There are few dates in the calendar as proudly Scottish as St Andrew’s Day, the 30th of November — a moment coloured by saltire blues, history, ceilidh reels, and (if you’re lucky) a plate of haggis, neeps and tatties large enough to see you through until Hogmanay. But this year, Scotland’s national day lined up with something entirely different: Første søndag i advent, Norway’s soft, candle-lit entrance into the Christmas season.

And just to keep life pleasantly chaotic? It also coincided with American Thanksgiving weekend.

A three-country cultural Venn diagram.
A trifecta of traditions.
A rolig wee weekend of festive fusion.

And honestly? It was perfect.

A Quick Toast to St Andrew’s Day: Scotland’s National Treasure

St Andrew’s Day sits a little differently in the Scottish cultural rhythm. It’s not as extravagant as Hogmanay, nor as sugar-fuelled as Halloween, but it carries a sort of quiet dignity — the distilled essence of Scotland in late November. Traditionally, it’s a day for:

• Flying the saltire, Scotland’s iconic blue-and-white cross
• Honouring St Andrew, the patron saint known for his kindness, humility, and dubious decision to be crucified on a diagonal cross (the origin of the saltire´s iconic shape)
• Pulling on your best tartan for a ceilidh, where the combination of fiddle music and overconfident footwork creates lifelong memories and occasional bruises
• And, of course, tucking into something hearty: haggis, neeps, tatties, stews, broths, or anything capable of warming a nation during the darkening days of winter

While its origins are solemn — a saint, a story, a symbol — modern St Andrew’s Day is nostalgic in a its own way. It’s the first lively step towards the winter festivities. Not a sprint, but an enthusiastic heel-toe towards the twinkling lights of December.

Norway marks the first Sunday of advent with an entirely different energy. Out go the ceilidh sets, in come the candles. Instead of a dance floor of swinging kilts, you get the soft glow of the first purple advent candle, the scent of baking, and the national sport of “taking it easy because it’s mørkt ute.”

Første Advent is all about:

• Lighting the first advent candle (and wondering where you last stored the other three)
• Declaring Christmas season officially open
• Pretending not to eat the pepperkaker meant for the neighbours
• Quietly panicking about jul shopping
• Embracing kos — soft, cosy blankets, soft lights, soft entry into December

Where Scotland leaps forward in tartan swirls, Norway eases in with wool socks and a well-timed nap.

And Then There’s Thanksgiving Weekend…

Having lived across three countries with their own end-of-November mood boards, sometimes the only sensible thing is to merge them all.

Enter: Friendsgiving.

Pumpkin spice cheesecakes, laughter around the table, gratitude shared between friends who also miss the crackle of American autumn… and usually enough leftovers to feed a small Scottish clan. It’s a tradition that travels well — all it needs is good company, too much food, and someone insisting that “this year, we’re keeping it small,” despite the five side dishes they’re currently preparing.

A Weekend of Three Homelands

So instead of a ceilidh this St Andrew’s Day, this year looked more like:

• A hearty pork rib and roasted tatties instead of the classic haggis-and-neeps spread
• A peaceful, rolig Første Advent with candles lit and socks thick enough to qualify as winter armour
• A Friendsgiving dinner complete with pumpkin spice cheesecake
• A wander through the Christmas lights at the mall, letting commercial sparkle do its job
• Some gentle Christmas shopping… its not December yet, I still have plenty time!
• Planning December’s movie advent — the real mark of seasonal commitment
• And brainstorming suitcase-friendly homemade gifts, because nothing says “I love you” like something hand-crafted and airline-approved

It was a cosy, mismatched blend of the three places I’ve called home — the kind of weekend that doesn’t make sense on paper but feels absolutely right in practice.

While the ceilidh shoes stayed in the cupboard this year, there’s something beautifully comforting about easing into winter the Norwegian way — softly, slowly, and with food that can be stirred with a wooden spoon the size of a canoe paddle.

St Andrew’s Day may traditionally be full of music and movement, but this year it danced at a different tempo: one that blended Scottish pride, American gratitude, and Norwegian calm into a single, lovely weekend.

And now?
Feeling well-rested, gently christmassy, and perhaps just a wee bit ready to reclaim that ceilidh floor next year.