The idea of communing with nature is instilled from birth in Norway. I hiked through a rain-drenched forest to try it myself
eing outdoors is a natural way of living in Norway,” Bente Lier tells me over the phone. “It’s a very important part of what we call the good life.” Lier is the secretary general of Norsk Friluftsliv, which represents more than 950,000 members of 500 outdoor clubs in Norway. Her words ring in my ears as I trudge through torrential rain in a forest just north of Oslo.
I am here to learn about friluftsliv, a way of being that is part of the Norwegian national identity. The term was coined by the playwright Henrik Ibsen in his 1859 poem On the Heights, although the concept is much older. Its literal translation is “free-air life”, but Ibsen used it to convey a spiritual connection with nature. To modern Norwegians, it means participating in outdoor activities, but also has a deeper sense of de-stressing in nature and sharing in a common culture. Could this outdoor life hold the key to Norwegians’ health and happiness?
Friluftsliv is not a specific activity. Hiking in the forest, kayaking along the fjords and skiing in the mountains could all be part of it, but so could picking cloudberries or simply sitting in the woods. “It is our goal to include everyone in friluftsliv, including people with disabilities and psychological challenges and those on low incomes,” says Lier. I have opted for a hike with Stine Schultz Heireng, the general secretary of the Norwegian Guide and Scout Association.
An astonishingly high percentage of Norwegians report spending time outdoors. A survey in June by the market research company Kantar TNS found that 83% are interested in friluftsliv, 77% spend time in nature on a weekly basis and 25% do so most days. In its latest living conditions survey, from 2021, the country’s official statistics office, Statistics Norway, found that 25% of Norwegians had stayed outside overnight in the past year. “Even other Nordic countries say Norwegians are out in nature more than they are,” says Lier. Schultz Heireng spent a year sleeping outside once a week. She left the house after her two children were in bed (her husband took them to school in the morning), hiked, slept in her hammock or tent, had breakfast in the forest and went straight to work. She still does so regularly.
I decided to put friluftsliv’s popularity to the test as soon as I arrived in Norway, curious to learn if it really was such a familiar term. “What is the purpose of your visit?” asked the border guard. “To experience friluftsliv,” I replied. He didn’t bat an eyelid, simply asking which activities I would be doing and where. I asked if hiking was popular. He beamed. “Everyone does it!”
Even small children in kindergarten sleep outdoors in winter. Norwegian parents expect this. We believe in fresh air
Bente Lier
This love of nature is taught early. “Even small children in kindergarten sleep outdoors in their prams in winter,” says Lier. “Norwegian parents expect this. We believe in fresh air.” At many nurseries, toddlers spend 80% of their time outside; at school, there are special days throughout the year when children go out in nature and build campfires. Norwegian students can even take a degree in friluftsliv. Lier says this is increasingly popular: “We’ve noticed a big increase in applicants. A renewed interest in nature during Covid is perhaps one of the reasons.”
Easy access is one explanation for this outdoorsy culture – most Norwegians live close to green space. “About 40% of Norway is covered in forest,” says Schultz Heireng. “Our 15 biggest towns and cities are surrounded by it.” It takes 20 minutes on the metro from Oslo Central station to reach the start of our hike. Despite the rain, we see several Nordic walkers, trail runners and cyclists, although we soon head off the beaten track to find a quieter area.
Friluftsliv is beneficial to physical health because it often involves exercise, but the mental benefits are just as important. Studies show that being in green spaces helps reduce anxiety and improve cognition. In a 2020 survey, 90% of Norwegians said they felt less stressed and in a better mood when they spent time in nature. Helga Synnevåg Løvoll, a professor of friluftsliv at Volda University College, says the five documented ways to wellbeing can be achieved through friluftsliv (they are “connect”, “be active”, “take notice”, “keep learning” and “give”).
There are benefits whether you do it alone or with others. “Spending time in nature, whether it is a walk in the woods or several days’ simple camping, gives us some distance from daily life and seems to increase our ability to change perspective,” she says. “Being social with others while appreciating nature is another important aspect of friluftsliv.”
This nature-induced wellbeing could be one reason why Norway ranks among the happiest countries in the world. It came seventh in the UN’s World Happiness report in 2023, while Bergen and Oslo are among the top 10 happiest cities.
Norwegian laws and policies protect and promote friluftsliv. The 1957 Outdoor Recreation Act enshrined Norwegians’ longstanding right to be in nature, regardless of who owns the land. “We have the right to roam, the right to pick flowers and mushrooms, the right to stay overnight,” says Lier.
With these rights come responsibilities. The primary one is to leave no trace. Schultz Heireng picked up a couple of plastic bottles on our hike; that was the only litter we saw in six hours. The Norwegian Mountain Code, a set of rules for hikers, also stresses the importance of personal responsibility. People should plan their trip based on their capabilities and fitness; they should be prepared for the weather; they should know their limits – and that there is no shame in going home early if necessary. This is part of a desire for autonomy and a resistance to too much state interference. “We don’t want authorised guides and danger signs,” says Lier. “We don’t want the authorities telling us what we can and can’t do.”
Speaking of the weather, it is still pouring with rain. We stop for a break and Schultz Heireng sets up camp: a tarpaulin for shelter, a mat to sit on and a flask of hot water to make tea. Most miraculously, given the conditions, she starts a roaring fire. She splits logs with a small axe, to make kindling, and starts the fire with her secret weapon: a couple of candle stubs. We huddle around the blaze, toasting foil-wrapped cheese sandwiches.
Friluftsliv is a year-round commitment, with as many activities in winter as in summer: cross-country skiing; mountain biking on snow; ice-skating and ice‑fishing on frozen lakes, or even ice-bathing; dog sledding; sitting by a campfire (fires are allowed between mid-September and mid-April). In surveys, Norwegians say one of their main motivations is finding peace and quiet, so snow and ice are no deterrents.
Kari Leibowitz, a health psychologist and the author of the forthcoming book How to Winter, researched winter wellbeing at three latitudes in Norway. “My work found that the further north people lived, the more positive their view of winter was – and that this mindset that ‘winter is wonderful’ was associated with life satisfaction and psychological wellbeing,” she says. “My time living in the Arctic, in Tromsø, exposed me to a culture that largely embraces and enjoys the winter season. It taught me a new way to experience the darkest months of the year.”
Schultz Heireng echoes this, telling me a lovely story about going to sleep in her tent in autumn and waking up in winter, every leaf jewelled with the first frost.
The key to surviving the weather, of course, is suitable kit. My cobbled-together hiking and skiing clothes could do with an upgrade: I am soaked from head to squelchy toes. (In Norwegian, the phrase “There is no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothes” rhymes.)
Demand for outdoor gear soared in Norway during the pandemic; sports shops had to recall furloughed workers and hire extra staff. “One disadvantage of friluftsliv is that it’s not good for the environment to use a lot of equipment,” says Lier. “But reusing equipment is on the increase; there are lots of places to borrow it for nothing, or hire it. More people are giving away what they no longer need.” There is a network of government-sponsored “libraries” where people can borrow outdoor gear, some in actual libraries. The scouts share resources with schools, so some of the gear is used by schoolchildren during the day and scouts in the evening.
Traditional office hours are 8am to 4pm in Norway, with the 4pm finish especially well observed on Fridays, as people head out into nature for the weekend. Many employers have friluftsliv policies, such as flexible hours, to encourage people to get outside. Resources include the website ut.no, run by the Norwegian Trekking Association (DNT), which has thousands of summer and winter routes for hikers, cyclists, skiers and paddlers. Hammocks have become popular for sleeping outside, but there are also low-cost huts to stay in across the country; the DNT alone has 550 cabins, costing about £20 a night for adults, or half-price for members.
We head up through misty pine, spruce and birch (“Troll forest,” says Sindre, the photographer) to one of the DNT’s newer cabins. Inside, we find Torbjørn P Larssen and Xueting Yang, both 35, who have escaped the city for a night in the forest with their four-year-old son, Teo. Do they spend a lot of time in nature? “Well, not so much since Teo came along,” says Larssen. “But before that I lived in a cabin in the woods for two years.”
This modern hut is spectacular, with picture windows and presumably great views on clear days, although Larssen says they prefer the cosier, more traditional cabins. We leave the family to their candlelit dinner – there is no electricity – and trek back down in the dark, head torches lighting the way. The track is a treacherous mix of rock, marsh and stream; we nearly step on an enormous toad. Near the bottom, a deer leaps away from our light. Are there any dangerous animals to deter hikers in Norway? “No!” says Schultz Heireng. “Well, we have wolves. And brown bears … but I’ve never seen one.”
Active first dates are popular with Norwegians, with many couples eschewing coffee shops for cycling and hiking trails. “It’s easier to talk side by side when walking or cycling than across a table,” says Lier. “And it’s quite romantic to sit round the bonfire, have a conversation, look at the sea …”
Food is an important component of friluftsliv, too; everything tastes better when it’s eaten outside. Schultz Heireng reminisces fondly about “stick bread”, a dough that can be wrapped around a stick and cooked on a fire, and a brand of biscuit called Kvikk Lunsj (“quick lunch”), which is popular on camping trips. Norsk Friluftsliv is using food to welcome Norway’s immigrant communities to friluftsliv with an initiative called Turmat fra Hele Verden (Tour Food from All Over the World). “Not everyone has the culture of friluftsliv, but everyone has a food culture,” says Lier. “For example, if a class is going out in nature, teachers can use food as a bridge. Everyone can bring some food, cook it on the bonfire and talk about other cultures.”
Norway is gearing up for 2025, which is designated as a year of friluftsliv – “an outdoor festival from north to south”. But what about other countries? Can we embrace friluftsliv, even if we live far from wild places? “You don’t have to go to a forest; you can go to a park. You don’t have to walk far, or fast; it’s just about being there,” says Lier. “Sit on a rock, listen to the birds, look around and try to root again.” I would only add: take your waterproofs.
Source: The Guardian
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