My great grandfather was norwegian and in 1900, when he was 18, he sailed from Kristiansand to Australia on a schooner (not the beer glass kind). I'm an enthusiastic geneologist and researching his has been given me my own adventure on the high seas. I've set myself the task (or burden) of writing the stories of my ancestors, either in one big book or a bunch of smaller ones...Haven't quite worked it out in my head yet, so hopefully I can get some great guidance and encouragement from other more experienced writers who can offer useful suggestions to overcome things suchs as writer's block, the manic high when you just can't stop (like now) and the manic lows which can last for years that leave you completely unproductive....(hmmm the Stephen Fry documentary comes to mind....

I live in Norway now and think I shall take a trip to Norwich this summer to do some further family tree research....ah yes, didn't I tell you, I'm descend not only from "norwegian" roots, but norwichian roots too.....lol...It still amazes me to think that the 2, being so close geographically, just across the North Sea basically, had to travel all the way to Australia to meet up. Mind you, while the Norwegian sailor went of his own free will, the end result of my norwich roots went courtesy of HRH Queen Victoria's "lets clean up England's streets" policy and protect the possessions of the rich by carting off every man and his dog to no man's land (or so they thought....tell that to the aborigines) otherwise known as Van Diemens land or, by way of Gov Phillip, New South Wales. But I digress...

Where was I, oh yes, the facts....

As part of my adventure I visited the old farms of my norwegian ancestors, up north from where I now live, about half way between Stavanger and Bergen and the other, about an hour outside of Bergen, in the magnificent fjordal mountains to the north. The farms still have some of the old wooden houses houses standing, and it seems, both my norwegian and norwichian ancestors loved playing with wood...The visit was very moving.

Two summers ago, July 2006, I took a trip with my boyfriend to the oldest viking chieftain village in Norway, the headquarters if you will, wandering through the ancient norwegian wood. It truly is a sight to behold. The tree trunks were green from the winter's absent sun, which lit up with mystery as the warmth of the golden glow gave it softness that the winter steals. It was about 11pm as the sun disappeared beyond the next valley, flickering as we ran between the mossy trunks,laughing, feeling alive. Going back 1000 years, into the silence, except our laughter, hearing the echo of silence and laughter, history and now. When we got to the edge of the forest, into an open clearing, we stood in awe, as an ocean liner suddenly appeared from around a bend, sailing silently seaward down the fjord, bound for Denmark, sounding its horn to let us know we were not in a dream. What a contrast, the old and the new. Many moons ago that would have been a long boat rowing by, with the laps of the water and the grunts of the vikings echoing through the fjordal valley.

This village is an exact replication ofhow it was 1000 years ago. This village was home to the very vikings who invaded your York !!! One of the more famous chiefs was Harold the Great (also known as "Harold fint har" (fine hair). I think he was the viking who became King of England for a year....will need to brush up on my royal history again. Although I am sure there might be someone reading this, an "expert" who might correct me )

It was a remarkable birthday experience, one I'll never forget. Now for some pictures.