An important step on the road to learning Norwegian is learning those expressions that are truly unique to the language and culture.

Expressions. We have them in every language, ones that are centuries old, new trends, cultural references, the lists are endless. But expressions in my mind are the ultimate goal towards mastery of a language.

Expressions are the garnish to a meal, in fact they are more than that, they are the salt and pepper. They add flavour and depth. Without them language is bland.

Learn Norwegian Now: Norwegian Class 101 / The Mystery of Nils

When it comes to Norwegian expressions I am still a beginner – there is no mastery here. I am still identifying which ones are the same in both English and Norwegian, for example, “new blood” and “I take my hat off to you”. I also find those that are not the same but have the same meaning.

Eating cake or bagging it?

For example, in English you “can’t have your cake and eat it” whilst in Norwegian you “can’t have (it) in a bag and in a rucksack”. There are also those that just do not translate at all and I am not sure have an equivalent, like frisk som en fisk – or “healthy like a fish” – it just doesn’t have the same impact.

I spend a great deal of time talking about expressions. I am forever having conversations about what they mean, where they come from, trying to find the English equivalent.

To be honest, I spend a lot of time these days talking about language in general. It has become my icebreaker with new people, my version of weather chat. It fills the awkward silences and makes for great office lunch time chat. People love to tell me all about Norwegian expressions and I entertain it, I even enjoy it. I confess. I am a word nerd.

Those language discovery moments

It is not just moving to Norway that has sparked my word nerdiness. I have always loved words. It is just that this trilingual gig of mine is giving my love fuel. I have language discovery moments that blow my mind.

Like when I first heard the Norwegian word for space, as in outer space. It is verdensrommet. Literally translated to mean “the world’s room”. Pause and re-read. Let the greatness of that translation sink in… ahhhh! Magic.

Brilliant language discovery moments like this make learning a new language fun and make me smile from the inside out.

Of all my language discovery moments in the journey to mastery, the ones I enjoy most are when English words are integrated into the Norwegian language, as is. Just add a Norwegian accent and bob’s your uncle. Jeans are jeans, if something is crazy in English it is crazy in Norwegian too. I opened the newspaper one day and saw the title ikke bare bullshit – not just bullshit.

Mastering Norwegian

Why try find the appropriate word in Norwegian when the English one says exactly what you mean? Scandis have exceptional English skills so there is very little risk of misunderstanding. I make a mental note every time this happens. One less word/expression for me to learn, one step closer to mastery.

Expression mastery in Norwegian is still a distant goal for me. I am currently still riding the “yes I have been here a year” wave. This means, despite my mistakes, I can still impress people because I haven’t been here that long.

I know this wave is soon to wane though. The months are racking up. I am now in the process of trying to wean myself off expecting people to be impressed with my language skills.

I have to admit it’s not easy. I have become addicted.

—

This post was originally published on Eleni's personal blog .

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If I were challenged to describe Norwegian culture and society in a few words dugnad would definitely be one of the words thrown in to the mix.

Dugnad is one of those concept type words. You know the ones that cannot be defined by a few sentences on paper because they embody so much more than that. They are words with cultural resonance that represent a way of life or an expectation, which is not easy to translate.

What is a dugnad I hear you say? Well it is what I can best describe as a type of community volunteer day where people get together and fix, clean, paint or tidy things up. It is usually based outdoors involving some sort of manual labour.

If you live in Norway and live in a flat or house with communal areas I am pretty certain you will have already heard this term or even participated.

Changing of the seasons

Dugnads happen around the change of seasons – in autumn to prepare for winter and in spring to prepare for summer (and for the 17 May celebrations).

They are arranged in neighbourhoods, blocks of flats, at summer homes, marinas, mountain cabins even at schools and places of work. The dugnad knows no bounds! It can be summed up as a time of coming together and contributing to the community that you are a part of. Most of us belong to several communities or groups so it is possible that your presence is required at multiple dugnads per year.

I live in a group of apartments with shared gardens and a car park and twice a year there is a dugnad. Everyone shows up and helps out with a few of the tasks that the Board of the complex has decided need to be done this time round like trimming bushes, weeding or gathering leaves. Once I even painted the tool shed. I took such pride in those mustard yellow walls.

I learnt about the dugnad quite early on in my Norwegian indoctrination. It was during my Norwegian language course in the beloved “På Vei” text book. The story was about a family who were new to Norway. They had recently moved to a block of flats and were invited to come along to the dugnad.

The moral of the story was that dugnads are important and everyone participates. This, I can tell you, is true to the experience I have had so far.

The Norwegian community contract

In Aftenposten this weekend, I read an article by Hadia Tajik (the deputy leader of the Norwegian Labour Party)  about the hot topic of immigration to Norway and she sums up the “Norwegian community contract” as: first do your duty then claim your rights, in that order. The dugnad embodies the first part: duty.

For those of you that are reading this and thinking – you have got to be kidding me – I assure you the dugnad is no joke. There really is no escaping so my advice is to embrace the dugnad.

If you are not a fan of manual labour there just might be another incentive to join in as typically the activity culminates in a barbecue or some sort of refreshments: hot dogs and waffles and coffee or occasionally the odd beer or two.

Photo credit: 

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Neighbourhood second-hand sales are popular in Norwegian towns.

I am not sure I can be defined as a bargain hunter, but I do love a bargain. My downfall is that I am a quality over quantity type of person. So I am one of those types that often ends up liking the most expensive item in the shop. Unfortunately good quality and bargain do not often go hand in hand. But twice a year across the whole of Norway there are bargains (of good quality) to be found.

Twice a year, every year, flea market season begins. Typically, in the spring and autumn. Throughout March/April and September/October every neighbourhood participates. Loppemarked (or loppis for short) is the word to look out for.

Often based in schools, these flea markets are essentially huge fundraising events for the school marching bands and they are a community affair. Everyone gets involved. Flyers go up around neighbourhoods asking people to donate all their unwanted items. From furniture to books, toys and clothes, everything is welcome. Some schools even organise pick up drives so you can make a pile on the pavement and not even have to make the effort of delivering it. You can of course deliver it to the local school too.

In fact, drop-off day logistics at schools are impressive. Perfectly coordinated drop off zones are well signposted. Parents and pupils await donning their high-vis vests to direct you in and out. In the matter of minutes you are rid of all that unwanted junk and you have also done a good deed for the day.

Shoppers and bargain hunters need just turn up at school gates armed with cash, ready to find that much-desired coffee table or vintage bicycle. Price haggling is acceptable too for those of you that are up for it. Even if you make a regretful impulse purchase, never fear, because you can just get rid of it when next loppis season comes around. My 50 NOK yoga ball was re-donated last week – it just took up too much space!

Think Selfridges on Boxing Day…

If you are into all things vintage and retro – loppis season is your dream come true, especially if you get to the markets early. Although, I must warn you there are people who take this very seriously and wait outside the school gates for opening time. For those of you that have been to the UK during the Christmas shopping period think Selfridges on Boxing Day.

People literally storm the school gates and charge!

What I love most about loppis season is that it is for everyone. It is more than a niche group of people that like old things and love a rummage. In Norway everyone gets involved with loppis season in one way or another. One year I visited KjelsĂĄs school (in Oslo) and the parents staffing the event were awfully proud that Jens Stoltenberg himself (former Norwegian Prime Minister and now Secretary General of NATO) had popped by and dropped off his old suits that he wore when he was Prime Minister. The suits were going to be auctioned off later in the day like all the most valuable items. Even Jens gets involved.

Loppemarked season is more than an event that takes place twice a year, it is a tradition right up there beside the dugnad, a kind of community service day where everyone is expected to show up and usually involves gardening and or repairing/cleaning of communal areas, and the consumption of brown cheese.

People buy used stuff and most importantly people give away stuff when they upgrade. One man’s junk is truly another’s treasure here. You would be surprised what people are willing to part with. I always am.

I totally advise a weekend visit to your local loppemarked whether you are a bargain hunter or not. There are waffles, cake and pølser (hot dogs) on sale and the vibe is always upbeat. If nothing else any purchase you make will be contributing to the budding marching band musicians of Norway.

There are a couple of weeks left of autumn’s loppis season but if you don’t make it be sure to mark your calendars in spring.

—

±Ęłó´ÇłŮ´Ç˛ő:Ěý

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I'm not one for anniversaries. Not because I don't think they are special (any excuse for a celebration is a good one), but because I am just too lazy to try and remember them all, too many dates. I just about remember people´s birthdays and these days I have Facebook to thank for that.

This year, however, I remembered a date, the 16th of September. The first anniversary of my big move to Norway. One year of living in Oslo and attempting to get settled here has taught me a fair bit. Mostly about myself. There is nothing like a move to a brand new country to highlight all those insecurities you would really rather forget about.

I pride myself in learning things quickly and getting on with it but even I have to admit that this move was not that easy. The learning curve has been steep. So to mark this triumph I am sharing in the hope that some other person may find it helpful, or at the very least entertaining.

“Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?”

Yes, I have often felt like Jackie Chan coming face to face with Chris Tucker. Language has been my numero uno – my big obstacle, my big success but always my big constant struggle.

Learning Norwegian as an adult has made me feel vulnerable again in my thirties when I thought I was over that whole teenage angst thing. It all just came flooding back. That feeling of not wanting to say something because it will sound ridiculous and being nervous every time I wanted to try and talk in Norwegian even when ordering at the coffee shop – and having a conversation on the phone? Forget about it!

As for joining in with conversations or understanding what is happening around me – well lets just say I tried! In the process I discovered that not understanding but really trying to makes me just want to sleep from exhaustion. If only I didn´t enjoy talking so much.

I did immerse myself though. I surrounded myself with all things Norwegian – which was for me the best of all learning methods. Although I could easily speak English in any setting I decided I was going to just get comfortable with being uncomfortable. Comfortable with being wrong and many a time saying something that produced the kind of wrinkled up facial expression that I knew really meant, “What is she trying to say? “

The one thing that helped me more than anything in this immersive process was speaking to those closest to me exclusively in Norwegian. Around five months in and three norskkurs (Norwegian classes) later I had a big enough vocabulary to form sentences, so in my frustration one day I just decided to switch. Only Norwegian from then on with all the Norwegians I knew (minus the emergency emotional or frustrated outbursts in English).

This often involved persisting with Norwegian even though I was saying it wrong and people automatically switched to English. I persisted with my broken sentences and butchering of the language – my mantra became, “don’t cave Eleni, don’t cave!”

A healthy dose of routine

Language was the obvious obstacle – but the one that really got to me after the honeymoon period passed was the lack of a routine. Too much routine is boring, I agree, but this year has taught me that watching box sets on Netflix is all too easy a default for me in the absence of structured activity, so I spent a lot of time trying to insert some sort of routine into my days. There were days where I failed horribly and resorted to marathon TV watching but my aim was to make this the exception and not the rule.

Outside of Norwegian classes and job hunting I set up meetings with people. Friends of friends, acquaintances of friends, anyone that could potentially help not just with job hunting, but with the entire settling in process. I drank lots of teas and got lots of advice from people but more than anything I had a reason to leave the house. I got myself some voluntary work too which meant people were depending on me to show up. This gave me some activity, some people to talk to and practice Norwegian with and helped to keep me optimistic too.

Creating routine went up and down for me. As with most people my instinct to not do anything was perpetuated by not having anything to do. In the end I found things to do, but I had to put the effort in and make it happen. The good news is that the effort was rewarded as many of these café meetings and volunteering roles ended up being what helped me get a job and learn better Norwegian.

The culture shock curve

The one thing I did not think too much about was fitting in culturally but I expected at least a mild level of culture shock. There is always something, a particular way of doing things, a new group of people, something, that at some point rattles the cage. When I expect it then it ends up not being such a big deal.

I must admit the rattling has been minimal. I have noticed more similarities than differences. Sarcastic sense of humour – check. That speaks to the Brit in me. Straight talking and no word mincing – check. I´m Greek enough to handle that one too.

There have still been some awkward situations and some things that just make me giggle or simply baffle me. Cross-country skiing has produced some classic moments – like almost being mowed down by focused after work skiers that are not very patient when a fumbling, bumbling me gets in the way. Also one year down the line and I am still baffled by the whole speaking on the in breath thing – breathe in whilst saying “ja” (yes) to show affirmation. Mind boggling.

My trick when I have felt awkward or uncertain has been to focus on the similarities and find the comfort in that. I just began a new job here in Oslo and it was a step back into the office environment after a year away but as daunted as I was I have also been pleasantly surprised.

Yes, some things are different of course but having a chat in the kitchen about your weekend while you make your tea in the morning and seeing the notices on the walls reminding people to clean up after themselves and put their mugs in the dishwasher are just as I remember. Some things are universal.

A year later and I am content that the settling in process is coming along. My real goal though is to not think about the 16th of September next year. Then I can get back to my happy place of not remembering anniversaries again.

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The supermarket is just one option for getting berries in Norway.

Summer is sadly approaching its end, but of course I still have my fingers crossed for a heatwave in September. The days are undeniably getting shorter and the crowds are flocking back to the city once again.

As I am discovering, every season in Norway has its charm and this in-between summer and autumn period is not lacking either, for there is wonderment to be found.

In people’s gardens, in the woods and fields around me – there is what I can only describe as a berry explosion!

Everywhere I look berries are sprouting from trees and bushes and even cracks in the pavement. All shades of red, purple and black are comandeering the green foilage and weighing the boughs of brambles, bushes and trees with loveliness.

This explosion is music to my berry loving ears. I have a myriad of joyous moments that flicker through my mind when I think of berries. I remember strawberry picking with my family in England as a child – with red stained faces and hands.

We ended up eating more than we took away with us, as you do! I remember spotting blackberry brambles when playing at the cricket pitch in Hinckley and stopping to have a quick handful of berries in between our running around.

Also how could I forget those hours in school spent analysing Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney. We revelled in the imagery and emotion of the poetry and missed the taste of those berries that were thousands of miles away from the heat of Cyprus.

Read more: Norwegian cloudberries

Now I find myself in the heartland of berries. Berry heaven! Who doesn't love a good berry, and even more so when you come upon them in the wild.

A few weeks ago on an afternoon stroll we came across a cluster of raspberry brambles. Tiny wild and sweet raspberries in abundance, so we spent the better part of an hour picking away and left with almost a kilo, if not more. Pure joy!

Not much fruit grows naturally in Norway becuase of the long winters, but berries, however, thrive. Blåbær or in English bilberries (i.e. arctic blueberries – like blueberries but smaller) are padding out the forest trails as we speak.

My neighbour’s garden is full of raspberries and just a few sprigs have migrated to our side of the fence with enough berries for my porridge… thank you neighbour! The teeny tiny wild strawberries markajordbær are scrumptious too.

Better than a normal strawberry in my opinion, and a personal favourite. I have not spotted any blackberries yet but I am keeping my eyes peeled.

And these are just the berries I know and can identify. There are of course more: cranberries, redcurrants, blackcurrants, morello cherries to name a few are springing up all throughout August and September.

I am honing my berry skills at the moment – learning to spot the treasure from afar, attempting to identify my own secret spot, I am even debating buying my very own bærplukker (berry picker) – then there is no stopping me! I see a future of pancakes and jams and smoothies galore.

So my advice to all you berry lovers out there is get out for a walk, look high and low and head out armed with tubs and pots for that bounty!

—

Photo credits:  & Eleni Simeou

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When I tell my family and friends in Cyprus that I have been sunbathing or swimming in the sea in Norway I sense the puzzlement in their voices – ”Really? In Norway?”

Having spent my teenage years on Cyprus with the warm, calm waters of the Mediterranean sea and average temperatures of 30 plus I know why they are puzzled.

I admit I used to associate Norway with snow, dark and cold but my first summer as a Norwegian resident has been in full appreciation of summer living. Long lazy summer days of the July shutdown are the best. Guilt-free relaxation because you know everyone else is doing the exact same thing.

One of the highlights of my Norwegian summer holiday was my first proper multi-day sailing trip. I visited a small group of islands in the Oslo fjord off the coast of Larvik called .

I was told that this place is the kind of place you can only get to by boat, only really in the summer and that the weather conditions need to be just right. I love an adventure so my reaction was – let’s go!

The Sailing Trip to Svenner

With some planning and good timing of wind and lots of other important sailing considerations one makes when they know what they are doing (i.e. not me), we set off.

Svenner is well known amongst sailing folk as a fair-weather place, accessible only when the wind is not too strong because of the narrow passage into the bay, the harsh weather and the difficult underwater terrain.

As we approached the islands I understood their point. The wind was strong and the journey was rocky. Not for the faint hearted or stomached for that matter.

In the main bay we were surrounded by stone islands and boat folk all happily docked along the small pier or metal mooring rings dotted along the stone walls of the island. Docking was an adventure for me.

I had the job of hopping onto land with the rope. Easier said than done when land is a vertical wall of rock! I also learned a valuable lesson – avoid the wet rocks, they are slippery (ouch!).

Once nicely docked and anchored it was then two days of sitting back, enjoying the view and soaking up the magic of the place. With a weekend of good weather predicted, the place was unusually busy so watching boats come in and try to find a docking spot was a favourable pastime.

Apparently among boat folk it is permissible to stare and comment when other people are trying to dock (think parallel parking in a car).

Highlights of Svenner

The Svenner lighthouse is the first thing that catches the eye. It stands tall overlooking the islands.

It has been there since 1874 and was originally manually operated so it is surrounded by several buildings where families that operated the lighthouse once lived. These buildings are now available for rent during the summer season. The lighthouse became a listed cultural heritage building in 1997.

In 2002 it was fully automatised so there are no longer any permanent residents on the islands and unfortunately the lighthouse is closed to the public so climbing the tower is not permitted.  You can, however, easily walk up to where the lighthouse is located. The view is stunning on a sunny day.

If you are up for some time away from the buzz of the world and are a lover of the simple life with limited facilities, visiting Svenner is a must. It was a little paradise of families barbecuing and chatting the long summer evenings away.

The children had lots to do too. There was plenty of hopping into the sea for a mandatory swim, hanging out at the sandy beach, fishing for crabs at the rocky shore and buzzing around the bay in dinghys with friends. It was a fest of screen free activity!

Luckily enough you can get to Svenner even if you do not own or have access to a boat. There are daily boat trips in June and July that run from Stavern.

Trips by boat and overnight stays must all be booked in advance so this is not a spontaneous trip, but definitely a worthy one.

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It’s a bright summer morning in Oslo, the kind where the light feels endless. I’m standing at the bus stop opposite my house when I notice movement on the pavement.

A hen, yes, an actual hen, is strutting purposefully down the street. Then it begins jumping, repeatedly crashing into a wooden fence as it tries to get back into the leafy haven it came from.

A man waiting beside me joins the effort to catch it. We look like a pair of confused city dwellers out of our depth in a rural farce. Then I spot someone behind the fence tending to a garden and shout over: “Are you missing a hen?”

She nods, laughing. The bird is gently guided around the corner and safely back into its pen, one of several nestled within the immaculate grounds of .

A happy ending, and a perfect introduction to a very Norwegian phenomenon.

The Norwegian Version of the British Allotment

Coming from the UK, I thought I knew what allotments were all about. Rows of vegetable patches, sheds in every possible colour and design, retirees gossiping over tea, and the quiet satisfaction of coaxing something edible from a patch of city soil.

In Norway, the same spirit thrives but in a uniquely Norwegian form. A kolonihage isn’t just a place to grow vegetables.

It’s a miniature village: a collection of small wooden cabins, each surrounded by lush gardens, colourful flowers and vegetable plots, arranged along winding gravel paths.

Before I realised what these places were, I often looked across the road from my Oslo flat and wondered about the little “community of houses” hidden among the trees.

The lawns were perfect, the gardens bursting with life. Only later did I learn that these were kolonihager, an allotment system with deep roots in Norwegian social history.

A Century of Urban Gardening

The concept of the kolonihage arrived in Norway more than a century ago. The first was established in Kristiania (today’s Oslo) in 1907, as industrialisation transformed the capital and the population began to swell.

Apartment blocks rose quickly, green spaces disappeared, and ordinary workers lost the connection to nature that had once been central to Norwegian life.

The solution was simple and brilliant. Like similar movements across Europe, kolonihager were created to give people living in cramped urban housing access to their own plot of land.

Initially, the gardens were strictly practical: they were meant to help families grow food and save money during tough times.

Over the years, the concept evolved. Running water and electricity were added, and residents were eventually allowed to build small wooden cabins (hytter) for weekend use. The atmosphere shifted from subsistence to recreation.

Today, these garden villages remain a beloved feature of Norwegian cities, with their mix of practicality, tradition and summer escapism.

Community Life and Shared Responsibility

Each kolonihage operates as a small community, complete with its own governing board, shared rules and social calendar. There are communal paths to maintain, flowers to plant in public areas, and annual summer events that bring members together.

The (Norsk Kolonihageforbund, or NKHF) describes its mission as creating communities where people “share in a joint enterprise and have time to help beyond their own doorstep.”

That spirit of cooperation is still central today. It’s not just about growing vegetables, it’s about cultivating community too.

Walk through one of these places on a sunny afternoon and you’ll sense that immediately. People stop to chat by the hedges, children play among fruit trees, and the smell of freshly cut grass mixes with grilling sausages. It feels like a different world from the city outside the gate.

The Long Wait for a Tiny Cabin

Given their charm, it’s hardly surprising that demand far outstrips supply. Owning one of these small garden cabins is a dream for many city residents, but it’s not easy to achieve.

The land itself is owned by the local municipality (kommune), and each cabin is leased on a long-term basis.

The catch? You can’t use a kolonihage as your official address. Residents must already live in the same municipality, and the cabins are strictly for seasonal use – no one is allowed to live there year-round.

Prices are capped to keep the system fair. In 2006, for example, the NKHF limited cabin sale prices to NOK 250,000, which is far below market value.

That affordability is one reason waiting lists are notoriously long, often stretching 10 to 20 years. For many, getting a plot is a lifetime goal, not a short-term plan.

Green Oases in a Modern City

There are currently 14 kolonihager and two smaller parsellhager (individual garden plots) across Norway. Most are concentrated in Oslo, but you’ll also find them in Stavanger, Drammen and Trondheim, amongst other places.

Solvang Kolonihager, where my runaway hen story unfolded, is among the most famous. Established in 1916, it covers a large area in western Oslo and is divided into four sections, each with its own gate, communal facilities and governing board.

In summer, the gardens overflow with life: sunflowers nod in the breeze, strawberry plants spill from raised beds, and the cabins glow in cheerful shades of red and yellow.

˛Ń˛ą˛Ô˛âĚýkolonihager open their gates to the public during the summer months. Visitors can stroll along the paths, admire the gardens, or stop at a small cafĂ© or kiosk for coffee and waffles. It’s a gentle, distinctly Norwegian way to experience urban nature, part countryside, part community.

Why Kolonihager Still Matter

In a time when housing prices soar and green space is increasingly precious, kolonihager serve a vital role. They provide a mental escape from city life, a physical connection to nature, and a social network that bridges generations and backgrounds.

They are, in many ways, a window into Norwegian values: cooperation, modesty, and respect for the land. And while they began as a response to industrialisation, they’ve found new relevance in an era of sustainability and urban pressure.

Whether you visit as a curious traveller or dream of tending your own plot, the kolonihage remains one of Norway’s most charming traditions, It's a living example of how even in the heart of a city, Norwegians still find a way to keep nature close.

Visiting a Kolonihage

If you’re in Oslo, start with Solvang or Etterstad Kolonihager, both easily accessible by public transport and welcoming to visitors during the summer.

In Trondheim, the Lademoen Kolonihage lies just a short walk from the city centre, while Stavanger’s Eiganes Kolonihage offers a taste of coastal garden life.

Ttake your time, and respect the privacy of those lucky enough to have a plot. You might even meet a friendly hen along the way.

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One expat shares her story of tackling the job-hunting process in Norway.

I made a pact with myself in my mid twenties: learn something new every year. The idea was to challenge myself, to push me out of my comfort zone and to maintain the sense of thrill in my life.

Over the years I have accomplished some big things like: learning to downhill ski, running a marathon, trekking the Great Wall of China, travelling alone (albeit only for two days!), practicing Bikram yoga on a regular basis (hot, oh so hot!). Not bad I like to think.

Some of the challenges I must admit have been more ambitious than others. Like in 2014, when I decided to move to Norway. I quickly realised that this was just a heading of a challenge with lots of sub-challenges that sat underneath it (all just as huge!) like: learn Norwegian, get a job, make new friends.

You could say that 2014 was a big year – so big that the challenges have trickled over into 2015.

Volunteer experience for the CV

Breaking into the Norwegian work market has been the toughest part for me. I will admit it. I am still not entirely there yet but one huge step forward for me was getting some meaningful volunteering opportunities.

I have always volunteered in one way or another since I was a teenager. Fundraising, mentoring fellow students in university, mentoring school pupils later on, working with children in the criminal system – there are so many ways to contribute.

But here in Norway I knew I had to be a bit more strategic about volunteering my time. I needed to build some work networks (I have heard from many that a huge percentage of jobs are not advertised in Norway) and to get some Norwegian experience on my CV.

In my hunt for things to do I came across based in Oslo, their slogan is ”Being successful for someone else”.

It is an organisation that offers pro-bono consultancy to social entrepreneurs and not-for-profit organisations and projects. It works with a network of professionals that donate their time and expertise to help organisations that have limited budgets but worthy causes.

Prospera has an ever growing network of consultants that offer anything from communications to legal consultancy. I thought brilliant, what a fantastic idea. I also happened to notice they were advertising for a project manager role. I applied and got to talk to Anne Aaby the CEO of Prospera.

In a few weeks I was helping a lady out with a small start up project called (roughly translated: ageless cycling), using my project management background and skills to help her apply for funding and create some simple project management tools for her future use.

It was just the boost I needed. I got to feel useful, practice my Norwegian, meet more people AND contribute to something meaningful. And as an extra bonus it helped break that monotonous cycle of rejection that is job hunting!

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