July 13-14, 2024 Fishermans’ homes do not have windows facing the sea.

 July 13-14, 2024

Fishermans’ homes do not have windows facing the sea.

————————-

I waved - as I do - at a couple, sitting on their deck, enjoying the late night sun.

And he waved back, and then they both waved and smiled, and then quick as a wink, I rode past the neat, white house, with the friendly couple on its deck.

And that could have been it, a moment that I would have quickly forgotten. A petite well-kept house, like many others, with the fjord behind it and massive green peaks across from it, joining many similar sights, barely registering as I glide by.

But this time, I didn’t just pass.

This time, I circled back.

Why did I circle back? Because they waved. Because it was getting late and I was having trouble finding a camp spot. Because I felt brave after the last time I turned around to talk. But mostly, because they smiled.

And we swapped the Norwegian greetings, “Hey, hey!” and made small talk, and soon I was explaining, “I’ve been looking for a place to camp, but it all seems to be private land. Do you have any suggestions?”

She looked at him and they nodded at each other, and then she said, “It is all private land, but you are welcome to camp on our land.”

I thanked them, that would be great, and they asked,

Where are you from? From where have you cycled?

Where are you heading?

Have you been planning this for a long time?

Alone?!?

Do you get lonely?

And soon, I was sitting on the porch with them, drinking a cold beer, sharing my thoughts about loneliness and life, and telling stories of my trip, like the travelers of old who went from town to town entertaining the townsfolk with tales of their journeys.

And soon, I was asking questions, Do you live here full time? How old is the house? Why are there no windows facing the sea?

And soon we were sharing back and forth, meaningful questions and thoughtful answers.

And soon, as the late night turned chilly, we were sitting in their living room, a space we filled with curious questions.

We talked about the things you talk about with someone you want to get to know, someone who interests you, someone who comes from a different culture, which creates differences, and yet so many similarities. Someone with whom you would eagerly go out for a cup of coffee or for an evening stroll.

And soon, I was luxuriating in a hot shower, and drying off with a plush towel, so much larger than my tiny camp towel.

And soon, I was snug under a duvet in their guest room, while the black out shades blocked out the bright midnight sun.

And soon, I was awakening to the smell of coffee, dark and rich, which was delicious. And brown bread with brown cheese, and homemade rhubarb jam and another cup of coffee, and she and I were talking about bike touring and how she’s always wanted to do do a tour, but the obstacles around how to take time off? Could she really do it alone? Would her son join for a week? And maybe her husband for a section? And now I felt I had a gift to give - how she could do it, how the obstacles could be overcome. The national bike route winds in front of her home- imagine her riding it next summer!

They had gifted me companionship, a comfortable place to sleep, and delightful conversation. And perhaps I had given her the inspiration to follow her dream.

It’s hard to meet people on a bike trip. Usually, it’s just a wave or a nod, a fleeting acknowledgement of a fellow bike traveler or a cheery wave to a person mowing their lawn.

Or if you’re going in the same direction as someone, you might meet up at campsites or lunch spot. But unless you ride similar speeds and distances, it’s hard to engage with someone long enough to have a meaningful interaction.

Add the challenge of finding someone who speaks the same language, and the odds of finding someone who you are genuinely interested in talking with, and it’s very hard to meet people on a bike trip. The evening was like a social oasis!

When Bente and I hugged good bye the next morning, my heart was full.

I hope she takes her bike tour next summer. Maybe we would even ride together for a stretch.

And I hope that I continue to be brave enough to turn around and say, “Hey, hey!”

Bente’s grandfather, a fisherman, constructed this house without windows that faced the sea. After long and dangerous days on the water, he did not want to look at it. So too, we decide where we want to focus. Right now, I choose to build my windows toward moments of connection, including this one with the fisherman’s granddaughter.

July 13-14, 2024

Fishermans’ homes do not have windows facing the sea.

————————-

I waved - as I do - at a couple, sitting on their deck, enjoying the late night sun.

And he waved back, and then they both waved and smiled, and then quick as a wink, I rode past the neat, white house, with the friendly couple on its deck.

And that could have been it, a moment that I would have quickly forgotten. A petite well-kept house, like many others, with the fjord behind it and massive green peaks across from it, joining many similar sights, barely registering as I glide by.

But this time, I didn’t just pass.

This time, I circled back.

Why did I circle back? Because they waved. Because it was getting late and I was having trouble finding a camp spot. Because I felt brave after the last time I turned around to talk. But mostly, because they smiled.

And we swapped the Norwegian greetings, “Hey, hey!” and made small talk, and soon I was explaining, “I’ve been looking for a place to camp, but it all seems to be private land. Do you have any suggestions?”

She looked at him and they nodded at each other, and then she said, “It is all private land, but you are welcome to camp on our land.”

I thanked them, that would be great, and they asked,

Where are you from? From where have you cycled?

Where are you heading?

Have you been planning this for a long time?

Alone?!?

Do you get lonely?

And soon, I was sitting on the porch with them, drinking a cold beer, sharing my thoughts about loneliness and life, and telling stories of my trip, like the travelers of old who went from town to town entertaining the townsfolk with tales of their journeys.

And soon, I was asking questions, Do you live here full time? How old is the house? Why are there no windows facing the sea?

And soon we were sharing back and forth, meaningful questions and thoughtful answers.

And soon, as the late night turned chilly, we were sitting in their living room, a space we filled with curious questions.

We talked about the things you talk about with someone you want to get to know, someone who interests you, someone who comes from a different culture, which creates differences, and yet so many similarities. Someone with whom you would eagerly go out for a cup of coffee or for an evening stroll.

And soon, I was luxuriating in a hot shower, and drying off with a plush towel, so much larger than my tiny camp towel.

And soon, I was snug under a duvet in their guest room, while the black out shades blocked out the bright midnight sun.

And soon, I was awakening to the smell of coffee, dark and rich, which was delicious. And brown bread with brown cheese, and homemade rhubarb jam and another cup of coffee, and she and I were talking about bike touring and how she’s always wanted to do do a tour, but the obstacles around how to take time off? Could she really do it alone? Would her son join for a week? And maybe her husband for a section? And now I felt I had a gift to give - how she could do it, how the obstacles could be overcome. The national bike route winds in front of her home- imagine her riding it next summer!

They had gifted me companionship, a comfortable place to sleep, and delightful conversation. And perhaps I had given her the inspiration to follow her dream.

It’s hard to meet people on a bike trip. Usually, it’s just a wave or a nod, a fleeting acknowledgement of a fellow bike traveler or a cheery wave to a person mowing their lawn.

Or if you’re going in the same direction as someone, you might meet up at campsites or lunch spot. But unless you ride similar speeds and distances, it’s hard to engage with someone long enough to have a meaningful interaction.

Add the challenge of finding someone who speaks the same language, and the odds of finding someone who you are genuinely interested in talking with, and it’s very hard to meet people on a bike trip. The evening was like a social oasis!

When Bente and I hugged good bye the next morning, my heart was full.

I hope she takes her bike tour next summer. Maybe we would even ride together for a stretch.

And I hope that I continue to be brave enough to turn around and say, “Hey, hey!”

Bente’s grandfather, a fisherman, constructed this house without windows that faced the sea. After long and dangerous days on the water, he did not want to look at it. So too, we decide where we want to focus. Right now, I choose to build my windows toward moments of connection, including this one with the fisherman’s granddaughter.