My Norwegian Christmas Adventure Part 1: arriving in Norway, first impressions of Gutsy Girls and Venabu, and the early steps to learning to cross‑country ski.
My Norwegian Christmas Adventure was all about needing Christmas to look and feel different. Not better, not fixed, not magically healed; just different. The last year has been full of traumatic change and the kind of emotional weather that settles deep in your bones. By the time winter arrived, I felt hollowed out in places I didn’t quite know how to refill. What I craved was space. Adventure. Structure. A week where someone else held the logistics so I could simply show up and get stuck in.
That’s how I found myself signing up for a Gutsy Girls cross‑country skiing retreat in the mountains of Norway (this is the trip I booked). A fully organised week with daily lessons, guided adventures, good food, and a small group of women who, like me, were looking for something – connection, challenge, rest, escape, a change of scenery. I didn’t know exactly what I was hoping for, only that I needed a new core memory to anchor myself to.
In Seach of a Core Memory
Travelling to Venabu felt like moving steadily toward something. The further I got from home – car, plane, train, bus – the more the noise softened. By the time I reached Venabu Fjellhotell, perched at 1,000 metres above sea level just outside a wild reindeer-filled national park, the world had narrowed to white landscapes, dark skies, and the gentle hum of a place built for winter. The hotel felt like a refuge in the landscape: warm, communal, unpretentious. A base camp for whatever the week would bring.
And then the week began to unfold, slowly at first, then all at once. Learning to cross‑country ski with Ingrid, whose patience and joy made even my clumsiest attempts feel like progress. Snowshoeing through deep, untouched snow. Dog sledding at sunset. A sleigh ride that felt one Turkish Delight short of Narnia. Daily yoga sessions that coaxed tired muscles back to life. A sauna and ice plunge that left me buzzing with cold‑water clarity. And the Northern Lights appearing within minutes of my arrival, dancing as if the sky itself had decided to welcome me in.
But the real heart of the week was the people. Eight women who laughed with me, encouraged me, waited for me, shared snacks and stories with me, and stood beside me in the cold watching the aurora ripple across the sky. There was something deeply comforting about being with people who didn’t need explanations, who simply met me where I was and made space for me to relax.
I went to Norway hoping for one core memory. I came home with many, threaded through with snow, movement, laughter, and the quiet reminder that even in the hardest of seasons, there is still room for joy.
Watch the Videos
There’s a whole daily vlog series covering this trip. Eleven episodes, each ten minutes long or there abouts, perfect for an easy binge watch if you’ve not seen them already. Hopefully these blog posts will add some detail to the story for those who prefer my written adventure journals to my poorly story-boarded attempt at film making! Here’s part one…
Here’s the full playlist if you prefer.
Travelling to Venabu
Getting to Venabu was slightly chaotic in that familiar travel‑day way: a 3.45am alarm, dark Uber to Heathrow, a Pret tea clutched like a lifeline, and a packed BA flight. I’d stayed at the Sheraton Skyline the night before (a good Holiday Extras deal with parking), so I wasn’t completely sleep‑deprived – but does anyone truly rest when an early, high‑stakes alarm is involved?
Passport control in Oslo nearly finished me off. Over an hour of inching forward thanks to the new biometric rules for non‑Schengen travellers (no, I didn’t vote for Brexit). By the time I reached baggage reclaim, my AirTag insisted my suitcase was nearby, yet neither I nor several airport staff could find it. The rising panic was very real. Eventually it turned up in a side room, cleared away to make space for the next flight. The relief was physical. And I needed tea.
After that, the day softened. An eye‑wateringly expensive but excellent tuna sandwich at Joe & the Juice. Women also on the trip appearing beside me one by one, dissolving the awkwardness of meeting strangers for the first time. A comfortable and on-time train north through gathering darkness, six of us scattered across carriages, quietly sharing the beginning of something without yet knowing each other.
By the time we reached Ringebu and were bundled into a van for the winding climb into the mountains, the world outside had turned to snow and silence.
Arriving at Venabu in the pitch black, I couldn’t see the landscape yet – but I could feel it. Cold air, deep snow, altitude. And then, as if Norway wanted to make its intentions clear, the Northern Lights appeared within minutes of checking in. A green sky on my first night. A welcome I didn’t know I needed.
Venabu Fjellhotell as a Base
Venabu Fjellhotell felt like stepping into a winter refuge; not fancy, not polished, but deeply comforting in a homely way. A family‑run mountain hotel perched at 1,000 metres, with creaking corridors, mismatched furniture, and a dining room that smelled of soup and cheese. My room was basic and a little rough around the edges, but warm, quiet, and mine. No TV, no kettle, no unnecessary noise. Just a double bed, a view of the snow, and the promise of tea on tap if I made my way to the lounge.
What struck me most was the atmosphere: calm, communal, easy going. People padded around in slippers. Guests lingered over breakfast. Staff greeted you like they’d known you for years. The hotel had a rhythm – yoga, skiing, sauna, dinner (at 6.30 sharp), repeat. It was the kind of place where you quickly learn where the good armchairs are, which corner of the lounge catches the morning light, and how to navigate the maze of corridors without ending up in the TV room by accident.
And then there was the food. Three‑course dinners every night, hearty breakfasts, packed lunches assembled with sleepy hands each morning. On Christmas Eve the hotel transformed completely with candles, carols, traditional dishes, and gifts for every guest. They went all in, and it was beautiful.
Venabu wasn’t luxurious. It was something better: a place that held me gently while I found my feet in the snow, literally and figuratively. And a place I can see myself returning to next Christmas, for sure.
On Gutsy Girls
A Gutsy Girls trip is adventure made accessible. Everything (except travel) was organised for me: lessons, activities, transfers, yoga sessions, flasks of tea filled each morning, even the small details you don’t realise you need until they’re already taken care of. It was an adventure without the admin, which is exactly what I needed.
The style is structured but never rigid. Plans shifted around weather, energy levels, and the needs of the group, and it all happened with calm and confident ease. When a storm rolled through, the schedule flexed. If someone needed a slower pace, that was fine; there was no pressure to be the fastest, the bravest, or the most experienced – just a wonderful encouragement to try, to enjoy, to be present.
And then there was our host, who really did set the tone. Lily was capable, warm, organised, and endlessly adaptable. She held the week together in a way that made everything feel smooth and safe. You always knew what was happening, but never felt rushed or managed.
But the real magic in this Gutsy Girls trip were the ladies I shared it with. Eight women who arrived as strangers and quickly became a little temporary family – laughing on the trails, waiting for each other on hills, sharing snacks, cheering tiny wins, and standing shoulder‑to‑shoulder under the Northern Lights. No one asked why we’d booked the trip, not at first, but the unspoken understanding was there. We were all carrying something into Christmas, and we were all choosing to seek joy anyway.
Learning to Cross‑Country Ski
I arrived in Norway knowing almost nothing about cross‑country skiing beyond the fact that Norwegians adore it – and that it looked, from the outside, like a serene glide through snowy landscapes. What I learnt very quickly is that it’s both simpler and harder than it looks: simple in concept, hard in execution, and utterly addictive once you feel that first moment of true glide.
Cross‑country skiing is woven into Norway’s cultural DNA. It’s one of the oldest forms of winter travel in the world, with rock carvings of skiers dating back thousands of years. Norwegians grow up on skis in the same way my generation in the UK grew up on bikes. And Venabu itself has a special place in that story; we were told it was one of the first places in Norway to use machine‑made tracks, a quiet revolution that helped open the sport to beginners like me. I’ve not been able to fact-check that completely, but it felt like a good story at the time.
My own introduction was less historic… On our first morning, feeling rough thanks to the exhaustion of a 4am start the previous day, I shuffled into the boot‑fitting room wondering what on earth I’d signed up for. But then we met Ingrid; patient, joyful, clear in her teaching, and the kind of instructor who makes you believe you can do anything if you just keep trying. She started us with the basics: jogging on the spot, one‑ski drills, relay races that had us laughing before we’d even realised we were learning. No poles at first. No pressure. Just movement.
And then, somehow, by the first afternoon, we were skiing across a frozen lake. Not gracefully, exactly, but we were doing it.
Building Skills and Having Fun
It was slow, stop‑start, clumsy, and yet, completely exhilarating. The landscape opened up around us as we got better. I felt something shift, not dramatically, not all at once, but enough to know I wanted more of this. Enough to feel a tiny spark of beginner’s satisfaction.
We went up and down temporary courses, round little loops, practising skills until we had them embedded. It turns out that while technique matters, attitude – and a willingness to just go for it – mattered more. Over the next couple of days, we learnt how to climb (little) hills, descend them, stop without panicking, and navigate the beautifully groomed tracks that spread from the hotel. We learnt how to fall (gracefully or otherwise), how to get back up, and how to laugh at ourselves. And we learnt that skiing in a group of supportive women, all cheering each other on, all finding our own rhythm, provides a real magic to an adventure.
On the second afternoon, we headed out through the trees for a couple of kilometres, testing our new skills on a trail that felt like a journey rather than a quick loop. It was the first time I felt that sense of travelling on skis, moving with purpose rather than just practising.
And then, as we made our way back towards the hotel, the sky dropped. Quite literally. A thick, dull fog sank down to meet the ground, swallowing the landscape until everything looked and felt entirely different. The world shrank to the few metres in front of us. The silence deepened. The snow seemed to glow. It was eerie and beautiful and oddly calming, a reminder that winter has many moods and we were only just beginning to meet them.
Gathering the First Threads
I’m writing this series in March 2026, and I still feel all those feelings. Cross‑country skiing for a week over Christmas gave me movement, confidence, and a sense of belonging in a landscape that felt both wild and welcoming. And if you’ve been reading Splodz Blogz for any length of time, you’ll know that feeling part of a wild and rugged landscape is my happy place.
Looking back on those first couple of days at Venabu, what strikes me most is the sense of being held – by the place, by the people, by the whole week. My life feels heavy in ways I struggle to describe at the moment, and there was such relief in letting someone else take the reins for a while. Meals appeared, plans were made, skis were fitted, tea was poured. All I had to do was show up, layer up, and step outside.
And in that space, joy found its way back in. The joy of doing something completely new. Of being a beginner without judgement. Of belly laughs with women who started as strangers and quickly became companions. The joy of standing under a sky that turned green for me on my very first night – a quiet, shimmering reminder that I was exactly where I needed to be.
Those early days were full of small moments that stitched themselves into something bigger: the first glide across a frozen lake, the warmth of the lounge after a cold lesson, the shared pride when someone mastered a new technique, the way we cheered each other on without hesitation. It felt like the beginning of a reset; gentle, steady, and full of possibility.
Watch the Series
If you want to see how those first days unfolded in real time, the daily vlogs from the whole trip are live on my YouTube channel.
The Trip: Notes and Logistics
I booked the Cross-Country Ski and Yoga Retreat with Gutsy Girls, a company offering adventurous experiences in the outdoors for women. I researched and booked the trip myself.
The week was based at Venabu Fjellhotell, which sits on the Venabygdsfjellet plateau, on the edge of the Rondane National Park, Norway.
I flew from Heathrow to Oslo with BA, got the train from Oslo to Ringebu, where the Gutsy Girls part of the trip took over. After that, I spent three nights in Oslo on a city break before returning home.
If you are looking at this trip or something similar and want some travel information or tips, I’m very happy to help. Similarly, if you have any questions about the Gutsy Girls trip, learning to cross-country ski, or any of the other activities I did, even what I wore, then feel free to ask and I’ll do my best to be useful.
I would highly recommend Gutsy Girls as a company, this specific trip, Venabu, and Oslo, to you all.
Read all my Norwegian Christmas Adventure blog articles.
What do you think? Comment below...