How to interact with Norwegians – a crash course

Personal space is a religion

It’s your first bus or train ride in Norway. The scenery is stunning. The vehicle is half empty. You see a Norwegian sitting alone by the window and think, “How lovely, I’ll sit next to them!”

Think again.  

Unless every other seat is taken, you're expected to find your own row. Personal space is not just a preference here, it’s a form of cultural hygiene – and thankfully, there’s an abundance of it. Sitting next to someone too soon is like starting a conversation at a urinal – technically allowed, but deeply disturbing.

Should you end up beside a local, stay calm. Don’t attempt small talk. Don’t smile too much. Just relax into the silence. It’s not that awkward. In fact, it’s the highest form of public transport intimacy available in Norway.

We’re outdoorsy

Norwegians have a complicated relationship with the outdoors. We claim to love nature in a calm, serene way, but truthfully… it’s a bit of a mania.

We’ll hike up a mountain before breakfast, in sideways rain, just to drink black coffee from a thermos and mutter, “this is the good life.” We wear wool base layers year-round, own multiple headlamps, and find deep existential meaning in choosing the right kindling wood.

As a visitor, you don’t have to join in. But we’ll gently pressure you to. It starts with a simple suggestion: “Want to join for a little hike?” What sounds like a pleasant 20-minute stroll may quickly escalate into four hours of vertical terrain, slippery rocks, and a strong sense that you’ve joined an unofficial national exam.

Smile. Nod. Pretend to enjoy it, and before you know it, you actually will.

Photo by Lars Finborud

Some things are very Norwegian

In Norway, surprises don’t come with fireworks. They come with brass bands, buns with flags in them, or extremely loud teenagers in matching jumpsuits.

Let’s start with May 17th, our National Day. You think you're just heading to the museum – and the next thing you know, you’re in the middle of a full-blown parade. Children march in tiny uniforms, grandparents cry in embroidered costumes, and strangers hand you an ice cream and expect you to sing. It’s beautiful chaos, fueled by waffles and champagne breakfasts.

Then there’s russ – the rite of passage where high school graduates dress in red or blue overalls, blast party music at 8 AM, and hand out mysterious "russekort" with cryptic jokes on them. Think Mardi Gras meets Eurovision, minus adult supervision.

And finally: beware of the inneklemt dag. This is the "squeezed-in day" that falls between a public holiday and the weekend. What happens then? Nothing. Offices close. Streets go quiet. If you call someone, it echoes.

These are not disruptions. They’re part of the rhythm. Get into it.

Photo by Fredrik Ahlsen | Maverix Media | Visit Norway

The mystery of dugnad

If you suddenly run across a group of Norwegians mowing lawns, painting fences or digging ditches together, don’t panic. It’s not a protest or a collective psychosis. It’s a dugnad.

A dugnad is a kind of organized volunteering that happens in neighbourhoods, schools and housing co-ops. No one gets paid. No one questions it. We just show up and start shoveling. Afterward, we eat, drink and act like it was fun. In truth, we sort of need it. Dugnad gives us structure. A reason to bond without talking about feelings.

And yes, you can join. But be warned: if you paint one fence, you may be summoned back next year.

Photo by Marius Fiskum | Visit Norway

Kos – more than a feeling

You may have heard of the Danish hygge. In Norway, we call it kos – and it’s less about aesthetic lifestyle and more about emotional survival.

Kos is what happens when the weather is grey, your socks are warm, and there’s a candle flickering beside a slice of cake. It’s an atmosphere we create to compensate for the darkness outside and the introversion inside.

It’s also a good excuse to do nothing, stay in, and eat chocolate for dinner. When someone says, “Dette var koselig” ("this was cozy"), you know you’ve done something right.

Fredrik Ahlsen | Visit Norway

Making friends is a slow process

You won’t become best friends with a Norwegian overnight. We’re cautious creatures. We don’t open up easily, and we don’t hug strangers (unless we’ve had aquavit).

But be patient – go for a walk, play a game, help stack firewood or paint a fence – and you’ll see a shift. We’ll start talking about the weather, then the news, and eventually our hopes and dreams. You’ll be invited to a cabin. You’ll be given indoor slippers. You’ll have friends for life. 

Fredrik Ahlsen | Visit Norway

Urban Norway is a real thing

Yes, we’re mountain people. But we’re also Netflix people. 

We love a quiet Friday night with tacos, drinks and crime dramas. We line up at Vinmonopolet (the national monopoly for wine and spirits) like it’s an event. We dress up to go to IKEA and call it an outing. We talk about cabins without actually going.

Modern Norway is part rustic, part minimalist and part obsessed with electric vehicles and knitted hats. We’re walking contradictions. But friendly ones – eventually.

Don’t panic!

Yes, we’ve just spent numerous paragraphs making Norwegians sound like emotionally constipated mountain trolls with a caffeine addiction. But here’s the thing: we’re actually quite nice.

Beneath the gruff exterior and the love of solitude, you’ll find folks who are thoughtful, generous, and fiercely loyal. We may not initiate a chat on the bus, but we’ll help push your car out of a pile of snow – then invite you in for coffee and waffles without ever mentioning it again. 

So yes, this guide is a little exaggerated (okay, maybe a lot). But the core is true: Norwegians take time. We warm up slowly. But when we do, it’s genuine, lasting – and sometimes even koselig.

Photo by Maverix | Visit Norway