For my 21st birthday, my boyfriend surprised me with a trip to Sandefjord- a sweet, cosy coastal town, not far from Oslo. With incredible fjords, invigorating (and exhausting) hikes, and a rich cultural history (which pleased the geography in my boyfriend and the history in me), Sandefjord felt world’s away from Manchester.
Norway is often celebrated as a global leader in climate action. From eco‑friendly transport systems to major investments in renewable energy and a steep carbon tax, sustainability is basically woven into the country’s identity. Walking through Sandefjord, that commitment can really be seen; the air feels cleaner, the walls less graffitied and litter most definitely uncommon (again, posing a stark contrast to our usual walks through Mancunian streets).
Beneath that green reputation, however, lies an interesting contradiction. While Norway works hard to reduce emissions from cars and industry, it appears less willing to confront the environmental impact of animal agriculture. Sandefjord, once known as the whaling capital of Norway, embodies this tension. Its heritage is steeped in whaling (which, of course, I researched as a huge history nerd), and its menus still lean heavily toward seafood and meat. With Norwegian cuisine so deeply tied to its landscapes and traditions, from Kjøttkaker to Lutefisk, it’s understandable that food plays a central role in cultural expression. Still, in such an eco‑aware country, I wasn’t expecting to rely on bread and pasta as my safest vegetarian options.
Sandefjord left me enchanted by its landscapes and impressed by its climate‑conscious spirit, yet also amused by the irony: a town so committed to sustainability, still serving up whale history and fish‑heavy plates with barely a non‑meat dish in sight.
That contrast made me wonder whether Sandefjord really cares about climate change, it didn’t seem keen to disrupt its traditional sources of identity and income but proudly announced its climate-conscious nature. The city has certainly moved on from its whaling prime, yet it continues to honour that chapter through its dedicated whaling museum. We paid the £10 fee and had a look through its extensive exhibits- while extremely interesting, it did raise concerns: where do we draw the line between historical pride and genuine contradiction?
To its credit, Sandefjord has made significant strides toward eco‑friendly change, investing millions in environmental initiatives and committing to a 40% emissions reduction by 2030. Yet even with these efforts, the environmental legacy of whaling, and the continued dominance of seafood in local cuisine, leaves a funny taste.
Amid this blend of heritage and modernity, we stumbled upon one of Sandefjord’s unexpected vegetarian gems: a rustic little café called Lunch Club. Just a short walk from the town centre, it offered more vegetarian options than anywhere else we visited (and it felt like striking gold). I ordered homemade tomato soup with grilled cheese, an açai bowl, and a pesto and red pepper panini. The dishes were tasty, colourful and felt thoughtfully crafted rather than improvised.
Sandefjord was beautiful, interesting, and incredibly historical. But, the trip made me wonder: do cities, like Sandefjord, really want to help the environment, or are they more interested in a superficial aesthetic?
