Earlier this summer our family took a trip down to south Norway. It was partly for work, partly to catch up with old friends, and also to investigate local Heathen and Pagan sites. Where we live, up north above the Arctic circle, one can find a reasonable amount of ancient locales and attractions such as the Stone-Age petroglyphs in Alta, the Viking museum in Lofoten, and numerous ancient Sámi sacrificial sites. Still, up here settlements are few and far between, transportation is arduous and the winter generally lasts six or so months.
All of this makes it difficult to travel far and wide, so I was happy to be able to spend some time further south, in what I like to call “tropical Norway.” So a few days before our departure, I spent a few hours online looking for various museums, heritage sites, and other landmarks to spice out our trip and make it ever so slightly more “Pagan-y.” As it turned out, we ended up getting our fill, and more.
Following a short, uneventful flight to Gardenmoen, Norway’s main international hub, we rented a car, aiming to drive towards the old county of Vestfold, located to the southwest of the capital, Oslo, where some friends recently moved. We also agreed not to take the main highway that passes right by the capital and instead take a more leisurely drive throughout the countryside to explore an area neither of us was much familiar with.
After picking up an old Toyota at the airport’s underground parking lot, we set off through the woods, heading west. It was pretty darn warm for an early Norwegian summer day but we soldiered on, driving through thick pine forests in which one could occasionally spot small piles of melting snow on the verge of disappearance. As we made our way west, however, the landscape gradually opened, revealing rolling hills and picturesque fields where sheep graze in between orchards of ripening apples.
The reconstructed longhouse at the Veien heritage parc. Pic by Lyonel Perabo (2023)
Our first stop on this road was Hønefoss, a mid-size town some 40 kilometers (25 miles) to the northwest of the capital. If domestically the city is best known for its sausage factory (“Leif Vidar: from Hønefoss with Love”), I had my eyes on a different kind of fulfillment. Just a few minutes outside the city center, and one turn left from the sausage factory we sighted our destination: Veien Cultural Heritage Park.
Among the various attractions in the city, this one was the one I wanted to visit the most. Not that the local accordion museum would not be fun to visit, but Veien focuses on a fascinating topic that very few other Norwegian museums even acknowledge: the pre-Viking Iron Age.
If nowadays the general public, both in Norway and abroad, has reached a somewhat acceptable degree of familiarization with the Viking Age, the same cannot be said for earlier time periods. In my career as a guide and museum worker, I spend a lot of time teaching visitors about Scandinavian prehistory, and I have experienced that one of the most common questions I get revolves around the origin of nations, peoples, and tribes.
In Scandinavia, this question is pretty hard to answer, as we only have historical records from the Middle-Ages on. Nevertheless, among those late sagas, poems, and various treatises one can find a number of legends and tales centered on the deeds of kings and warriors of what we now call the Merovingian or Vendel Era.
Quite a few years back, when I had just arrived in the country, I was lucky enough to get hold of a nearly century-old copy of Snorri Sturluson’s Heimskringla, the lives of the Norwegian kings. The lavishly-adorned translation of the book into modern-ish Norwegian quickly became my gateway into the world of not only Norwegian language and history but also its pre-Christian faith.
Oil painting depicting the death of Halfdan the Black by Edvin Strøm, as seen at Veien heritage center. Pic by Lyonel Perabo (2023)
Among the countless marvelous stories found in this nearly 800 years old work, one captivated me above all others: Ynglinga Saga, the tale of the first kings of the North. Taking place precisely in those obscure pre-Viking times, the saga follows the line of Swedish, then Norwegian kings, descendants of Odin, Freyr, and Njord, as they establish various realms across southern Scandinavia. The saga, which begins in fantastical, mythical times, slowly takes on a more grounded form before ending with the tale of Halfdan the Black, who was said to have ruled large swaths of land, including Ringerike, the region where Hønefoss and Veien are located in.
With all that in mind, it is unsurprising that the first thing I see as I enter the visitor center is a sign for a temporary exhibition dedicated to Halfdan himself. In the exhibition room down the stairs, I soon encounter a magnificent visual narrative consisting of half a dozen oil paintings by illustrator Edvin Strøm. The series retells the story of Halfdan’s death and burial in a series of expressive and gripping tableaux that could easily stand in any renowned fine art museum.
Delighted by this surprise, I leave the visitor center and head outside, towards the reconstructed long-hall. Few prehistoric Scandinavian buildings are as iconic as these magnificent seats of power, and the one which originally stood here was possibly Norway’s largest one from the early Iron Age. Discovered in 1995, the remains of the original house served as inspiration for the structure that now stands in the vicinity, a noble lime-plastered dwelling erected ten years later.
The Iron Age King mound just outside Veien heritage parc. Pic by Lyonel Perabo (2023)
While the building itself was not open (it was too early in the season), I was told by an employee that I probably would enjoy a short walk in the neighboring woods instead. Always one for a stroll, I entered the lofty pine forest only to be met, a mere meters in, by a massive burial mound. As I walked along the grass-covered dome, I spot another one, and yet another one, and then, finally, at the edge of the woods, one that dwarfs all the others. This forest, which lies right by a kindergarten, is literally littered with graves; Oluf Rygh, a 19th-century archeologist who first surveyed the site in a systematic manner counted no less than 87 mounds in the immediate vicinity of the hall site.
The largest of those, the one at the edge of the tree cover, had traditionally been called the King’s mound and when it was finally excavated, it was dated to the fifth century of our era. Could this have been the final resting place of one of Halfdan’s ancestors? No one will ever know I am sure, but the idea is a tempting one.
As much as I wish I could spend more time by the mounds, and maybe take a quick nap on the top of one, time is running out and I need to check the main exhibit before heading back to the car. As I return to the museum, I place my nearly three-year-old daughter on a bench by the café and buy her a jam-drenched svele (a thick Norwegian pancake). This should give me a few minutes to look at the pile of rocks assembled in the display case on the other side of the room.
“What is this?” I ask the receptionist.
“Oh,” she replied, “we just opened the exhibit earlier today. It is the world’s oldest runestone.”
It suddenly hits me. A few months prior, some of my Norwegian Heathen contacts started leaving cryptic messages online. They were not at the discretion to say anything specific, they said, but a massive find had been made and would soon be revealed. As reported by TWH back in January, Norwegian archeologists, working near the site of a planned new road uncovered a big stone block (roughly one foot by one foot), covered in runic carvings, including that of a female name, Idibera.
The world’s oldest runestone, as seen at Veien heritage parc visitor center. Pic by Lyonel Perabo (2023)
If I, like everyone else in the milieu, had gotten really excited when the stone was revealed, I had absolutely no idea that it had been found in the vicinity of Hønefoss, or that it was on display here. As I peer down at the ruddy stone, I am shocked at the quality of the carvings. While some parts of the block seem to be covered in nothing but a bunch of gibberish, as if it were used for writing practice, the main inscription ᛁᛞᛁᛒᛖᚱᚢᚷ is incredibly clear. Each rune is thinly etched, almost as if the rock had been carved by a scalpel.
With the stone in front of me, I understand even better the excitement of my Norwegian pals. This little two millennia old stone tablet strongly indicates that runic writing might be even older than we believe and that it might not necessarily have arisen in the southern Germanic lands. The finesse of the etching, the unusual double-berkana rune, and the context in which it was found hearkens back to that era Snorri Sturluson wrote about, eight centuries ago.
We might never know who Idibera was, and for all we know, the wooded hills and green acres of Ringerike might not hold the remains of Halfdan the black, or any that of any other of Odin’s descendants. Still, there is no denying that this beautiful land feels like it has been blessed with bounties that transcend the mere allure of the tranquil countryside. When Halfdan died, according to legend, his grief-stricken subjects divided his corpse, hiding his limbs under various mounds, to bring the protection of the noble king to as much of their lands as possible. Some would say this is mere old-wives tales, but after witnessing the fruitfulness of these lands, I might just have become a believer.
This story will be followed next month by a corresponding piece focusing on sites visited by the author in the county of Vestfold.
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