I woke up to a bright morning. Cold, but the sun was out, and the light coming through the yellow rain fly made the tent comfortable enough to want to lie like a mummy in my bag for as long as I could. I might have had the same feeling waking up in my own bed on a lazy Wednesday morning with no office to be at and nobody expecting me for coffee at Bucers. It was eight o’ clock, however, and I wasn’t about to let the day get away from me. I unfolded myself from the sleeping bag, crawled outside the tent, took a look around, and broke camp. I would make it as far into the hills as I could before setting up again.
I made a quick cup of coffee and took a few minutes to appreciate the landscape as I considered my options. I had two reasons for coming to Lillehammer, neither of which appeared ready to happen. The first was to meet a friend of mine, Wenche, whom I had known for years via email. Her schedule wasn’t matching up, and she wouldn’t be able to drive into the city this week. The second was to find work. Before leaving the States, I had been on the phone with a guy named Lars who owns a café at Kvitfjell, a ski resort famous for hosting the ‘94 Olympics. He sounded optimistic about giving me a job and told me to get back in touch with him once I arrived in the country. Despite multiple attempts to contact Lars since arriving, I had not heard from him during my first week in Norway. Still, hope drove me north, but after a night of camping, my determination was fading….
Until I got a call that morning. It was Lars:
“Hi, Tim.”
“Hi, Lars.”
“So you’ve made it to Norway?”
“Yeah, I’m in Lillehammer.”
“You’re in Lillehammer!?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to come up to Kvitfjell? I’ll show you around.”
“Um, yeah. Sure. Is there a bus up the mountain?”
“No, not really. But take the bus to Ringebu. I’ll come down and pick you up.”
“Okay. I’ll call you when I get there.”
“Great. See you then.”
“Cool.”
I was off to the station. Within ninety minutes, I was on a bus with my bags, a cucumber sandwich (made from a vegetable I found on the sidewalk the night before), and more adrenaline than is healthy for someone that just went through a night of hell. Like the mountains above the fjords, I had – in one short conversation – gone from the Valley of Death to the pinnacle of anticipation in what was finally coming true. I was euphoria. I was disbelief. Then I was in Ringebu, and Lars was late. When he made it to the station, he noticed my bags and asked where I was expecting to stay. I told him I had no plans but that a hotel would do. He informed me that there are no hotels in Ringebu, and I told him a bus back to Lillehammer would do just as well.
When I met Lars, I met a true man of the North. Tall and in his forties with short blond hair and piercing blue eyes, Lars could have been a Viking. In contrast, from our emails and phone conversations, I knew him to have an amiable personality. He had already invited me to come from Idaho. Now he was welcoming me to his mountain, and as we drove up, we began getting to know each other. It turns out he’s been snowboarding since the seventies, and after the mountain opened, he started up his own café on Kvitfjell. He named the place “Koia”, and when we arrived, he showed me in. Koia is a centuries-old wooden building transformed into a one-room bar, framed by a fireplace and a set of massive tree stumps that Lars hand-polished into bar stools. Antique skies, World Cup jersies, and pictures of old friends decorate the walls and rafters, while the bar itself is squeezed into the back corner ready to serve up a fresh hot dog, cup of cocoa, or glass of cold beer to the day’s hungry skiers.
From there, we walked outside, around the deck, and up a short set of stairs leading to the penthouse: a loft outfitted with a couple of mattresses, a kitchen, bathroom, and living room with a couch, which Lars offered to me for the night. I gratefully accepted. Rather than endure the cold for a second time, I would overnight above the bar, but not before driving back down to Ringebu with Lars, joining him and his family for pizza, participating in an after-dinner staff meeting with Cato, Ståle, Anette, and Silje, as well as being introduced to Ane, managing director of GudbrandsGard, a four-star hotel that dwarfs neighboring Koia on Kvitfjell.
Ane stopped by to meet me after she heard from Lars. Knowing that I needed work and that the hours he could offer were to be mostly weekends and holidays, Lars made some calls to see who else might need extra help. Ane and I discussed what the hotel and I could offer each other, and by the end of the evening, we had agreed on my employment at GudbrandsGard, with a meeting scheduled for the following day to discuss the details. Considering the day’s work accomplished, Lars transported me to Koia once again, and as I looked at the snow machine outside the penthouse window, I again found myself in disbelief. Agony was my lot only twenty-four hours ago. Now I had made company with new friends, landed myself not one, but two jobs, and was about to spend the night practically under a ski lift in the comfort of a warm blanket. Am I dreaming? No. I am living the dream. But had I not suffered the night in Lillehammer, I would not have made it this far.
I awoke to the dream the next morning and shoveled snow off the deck in return for the night’s stay. Lars arrived about ten, and we went into town to get a freezer. After loading it up to Koia, I walked over to Gudbrandsgard to meet with Ane. She showed me around the rustic, yet luxurious hotel and introduced me to many of the staff. We agreed that I could start in the kitchen, and as I was introduced to the chefs, I told them they could put me to work as soon as needed. Marit, a young Norwegian, and John from Malta agreed that my services were required immediately, so I spent six hours that evening washing dishes, had dinner on the hotel, and slept another night at Koia.
Reporting to the kitchen at ten o’ clock the next day in the same Hurley t-shirt, Diesel jeans and Asolo boots that were my uniform the night before, I put in my second shift at the hotel. I had met with Ane earlier that morning and was introduced to Magnar, who was to arrange for my employment as a foreigner in the country. We signed a contract, and I received instructions on obtaining a permit to work legally at Kvitfjell for the rest of the season. This was a primary concern of everyone involved and was one of two imperative objectives I now had for myself since arriving at Kvitfjell less than forty-eight hours before. The second of these objectives was to find a permanent living situation, and halfway through Friday’s shift, I took a break to join Lars, who drove me to bottom of Kvitfjell. There, he showed me an apartment he had reserved for the first Koia employee to lay claim to it. He let me in, handed me the key, and agreed to sign for the place in return for my work. Perfect.
Well, almost perfect. The apartment is a studio, with the living area, kitchen, and bathrooms shared between several units. It is located directly across from the ski lift, which will serve as my ride to work in the morning. The hitch is that the lower lift doesn’t start until December, so to report for work at Koia yesterday – Kvitfjell’s opening day – I found myself hiking up the mountain through freshly falling snow, trekking poles in hand, stopping for water from the icy mountain streams, and relying on my GPS and own sense of direction to lead me to Koia’s front door.
Once I made it up, Lars showed me the ropes, and we spent the next three hours serving the first guests of the season. Once the lunchtime rush was through, Lars gave me leave to go, and I stopped by the hotel to see how things were going in the kitchen. They needed a bit of help as they prepared for dinner, so in return for food (working for food from a four-star hotel goes easy on the taste buds), I washed dishes for about an hour until I caught a ride down the hill from Tomas and Lenke, a couple from the Czech Republic who run a café in the hotel. Less than half an hour after getting to my apartment, I got a call from Lars. He needed my help back at the top for a dinner party that he was hosting at Koia, and more guests than he anticipated were expected to arrive.
Lars schedules this sort of weekend event on a regular basis. After the day of skiing is done, he cleans up, puts out a couple of long wooden tables, and serves to groups of twenty or so that reserve the place for candle-lit, gourmet dinners. I told him that getting back up the mountain would be my only problem, but after forty-five minutes of standing on the road with a thumb out, I asked Maria for a ride. Maria lives in the apartment next to mine and is on staff with the hotel. She obliged, and when the evening was over, Lars dropped me off in Fåvang for Cowboyfest at Kvitfjell Pub & Pizza. Anette had invited me, and by the time I arrived, the party was in full swing. A live band was playing country hits, and nearly everyone was decked out in leather boots and cowboy hats. I ran into Falko there, a German chef from the kitchen, and we played wingmen through the night until I caught a ride back to the new digs from Anette and Hans Ola.
Today, with a break from work, I decided to make the five kilometer walk back to Fåvang to get some groceries. I had been living off hotel food and a loaf of bread for the past couple of days, so I took advantage of a gorgeous afternoon to get some more exercise and explore the area I’ll be calling home for the winter. It won’t take me long to settle in, but it’s a day – sometimes even an hour – at a time right now. I have been sustained thus far, and if there is a blessing in store for me tomorrow, then hopefully tomorrow will be the day I find a snowboard.
