From Aotearoa to the Arctic: A Kiwi girl’s life in Norway
At 1am, the sun is still shining on the fjord outside my window, golden hour lasts for hours, and I still haven't managed to open a Norwegian bank account.
As a Kiwi in my twenties, I’ve watched countless friends pack up their lives to move overseas. At this point, I have a network of pals scattered across the world, the allure of a new life in London, Canada and beyond, enticing New Zealanders to pause their lives in Aotearoa and see if the grass really is greener offshore.
So when my best friend Hannah started plotting a move overseas and invited me to join her, it almost felt inevitable. Except we weren’t thinking of joining the hustle of big city life in London, or exploring the Rocky Mountains in Canada, we were scheming up a relocation to Norway.
Before deciding to move here, I didn’t know much about life in Norway. I had heard it was a wealthy, pretty, safe country with beautiful scenery and some of the happiest people in the world. I knew it stretched into the Arctic and parts of the country had weeks of never-ending daylight in summer, and long dark nights in winter. That minimal information and the fact I’d be exploring some of it with my best friend was enough to convince me. What can I say? I’m a yes woman; I say yes first and figure it out later.
The process to get to Norway, however, wasn’t quite as easy as deciding to move here. Hannah led the way. In December 2025, I farewelled her at the airport as she began her journey towards life in the Northern Hemisphere. Six months later, after I mustered up the courage and my seasonal guiding work contract wrapped up, I’d join her.
In January, I applied for my Norwegian Working Holiday Visa online. Later that month, I flew to Auckland for my embassy appointment, where they posted my application and passport to Hong Kong. I was told I’d get my passport back in a few weeks, but the application would take longer. After this, I crossed my fingers and waited; my passport came back as promised, but no news on the visa front.
The end of my seasonal guiding work and tenancy loomed, and I still hadn’t heard a peep from the embassy. I booked my flights for early May and leaned into the uncertainty, reassuring myself I could stay in Norway for three months as a tourist, before I’d have to skedaddle and play the waiting game elsewhere. One week before I was due to fly out, my visa was approved. Thank goodness.
Anyone who has moved overseas will know the strange feeling of saying goodbye to all your favourite people, off on a big adventure, not knowing what’s coming or when you’ll be back next. It’s not butterflies, it’s more like a family of those massive green Pūriri moths has taken up permanent residence in your stomach for a flapping competition, stirring up the excitement and nerves with every beat of their wings.
Now I’ve been in Norway for almost two months, and I can’t believe how quickly the time has passed. I’m living in Lofoten with my bestie on the shores of a fjord surrounded by mountains and waterfalls. Because it’s summer here and we’re in the Arctic, it’s midnight sun season, when it’s just as light at 1am as it is at 1pm.
I’ve learnt very quickly that Norway isn’t known for its food (wilted plastic-wrapped supermarket capsicum with a $12 NZD price tag is the norm), and public transport in remote places like Lofoten is both reliable but practically non-existent as the buses only go each way twice per day.
But it’s so beautiful here, like walking around in a movie where I’m waiting for someone to take off my rose-tinted glasses and show me it’s actually a green screen. That still hasn’t happened, and I’m constantly blown away by the dramatic landscapes and endless hiking opportunities.
Norway is both very smart in the ways it does some things, like having a nationwide library card and a cashback scheme for recycling, but one thing I wasn’t prepared for was how long it takes to get set up as a resident. Six weeks in, I'm still waiting for the appointment that will give me the ID number to unlock every other part of Norwegian life, including opening a bank account.
Aside from my ID number woes, Norway is such a whimsical place. Since I’ve been here, I’ve tried my hand at a dried-fish throwing competition, been to a guided moss-bathing hike and had hot coffee from a campfire with a freshly picked spruce shoot filter. I’ve also accidentally caught a seven-hour ferry, bought the wrong things from the supermarket too many times (Google Translate can only get you so far) and celebrated two Scandinavian holidays with new friends.
I came to Norway with no expectations, just the hope that I’d meet some wonderful people, see some beautiful places and try new experiences. Right now, the grass is (literally) greener than in New Zealand, but one could argue that’s because it’s summer and the midnight sun means it never stops growing.
Regardless of the colour of the grass, if the rest of my time here is as whimsical as my first few months, I'm in for an absolute treat. And hopefully by the time the sun finally sets, I'll have that pesky ID number too.