Norway: A Different Kind of Adventure

Nature and solitude in the fjords

We crossed the bridge of bleached birch and galvanised steel. Beyond the river, wooden homes were painted in muted tones. We climbed the hill to the gorge. Gone were the city's red houses, traditionally painted in cod blood and fat. In Norway, house colour denotes wealth and occupation. In the village of Vossvangen, affluence is limed in white.

The young and the old sat drinking tea on south-facing balconies. Gardens flowed to the water's edge. Big windows soaked up the almost midnight sun, and decks merged into forest. There was a blending of man and nature, a calmness.

We left the gorge, the river, and the residents behind. We strolled by the swimmers and the dog walkers and followed the path to the town square. We were only passing through.

We took the local bus to Gudvagen, a small settlement home to a Viking village, a petrol station, and a couple of waterside hotels. Behind the concrete structures, Nærøyford, a narrow sea inlet, floods the glacial valley. From the grassy banks, I stared at the 1,000m amphitheatre of vertical quartzite cliffs. The scale seemed unfathomable. Beyond the safety of the beach, the seabed drops away 500m.

We had come to kayak the fjords and camp on its banks. I'd poured over landscape images for years, yet as I stood there, I knew I could never have imagined the grandeur or immensity.

We spent the afternoon gliding through glassy water, spotting seals, and paddling to waterfalls that seemed to cascade from the sky. Later in the afternoon, with tired shoulders and a desire to move more freely, we pulled into a patch of land on the bend of the fjord. Only accessible by boat, we arrived at the wildest of wild camping spots.

Although privately owned, the beach allows open access. The 1957 Outdoor Recreation Act enshrined Norwegians' long-standing right to be in nature, regardless of who owns the land.

By the water's edge, rustic benches surround a stone-ringed fire pit. With clear water, forested banks, and unending views, the site was the stuff of Instagram dreams, but things worked differently there. Nature enthusiasts are encouraged not to geo-tag in the hope that such places may be preserved.

As the evening rolled into dusk, I noticed that despite the bright homes and farmsteads, there was a barrenness and loneliness. Norway felt as harsh as it was beautiful.

A few years ago, when I became interested in how the adventure narrative could be challenged, I read about the word friluftsliv. Its literal translation is 'free-air life' and is recognised as part of Norwegian national identity. In contemporary Norwegian society, it means participating in outdoor activities, but it also has a deeper sense of de-stressing and sharing a common culture. It is saturated in meaning.

Of course, words such as friluftsliv, hygge and lagom are a marketer’s dream. As concepts, they are whittled to one word to sell dreams of change. Perhaps these words are passé, but they will be recycled, and new ones will arrive. And yet, for me, friluftsliv remains. I recognise it as a way of being, something felt not built, existing in the space where words are not enough. It flows from the inside out.

Norwegian playwright Henrik Ibsen's 1959 poem "On the Heights" uses the term for the first time, and since then, the idea has evolved. Recognised as part of Norwegian cultural heritage, it can be felt in conversations, read in outdoor signs, and sensed in Norwegian literature.

It would be easy to claim that friluftsliv is for the wealthy and capable, but this is not a concept developed from big adventure or the experience economy. It does not comply with the typical portrayal of personal growth against nature; it is about rhythms, encounters, and participation. Mostly, it's about connectedness. It is a 5-day kayak alone, yet it is also a walk in the woods. It is nature first.

I woke early and swam below the cliffs. We made pancakes rich with foraged blueberries and sat for hours soaking up the sound of waterfalls. It was hours before the first electric cruiser, 'Future of the Fjords,' came by. It stirred the wake as if trying to pull us back to reality, but we were hidden in the coves, held by nature.

We strolled to the summit of a mountain accessible only by water and human power; except for sheep and lemmings, we were alone. Stillness abounds in both the summit perspective and the fjord edge. There is freedom in our insignificance. Norway is a country of big nature and introspection.

The following day, we packed up and paddled to the town of Undredal, made famous by some rather punchy local brown goats' cheese and as the inspiration for the Disney film Frozen. I looked back where we paddled and knew that I would return. In Norway, access to the outdoors is not about big adventure; rather, it is about being in nature and of nature. It is about coexistence.

What I will remember most about the fjords, is the feeling of being part of them.