Is Norway a miser's death?

Living in Norway changes one's entire concept of money. For years, when my wife and I were courting, I could never understand how she had absolutely no understanding of value, whereas I'd spent my whole life, always searching for a sale. I'm sure many figured that my head would explode the second I moved to Norway. Yet, now, nine months later, I still live, head intact.

In 2010, during my first visit to Bergen, I nearly did lose my head. At this point, I was at the last leg of my round-the-world tour, nearing the point of being broke, which by my standards means that my bank account was dipping below $3000. Michelle payed for most everything, which I found unbehooving. I was completely fine, just barely enjoying myself without the comfort of, well, anything. When you are accustomed to living for only $15 a day, a $5 Snickers bar is easily frivolous. I rejected all I could, but Michelle is a generous sort. I nearly had her return a beer when I learned it had cost twenty bucks; I tried to remember the last time I'd blew a Jackson on a whole night on the town.

How quickly things change. Granted, there was no smooth transition, especially in the six weeks surrounding my wedding. Before coming here, I was working seven hours a week as a teacher for $15 an hour, and filling my time cleaning a youth hostel five days a week and being happy when the skivvy owner slapped twelve bucks in hand when finished for the afternoon, which I'd often blow when my wife asked me to bring home milk and something for dinner. When we got to Norway, I never left the house, filled my days with hiking, jogging, walking the dogs, writing short stories (it was a prolific period in my life), constantly eyeing the ink levels on my pen, knowing that to buy a new one was an hour's wage by Hungary's standards. I was unable to find a summer job and was all but overjoyed to return to my meager earnings in Hungary, even if it only yielded a scant ten hours a week teaching. Then, we made the decision to spend the next year in Norway.

As you've probably gathered from the previous paragraphs and the mere fact that I'm writing an essay on such a theme, I can easily be described as tighter than an Oklahoma farm wife in 1932. A six-week holiday was one thing, but moving to the world's most expensive country, with no job, only enough Norwegian to order a beer I couldn't afford, and no residency permit, could quickly prove disastrous. I leered over my savings balance, counting how many short weeks until I was truly broke (or down to the $1,500 needed to fly back to Dad's spare bedroom). Now I had a few things in my favor: one, we were living in Michelle's parent's spare bedroom, paying just enough rent to cover food and electricity. Two, we had worked out an obscure loophole that would allow me to work legally without a residency permit. And finally, kitchens have a common thread that crosses oceans: they're all populated by immigrants with little-to-no knowledge of local languages. I applied for 30 jobs in a variety of fields, lied a little about my Norwegian levels, and got two interviews. I always nail the interviews.

Now I am working as a cook at TGI Fridays and the hilarity of being an American, making hamburgers in Europe never escapes me. I now can empathize with the Turks in the kebab shops or the Indian curry slingers. Despite being right at the poverty line in Norway, it's a distiction that means much less here. M y wage is higher than any I've ever had. Norwegians can give me sad eyes when I reveal my income, but at least I can purchase a $20 beer without fearing the loss of my $7 hotdog on the way home.

Living in Norway doesn't kill one's ability to recognize value; it just changes the word's definition, encourages a different lifestyle, thankfully, one I've already mastered. It's common to buy as many things on sale as possible and often sales in Norway come with insane discounts. Avoiding snacks and nights of extreme drunkenness is even easier in Norway and the reward is much greater. However, this is something that I do much more than the average Norwegian, who finds spending two-days' wages on a Saturday night a totally reasonable way to use money.

Much of the high cost of goods comes from taxes and the general high wages of the people (and it spirals in an infinite circle that benefits only those who life here). To make a profit, one has to charge a lot, but thankfully people make more too. The same economics works everywhere in the world, but when living in Norway, your money goes further abroad, thus bringing me to the start of the essay again. Michelle was a loose spender, but that was because setting a foot over the border is like stepping into a giant garage sale. This is not to say she is immune to bad judgement, like the time she payed 10 euro for a coke and a bag of pistachios in Turkey (the rest of Europe can just smell the Norwegians' cod-breath). But when we went to the US, I found myself doing the same. I brought an empty suitcase, bought a new wardrobe, toothpaste, dental floss, deodorant, shampoo, three toothbrushes, shaving cream, chips, candy, hair-dye for Manda (I didn't buy razors, which due to Gillette's monopoly on quality products, are the same price in both expensive countries like Norway and cheap ones like India), all for the cost of typical trip to Norwegian supermarket. In my first trip to a liquor store, I almost walked out 7 six-packs before I realized that I could never drink it all in the 12 days I was there, just because each one cost the same a single bottle of microbrew in Norway. (Homebrewing cost nearly the same though :) ) As a writer, I can now afford to join writing contests, most of which come with a subscription to lit journals. Now I have books pouring into my mailbox and to pay for it, I just have to make myself a sandwich on the way out the door.

The other big change, again, one that was happening anyway, is that buying cheap things is idiotic here. Cost has a logarithmic relationship to quality. Junk is expensive. Mid-grade is expensive. So, once you already are paying forty dollars for a hamburger, you might as well go up to fifty and have a steak. By the time you are buying really expensive things, cost the is nearly the same as everywhere else, you just have more disposable income to use.

I don't want to create the impression that I've abandoned my miserly ways. I still choose to walk thirty minutes home instead of taking a taxi. I still spend ten minutes in the supermarket calculating the most cost-efficient lunch. I buy instant coffee which I mix in a coffee mug I always carry in my bag ( I kindly ask the cafes what they charge for hot water, all say nothing after giving me a confused look.) I still complain about how expensive everything is here (it really is ridiculous), but not nearly as much as before, because, that's just the way it is.