She won’t remember how we hugged the coastline in our smooth electric car, winding through scenery borrowed from a fairytale. Norway tempts fate by showcasing something so stunning, it distracts any driver’s eyes. It is hard to remain focused on the road when such beauty unfolds before you. Plunging falls reveal the raw power of nature, while the sun reflects perfectly off the calm waters of the fjords.
My three-and-a-half-year-old toddler sits in her booster seat in the back, unaware this is not an everyday occurrence, “Muuuuuummmm, can I have a lolly?” I roll my eyes, my mind unsettled — torn between wanting her to soak in the beauty around us and resenting myself for expecting her to understand.
Slow travel with a toddler is shrouded in emotion. These emotions rise painfully quickly — uninvited — in a foreign land, where half the parenting toolbox didn’t make it through customs. Doubt creeps in — about parenthood, and the sacrifices made to show your child the world. It is a delicate dance between adventure and anxiety, where sometimes the latter takes centre stage.
Emotions In Travel
Arriving in Lillehammer, the home of the 1994 Olympic Winter Games, was a relief – even as an experienced driver, driving on the “wrong” side still leaves you tense – fearing that oncoming traffic is on course for a direct collision.
For dinner, we paid 560 NOK for a vegetarian burger and a pint of Erdinger for me, and a children’s fish and chips for my daughter. This was equivalent to $84 AUD for a meal that would cost no more than $50 at home in Australia. It was a face-slapping reality that travelling in this country is not only an explosion of unimaginable scenery, but also a lesson in budgeting.
That night, as the sun blazed through the shadeless window at 11 pm, and sleep was yet to be found, the fragile edge of motherhood glared as brightly as the midnight sun. I felt myself fearing a tomorrow with limited sleep. I felt alone — my only company was a tired, restless toddler, both of us thousands of miles from support.
Read More: Norway: Trolls, Glaciers and an Obsession with Mayonnaise
Comfort In The Familiar
By morning, the difference between travelling with children versus without became striking: convenience supersedes everything. Ordinarily, I’d opt for local spots when travelling; however, that morning, I found unexpected comfort in McDonald’s.
As the car charged, the familiar taste of a warm McMuffin and reasonably priced flat white offered a strange but welcome sense of security. The menu didn’t need translating, my wallet didn’t need emptying, I didn’t need to think and my toddler couldn’t have been happier with her chicken nuggets. In that moment, something shifted, that emerging maternal anxiety stirred by a sleepless night began to ease.
Mountains I Couldn’t Climb
Lom was the gateway to the national parks of Jotunheimen, Breheimen, and Reinheimen. It was home to Galdhøpiggen, Norway’s highest mountain – an inviting alpine village and a hiker’s paradise. Solo me would have loved Lom. As an avid hiker, I felt teased by mountains that couldn’t be so easily climbed with a toddler by your side. The quiet truths of travelling with a child echo loudly in places like this.
Before, travel meant wrestling with decision fatigue – an abundance of choices to make. You’d brave the elements and climb a mountain, expecting rain, hail, or shine. You’d flirt with the adventure, committing to any adrenaline-pumping activity. And the celebrations following a big day out were always fun.
Now, travelling with a toddler means scheduling plans around their moods: Will they be too tired? Can’t let her fall asleep or she won’t sleep tonight. Better get some food in her, or I’ll have a cranky girl on my hands. The adventure still exists – it just looks different now, and a big part of me wished it didn’t. And for that, I felt shame.
Perfectly Alone
The following day, the journey began through Europe’s highest mountain pass – the Sognefjellet Scenic Route. Mountains soared above the clouds while waterfalls plunged at every turn. Pockets of lingering winter snow felt magical against the jagged rock faces. As the elevation rose, the landscape unfolded – snow no longer sparse but spread thick across the ground. The temperature dropped, and only the lack of appropriate attire reminded us it was midsummer and not the middle of winter. But to witness such sights and not share in their beauty with someone who could truly comprehend them was quietly heartbreaking.
I imagined driving along, my toddler’s eyes wide, glued to the window, completely engrossed in the dramatic scenes. I’d pictured excited sounds like “Woah! Mum, look!”. Instead, I pointed out the enormous waterfalls and the white-washed landscape, but she barely glanced out the window – too busy choosing which lolly to eat. When I stopped to take pictures, she chose to stay in the car, a look of disgust on her face at the suggestion.
As I was captivated by the striking alpine scenery, my daughter remained unmoved. The enormity of driving through Europe’s highest mountain pass had clearly not sunk in. Despite my desperate attempts to draw her in, the fiercely scenic terrain couldn’t compete with the plastic, mass-produced, colourful magnets being played with in the backseat. My logical brain knew that expecting a toddler to be as excited as I was by such scenery was ridiculous, and yet a sense of loneliness quietly settled as we wound through that beautiful mountain passage.
How Wrong I Was
And yet, children so often surprise us. My apparently disinterested toddler proved quietly inquisitive towards the end of the drive. “Mum! My map says the treasure is on top of that mountain”, she said with determination, holding the AVIS budget rental flyer and pointing at the mountain ahead. The creativity of a child’s mind was heartwarming and offered a fresh perspective on travel. I realised I’d been doing this all wrong.
The remaining waterfalls we passed hid caves explored by Marshall from Paw Patrol. The ugly troll from The Three Billy Goats Gruff lived beneath the bridges we drove over, and the windy roads were surely leading us to the treasure. My child wasn’t disinterested – she just needed a story to go with the surroundings.
As we spoke fairytales and TV shows, I saw her eyes light up – engaged and excited. The magnetic blocks took a sideline, and the AVIS rental flyer “map” took centre stage as she navigated me through the passage. Slowly, something shifted. I felt less disconnected and more present – sharing this journey through the eyes of a child made the landscape come alive.
Read More: 6 Fascinating Facts About Norway: Know Before You Go
Deep In The Fjords
In the heart of the fjord region lay Flåm. Amongst the cruise ships, this impressive town was heartstoppingly beautiful. Just beyond the city’s skirts, the view from Brekkefossen Waterfall stretched past the mountains, revealing cerulean blue waters – as calm as the day was bright. Even the crowds of people couldn’t taint this postcard-perfect scene. The short but steep climb was absolutely worth it – a moment shared, toddler in tow.
The Flåmsbana train journey led passengers through the luscious landscape of Flåm Valley. Through shades of green, fast-flowing rivers, and cascading falls, the train chugs along. Clouds hung low in the valley, adding a sense of mystery and intrigue. It rolled past small, charming villages with classic Scandi-style red wooden homes – the perfect contrast against the dramatic scenery.
A New Identity
As we left Flåm, I felt myself changing. Maybe it was a small shift in perspective that helped me tap into new capabilities. Or maybe I was simply starting to accept that travelling with a toddler wasn’t bad — I just needed to find a better balance between both our needs. This new sense of self continued to be sown into the country’s wettest region, Bergen, where the sun shone for our entire stay.
We continued our search for treasure – this time on foot. Hiking the 1,333 steps of Mount Ulriken above Bergen wasn’t easy. Nature has a way of grounding people, and even amongst the crowds, I felt calm. Looking out over the seven mountains surrounding the city, my daughter happy on my back, I felt confident and self-assured – maybe I’d got the hang of this?
Travelling alone with a toddler can be lonely. You find yourself starved of adult conversation, which paves the way for parental angst and unhelpful thoughts. But while not all mountains will be climbed, bar scenes explored, or sights seen, imagination is reshaped and perspective gained. Returning to Oslo, with mixed feelings packed in the carry-on, served as a quiet reminder: travel is for learning.
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Author Bio: Hannah is an emerging writer currently travelling across Europe with her toddler on a mother-daughter adventure. As she navigates the challenges of solo parenting, she is learning to share her passion for travel through an honest, reflective lens.
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