The Beginning of Our Journey to Trysil, Norway

On 14 May 2012 we leave for Norway.  It has taken almost 30 years to get to this point and only in the last 15 months did we find the actual birthplace of our Peter Larson (Per Larsen) in Trysil, Hedmark, Norway.  This will be an attempt to not only document how we got to this point, but also will document our adventures both in Norway and in Sweden.

With the help of our friend Sam Odom, we got to the airport in plenty of time.  First time to use my shiny new passport.  No trouble getting to Dulles Airport in Washington or to Manchester, England on United Airlines.  We picked up some "duty-free" alcohol in Dulles.  You have to put it in a special plastic bag that is sealed.  They deliver it to your gate.  Follow the rules.  Do NOT open the bag.  Pretty clear, at least to us.

Now we are in Manchester, England and we have to leave security and go up and down to get to the new gate and check back through security.  Plastic sealed booze in hand.  Then came the two young men from the Baptist school in Virginia, bottles proudly in hand, no sealed plastic bag.  I am standing behind them thinking, "This is going to be interesting.  They need to start drinking quickly, before they get to those two ladies!"  Too late.  Their "special bottles" (high-end, not the cheap stuff) were confiscated.  Wonder how they wrote that up in the Baptist daily.

Then Erik and I got through with no difficulty.  Patty, however, was called back to be patted down.  There was something suspicious in her bag.  "Is that a teapot in there?" asked the nice lady behind the x-ray machine.  Actually, it was the head of her tripod.  It is so specialized that she had been told to hand-carry it through security in case the checked luggage got stolen.

The flights were long and cramped, but we seemed to get through OK.   Now on to SAS for our flight to Oslo.  Erik's and my cousin, Lisbeth Tannåneset Bye, is waiting for us with our new traveling companion, a troll named Per Larsen after my great-grandfather.  I asked for a name I could pronounce.  Hope great-granddaddy Peter Larson does not mind.  Per Larsen changed his name to Peter Larson when he came to the US in 1869,  just to set the record straight.

Lisbeth was grinning at least as widely as we were when we finally got through the gate.  Some people say that Norwegians do not like to hug.  As we were to find out, starting with Lisbeth, that is not the case.  Between the tears of joy, I was thinking, "How could we have waited so long to find each other?"  In a fraction of a second, our lives were joined as if we had known each other forever.  Thank you, Lisbeth, Ragnar, Morten, and Jonas!