Hvordan sier du . . . på norsk? Unnskyld, jeg snakker ikke norsk.

"A child kicks his legs rhythmically through excess, not absence, of life." This (out of context) quote, along with that cheesey Lennon Christmas song and the Beatles' "Norwegian Wood," was running in my head during my Nowegian Christmas extravaganza.
Bergen, Norway is the most splendiferously resplendent place I have ever been. Ever. And my extended family made this Christmas one of my most memorable. They taught me some norsk; took me on short hikes and gave me detailed explainations about the geology of Norway; took me downtown, to see Edvard Munch and Edvard Greig, and taught me about the history of Bryggen; fed me traditional Norwegian meals and toothsome home-baked sweets and bread; introduced me to Norwegian brown cheese, Christmas beer, Akevitt, new Norwegian free-jazz-electronica; were most generous in making me feel welcome (my most common phrase was "tusen takk," theirs, "værsågod"); and basically had me constantly resisting the temptation to kick my legs rhythmically in an excess of life. Skål (cheers) to them!

I spent 12 hours in Amsterdam en route. I hadn't slept the previous night, but it was good to see the city again

This is the view from the 'backyard' of the house I stayed at in Bergen

Christmas Eve is the big day in Norway. Left - Right: Svein-Petter, Guro, Borghild, Beate (my dad's cousin)

The rest of the fam-damily. Left - Right: Beate/Edgar's mum, Thorbjørn, Eirik, Edgar (my dad's cousin)

My Great Uncle Ian Dobi with a tea cozy on his head (Dec 25)

Bryggen i Bergen: the oldest part of Bergen, on the UNESCO list

Narrow alleys of Bryggen

The Dobi-Kviem house