bullseye!

We hopped back on rib boat with our Viking captains and headed off, seagulls congregated above a local fisherman, and two eagles flew alongside them. Surreal. Magical. Some people don't like seagulls, but I think they're beautiful and being able to see them sailing through the sky, singing, was whimsical (probably because I wasn’t eating funnel cake that the seagulls would have been eyeing)!

We squeezed in a quick stop to see the Sagastad Viking Ship, which was so cool in and of itself, and the building it’s housed in has the most incredible design and architecture. Then it was a race to catch the last ferry. 

We were trailing Frank, who got distracted by a phone call about our pizza order for the night and nearly missed our turn. We somehow made the ferry with time to spare and headed to Knutholmen for the night. 

The hotel was another family-owned business, with eclectic décor and a framed photo of a local artist fishing with someone holding an umbrella over him that caught my eye. Turns out the artist was Oddvar Torsheim. The last time I was in Norway we stayed in Airbnb type home, I ended up buying two pieces of art of the wall from the owner. The art I bought was Oddvar Torsheim. Besides the art being cool…I liked that his named was Oddvar. 

Anyway, we ended the night with a midnight pizza dinner crammed into Karen's room.

And I must say today was a good day. 

We decided over late-night pizza to skip the vertical hike in the morning due to the weather, thank you Norse Weather Gods because we had two hikes lined up that day... seemed like a bit much. I needed a breather and was happy to slow down instead and take our time driving to Askrova.

Hiking is a lot like fishing in Norway: everyone adds a few inches or miles to their story. They'll tell you it's not a long hike. But it is.

On our drives, I couldn't stop looking at the color palette of the fjords. Calming, serene, roofs look like fish scales. Heart décor everywhere signifying love, home, family, warmth, belonging. The grass is so green and spiky it reminds me of troll doll hair. I must wonder if that's where the design of that doll came from. Nordic respect for nature and the land was weaved into every direction we looked.

On our way to Askrova we passed a huge glacier as we followed Frank through tunnels and down and up winding, fog-covered roads with reindeer crossings. The Norwegian drivers here are so peaceful compared to back home, where everyone's always in such an aggressive hurry.

Finally, no more pizza dinners. Instead, we had Frank's Norwegian meatballs which were very similar to – and better than – the ones my dad would make (sorry dad)! So good. Chris filmed me to catch my reaction but knowing I was on camera, my real reaction didn't quite show up on cue. But to be clear, in case it makes the film, yes, I loved them.

After dinner, we got to hold Nilia’s (Frank’s daughter) baby chickens and watched Norway play a World Cup game.

Jack Levian's (Frank’s son) energy was contagious, even though Norway didn't win, it didn't matter.

They still have another shot at the World Cup. 

The next morning, we went on our hike in Askrova. It was beautiful, fun, and it felt good to move our bodies after all that driving. The view from the top is breathtaking and speaking of getting to the top: Chris is the is the real deal.

Running with a heavy pack, sitting on the edge of a cliff for the right angle, checking in constantly to make sure everyone was okay — he's a superhero with a camera. A great creative soul, making sure he got the shot while risking his life.

In Askrova, the community rallied together to build a hut halfway up the five or so mile hike. It's well taken care of and respected by everyone who passes through it.

Frank has a word for that: Dugnadsånd. When people voluntarily come together to work for the good of their community — like community service where neighbors help neighbors without keeping score. It's philanthropy without paperwork, cooperation as a default setting instead of an ask.

Standing at that hut, hearing why it exists and who maintains it, was exactly the spirit I've been trying to build into my committee, Hoist Up Outreach, without ever having the word for it.

From there, we hopped back on Frank's boat to head back to Flora before driving to Eivindvik. We would say goodbye to Frank and his family until the next evening in Bergen.

After the hike we were right back on the road (technically, water first, by boat) then road again, and off to Eivindvik.

The place we stayed in Eivindvik felt empty. Like a ghost town. Literally — I saw no other guests, no lights on in the windows as we passed, just us and whatever else was there. It had that almost eerie feeling, felt like a good place to film a drama. Maybe that was one of Chris’s next surprises… a documentary turned horror film. I am kidding… well, sort of.

We arrived late, exhausted, running on adrenaline and pizza fumes.

The woman who checked us in mentioned, almost in passing, that a medium once confirmed her uncle's findings about Vikings being buried on that land. She said it the way you'd mention the Wi-Fi password. Totally matter of fact. I went to bed thinking about it more than I meant to. Again, I was so tired I may have been a bit delirious.

I woke up in the middle of the night convinced there was another energy in the room. Not exactly scary, but more like the feeling of someone standing to the side of you out of the corner of your eye, but who isn't there when look twice. I put a pillow over my head and went back to sleep rather than try to investigate, because some questions I don't need answered at 2 a.m. in an empty Norwegian hotel. I think perhaps it was Vikings who had woken me up by accident.

The next morning, we packed our stuff up in the car and headed off to our next “ting”, Gulatinget Park.

(A quick recap on this journey so far, we have not stayed more than two nights anywhere. Some people like my mom would love the quick change of scenery and exploration but I was ready for a bit of a longer, less rushed, stay.)

We arrived at Gulatinget Park which is an old Viking assembly site — a "ting," the Norse word for a governing gathering, the place where laws were made and disputes were settled centuries before anyone thought to call it democracy. We'd learned the word back at Sagastad, but standing in the actual park named for one, none of us could stop using it and silliness ensued.

Everything became a ting. Viking tings. Sister tings. Camera tings. Funny tings. By the end of the walk, we were just pointing at things and calling them tings, laughing every single time, which is probably not the reverent history lesson the park intended…but it's the one I'll remember.

After the park, we drove to Bergen, to stay a night at beautiful hotel. I was happy to be in the city. We had pizza (again — we ate a lot of pizza in Norway, though not sad about that), then headed off to meet my dad's half-brother!

My dad and his brother had a similar humor.

My uncle prepared dinner for us. Flashback to Chris and I bonding over our picky eating on our hike in Askrova, which now translated into the look we shared when we realized what dinner was for the night.

An unspoken understanding: we cannot try this; our inner children quietly struggling in unison. It was strength in that unison that we embraced what was in front of us.

Venison — the second time I've ever tried it. The first time was by accident; this time, completely on purpose. I told him I wouldn't even try it for my own son, but I would for him. I must admit it was good, but I like to think it was the gravy that did the heavy lifting. Nonetheless, I don't love noshing on Bambi, so I don't think there'll be a third time on that one. Chris had a lot more than I did, I think he liked it.

The more we uncover through these travels, the more I wonder if my dad knew about his brothers and who his father was near the end of his life but kept it from us and in a way protecting himself from the possibility of being hurt.

Regardless, the evening was perfect, and I'm so grateful to have been invited into my uncle’s home and the chance to get to know him.

I know my dad would have liked him a lot.

I keep thinking about what my dad would make of Karen and me on this whole journey. I’m guessing, humbled, probably shocked, shaking his head, and so proud underneath all of it. Even though I feel him watching over us, I wish he were here in person.

And maybe he would have joined us on this journey. That would have been fun...He was the best dad ever. Really. The best.

We met Johan in the morning and walked the streets of Bergen tracing our ancestors’ steps. A beautiful church, a boat dock, the college my father attended, and his grandfather, maybe his great-grandfather too. Along the way we stopped at a special house and may or may not have met distant relatives still living there. One of the coolest, most artistic spaces of the whole trip. 

At the church Johan read us a love letter from our ancestors. 

Emotions from the past that sounded strangely familiar to things my husband has said to me. Some things don't change much, from generation to generation. 

After Bergen, we drove to Lygra. The “cherry on top of this whole trip." This is where my father grew up and where the family he knew of his entire life lived or still lives. It feels like home. 

I love coming to this island. 

We dropped our bags at the house we rented and headed straight to our cousin’s for dinner. She made the most incredible fish soup called fiskesuppe, a classic Norwegian dish; It reminded me of Italian wedding soup, but built on salmon, shrimp, and most likely cod. 

It was sunny when we arrived, but the weather quickly turned into a downpour. I had a feeling in my gut and told Karen there was going to be a rainbow. Sure enough, the most beautiful rainbow appeared over the fjords. If that's not a sign from above a warm hug from a spirit in the sky, then I don't know what is. Just grateful for this experience, this day, this trip, this family. 

We ended up spending three nights in Lygra (longest stay of the whole journey). 

During that time, we walked with Johan and learned about more ancestors connected to the island from our father’s paternal side, hiked past Viking graves, and one of my favorite moments of the entire trip is that we got to cuddle the nicest little cows. They loved the attention and so did I. We watched another World Cup Norway game and did a family “Ro."

A sense of belonging in Norway deepened with every day on the island. I could visit those cows every single day and never get tired of it. There's something about this place that makes the days blur together in the best way.

This journey was a challenge, but I'm usually up for a good challenge. The reality is that the every day normal gets a little disrupted when a film crew is following you around (not that this journey was normal, but you know what I mean).

As it comes to an end, I see this experience as an honor. 

What excites me most is the ability to embrace it all: the unknown, the learning, trying something out of my comfort zone and out of the ordinary and overcoming that discomfort, start to finish.

We did it. 

Sad to say goodbye to everyone and honestly, going to miss my sister most of all. Even though she lives a mile away sometimes that’s just too far, you know?

Karen and I have a very close relationship, but we're very different people. She's drawn to the Viking heritage and past side of this story, while I'm drawn to the living side, our family, the people we met, the connections we built in real time. I think somehow that's exactly what made this work.

Our ancestors were entrepreneurs, philanthropists, ambitious, generous, family-focused, community-minded members of society, farmers, sailors, businessmen, and VIKINGS! 

It's easier to feel drawn to a story when you can recognize yourself in the very people and places the story is being written about. I understand that now in a way I didn't before.

From the eagles to the rainbows, the number 13, the cows, the flowers, the fjords, the waterfalls and the silence. To the love and openness of the new family and friends we found along the way — I'm just sitting here with thought of how beautiful life can be, how grateful I am for this opportunity and how much I'm already going to miss everyone.

Somewhere over the Atlantic, I looked back at Karen on the plane. She'd gone quiet, staring out the window at nothing in particular, and I didn't dare ask what she was thinking.

 I just sat with her— a little worried, if I'm honest, about whatever audacious plan she's already cooking up for next time.

Continuing the search. Until next time, from Norway with love. 

In Search of the Vikings