Norwegians are funny folks. Assuming the weather is above freezing, you’ll find them outside at the first hint of sunshine. In the summer, they migrate like lemmings to the nearest warm and sunny places, and in a less modern world, they might almost be considered sun worshippers.
It’s funny, but absolutely understandable. When you live in a place where—as my DH says—the weather consists of 8 months of winter and 3 months of bad weather, and 6 of those months of winter are dark . . . well, sun and warmth is a luxury item. When you don’t exactly see much sunshine, you crave that golden globe in the sky, and the warmth you gather by just sitting there and letting the rays wash over you.
I’ve been here long enough that I don’t deal with heat well; my ideal temperature is about 70-75F. But I’m not far from permanently joining the lemmings’ flock to sunshine.
We’ve been lemmings for the past three weeks.
It’s been a while since we’ve had a proper vacation, but we did this year—in full lemming fashion. Crete is one of those Scandinavian-friendly destinations, and the hotel was a small, family-run place which was quiet, lovely, and perfectly restful. Not one of those places which are crammed with small children or the beautiful people who like to party, but rather a place where you feel comfortable, safe, and can be yourself.
There was spinning, reading, and knitting, and not much else, other than sunshine and warmth.
What more could you want?