At the end of July it will be seven years since I arrived here. I do not count almost three months of a tourist guest visa, when I decided to tie my further life to Ivan. After the Christmas and New Year holidays I started going to courses in town with enthusiasm, and on the very first day of classes a correspondent of Cambodian origin named Pisyai came to our group, photographed several students, including me, and asked me a question, which I answered “cleverly,” saying I had come at the invitation of a Norwegian friend to study the language, culture, history and customs of Norway. And the next day I found myself on the front page of the town newspaper, which pleasantly surprised me, recalling our saying “live more oddly — you’ll get famous faster.” ...

Well then. When I arrived as a tourist for three months, right after the Christmas holidays I started studying Norwegian on courses and trying to drive a car. Just a little. And it was good that I had the chance to try living in Norway and get used to a completely different way of life. After all, when you have lived in a city your whole life, you get used to public transport, but here it turned out that for any minor reason the whole family would jump into the car, and papa Vanya — the head of the family — would take his little ones and their friends in any direction and at any time of day or night. And they took me along as an honorary guest as well. Here I am, of course, joking. ...

The well-worn phrase “a car is not a luxury, but a means of transport!” is just right for Norway. I understood this at once, arriving there. My future husband met me at the local airport and drove me straight “into the forest,” into the village of Homborsund. “It was winter, a blizzard was blowing…” , at midnight, 15 December 2010 I was met by the household: a collie dog, named Sami, the cat Kawai and two girls of 15 and 17. ...

Sometimes I listen to Norwegian radio. Such funny ones. Among themselves they talk, talk, talk “… about nothing.” Two or three people on the radio try to amuse themselves, and at the same time the radio listeners. It is already almost seven years since I arrived here, and yet the problem of understanding Norwegian exists for me. So I have to listen to the radio in the mornings and Norwegian news in the evenings. ...

The road home to the South of Norway took only 13 hours on quality Norwegian roads. And here my brain recalled such a historical event as the Battle of Poltava of 1709, when the army of Peter the First won a victory over the Swedish army of Charles XII. Of course these historical events we once studied at school and remember little, at any rate I, who was not particularly interested in history. ...

Well, what does he lack in this life? Every morning he comes onto our veranda and with two paws knocks on our glass door! And so today, a Sunday morning. We sit, having breakfast. He knocks. He sees nothing beyond his nose, and I put the bowl of food out on the street today. Our cat has already had breakfast and is calmly resting in her little boudoir. I begin a worldly conversation with my husband at breakfast about this tom. The neighbour has created all conditions of life for him: a luxurious cat house on the veranda. In the house there is always tasty food, which he can get by pressing a little button with his paw. But no, he comes to us, begs, finishes after our cat! When we moved, the neighbour complained that he runs away from her. “Well, and what do you want?” I said. “Playboy!” I think she did not understand me. ...

We settled in a hostel. Each family had a room. Kitchen and dining room were shared. This hostel belongs to some rich Norwegian who periodically flies into the village by helicopter from Norway to hunt and fish. The next day all the relatives gathered in the dining room to remember the kin. My husband Ivan presented a report of the Family Tree of the large Swedish family, and also an amateur film about Grandmother and Grandfather was shown. I confess honestly, it was hard for me to sort out all the relatives, and also in Swedish, but the bright image of Grandmother and Grandfather remained in my heart forever! ...

My Norwegian husband Ivan was born in Sweden in the village of Onn (Ånn). A boundless village with such a short name. And so in 2016 we had such an opportunity to go to a meeting with relatives in this village. Ivan prepared carefully for this meeting. Over the course of a year he compiled a family tree of all the relatives, starting from 1600! What luck! All records of people’s births are preserved in the church books! And all this is scanned on the computer! ...

I remember very clearly an incident when I was 9. My sister was about 2 months old. Mama had already taught me how to handle her correctly: how to swaddle, how to take her in my arms, how to give her a drink in case Mama should not be at home. And so I remember it was not early morning, about 11 o’clock, Mama went to the shop and left me with the sleeping sister. Suddenly a persistent doorbell rang. I went to the door and asked: “who?” A woman’s voice was heard: “Boy, open, your papa is not at work!” I thought and said through the closed door: “I am not a boy, but a girl!” ...

A hard morning with a heavy head from the heat. The Norwegian husband reports. Today there was a “truppenatt”… I decided to ask again. Do I hear well? Yes, “truppenatt.” The second time it sounded somehow unaccustomed. The word natt — night. Well that I know. But this “truppa”… what is that? I ask again in English: “Body?” — “Nei!” answered the Norwegian husband and once more repeated “truppenatt”! Well then, I shall have to take up my own investigation of the word! ...