So after three rain-soaked weeks in Ireland we’re back in Norway, where it’s also raining quite a bit, but somehow the rain here doesn’t bother me. I suspect it’s about expectations. Things I love about visiting home are walking everywhere, getting my hair professionally blow-dried and dressing up, all of which kind of drain of joy as the heavens open and drench you. So back in Oslo where I drive everywhere, sweep my greasy mop into a pony tail, wear purple wellies and the kids have rain clothes, life seems easier. Even when we all have head colds courtesy of our damp hols.
Why haven’t people in Ireland embraced rain gear for their kids and wellies for their own wet feet? Anyone? I’ve no clue but it seems dafter and dafter every time I visit. As one nice Latvian waiter in a Mexican restaurant in Dublin bemoaned, 'It rains here all year '; it's not like rubber rain wear for kids wouldn't be useful.
It was Ireland’s wettest August in 21 years, so the locals were as upset about it as I was. In fact, the weather has turned even wetter since we left, with roads blocked by flooding.
Back in Oslo, at least the sun shines between showers and all the little Nomads have been treated to new 69 Kr wellies. Baby Aidan has embraced his inner Norwegian and joined his pals at kindergarden in playing in the rain without getting his inside clothes wet.
Our noses will dry up soon, and after a wet August in Kilkenny, there's part of me looking forward to a (last) dry, cold Norwegian winter. Who would have thunk it?
P.S. Er, rain? What's that?
Two poor-quality photos from my cellphone of today's trip to the beach at Sandvika. For some reason the locals were AWOL and we had it almost to ourselves. I've got that lovely tight sun-burn feeling on my face; makes the head-cold feel a lot better.I think there's a real danger that I'm falling in love with Norway after almost four years. Bad news for a nomad.