I have a habit, not necessarily bad,
that my wife uses as verbal fodder among our more mature friends. It
stems from childhood. Before every trip, my mother would ask my
brother and I if we'd remembered to pack our swim trunks. My brother
and I loved swimming and hotels in the United States often have
pools. As a busy mother, she found dumping us in some water was the
best way to get some reading done. Yet, now at age thirty-four, swim
shorts don't quite have the value they did as a child. I still pack
them.
They've seen little use, lately.
Though I live teasingly close the coast of Norway and also not far
from copious mountain lakes, Norway's waters are rarely inviting.
Summer temperatures max out around 19C (about 65F), and it rains, a
lot. But, we were going to Kristiansand on the southern tip of
Norway. They get sun there and warmth too. They even have beaches in
the South that people use!
We went to visit our friends Yeganah
and Alija, who had just gotten married (we missed the wedding.) We'd
not seen them since our own, four years earlier. Michelle was
especially looking forward to this trip, having not gotten a vacation
this year. So five days in the sun with good friends was just what
she needed.
 |
| Translation: Warm Rock=Sun. Wet Rock=Rain. White Rock=Snow. No Rock=Fog |
One thing we didn't pack were rain
jackets. “It's Southern Norway,” Michelle said, “It never rains
there.” She had lived there for two summers. I trusted her
judgment, so I took the rain jacket out from beside my swim trunks
and hung it in the closet.
We landed in a downpour, ran for
Yeganah's car. The first thing I noticed in our 30 minute drive to
their home in Søgne, was
that even down here, well after the mountains have stopped, the
landscape was still characteristically Norwegian, only lacking the
drama. There were the usual forests, jutting rocks, small island
dotting the inlets.
At their house on a hill, Alija pointed out his living room window,
praising the lovely coastal views. I only saw clouds. I worried my
swim trunks were remain folded in my suitcase.
Yeganah and Alija started
listing their plans for the next few days: fishing, hiking, open-air
museums, a trip to the southernmost point, a barbeque and a trip to
the well-loved beach of Mandal. None of these things seemed likely or
desirable that first day, so we headed to mall. Michelle didn't pack
hiking shoes.
The mall was
packed. Kristiansand is a summer town, a sun city. Folk flock to see
Norway's largest zoo or the children's playlands of Kardamomme By or
Kaptein Sabeltann. When the rain hits, the cinema and malls fill up.
This combined with a rare and well-publicized murder there just a day
before, made the whole country seek out the mall and it forced us to
spend as little time as possible there. We had sushi instead. The
weather cleared in the evening and we did get that great view from
their living room in the end. We finished
the night with a street concert in town, basking in the evening sun.
I hoped the weather would hold for a swim the next day.
The rain still came
in bursts after we woke up. Yeganah had to work for a few hours, so
we limited our adventures. Alija took us around the city for a tour.
We saw Odderøya, a peacefull island
jutting right from the center of the city, that featured beautiful
seascapes and old WWII battlements. We then walked to town and
confirmed our reservation at the hotel (Michael, my
father-in-law, had an expiring gift
certificate for two free nights). It had no pool.
Our next stop was
an open air museum with old-style wooden houses preserved in their
18th
century glory. Just as Yeganah finished work, the rain started again.
It cleared enough to grill, but we didn't dare venture far from home.
I'm
used to the rain. I live in one of the rainiest places in Europe, but
Bergen sees more of a sustained drizzle. Downpours are rare.
Kristiansand was something different. Whenever the rain hit, it was a
barrage.
We were lucky at this
point to have never been out in it, always being close enough to
shelter to avoid the worst.
Our third day was the big
one, the excursion. The beach trip. I'll let the foreshadowing stand.
I wore my swim trunks as
underwear and the day started fine. A bit cloudy, a touch of drizzle.
The second we hit the road, the downpour started.
Lindesnes
lighthouse stands on a peninsula jutting out towards Denmark. The
whole area was lovely, stereotypical Sørland.
Little coves with red boathouses, tethered
sailboats, and wooded hills. Its charm popped out from the rain. When
we reached the Southern tip of the country, the rain had stopped. We
wandered out onto the wind-battered coast. The ocean was oddly
silent. Everything was a wasteland of bare rocks, green moss filling
the narrow cracks.
We warmed up with some
coffee and waffles and it began to rain again on our walk to the car.
Our drive back to Mandal was in a torrent that wasn't any better by
the time we reached the beach. I don't know what possessed us to walk
its length in pouring rain, but we had made a plan. It would be a
shame to abandon it.
Only Yeganah had an
umbrella. Both Michelle and I had but light jackets. The beach itself
was lovely, backed by a strip of woods, the whole stretch a good
kilometer. We only made it halfway before everyone agreed it was
folly to continue. The rain was becoming a storm and the waves
whipped the sand. I was soaked all the way to my shorts. My jacket
did nothing but weigh down on me. We all turned around and headed
back to the car. I wasn't satisfied.
I began stripping down,
handing my sopping clothes to my wife and ran for the water. Alija
followed suit.
I'd brought my shorts. I
was going to use them.
I met face first into a
wave. I gave myself no moment to adjust to the water or turn back.
The cold of the Atlantic hit like a truck, then instantly became
bracing. Elective wetness is always preferred.
Alija screamed as he hit
the water, then also agreed. It felt warmer in the sea, then to be
battered by rain on the shore.
I walked back along the
waves, letting the invigorating rain wash the salt from my skin,
happy I'd not brought my shorts for nothing.
