There's norway like holmen

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A conversation with a co-worker has made me realise that I will be down to earth with a bump shortly when I arrive in Melbourne. She was asking me what I did with my weekend. "I went skiing - kind of a last minute thing." "In Milton Keynes? " - "Um, no, Norway..."

OK, so it wasn't quite a last minute decision to visit Oslo, as I have been promising myself that I would visit since James my ex-housemate moved there in October last year, but the skiing was a little less planned.

Landing at the airport, I looked out the window and was amazed to see the countryside was covered in snow - I know it was winter, but I just hadn't been expecting to see more than a light covering like in England, and probably embarrassed myself by taking lots of photos of nothing on the train into central Oslo.

James met me at the station and we took the scenic trip to his flat, around the harbour and past the Nobel Centre - lucky we did this, as it was the only view of it I had! After lunch we headed up Holmenkollen, a 60m ski jump which has been on the site since 1892. Looking down the jump from the top kicked my vertigo into high gear, but it gave a lovely view of the city and fjord, covered in ice.

My visit coincided with a party celebrating James's new flat, and late on on Saturday night, he said, "If I can get you ski-gear, do you want to go skiing tomorrow?" "Woop!" said I, and after 4 hours sleep we headed out to catch up with French-led convoy up to Norefjell, a ski resort about 2 hours drive from Oslo, on a tree covered mountain, with a glacial lake at the base - the most stunning scenery. A little shaky on the first couple of runs, but then I hit my stride again, and remembered how much I love skiing. The runs were much longer and wider than I have been used to, and while a little icy nothing like I have been used to, so looks like Whakapapa has been a good training ground!

Dropping sticks at 4.30, we barreled through the darkening countryside in a race to get me to the airport in time for my flight, but thanks to the French driving of Antoine (where 'give way' means only if you feel like it), I had an hour to kill at the airport which allowed me to buy a pair of handknitted mittens which are lovely and warm, although make me inclined to do sock puppets whenever I wear them - not a good look.

I felt many parallels between New Zealanders and Norwegians - small towns in beautiful, unforgiving countryside of course, but also a spontaneity, and a love of the outdoors (many Norwegians ski 3-4 times a week after work in the winter and kayak in the summer). But somehow I got the impression that the remoteness that drives restlessness in many Kiwis instead allows Norwegians to live in contented isolation, although I'm not sure why this would be. Many of the Norwegians I spoke to asked me what I thought of London - with slightly detached curiosity - I got the impression while interested in hearing about somewhere different, most of them had no desire to actually go and live anywhere else themselves. And when I thought there was a chance that I might miss my plane and end up stranded in Olso, that seemed an idea with a great deal of appeal!