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Norway 11 July 2018

Posted by uggclogs in Life.

I am back in Norway for the first time in years, and it is an oddly visceral experience.

I’m struggling to put it into words, it’s long forgotten memories, a deep knowledge of the place, laced with the beauty of this country. It’s the smells, sights, flavours. Even the flora and the fauna. I’m trying to explain, but my attempts are disjointed. Yet it perfectly describes my brain at the moment – skipping around, never fully settling on an idea or an experience. On to the next input.

I used to live in Norway for many years growing up, but left to study. I have been back since then, but only to visit friends and family. This time around, I am not catching up with many people and I am actually seeing a part of the country I haven’t been to before, holidaying. And that’s why it’s so different this time – my sojourn is conjuring up memories of summer holidays long forgotten.

Endless summer days away from school, swimming in the fjords, mosquitos, the smell of ocean, the deep green hues of deciduous trees making the most of short summers. Scabbed knees, the pain of standing on a bumble bee barefoot, clover in your hair, newly mowed grass.

My brain is flooded with memories, long forgotten but brought right into the forefront of my mind, ready to be touched, smelt, experienced. People I haven’t thought about in years pop up in my mind and I wonder how they are. The feeling of flying down a hill on a pink rickety bike, fast enough for your eyes to go misty with tears. The front wheel catching in a groove made from the rains the night before, sending you flying. The small bits of gravel stuck just under your skin on your knees.

There is a knowledge of the land, too – not my land, but through school excursions and teachings, it’s country I know the most intimately in the world. I know these trees and birds. I recognise the flecks of sparkles through the sea, fools gold, shimmering in the gentle waves. It’s familiar even though I’ve never been here before. The wild strawberries, fragrant almost perfume like, brought back glimpses of school camps in forests far away.

Laced through all of this is the presence of my brother. With me every day through those summers of yore, whether at home or on holidays in the mountains or at the beach. Schlepping through tidal pools looking for treasure, lying on our bellies on a jetty fishing for crabs with a broken mussel, gooey orange insides exposed and irresistible to a crab, a peg and some string. Sleeping in tents together, spending our pocket money unwisely. He is here as well, and although we are both grown up, there is a shared knowledge with him I will never have with anyone else.

My brother is the only person who has the same odd mish-mash of countries, languages, cultures, as me. It’s the most wonderful gift to have someone I’m so connected to and who understands my experience the way he does. We are different people and vastly so, but my visceral reliving of this Norwegian holiday wouldn’t have been complete without him.


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