An Oil and Gas Engineer on a Skilled Worker Visa in Norway

When I stepped off the plane at Sola with two suitcases, a stack of documents, and a job contract I’d read so many times it felt memorized, I didn’t expect the silence. It wasn’t empty—more like a soft blanket. People spoke gently. No one cut the queue. Outside, spring was still learning how to be spring: wet sidewalks, stubborn wind, bright daffodils leaning like they’d been up all night. Yesterday was May 17, Constitution Day, and I found myself cheering in a language I barely speak, watching children parade through Stavanger with flags and brass bands while old wooden houses fluttered with bunting. Somewhere between the third “hipp hipp hurra” and my second hot dog, I realized this place had started to feel a little like home.

Getting the Skilled Worker Visa (and a Crash Course in Paperwork)

The job came first—a role with a service company supporting offshore projects in the North Sea. Without a concrete offer, a skilled worker permit in Norway is wishful thinking. Once I had the contract, my employer applied as a “representative” on my behalf with UDI (the Norwegian Directorate of Immigration). That helped tremendously. If you do it yourself, it’s still doable—just be ready to upload diplomas, transcripts, passport copies, and a contract that meets the salary and qualification requirements for engineers.

The timeline in my case: about six weeks from application to approval. Then I booked a police station appointment in Stavanger to show the originals and fingerprints. Tip: book early; spring is busy. After that, I received a residence card and a D-number (a temporary ID). With the D-number, I could register with the tax office (Skatteetaten), get a tax deduction card, and, with some persistence, open a bank account. The permanent ID number (personnummer) came later—after I’d registered my address.

One lesson I learned the harder way: landlords and banks take comfort in official numbers. Before my personnummer arrived, I leaned on my signed contract, the UDI approval letter, and patience. Consider keeping an international account or a digital bank as a bridge for the first months.

Housing in a High-Cost City

Stavanger is gorgeous—and expensive. I spent a week scrolling Finn.no, learning the difference between “møblert” (furnished) and “umøblert,” and going to showings where ten quiet people in rain jackets evaluated kitchen cupboards with intense concentration. Deposits are typically three months’ rent in a proper deposit account (depositumskonto)—avoid anyone suggesting cash or a personal transfer.

I settled on a one-bedroom in Sandnes close to the train line and Kolumbus bus routes to Forus. The rent made my Cairo sensibilities wince, but I sleep better in a place with light and decent windows. Electricity (“strøm”) is separate and fluctuates; April and May were kind to me compared to winter bills, but I bought a thick sweater anyway. To save, I learned the budget grocery chains—REMA 1000 and Kiwi—and I now understand the special joy of finding salmon on discount. For furniture, Finn.no secondhand finds and a Saturday trip to Fretex furnished my life without breaking it.

Work: Safety, Flat Hierarchies, and Learning to Speak Up

My weekdays start with a Kolumbus bus to Forus, notebook in one pocket, rain jacket in the other. The first real shock was how horizontal everything feels. My manager insists I call him by his first name and expects me to challenge a plan if the risk profile feels off. In Egypt, respect sometimes meant keeping your head down. Here, safety culture requires your voice. I completed the mandatory offshore safety training and updated my offshore medical. I still keep a list of Norwegian acronyms because every meeting has at least three.

The pace is steady, not frantic. If a meeting finishes five minutes early, people don’t fill the silence with more talking. They save the minutes like coins and leave on time to pick up kids from barnehage. I’ve adjusted my inner clock to accept that the 37.5-hour week is real, and that long hours are not a badge of honor.

Nordic Culture Shock (and Delight)

Silence, again. Norwegians are comfortable with it. No one takes it personally if you don’t make small talk in the elevator. The first time a colleague said, “We can take it next week,” I presumed it meant “I don’t want to.” It really meant “We will actually take it next week.” People mean what they say—both freeing and terrifying.

I learned quickly to remove shoes at the door; to show up on time (early is awkward, late is rude); and to bring my own packed lunch (“matpakke”). On my third week, a colleague introduced me to brunost—a brown cheese that tastes like caramel and dairy had a secret child. I’m a convert.

There’s a word I’ve heard often: Janteloven. It isn’t a law, more a cultural idea that no one is better than anyone else. You see it in meetings and salaries and daily life. It makes for fair, low-drama workplaces. It can also make it hard to brag about your wins. I’m learning to let my work speak for itself and to celebrate achievements quietly over coffee.

Building a Life: Community in Stavanger

Stavanger has a tight-knit expat community, thanks to oil and gas. Facebook groups and Meetup helped me find my first circle—engineers who know the exact pain of learning a new tax system and which bakery has the best skolebrød. The library’s språkkafé on weeknights became my classroom; strangers turn into conversation partners over coffee and tentative Bokmål. My employer offered Norwegian lessons to beginners, and I took every hour they would give me. A wonky A2 still opens doors: a greeting at the checkout, a “takk for sist” after seeing a colleague, a “ha det” as you head out—it all counts.

For Friday prayers, I found a mosque near the city center, and the help was instant and practical: how to find halal meat (Pedersgata has options), which barber won’t empty your wallet, where to buy a winter coat on sale. After my first full Norwegian winter, Eid in early spring felt extra tender—sun on faces outside the mosque, kids in miniature suits, aunties wrapped in color.

Money Matters: Costs and Taxes Without Losing Your Mind

Let’s say it plainly: Norway is pricey. Eating out regularly can sink your budget. A coffee easily costs more than a full meal in Cairo. But the social systems are strong, and your salary is designed with the cost of living in mind.

Your first tax decision arrives fast: the PAYE scheme (a flat rate deducted directly, simple for newcomers) or the standard progressive system. I started with PAYE to keep it simple and switched later after talking to colleagues and the tax office. Get your tax deduction card early or your employer must withhold at a high default rate. Health care co-pays (egenandel) are reasonable, and once you hit an annual threshold, you get an exemption card. The GP system (fastlege) kicked in after I received my personnummer—book early; slots go fast. Dental care isn’t generally covered, so budget for it.

Transportation-wise, I delayed getting a car. Between buses, occasional trains, and the fact that car ownership adds tolls (bompenger), insurance, parking, and winter tires, I’m fine without one. If your license is from outside the EU, check early whether you can exchange it or if you need to retake tests; you don’t want that surprise at month three.

Spring in Rogaland: Rain, Light, and National Pride

Spring in Stavanger isn’t a postcard—it’s layered. One day, the sky is bright and the fjord looks like polished steel; the next, sideways rain. But the light stretches long in May. After months of early darkness, the late sunsets feel like a gift you don’t have to earn.

Yesterday’s Constitution Day stitched me to this place. I watched families in bunad walk past Gamle Stavanger’s white wooden houses, listened to drums echo between cobblestones, and joined my colleagues in eating hot dogs and ice cream for breakfast without a trace of irony. A week ago, I hiked part of the trail toward Preikestolen with three other expats and a Norwegian who swore it’s “just a small tur.” “Friluftsliv,” he said—life in the fresh air. I used to be a weekend indoor guy. Now I carry a thermos and sit on rocks to drink coffee.

What I Wish I’d Known

• Start your UDI application as soon as your contract is signed, and book the police appointment immediately.
• Keep digital and printed copies of everything: contract, UDI decision, passport, diploma translations. Norway loves order.
• Finn.no is your friend, but don’t rush; view in person and insist on a proper deposit account.
• Bring savings to cover 3–4 months. First weeks are expensive: deposits, furniture, transit cards, and waiting for your first paycheck.
• Learn enough Norwegian to be polite and brave. Language opens hearts here.
• Socializing can be scheduled weeks ahead. Don’t take it personally—Norwegians plan.
• Join something: a football group, a climbing gym, a volunteer “dugnad” in your housing co-op. That’s where friendships form.
• Expect the quiet. It’s not coldness; it’s space. Fill it with your own steadiness.

Closing Thoughts

I came to Stavanger because I’m an engineer and the North Sea still hums with work. I’m staying because of the small, human details: the way colleagues trust you to leave when the day is done; the neighbor who left me a note about the building’s spring “dugnad” and then taught me how to trim the hedges; the library that became my second home; the shock of rain on my face followed by a ten-minute burst of sunshine. There are days I miss Cairo so much it hurts—noise, family, spices in the air. On those days, I make koshari, call my parents, and walk to the harbor. The gulls are obnoxious; the water is calming. Both, somehow, help.

If you’re considering this path—an Egyptian engineer stepping into Norway on a skilled worker visa—know this: it’s not a fairy tale, but it is workable, dignified, and, with time, deeply rewarding. Do the paperwork carefully, prepare financially, ask for help, and give yourself a season to adapt. Spring is a good one to start with. It’s about beginnings, after all.

Best wishes from Stavanger,