I have been advised, somewhat poetically I fear, by a Norwegian relative -- a Sinologist -- on my mother's side that what I need to cure parrot-in-winter-syndrome [as she put it: 鹦鹉在冬天] is to visit the most northerly fjords where I will (a) experience the true meaning of winter and (b) find hordes of penguins who will appreciate my presence.
(I knew it was poetic when I discovered that "fjords" rhymes with "hordes".)

It was no good trying to point out that (a) the central heating is excellent in Longyearbyen at this time of year and (b) penguins are denizens of the southern polar regions only -- with occasional forays into the south east of Australia (if one considers the thousands of islands that we lay dubious claim to).
I suspect she shares the hereditary Menière's disease, rampant on that side of the family, and does not hear too well -- not to mention falling over at the drop of a glass of red.

And as to parrots visiting those parts: there is only one in history known to have been discovered there.
The Norwegian Blue (Calyptorhynchus norwegiensis) -- now paradoxically immortal by virtue of being dead.
Not, as claimed by the seller, merely "pining for the fjords" ....
I quote necessarily at length:

'E's not pinin'!
'E's passed on!
This parrot is no more!
He has ceased to be!
'E's expired and gone to meet 'is maker!
'E's a stiff!
Bereft of life, 'e rests in peace!
If you hadn't nailed 'im to the perch 'e'd be pushing up the daisies!
'Is metabolic processes are now 'istory!
'E's off the twig!
'E's kicked the bucket, 'e's shuffled off 'is mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisibile!!
THIS IS AN EX-PARROT!!

Sorry.
There are only so many things I'm capable of parrotting.

Sledge