Fjords, Firewater & Midnight Mayhem
It started, as ever, with a roll of the dice.
1–3 and I’m booking a long weekend in Brighton, arguing over deckchair space and queuing for fish and chips.
But 4–6? That meant one thing: Norway.
Land of eternal daylight, moody mountains, and people who drink like Vikings and hike like machines.
The dice landed on six. Game on.
Day 1: Oslo – Calm on the Surface, Chaotic Beneath
I land in Oslo, Norway’s so-called “chill capital.” Clean streets, cleaner people, and a weird calm that makes you feel like you’re the one bringing the noise.
First roll of the trip:
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1–3 = museum crawl.
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4–6 = beer crawl.
Six. Of course.
I rent a dodgy city bike, cruise past the Opera House like I belong, and head straight for Grünerløkka, the hipster zone where everyone’s got a beard or a dog, or both.
Norwegian beer costs more than a domestic flight, but it hits like a hammer. Ended up chatting nonsense with some students about Edvard Munch and accidentally gatecrashing a rooftop barbecue. Oslo: sneaky wild.
Day 2: Flåm – Rail, Rain, and Rapture
I roll the dice again:
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Odds = stick around in Oslo and pretend I’m cultured.
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Evens = take a train into the unknown.
Even. Boom. Flåm Railway, here I come.
This train doesn’t chug—it glides through valley after valley, waterfalls smashing down cliff faces like nature's own nightclub visuals.
I arrive in Flåm and roll again:
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1–3 = chill by the fjord.
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4–6 = kayak into the void.
You already know the result.
Soon I’m paddling through the Nærøyfjord, surrounded by sheer cliffs and water so still it felt like paddling through a dream. Almost serene. Until my kayak capsized because I reached for a beer mid-paddle. Classic.
Day 3: Bergen – Moody, Musical, and Just Wet Enough
Bergen greeted me with rain so poetic I half-expected it to narrate itself.
The dice rolled me straight into the Bryggen wharf, all leaning timber and Hanseatic charm, followed by a fish market pit stop and a beer that tasted like smoked regret.
Then this string quartet starts playing out of nowhere. I tip them with coins and whatever was left of my dignity, before deciding I need altitude.
Up Mount Fløyen I go.
I roll to decide whether to hike or funicular it.
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1–3 = hike.
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4–6 = funicular and fudge it.
It’s a three. Brilliant. I hike.
Two hours later I’m at the top, sweaty, smug, and staring at a midnight sun that refuses to go down. Time? Irrelevant. Energy? Questionable. Mood? Glorious.
Day 4: Lofoten Islands – Midnight Madness in the North
The dice demand I go further.
I fly north to Lofoten, where reality officially packs up and leaves.
I shack up in a rorbu—basically a glorified fisherman’s hut with Instagram envy—and roll for evening activities:
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1–3 = read a book like some wholesome Scandi bloke.
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4–6 = join the locals for fish, firewater, and stories that don’t end until the sun gets bored.
I land on a five.
Cue stockfish, shots of akvavit, and a man named Lars telling me about the time he fended off a moose with a shovel.
At 2 a.m., the sky turns lavender. I take a photo I’ll never post and wonder if I’ve stumbled into a painting. Either that or the akvavit’s kicked in hard.
Reflections from the Land of the Midnight Sun
Norway in June is like nowhere else—where the sun refuses to set, the beer refuses to be cheap, and the landscapes feel like they were made for gods, not idiots like me.
The dice led me through fjords, into freezing water, up soaked mountains, and into late-night madness with fishermen, musicians, and fellow lunatics.
It wasn’t chaos like Tenerife or Bali—but it was magic with a hangover, and a reminder that not all adventures need volume… just a bit of madness and momentum.
And now? The dice are itching again.
— The Diceman
