Meet My Neighbours – Arctic Fleinvaer

‘There are eight people living in Fleinvær this winter,’ I was told as I arrived, ‘and that includes you.’ I had assumed anyone living here must be a bit reclusive, but I was wrong!

My neighbours have become amazing friends. Let me introduce you to some of them.

Are the Artist

When I first met Are, he told me he dedicated his life to three things; art, music and reading. Sure enough, his house resembles a library, a gallery, and a concert hall, all at the same time.

He speaks in a wonderfully poetic way. Upon hearing about my nomadic travel lifestyle, he called me ‘a honey bee hopping from flower to flower for the sweetest nectar’. Describing his divorce, he spoke of a ‘storm sweeping across the island, washing his wife and children out to sea but leaving him stranded behind’.

Most days, I visit his studio for coffee and conversation. Built on stilts, the studio overhangs the sea with huge windows that let the light and landscape flood in. Whenever I visit, there is a new artwork in progress.

He is a wise, Gandalf-like figure, and taught me things as varied as making linocuts, hunting for wild goose eggs, and cooking fish tongues and whale!

His art is found across the island, from giant sculptures atop the hill to decorations as you arrive on the pier. He even hosted an art exhibition in a toilet cubicle in the youth centre!

His dog, Tjafsen, rules the island and hates newcomers. It took weeks of sneaking him salami to finally appease him.

Rolf-Erik and Inger

When I first met Inger I asked how she spent her time here. Did she read, or write, or watch television?
‘No’, she replied with a mischievous grin, ‘I play Candy Crush’.

Inger is youthful, quick to laugh and with a rapid sense of humour that never fails to make me chuckle! After three months, she offered to tame my wild hair. It was the most thrilling haircut of my life; the first time I’ve ever covered my ear with my hand, and the first time a hairdresser has ever said, ‘There’s something wrong but I can’t tell what’, or ‘I’m glad your thick hair hides all my mistakes.’

Her husband, Rolf-Erik, has lived on the island longer than anyone. He took me fishing on his boat. Rather than use GPS, he found the fishing spots by lining up different islands with mountains on the mainland. We dropped the hook into the water, and the fish jumped right onto it!

Odd and Nina

Odd is the local fisherman here, just like his father and grandfather before him. He speaks quietly but is worth listening to; what he doesn’t know about the islands isn’t worth knowing. On one of my visits, he carefully unfurled a hand-annotated map that recorded the names of each island and underwater fishing reef, many of which were long-forgotten Viking names. He is one of the last people with this knowledge.

They have witnessed great change throughout their lives here; in the 1950’s a hundred people lived in Fleinvær, and there was a school, a shop, a post office.

I have seldom met people more in touch with their environment than Odd and Nina. No story illustrates this better than their eider ducks. Scattered across the island are crude wooden boxes, with a nest inside woven of dried seaweed. Ducks return in May, lay their eggs, and then the mother plucks her feathers to insulate the nest. When the mother and chick leave, Odd and Nina collect the down feathers to make clothing and duvets. It is an entirely harmonious relationship.

When I first arrived, Odd pulled up at my pier, saying ‘you can’t leave Norway without eating fresh fish,’ before deftly filleting some he had scooped from the sea minutes earlier.

 

Arne

It’s a chicken and egg situation. Does the island attract creative people, or does it inspire creative thoughts in ordinary people?  Arne is a retired trumpet-professor. He shares my passion for travel, and his concerts and teachings have taken him around the world. He’s lived in Shanghai and Guatemala and Iceland and South Africa.

We meet most days for a walk, or dinner, a shot of Chinese rice wine or a few glasses of South African red. We share stories and laugh a lot. I learn a lot from his wisdom.

We took a day-trip to The Mainland on his sailboat. I felt like Nelson Mandela being released from Robben Island to finally escape Fleinvær! We have been hatching plans for some more sailing adventures!

 

The Community

It’s a funny thing; each house (including mine!) has telescopes and binoculars trained on the pier to see who’s coming and going. Everyone is nosey and likes to pretend the island is all theirs, yet there is a powerful sense of community. You can walk into anyone’s house uninvited to say ‘Hi’ and have a chat. ‘The only reason anyone has a lock on their door is for the wind,’ Are explained once.

With no shops on the island, it is an incredible money-less community – I haven’t seen, earned, or spent any money in four months! It is no exaggeration to say that the currency of the island is cake! People continually help each other and it kind of balances out. Inger cut my hair and I helped her carry bags of compost. I helped Are with heavy lifting and he gifted me a stunning piece of artwork.

There’s a Norwegian word, Dugnad, which means ‘community project.’ Too isolated for support  from the council, island life survives and thrives by working together. The islanders built and paid for a gravel path across the island, a new pier, and a bridge to a neighbouring island.

There is a deep contentment which I find inspiring. Even though Are and Arne have climbed the 42-metre ‘hill’ thousands of times, I’ve seen them rendered speechless by the view. There is a recognition that time spent sitting outside doing nothing is time well spent, and everyone delights in little things like the birds and the flowers.

I have been fascinated by the rich history, strong characters, and many stories from this tiny two-kilometre island adrift off the Norwegian Coast.

I always say I take a little bit of everyone I meet with me. Well, Fleinvær is a kind of paradise, I’ve made great friendships here, and I’m sure I’ll always carry a part of it with me!