A few weeks ago I was in Honningsvåg. I was there the last day the sun rose until January. Today as I sit in a cafe in Mølde and wait for the next class I am teaching I am watching it get darker at 12:30. When I walked to school at 8:00 this morning it was dark. By the time I finish my last workshop of the day, it will be dark as I make my way at 16:00 to the bus terminal to catch yet another bus to another Norwegian coastal town.
We are now in the first stage of winter in Norway. It is the time of darkness. In Oslo, we have light until almost 16:00, maybe even 16:30. But the farther North I journey, the darker it becomes. It was a strange experience teaching in Narvik and looking out the window at 12:30 as the sky slowly turned from light to dark.
In some places, I have seen beautiful sunrises and sunsets. But, in many, it just slowly gets dark. Sometimes I’m walking throughout a town—my favorite thing to do here in Norway—listening to my latest audiobook (so far The Beastie Boys Book has been my favorite, followed closely by the new Cormoran Strike novel) and all of a sudden I am surrounded by darkness. It envelops the spaces around me, sneaking into the crevices.
They call this time of year Mørketid (murky night), or The Polar Night. This has been one of the most interesting experiences for my body so far here in Norway. When the sun was out until 22:00 I could pull the curtains shut and go to sleep. We would run around, hike, and spend so much time outside, wearing ourselves out, that my body was ready for bed. And it would sleep.
But now, I don’t know when to sleep. I often end up taking naps. Coming back to the hotel after teaching and possibly visiting a museum and napping until 17:00 or 18:00. Then, I take walks in the dark, looking in glowing windows of stores lined along the streets. Sometimes I work on finding things to do to make sure that I stay awake. If I nap too much then I can’t sleep at night either.
It is difficult when you go to sleep in darkness and wake up to it as well. It throws you off when the clock says 9:00 and it looks like it’s 4:00 a.m. outside. You want to hit the snooze button one more time in hopes that in the next 10 minutes the sun will miraculously start to rise.
Wearing reflectors has become a way of life. I slap them around my wrists. They hand from my zippers and backpack. They hand them out at the metro stops, in schools, at hotels. There is no lack of reflectors to make sure you are seen in the darkness. And, now I can’t see myself without one.
Don’t get me wrong. It is not completely dark all the time. The day still has some light in it. But, instead of sun, there are blues and pinks, or greys if it’s too rainy or snowy.
Here, right now, it is the time of lights. Starting in November, when the sun starts to disappear, hiding from this little part of the world, the lights go up. Christmas becomes a season, not just a day. The white lights of each town I enter glow as I walk through the streets. Windows are full of candles and paper stars. Lights twinkle. They become the sun. The browns fade and the water dances with the buildings’ reflections.
Norway is very much a secular country, but Christmas is celebrated everywhere. There are lights and trees in schools. Nisse hide in museums, stores, and homes. Julebord is found at most restaurants. And Julemarked appear throughout Scandinavia. There are festivals, music, singing, and candles. It is a time of celebration. I love exploring each new town I visit, finding the light, sometimes in the most unexpected places.
And candles. They are everywhere. It is odd to be here and start to truly understand my familial connections to Scandinavia. My mother’s love (or obsession) with windows and candles makes sense here. Growing up in the house of a Swedish carpenter, she was surrounded by windows and candles as I am now as I travel throughout Norway.
I love writing by candlelight. When I go to a restaurant at night I leave the computer and bring my wonderful Fillion (thanks, Barb). I sit and write and think. It gives me a chance to decompress. I am surrounded by glowing, dancing shadows of light. Wax drips and hides. My muscle memory kicks in as I write between the shadows. It is a time where I can connect and be with the darkness in a way that I have really grown to love.
The darkness plays tricks. I never know what time it is. I take long bus rides on deserted, winding roads where bus stops sit in nowhere and people get off, disappearing into nothing, their footprints in the snow the only memory of their existence. I want to scream to look out for what is in the woods, but before I can they are gone and we have moved on, twisting through mountain roads to the next destination.
I don’t know what the darkness will be like after Christmas. After the celebrations and festivities. I don’t know what January has in store. But, I am ready for it. As trees and Nisses leave for next year it will be a new season for me to experience.