God morgen from Håkonshella! That’s good morning for you, in Norwegian, written from our cozy Air BnB which is perched on a small hill overlooking one of Norway’s crystal clear fjords (or maybe the sea, as a quick zoom-out on Google Maps corrects me). Pronounced “Hoe-kon”, the area is named for King Håkon the Good, who was born and died here and now has a monument erected in his honor.

We came to Håkonshella to access the lovely, colorful town of Bergen, a 45-minute bus ride away. When it came to deciding whether to find a hotel in town or take advantage of an AirBnB offering a hot tub, a pizza oven, and a view of the water (with kayaks to boot!) it was sort of a no-brainer.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Dan, Michael, Kelly, and I knew we wanted to go somewhere exciting for October break, and Scandinavia was high on our lists. Over several planning meetings spanning the months of May and June, aptly named SpagBol #1, 2, and eventually 3, our trip morphed from a breakneck roadtrip beginning in Copenhagen and zooming us all over Sweden and Norway in a whiplash 7-day sprint into a more relaxed amble around just Norway. (And with 148,729 square miles of land and 62,706 miles of coastline, including its islands, Norway offered plenty to see on its own without needing to traverse the whole of Scandinavia.)

We would fly from Basel to Oslo, spend an evening in the capital, and then journey west by train to Bergen, where we would spend a few days in one place before hopping a flight north to Tromsø. We would spend three nights in Tromsø, then return to Oslo for two nights before heading back to Basel.

There was debate over whether or not we should rent a car. While driving along the coastlines of Norway’s famous fjords sounded dreamy to me, the others pointed out a more realistic perspective: driving would take longer, and we’d probably be packing up every morning and hitting the road. Public transport was a more viable option.

We took the train to Zurich early on Saturday morning and settled at the lounge, sipping pre-flight mimosas. Below us, a scene unfolded: someone had left a duffel bag behind in a waiting area. We passed the time watching as airport police cordoned off the space with red and white striped tape, with members of a bomb squad of sorts investigating before finally opening the duffel and removing, one by one, several plastic bags.

“Who packs like that?” we wondered judgily. As if summoned by our thoughts, a person appeared at the perimeter of the area, gesturing wildly and pointing at the bag. There was some conversation, and two of the guards escorted the person away with a notepad open. By the time the hoopla was over, it was time to board our flight.

The flight from Zurich to Oslo was about 2 and a half hours. As we began our descent into Norway, we dipped below the sea of clouds and were greeted immediately by golden, autumnal land, patches of field encircled by wild and sprawling forest. The treetops were showing the first signs of fall, with red leaves sprinkled at the crown, dots of yellow seeming to reflect the sunlight. Just before reaching the runway, the trees seemed to reach out of the earth towards the belly of the plane. I was convinced we were scraping their topmost branches – but then, suddenly, we were on the ground and taxiing.

After collecting our luggage and puzzling over the ticket machine, we caught the airport train into town, a 40-minute journey that took us out of the sticks and into civilization. Outside the windows, the forested world whirled by until the trees became houses and the houses gave way to tunnels, and we emerged in the streets of Oslo.

Our hotel, First Hotel Millennium, was a short walk from the train station and located around the corner from a wide park with an impressive fountain in the center. It was nearly 4 in the afternoon, and we were hungry. After a quick refresh, we set about to find some food and our first taste of Norwegian local beer. A cursory Google search revealed there was a tasty spot nearby called Amundsen Bryggeri & Spiseri. Who doesn’t love bars named for Norwegian explorers? Bryggeri is Norwegian for brewery, so this seemed like an easy choice.

The food was delicious, albeit pricey, the beer was crisp and cold, and our waiter explained that one of the beers currently on tap, Oslo 100, was a joint effort on the parts of several local breweries to celebrate the 100-year anniversary of Oslo’s name. (From 1624-1924, Oslo was called Christiania, named for and by King Christian IV of Denmark and Norway. In 1924, the name changed back to Oslo, which it was called when it was settled in 1040.) The breweries committed to including certain ingredients in the beer, but went about making it with their own products and adapting the recipe as they saw fit. The beers were delicious and we left well-fed.

Our next stop was a nearby pub that offered shuffleboard and darts. Where Oslo’s past battles may have featured axes and Vikings stampeding across meadows, its current battles take place on shuffleboard tables with pucks, powdered wax, and a handy little broom to sweep off the table in between rounds. We arrived at exactly the right time. In a matter of minutes, a family arrived and claimed the shuffleboard table to our left. Others grabbed beers from the bar and settled in at high tops nearby, eyeing our progress.

In the hours that followed, we evolved from mere novices to shuffleboard aficionados. No longer did we scoop up the powder and chuck it haphazardly on the board; we found cardboard canisters beneath our table and walked purposefully alongside it, sprinkling the powder in even distribution. No longer did our weights fly off the ends of the table; instead, they parked themselves cautiously in the “4” zone at the end. We were so impressive that a man at a nearby table, who took over after us with his friend, invited us to play with them (to be fair, he may have only been talking to Michael, whose friendly personality attracted many such conversations throughout the trip). But by then we’d moved on to darts, and Kelly and I were winning rather handedly, so we turned down the chance to make a Norwegian friend.

By the time we’d wandered back to our hotel, it was barely 9pm. A younger version of myself would be itching for another bar, a new atmosphere. But this version was quite content to crawl into bed, alarm set for 7:00, ready to move westward.