Norway

Oslo hit differently in winter — the low sun barely clears the rooftops before it starts sliding back down, and everything is bathed in this long, golden, horizontal light that makes even concrete look warm. I walked from the waterfront up to Vigeland Park in the cold, hands shoved deep in my jacket, and kept stopping just to look at the city: the glass edge of the Opera House cutting into the fjord, the old brick of the cathedral catching the afternoon amber, bare trees lining wide paths. It felt calm in a way that actually surprised me — no noise I had to compete with, just my footsteps and the occasional cyclist.

The Gol Stave Church at the Norwegian Folk Museum was one of those things that stops you completely. Standing in front of it, you realise this structure was hand-built from timber around the 12th century and it still looks deliberate, almost aggressive in its geometry — layers of shingled roofs stepping up like a dark wooden pagoda. The Viking Ship Museum had the same effect on me: a real burial ship, carved and curved, sitting right there under museum lights. Coming from Kathmandu, where old things are everywhere, I still wasn't prepared for how physical that history felt.

I ended up spending a lot of time just walking along the Bjorvika waterfront and climbing the slope of the Opera House roof. From up there the whole harbour opens out — the old brick hotel reflecting in the water, cranes and glass towers behind it, the sky going orange and pink as the afternoon died. Norway was colder than anywhere I'd been before, but there was something about the quality of light in those short winter days that made every hour feel worth being outside for.