October 10, 2016.  Some of you may remember that, back in the summer, I’d written about Kayaking in the Oslo Fjord and an adorable lighthouse that we’d paddled past.  We’d learned then that Dyna Fyr, a little Victorian cupcake of a watchtower, had been converted into a restaurant for private events.  So when the time came to host a thank-you dinner for our hardworking team, it seemed like the perfect place to go.

The evening of the party rolled around, and our group lined up at City Hall Pier to await our transport.  We’d been told a small ferry would fetch us at the Kiss ‘n Ride, but I’m not sure anyone was prepared for the vintage wooden cutie that showed up.  It looked like a tiny tugboat out of a child’s storybook.  I have no idea how old it is, but climbing aboard, I felt like I was stepping back in time to the whaling days.

The ride to Dyna Fyr took only about 20 minutes or so, but it gave our team plenty of time to explore the boat.  We pretty much crawled over every square inch of it, duly documenting its mahogany-stained age and beauty … and taking the occasional selfie, of course.  Luckily, the night was cool but calm, so we got great shots of Oslo’s skyline, as well as some pics of the sleek sailboats racing past us.  (Click through the gallery below for bigger views and captions.)

Check out the captain in the wheelhouse — doesn’t he look like something right out of the pages of history?

Getta load of all the gorgeous woodwork and vintage charm — too atmospheric for words.

How ’bout that scenic skyline? In the background, you can see the twin towers of City Hall, and beneath the flag are the stone walls of Akershus Fortress.

Nothing like a sunset cruise in Oslo’s bay. Many of these sailboats are likely headed to islands that you can see along the horizon.

Our team admires the boat’s jaw-dropping views and woodsy interior.

How’s this for a porthole panorama?

In the background, you can see Oslo’s industrial wharf and one of the big ocean liners that travels between Oslo and Stockholm. On the Ekeberg hillside, you can see the vantage point from where Munch painted his famous painting, “The Scream.”

We gradually closed in on tiny Dyna Fyr, which perches atop a spit of rock like the lone survivor after a massive flood.  Although it looks dainty and fragile, the lighthouse has somehow managed to withstand almost 150 years of being battered by the elements.  It’s job?  Warning boats away from the hidden coastal reef that runs beneath it.  Although Dyna Fyr is no longer an active lighthouse (meaning no one lives there to man it ’round the clock), it’s still sports flashing lights to keep ships safe.

From a distance, Dyna Fyr appears to be a little white schoolhouse that has been nearly swamped by a vast deluge.

Looks like a peaceful place to get away from it all, doesn’t it?

Dyna Fyr was originally equipped with a lantern in one corner (note the bit of red roof poking out on the left) and a fog bell in the steeple overhead. Today, modern lights flash white, red or green, depending on the direction you’re coming from (each color indicates how far away you are from the shoals.) They blink on and off three times every eight seconds.

Our boat circled the lighthouse for photo ops and then slowly pulled up to the dock.  With the aid of the first mate, we scrambled onto shore and climbed the stairs to the house’s darling little patio.  A more picturesque spot to watch the sunset I cannot imagine.  Though the view might be a bit lonely,  I can completely understand why someone would apply for the job of lighthouse keeper.  Standing on the summit of your own private island fiefdom, admiring the panorama spread out before you, it feels like you’re king of all you survey.

Our sweet ride is framed by the tranquil sunset.

I’m imagining the children of the lighthouse owner trying to play catch in their postage stamp of a front yard. I’d hate to have to be the one running after a missed ball.

Yeah, the view from the front porch really sucks, doesn’t it?

Inside, the place possessed all the required elements for koselig (“cosiness”) that Norwegians prize in an eatery:  an open fireplace, candles in every window, wood-paneled walls, exposed beams … and lots of wine.  We roamed around to get a good look at the layout of the place and admired the view from each window before sitting down to tuck into our meal.

Dyna Fyr’s single central room houses a circular fireplace, painted paneled walls, and photos of famous Norwegian ships and racing yachts.

You can see that it’s just a few steps in the foyer before you step up and into the main room. On the left, the chef plates the meal in the tiny kitchen. The stairs lead to an itty bitty basement (dug into the rock) where the restrooms and storage are located.

Check out the cathedral ceiling. I’m wondering if this might have originally been an attic space where the lighthouse keeper’s kids slept, as the main floor is pretty tiny.

Buckets of chilled wine are a must at any Norwegian event. And they’re always artfully displayed to enhance the essence of koselig.

Another peaceful view, this one is adorned with the requisite Norwegian flags and a living ivy wreath. Such wreaths seems to be a popular window dressing in many Norwegian homes. I got one myself recently, but I haven’t figured out how to keep the spider mites off of it.

I’m guessing that the lighthouse inhabitants probably had to wash the windows regularly to get rid of all the salt spray. But the view is worth it!

Our hostess began by providing us with Dyna Fyr’s background story, much of which I’d heard from our kayak tour guide this past summer, and some of which updated the previous legends I’d heard.  First of all, she covered the basics:  in Norwegian, a lighthouse is simply called a fyr (fire) or sometimes a fyrtårn (fire tower).  Dyna fyr (pronounced “Dewna Fewr”) translates as “Dune Lighthouse” — I’m assuming because the structure looks like it’s sitting on a single sand dune.  The original lantern, installed when the place was built in 1874, consisted of an actual oil lamp reflected by the mirrors behind it, but the lamp was converted to an electric beacon in 1878.  Several lighthouse managers lived there over the years, operating the lantern and fog bell by hand, until the equipment was automated in 1956.

At the risk of repeating my favorite tale from a previous post, here it is again:  one of the lighthouse managers who lived here had a family of six.  His four children used to swim or boat to school during warm weather.  But in winter, they walked across the frozen fjord carrying boards or ladders with them, in case they needed to hopscotch between floating chunks of ice.  The school mistress on the mainland reserved the first row of desks (closest to the fireplace) for the kids, in case they fell into the ocean during their journey and needed to dry off.  Wonder how many sick days they ended up taking?

The hostess went on to explain that the lighthouse keeper at Dyna Fyr was also responsible for two smaller lanterns, Kobbernaglen Lykt and Kavringen Fyr, both of which sit on rocky outcroppings in the middle of the shipping lanes.  And in fact, these beacons had inspired the names of our three menu options for the evening, all focused around the various catches of the day.  We’d selected the four-course “Dyna” offering, which was beyond delicious and a real crowd pleaser for our group.  Most everyone commented that it was the best fish they’d eaten yet in Norway, which is saying a lot, considering the seafood here is unbelievably wonderful.

Everyone found it hard to tear themselves away from the windows … until the smell of the delicious food wafted in.

Our meal began with an appetizer of Asparagus Hollandaise — yum!

The cheese selection highlighted Norway’s can’t-be-beat varieties.

Fabulous currant sorbet with vanilla cream and chocolate ganache finished off the meal.

Pictured is the tiny Kavringen Fyr at Hovedøya, the big island across from City Hall. Not really a true lighthouse, it’s only about the size of a miniature golf obstacle. The other tiny lighthouse has a more appropriate name: Kobbernaglen Lykt, which means “Copper Rivet Lantern.”

Darkness fell as we finished our meal.  Too stuffed to move, we sat sipping our coffee and watching the after-dinner show — which consisted of small ferries that scurried past the windows and towering cruise liners that sailed uncomfortably close to our snug little haven.  I found myself contemplating what it would be like to sleep here at night.  Would I be constantly worrying that one of these behemoths was going to run aground and knock my little lighthouse off its perch?  Maybe, but I’d still like the chance for a sleepover.  Wonder how much that might cost?