Propane

Now I know why Johnny Retrum, our dear Applewood friend, is such an affable fellow. It's the Norwegian gene. Let me explain.

We ran out of propane while baking cookies last Friday. No big deal, the cookies were pretty much done, and we had a propane bottle in reserve. But we're only one month into our Norwegian voyage, and with more people on board for the next couple of weeks, the second propane bottle is sure to run out.

We were told in Sweden we needed to carry enough propane to last our entire time in Norway. Something about a 1998 Norwegian law making Norwegian bottles simpler and safer, but incompatible with Swedish bottles, or bottles from any other country for that matter. So refilling our Swedish bottles while in Norway would not be possible, we were told.

Heeding this advice, we carried two extra large Swedish propane bottles on Windleblo. I guess our advisers didn't anticipate our cookie baking habits. Now, we have to find propane, or soon we don't cook.

In Alesund inner harbor, we rafted up to a wonderful Dutch couple, Maarten and Jana. I noticed a propane bottle lashed to Maarten's deck. I asked Maarten how he solved the propane quandary. He shared a little booklet he had gotten from Statoil, one of the major European propane providers, listing all their Norwegian propane refill centers. He told how he got a refill at one of their stations up north a few weeks earlier. The booklet listed an Alesund address.

On Saturday, Maarten joined us on a shopping excursion. On the way, we would try to find the Statoil station. He needed a refill, too. Four hours and several bus stops later, we hadn't found the station and were no closer to filling our bottles. Wherever we went, we were told propane was only available through Norwegian bottle exchange. It appeared our Swedish advisers knew what they were talking about.

Not one to be easily deterred, late Sunday I drove the boat to the Statoil dock in Maarten's booklet. It was huge with monstrous cleats for large commercial ship refueling, not for pleasure yacht propane refills. In a nearby cove, I found an unoccupied mooring ball and decided to take it for a bit while I dinghied ashore for a closer look.

That's when the Norwegian gene once again came into play.

As I was launching the dinghy, a man motored up. He advised that the mooring was not safe and invited us to take a spot on his dock. I thanked him and told him I would only need it briefly while I investigated the propane station. He replied, "Nonsense. They don't have propane there. You can stay the night and let me drive you to find propane in the morning." Dumbfounded by his generosity, we agreed. He introduced himself as Jan Erich.

Starting at ten minutes to eight Monday morning, Jan Erich drove me all over Alesund in search of propane. At each turn, he explained my need to each vendor in Norwegian. After several dead ends, we finally found an industrial propane refill center. The proprietor there took one look at my Swedish bottle and said, "No problem."

Now we can add Jan Erich to the growing list of generous, helpful Norwegians we have encountered. First, there was the gentleman on the country road near Dragoya who offered us the use of his car to run to the store. Then, there was the little old lady in Alesund who drove us across town when she learned we couldn't find what we needed at a hardware store. Or the people on Finnoya who laid us on to two kilos of a delicious cooked crab claw feast. (We're still enjoying crab cakes.) And again Tuesday evening outside Kristiansund, a man came out to offer us an empty mooring when he saw we were having difficulty setting our anchor.

Like John Retrum, it seems everyone with the Norwegian gene is happy and helpful. I suppose the world would be a better place if we were all Norwegian.