Lysefjorden Revealed: A personal journey through Norway’s hidden gem

 Just as the sun starts elbowing its way through the last of winter's gloom, I've been doing some spring cleaning in the attic of my mind. 

It's during this annual mental declutter that I've stumbled across the realization of just how much Lysefjorden, a gem on the West coast of Norway, isn't just wallpaper material for my life’s highlight reel, but the very ground beneath my feet.

Let's rewind and zoom in on Lysefjorden, shall we? 

Picture this: A place so ridiculously picturesque, it feels like Mother Nature was just showing off. This isn't just any postcard-perfect scene; it's the backdrop of my very essence, the canvas of my soul's masterpiece.

Imagine being knee-high to a grasshopper, running wild and free among the fjord's towering cliffs and mirror-like waters. This wasn't just a holiday spot; it was my wonderland, my battlefield, and my quiet corner. It’s where I mastered ( actually still working on it) the art of stone skipping,and discovered that peace isn’t just a word in a self-help book—it’s the silence between echoes in a fjord.

Then, plot twist: I inherited the old family house right on the fjord's edge. This isn’t just any house. 

It’s the keeper of secrets, the holder of laughter, and the silent witness to at least three generations of questionable fashion choices. More than bricks and mortar (or, since we're in Norway, probably wood and dreams), this house is my anchor in a world that moves faster than a fjord in flood season.

So, here I am, your unofficial guide to life by the fjord, ready to spill the secrets of living in a place so beautiful it could make a grown man weep with joy—or frustration during the tourist season. Stick around for tales of high drama, low tides, and the kind of quiet moments that make life, well, life.

At 12, I faced a dilemma that would shape my entrepreneurial spirit: to slave away picking strawberries for someone else ( lasted 2 days!)  or to become the Steve Jobs of the pear world! ( lasted for seasons)

My pears, tiny but mighty in sweetness, became the center of a heated debate—were they delightfully compact or scandalously unripe? According to some, I was practically a fruit fraudster for selling these mini marvels. But I stood tall! I KNEW the value in these exclusive small summer pears!

Choosing to sell my own pears was my declaration of independence, my small rebellion against the fruit size shamers. 

There, by the fjord, I learned that success could come in any size and that sometimes, the critics just don't recognize a good pear when they see one!!

This first foray into the world of commerce wasn't just about fruit; it was a lesson in trusting myself and enjoying the fruits of my labor (pun intended)—a lesson that's stuck with me through every adventure since.

Crab fishing with my dad wasn't just about battling the sea for its treasures; it was more like a masterclass in "how to chill with style," courtesy of nature. 

It taught me patience, mostly because those crabs were playing hard to get, and how important it is to just be with someone. We didn't just share a boat, we shared stories, silence, and a bond that only the crabs could interrupt.

Then there was the marmalade rebellion at the ripe age of 9. 

My cousin and I, marmalade moguls in the making, faced our first corporate challenge—a neighbor demanding our business license. "Who has given you permission to do this?" they asked, glaring at our makeshift stall. Little did they know, they were fueling my future as a marmalade magnate, teaching me to spread joy (and citrus) even in the face of skepticism.

Observing the local wildlife—human edition—around the fjord was like living in a real-life sitcom. 

From the grumpy farmer who seemed to argue with his own shadow, to the neighbor who smiled so much I suspected they invented happiness. They were my early tutors in the art of people watching, each adding their unique flavor to the fjord's human stew.

Berry picking,( oh boy how I disliked that one) promoted by my mom as a "fun family activity," was actually my intro to the zen of simplicity. Each berry is now a tiny reminder that the world is full of unnoticed wonders—if only we're curious enough to look.

Now, spending much time  in the house by Lysefjorden that I inherited, every day is a throwback to those lessons. In particular now during Easter break. It's here that my son, Benjamin, turned into a miniature daredevil on the four-wheeler with my dad, proving that the spirit of adventure is hereditary. Both of my loved ones now gone.

These tales from Lysefjorden aren't just postcards from a scenic spot; they're chapters of my life's adventure book. 

It's a reminder to us all to keep the curiosity alive, cherish our connections, and have the guts to poke around the unknown corners of our world.

Because, at the end of the day, life is about enjoying the journey, finding the magic in the mundane, and maybe, just maybe, learning a thing or two from a crab.

Many of us ask “ What’s next?”  What’s next is found in these very moments, here and now  and what we do with it my friend.

With love and a dash of fjord-side wisdom,

Rita