White Wedding (63.4N 10.4E)
An hour of watching oil rigs slide south, an hour of watching frozen lakes, dark forests and deep snow slide the same way, and suddenly there was Trondheim under the wheels of the plane.
They'd been having deep snow and -25C but now it was just flurries and barely below zero. A thousand miles to the south we'd just avoided 3 hour delays on the M25 because of snow showers that wouldn't even register here; the only Norwegian concession to UK sensibilities was "Ladies and gentleman, take care when crossing the ice to the terminal building". On the roads snow gets ploughed off the road, and blocks house driveways; no fuss, out come the snowblowers to clear them, no drama.
Finding the hotel was easy - it seemed oddly low-tech to have copied the Lat/Lon from Google maps into the hiking GPS, but the check-in desk was less than 5 metres from the X I used to mark the spot.
'Trondheim' means something like 'a good place' but some parts of it leave a chill that's nothing to do with the cold - the old fort used during WWII to execute Norwegian Resistance fighters, the DORA 1 submarine pens so massive they can't be blown up without wrecking the neighbourhood.
Old cannon, newer guns.
No-one else up at the fort, it not exactly being the peak of the tourist season. A couple of museums we'd aimed for were closed; the cathedral was open (since about 1070AD) where we got a tour by some bloke in a red frock. Elsewhere, the Crown Jewels weren't very bling but there was a sense of history to the sword. We decided not to bother ringing the door bell of the Royal Residence as the curtains were drawn (no driveway, gates, or guards - their front door opens directly onto the pavement) in favour of messing about with the very hands-on Science Museum. Crash simulators, Zero-G rigs, high-voltage Jacob's ladder, acid batteries and all sorts of stuff that kids would actually learn something from (and which would have UK H&S types in fits).
We'd crossed the old wooden bridge on foot a few times, enough that it was odd to find it open during daylight and to see cars being allowed over it. Nice view up the river, below was a sad bicycle in the water that's been there long enough I came across a pic of it on the 'net later.
Walking up one steep road we came across the 'bicycle lift' - apparently a sort of conveyor belt for bicycles, to help them up the hill. It wasn't visible under the snow, but the people riding down the hill on their bikes didn't seem too bothered - trusting to studded tyres and norwegian traffic law to keep them safe (if a car driver hits you, it's automatically the car drivers fault - still, I couldn't quite catch the pedestrian habit of walking out onto crossings on busy roads without even looking, let alone breaking stride).
Next day brought snow, and the challenge of finding the city's Tinghus; not too hard, except for the 'crazy foreigners' looks as we walked across town in wedding outfits and hiking boots. Being the first to arrive we checked out the (deserted) hall and decided that we would probably be in the 'Serimonirom'.
And so it proved; a ceremony essentially identical to the UK version (except for the pile of hiking boots), followed by a fine reception (kilts and cognac, superb speech from the father-in-law, the kids sneaking Metallica into the playlist). We called it a night after 10 hours (at which point the dancing was just starting) and stepped outside. Dress shoes and icy slopes don't mix, as I slid away down the driveway, standing rigid like a statue but spinning slowly every few yards. Luckily I stayed upright, waiting at the bottom as the locals gingerly minced their way down.
Back in the city centre, just down from our hotel, was an 'English Pub' called the 'Three Lions'. It was the only place we saw with loud and shouty crowds standing out of the street - couldn't tell what they were all mouthing out about though, as they were doing it in norwegian.
Apart from that, Trondheim is one quiet town, even on Saturday night. We'd thought of partying the night away before getting on the plane at stupid-o'clock but opted instead for the admittedly lightweight option of spending some time in bed.
We nearly went to Hell, but decided against it. It's only just outside the airport, but neither the shopping centre nor the hotel seemed worth a visit (though apparently the beach is quite nice in summer).
Instead, we were processed by the massive industrial complex (not) that is Trondheim Airport with a kind of languid wave that indicated we'd find our plane somewhere outside. A little careful twiddling in the overhead locker and the last gasp of the GPS batteries resulted in a track log of the pushback, the loop on the runway for a bit more de-icing and finally being shot off the runway, down the fjord and out of Norway at a few hundred miles an hour.