Atlantic

It’s “syttende mai” the Norwegian Constitution Day; anniversary of the declaration of Norway as a separate nation in 1814, in the aftermath of the Napoleonic wars. Full independence would have to wait until 1905. Norway is closed for business, but open for ice cream, cake and hot dogs.

We’ve fallen in a pattern of spending every other 17th May outside of Norway in order broaden our children’s minds, and our own. Two years ago it was kayaking in west Sweden. This year, it’s Porto in Portugal.

We plan our egress carefully. All three roads from our neighbourhood to the wider world are closed, one for construction, and two for street parades. We take the train to OSL, and depart late for Lisbon. I worry that we won’t make our flight connection there. On the plane I read Francis Spofforth’s excellent Red Plenty, a dramatic history of the Soviet Economy in the 1950s.

I think of Norway.

Red (by international standards) and plenty (highest standard of living in the world). An engine of state-capitalism lubricated by bountiful natural resources. There is indeed much to celebrate, and the ice cream is deserved, if not hard-earned.

We’re late into Lisbon. Plucked from an airport transfer bus and bundled in a minibus, we’re taken directly to our connecting flight. We spot our bags on a trolley. Happily, they will make it too.

A hour later we’re in Porto. We find our pad, after using Liz’s phone to direct the taxi driver.

The house is huge, with expansive views of the Atlantic. Maria and Austin arrive and we talk and drink wine until midnight.