Challenging American Workaholism in Norway 

By: Ashlee Green 
 

In planning my three-week trip to Norway in July of 2023, I spent countless hours researching unique saunas, hidden gem museums, and prominent anarchist organizations to connect with and check out. I was going there, after all, to study the country’s history of anarchism, naturism, and sauna culture, and I wanted a wide range of experiences to draw from. I must’ve emailed 20 people, most of them associated with Norwegian universities, to propose interviews. What I failed to factor in, however, was fellesferie, the Norwegian “joint holiday,” when more than half of the Norwegian workforce is on vacation. This national vacation time, I quickly learned, lined up precisely with the timeline of my trip.  

 Unlike in America, where the average worker is often praised for their workaholism, Norwegians take their vacation time seriously. There’s a funny LA Times article written back in 2004 by Doug Mellgren, titled “Norwegians Abandon Their Posts for Fellesferie,” that illustrates this. Mellgren seeks out Norway’s “expert on fellesferie” for an interview about the holiday time, but unfortunately, the guy himself is on fellesferie. “Naturally, the expert on fellesferie was on fellesferie,” Mellgren writes. 
 
Fellesferie aligns with the country’s most pleasant weather of the year as well as its phenomenon of “Midnight Sun,” when there’s daylight close to 24/7. Another Norwegian term—friluftsliv—guides the culture. Literally, it means “open air life.” It is meant to give a sense of the freedom experienced from time spent outdoors. Norway’s citizens are already known for being outdoorsy, but the month of July—when, according to Mellgren, “every 70-degree day is precious” — presents the perfect storm of factors in the country that keeps Norwegians away from their desks.  
 
All this to say, as you would expect, no one I’d emailed in Norway was available for an interview during my time there. 
 
At first, I was frustrated, but then I began to see the humor and possibilities in the situation. I told myself I’d be spontaneous; that it would be fun! I threw my plans out the window and flew across the pond with nothing but a few hostel reservations confirmed. Still, I couldn't help but ask myself: What was I going to write about if I had no one to talk to? 

I landed in Oslo and went into full-on Gonzo journalist mode. I visited the gravesites of Henrik Ibsen and Edvard Munch in Grünerløkka’s Vår Frelsers Cemetery, then walked into a neighborhood bar and met U., a music producer. The day after I met him, U. showed me an underground anarchist cafe, where he—a smoker—and I—nonsmoker—discussed the morbid smoking warnings on European cigarette packaging. In Bergen, I visited Troldhaugen, the living museum of Norwegian composer Edvard Grieg. I asked the tour guide, H., if she’d tell me more about Grieg, and she invited me for drinks with her and her partner later that evening. I ended up interviewing them about Norwegian sex education, after midnight, in their apartment, over a bowl of vegan cheese curls and beverages made with Lerum’s blackcurrant syrup. In Trondheim, I checked out an open mic night at a spot along the Nidelva River. I was seated at a table with T., one of the evening’s performers, who happened to be a former resident of an experimental housing district I wanted to see. The next day, he gave me a firsthand tour of the place. 

Nearly everyone in Norway, as I mentioned, was on vacation, and the weather was, for the most part, sunny, warm, and stable (unlike the rest of the year, when it can be unpredictable due to its various climates, microclimates, and extreme topography). It was for these reasons, I assume, that people I met were generally in good spirits. They were more than willing to give me the time of day. The style of interviewing I was performing—off-the-cuff, just as I’d set out to be—was what made my whole travel experience more vivid and authentic. Despite my initial worries, I’d had plenty of people to talk to, about a multitude of subjects: saunas, naturism, and anarchism were the least of them. 
 

Journalists are always walking a fine line with their subjects between being a friend and a professional. If you’re a good one, I think, your patience and presence blurs this line. Your subject learns that they can trust you, and honest stories prevail. I hope, through my writing about Norway, that I’m an effective channel of the truth that I felt there, and that it vibrates on the page for readers to feel too. 

Sources: 
https://www.latimes.com/archives/la-xpm-2004-jul-25-adfg-norway25-story.html 
 
https://nordicmuseum.org/news/leibowitz-open-air-life#:~:text=Norwegians%20have%20a%20guiding%20principle,%2C%20in%20all%20weather%3A%20friluftsliv. 
 
https://www.theguardian.com/society/shortcuts/2018/jan/28/how-my-dead-body-ended-up-on-millions-of-cigarette-packets-across-europe?CMP=share_btn_url 
 
https://www.switchbacktravel.com/norway/weather-gulf-stream-when-to-go#:~:text=Summer%3A%20July%20and%20August%20have,77%C2%B0F)%20or%20more. 
 
https://www.britannica.com/place/Norway/Climate  

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Ashlee Green (she/they) is a third-year MFA candidate in nonfiction writing. The former managing editor of a community newspaper in Pittsburgh, Pa., Green holds a B.A. in creative nonfiction writing from the University of Pittsburgh. In their free time, they enjoy practicing handstands, visiting art museums, stoking bonfires, and napping in their hammock.
 
Green travelled to Norway using the Cheuse Travel Fellowship and researched the country's history of anarchism, naturism, and sauna culture.