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Date: A perfectly ordinary Thursday evening, when my body wanted to work out, but my soul had other ideas.
Location: The Vinmonopolet liquor store at the Horisont shopping center in Åsane.

I arrived as the usual observer: “I’m just here to look.” And there I stood, invisible in the shadow of the shelves of overpriced white wine, watching the ritual unfold. The Friends of the Wine Club. Theme of the Month: Piedmont. Impossible not to pay attention.

Read also Friluftsliv – the Norwegian national passion

Observation #1:
It’s fascinating how quickly a group of adults can turn into a flock of pretentious but deeply insecure monkeys the moment someone says the word “terroir” with a sufficiently French accent. A guy in a wool sweater, a Bergans jacket, and Hoka shoes gave a fifteen-minute lecture on “minerality” in a Barbera.

I stood there nodding solemnly to myself while thinking that the only minerality I know is salt from Byfjorden that has seeped into everything – including these people.

Observation #2:
There’s always one. The one woman who actually knows what she’s talking about. She uses words like “elegant structure” and “fine-grained tannins” without sounding like she’s reading from a wine app. The rest of the crowd repeats what she says, but a little slower and with more uncertainty in their voices – like an echo in a poorly translated French film meeting Bergen rain. I just stood there taking visual notes. I, more than anyone.

Observation #3:
An elderly gentleman with red cheeks and a chatterbox of a mouth that never ran dry solemnly declared that the wine “danced on the tongue.” I looked at him. He looked like he’d already danced with too many bottles.
Still. In Bergen, you dance with what you’ve got.

The wine club is a beautiful, tragic ritual where a bunch of Norwegians pretend to be sophisticated Europeans while in reality they’re just trying to drink their way away from endless rain, seven mountains, and existential angst.
I stayed on the sidelines. Observed. Judged a little. Smiled a little.

I won’t be coming back next month.
…Well, maybe just to see. You never know.

Signed,
A self-deprecating expat who still doesn’t understand why you don’t just buy a bag-in-box like all other normal people, but no – here I am standing in the shadow, taking in “a hint of strawberries and wet stone” at 5:47 p.m. on a Thursday in Bergen. Cheers, idiots. (… with love)

RECORDED BY: Dave // BERGEN , 2026