Cabin Fever (in Norway)

Located about two miles from the Bryggen waterfront, Old Bergen is a reconstructed town consisting of 55 wooden houses, from the 18th, 19th and 20th centuries.  Pictured above is a rather quaint cabin, on the grounds of Old Bergen.  I can only imagine life inside this cabin, assuming it was once inhabited.

After walking the cobblestone streets and visiting most of the homes, including those of former merchants, doctors, and artists, it was time to head back to my hotel, near the waterfront.  It was raining, and while I had walked to Old Bergen, under a steady rain, it was finally time to try the local public transportation system.  Boarding the bus, reluctantly I handed the driver 180 Norwegian Kroner (then about USD 20) for four tickets for the ten-minute ride.  In response to my exasperation, the driver said, with a wry smile, “Welcome to Norway.”

The seven-hour train ride from Oslo to Bergen offers the traveler views of forests, alpine lakes, glaciers, snow-capped mountains, and more than a few cabins, pictured above, with smoke rising from chimneys and, as I could easily imagine, SUVs with Oslo license plates parked outside, enjoying a brief vacation, for the weekend or perhaps a few days longer. Likewise, I could imagine myself spending some time in these cabins, hiking, biking, or fishing during the day, without social distancing or any of the world’s current problems on my mind, while sitting by the fire, enjoying a good book, in the evening.

The Flamsbana, one of the steepest standard gauge railways in the world, connects Flam, at the edge of the Aurlandsfjord, a tributary of the Sognefjord, to Myrdal station.  Farms and cabins painted bright red dot the landscape, set in forest clearings, with narrow, ancient waterfalls sometimes within walking distance.  In Bergen, we purchased the “Sognefjord-in-a-Nutshell” self-guided tour, cruising the Sognefjord, experiencing the Flamsbana, and catching the Oslo-to-Bergen train in Myrdal, to conclude an almost perfect day.

Of course, whether in Norway or elsewhere, these are still cabins, and cabin fever, the notion of being confined to a small space, has settled in globally, in the midst of the current lockdown.

It has been a strange past few months. My dog is enjoying the “Spring of Roxy,” with walks in the morning, evening, and sometimes during the lunch hour as well.  I have become a very (perhaps too) efficient dresser.  I am more purposeful and focused on conservation.  I am teaching online and have discovered virtual yoga (not bad).  The air is cleaner, my street quieter.  I have had more time to read, as I work my way through Volume 3 (of 4) of the master biography of Lyndon B. Johnson (Caro).  Ironically, despite social distancing, I am probably spending more time communicating and reconnecting.  I am as, if not more, busy, but time seems to move slower.  I am spending more time thinking about more global issues, like how to bridge the Digital Divide, how to make online education more engaging (and effective), which of the adjustments and more extensive changes of the past few months will persist (even after herd immunity is achieved and/or a vaccine is available) and how to best adapt to our new world, where to, most productively, focus my work for the next five, ten, fifteen, and twenty years, and so forth.  While no answers are apparent (yet), I am beginning to think this introspection (and the possible solutions that will likely follow) would not have occurred but for being confined to my cabin.

Comments welcomed.