Rørosmartnan

To start with, Rørosmartnan is not just a folk dance and music festival. It is a full out market that takes over the town. There are craft booths and food booths and craft-food booths, guys selling fancy drills, lots of reindeer skins, and endless sausages, waffles, cocoa, and gløgg. Then there are concerts and dances on top of all that.

I arrived on Tuesday on the same train as Tom Sears who kindly pointed me up the hill to the cafe where my host was working that evening. I dragged my suitcase up past the church and met Sylvia. She gave me some cocoa and the directions to her house and off I went. I left my fiddle at the cafe because it was a long walk and I planned on heading out again.

I made it Sylvia's house, figured out which mattress on the floor was designated for me (she had eight people staying there) and headed back into the snowy evening. I walked past the cafe on my way to the hotel, so I picked up my fiddle, just in case. I was on my way to hear SVER play for dancing! I got to the hotel before they started and happened across them sitting in the lobby bar discussing their set list. I sat with the guys for a few minutes while I thawed and they got organized.

Playing for dancing at a hotel is not really very easy. First, they were playing in the bar, so most of the audience was sloshed. Then there was the large pillar in the middle of the dance floor which cuts down on maneuverability. Third is the floor itself was a typical concrete/tile job, so there weren't very many serious folk dancers taking part in the evening's festivities. I stayed content with listening to them play and taking a few photos. I was also exhausted and left when they took their break.

The next day, and every day, the middagsdans (mid-day dance) began at noon in Sangarhuset. Anyone who's been dancing in Norway knows that it's difficult to get a dance partner if you don't know anyone. Dance etiquette in Norway also indicates that once you're one the floor with someone it's polite to keep dancing with that person four or five dances (more if you're really enjoying it) and then suggest that you take a break after the next dance (or if a waltz or polka is being played). Fortunately, I knew two or three people that first day and that was enough to keep me moving most of the time.

Even if you're not dancing, in Røros it's fascinating just to watch the dancers on the floor. People come from all over Norway and Sweden (and we're a few Americans) to dance pols to the best Røros bands; you probably own their CD's - Glåmos spelmannslag, Småviltlaget, Brekken spelmannslag, Dalakopa. Sitting on the sidelines, you can see variations in all parts of the dance - and in four days of dancing there's plenty of variation to watch.

It's hard to choose what the most exciting part of dancing in Røros is. Is it the extremely high level of dance skill that almost everyone has? Dancing primarily pols for four days? Swirling around the dance floor like a school of sardines? The fabulous music? Dancing with friends? Dancing with friends you didn't expect to see? Dancing seven to ten hours a day without getting tired?

For me, the best experiences are those shared with people. That's one of the reasons I think dancing is so fantastic. One evening I was dancing with my friend Bjørn Sverre, who is a fabulous dancer with a lot of bounce in his style. I so admire his dancing that it was thrilling just do dance with him. But why was it so wonderful? One of my greatest joys is trusting the person I'm dancing with enough to give in completely and follow him (and the music) all over the dance floor. Bjørn Sverre commands this kind of respect and has earned my trust. He also leads so well that I find myself learning from him while we dance. There are so many ingredients that go in to making dance-magic!

The museum holds mid-day concerts. I went to 'Olav Mjelva and friends' which was of course excellent. And Bjørn Sverre gave a tour of Norway's bunads (he is fantastic to listen to, as well). I also saw SVER play packed into a tiny cafe with tons of fans; naturally jamming broke out afterward.

One evening I found myself in Kaffistuggu, thanks to Bjørn Sverre and an abundance of time. Kaffistuggu is an institution in Røros. It is a two story cafe with food and beer and lots of small spaces for musicians to play. And that is what happens during Martnan. The line can stretch for hours while people wait for enough space to get in. People packed close together, jam sessions pressing against one another like a car full of balloons. Walking through (if possible) one hears music on all kinds of instruments from accordion to hardingfele, played by everyone from local heroes to Swedens biggest stars.

The evening dances in Sangarhuset were essentially a continuation of the midday dances. On Friday night the evening was allowed to stretch until 4am with the much anticipated nattdans (night dance). Saturday's final dance was held at the high school gym, which has much less atmosphere and twice as much (or more) dance floor. It was strange to dance with so much space between the couples after dancing so close together all week. I guess it was a way to start saying good-bye.

When I got home from the dance that night, I fired up the wood stove. The girls I lived with were planning to have a little party to celebrate surviving Martnan - they had worked the whole week. When they got back we grilled hot dogs on the fire and ate candy and chatted. I got the distinct impression of a pack of cats lounging in the sun as we all sat there, exhausted and happy. One by one we started falling asleep and went to bed.

The real end of my Rørosmartnan story is the race to find a place on the train Sunday morning. Several hundred people line up on the platform waiting for the train to arrive and when it does, it is total chaos trying to get luggage and instruments and people onto the waiting train cars as fast as possible. The girls I was travelling home with and I all managed to get seats on the same car, which was a small miracle. Eleven hours later and very tired, we were home in Rauland.