Pontus Berglund (L) sits on the Swedish side while his brother Ola sits on the Norwegian side of the old bridge of Svinesund with the respective country flags and the new Svinesund Bridge in the background, in Svinesund, Norway and Sweden, on May 1, 2021. They haven鈥檛 been allowed to have each other over for a year because of Covid. So come rain or shine, two 73-year-old Swedish twins have met every Saturday, each on their side of the border, on a bridge that links Norway and Sweden. Photo by Petter BERNTSEN / AFP
SVINESUND, Norway 鈥� They haven鈥檛 been allowed to have each other over to their homes for a year now because of Covid. So come rain or shine, two 73-year-old Swedish twins have met every Saturday, each on their side of the border, on a bridge that links Norway and Sweden.
Every week, Ola and Pontus Berglund each keeps well behind a thin, yet impassable line on the ground, toting camping chairs, thermoses, sandwiches 鈥� and plenty of good cheer.
鈥淲e鈥檙e not allowed to cross the border. I have to stay one metre (yard) away on my side and he has to stay back one metre on his side,鈥� Ola explains, the little Norwegian and Swedish flags they鈥檝e attached to the bridge fluttering in the wind.
鈥淪o basically there has to be two meters between us,鈥� he says, pushing his chair back, suddenly aware that he is too close.
At his feet, painted on the road, is a simple white line, the words 鈥淣orge鈥� and 鈥淪verige鈥� on either side.
The pandemic has put a halt to the identical twins鈥� weekly visits to each other鈥檚 homes.
Ola lives in Halden, in southeastern Norway, where he moved almost 40 years ago for love, while Pontus lives a half-hour drive away in the southwestern Swedish town of Stromstad.
Instead, they come together here, at a more or less respectful distance, on the old Svinesund bridge that straddles a fjord between the two countries.
They鈥檝e celebrated their 72nd and 73rd birthdays this way on April 20.
鈥淚t鈥檚 very strange but it鈥檚 become a need, a pressing need, because we used to see each other every week and we wanted to continue that,鈥� says Pontus from the Swedish side.
鈥淭he pandemic hasn鈥檛 stopped us from seeing each other and for us, that鈥檚 a victory.鈥�
While the local restrictions have changed over the months as the virus situation has evolved, the border has remained closed.
The closure has angered Norwegians 鈥� many of whom own summer homes in Sweden, where life is cheaper 鈥� to such an extent that they sued the Norwegian state to get it to lift the mandatory quarantine required when they return home.
鈥楢 little party鈥�
The few motorists who use the bridge usually smile or wave at the two grey-bearded gents sitting in their chairs.
Ola, a former nursing assistant who now spends his time making scenery for a theater, and Pontus, an artist and amateur ornithologist, have become local celebrities, with some people driving up to five hours just to take their photograph.
鈥淭hat鈥檚 not very important to us. The important thing to us is to be able to get together and talk about whatever we want,鈥� says Ola, sporting a red bow tie 鈥渂ecause it鈥檚 May 1st鈥�.
From their privileged perch, the two have, on occasion, found themselves in the role of benevolent smugglers 鈥� like the day when they delivered a puppy born in Sweden to its new family in Norway.
That鈥檚 their fondest memory, they say.
In more than a year, they鈥檝e only missed their weekly rendezvous three times 鈥� because of stubborn police who wouldn鈥檛 let them onto the bridge.
Otherwise, they鈥檝e kept to their schedule through blizzards or heatwaves, simply dressing for the weather.
Before the vaccination rollout, many elderly reported feeling a sense of isolation during the pandemic, as a result of having to shield themselves from the virus.
鈥淓ach meeting has been a little party,鈥� says Pontus, who is divorced. 鈥淔or me who lives alone, it鈥檚 really important to see Ola. Without that I鈥檇 be depressed.鈥�
Does he miss hugging his brother?
鈥淵es,鈥� he says with a contagious laugh.
鈥淪o sometimes I hug myself 鈥� since we鈥檙e identical.鈥�