Winter Wonderland in Norway

I have been physically aching for the snow. This might be hard to believe if you are in Canada, buried under it and longing for the Spring thaw, or in London, where a couple of snowfalls have crippled the city, but I am a winter lover through and through and what is referred to as winter over here is just not cutting it.

So I landed in Norway last Thursday for a long weekend of winter. I didn’t know quite what to expect of my first visit to the Scandinavian countries but, on my express bus ride from Rygge airport – diverted from Torp due to weather conditions and poor visibility – to Oslo, I gazed out at snow-capped mountains and white landscapes dotted with colourful cabins, and I fantasized that I was in Canada.

Though I didn’t plan it, my visit coincided with the 2011 World Nordic Ski Championships at the famous Holmenkommen. The city was filled with cross-country ski enthusiasts from all over Europe – and even Canada. Flags were waved in the streets, tourists and locals packed onto the subway with their skis, and there was a general patriotic atmosphere everywhere we went.

I was finally paying a visit to my Norwegian cousins who I met for the first time in the UK at Easter last year and then again in Tiree in August. I was staying with Kirsti and Henning and their sons Martin (9) and Jonathan (7). Kirsti is the daughter of my grandfather’s first cousin Liz, who is also from the same brood of cousins as Pearl and Mary. Liz met Norwegian Paul at university in Glasgow and has been living in the country since she was 22 (she was 70 last year).

My weekend in Oslo included more than just the snow appreciation that I want to write about here. I visited the Munch Museum, the Vegland sculpture park, the Nobel Prize Centre, and wandered along the Oslofjord. Besides the most incredible Nordic ski of my life, which I will get to in a minute, my favourite stop of the weekend was to Fenaknoken, a traditional Norwegian food shop that I had read about in Conde Nast Traveller, and where I sampled some truly unbelievable dried, smoked and salted meats. (I want to write a separate blog about the food in Norway as a hone my skills as a food journalist, so stay tuned.)

But best of all was the skiing. Oh the skiing. I have been in love with cross-country skiing since I was about five. Since then I have been skiing annually with my father in the Gatineau Hills. This past Christmas I was able to squeeze in one of our traditional skis but the days were warming up and the snow was melting. I loved spending that one morning in the woods over the holidays with the echoes off the snow but the conditions were not perfect. Up at Ullevalseter in Oslo, despite the crowds that had descended for the championships, I had the most perfect ski of my life.

Well, if I’m being completely honest, one thing was missing. My Dad. With my borrowed Fischers on, gliding out across the immaculately manicured snow with evergreens towering and shaking their snowflakes down on me, I got choked up. Okay, I cried. I wished my Dad were skiing right beside me. He would have adored that day. I’ll admit, I don’t get homesick very often, but this weekend, I really missed Canada.

We did 11km, the first half almost completely uphill, then we sunned ourselves (yes, I have a lovely winter face burn) outside a chalet with coffees and sweet buns, before precariously making our way downhill. I am pleased to say I only wiped out twice (I have the world’s worst snowplow) but it would have been much more if I hadn’t stuck to the lakes on the return journey.

As I don’t get to keep my cross-country ski muscles in shape, I am feeling all sorts of random aches today. There is a sharp pain on the top of my forearms, shooting along my inner thighs, my butt, my lower back, my hips, my shoulder blades, all around my ribs from sustaining balance, basically everywhere. But I have to say, to subdue that ache I’ve been feeling lately for the snow, all those other aches are well worth it.