The Kon-Tiki Museum 75 years

The Kon-Tiki Museum are celebrating it’s 75th anniversary in 2025. The first Kon-Tiki-house, a small wooden shed with barely room for the raft itself let alone all the visitors, opened its doors May 15th 1950, and was replaced by a permanent museum building in 1956. To give you a glimpse into our history and prepare you for the celebrations, we publish the story of how the museum came to be, written by crew-member on the Kon-Tiki Expedition and the first Director, Knut M. Haugland and first published in 1960.

The Kon-Tiki Museum 10 years

The Kon-Tiki Museum is today known far beyond the country's borders. The number of visitors has increased year by year, reaching 170,561 in 1959. The museum not only houses the raft from the Kon-Tiki expedition (1947) but also collections from Thor Heyerdahl's Galápagos expedition (1954) and the Easter Island expedition (1955–56). Approximately NOK 1,000,000 has been invested in the building and exhibitions. The new museum, with its significant investment, is barely three years old, while the raft was previously exhibited in a summer house for seven years. In reality, only the exhibition of the Kon-Tiki raft is celebrating its ten-year anniversary this year.

The Kon-Tiki-house photographed between 1950-54 (Photo: Mittet, Public Domain).

Where did all the money come from that made it possible to establish a state-of-the-art museum? Not from the state or municipality. We never asked for anything, as we knew the circumstances well enough to realize it would have been futile to expect any substantial funding. It is also difficult to request public funds when one is directly involved in the matter. Besides, the satisfaction is greater when help is not needed. Most of the money was borrowed under standard commercial terms from the city's banks and other institutions. However, the starting capital—approximately NOK 200,000—was accumulated through operations at the previous Kon-Tiki house. The interest and repayments were daunting in the first two years, exceeding NOK 90,000, but thanks to a large number of visitors, the museum managed the expenses and even did better than expected.

When we stranded on the Raroia reef, we never imagined the raft would end up in a museum. There it lay, high on the reef, with ocean spray washing over it every time the waves thundered against the corals. Heyerdahl even remarked that, as it was, the raft was a worthy monument. One day, when the ropes could no longer hold the logs together, they would drift apart and follow the path of the ancestors, always seeking westward. But the raft would not stay put. One day, suddenly, the high tide did not recede, and massive waves swept over the reef, pushing the Kon-Tiki back into the water. It shoved large coral blocks ahead of it and did not stop until it could rest calmly in the lagoon. We anchored it just outside our campsite, and from then on, we never parted. It was towed for nine days by a small schooner to Tahiti and later transported by the Norwegian ship Thor I to San Francisco.

But we had never intended to take it to Norway. An American public relations man had sent a telegram enthusiastically recommending that we tour the USA with the raft on wheels—there was big money to be made. That turned out not to be the case. In San Francisco, the port authorities demanded dock fees for the Kon-Tiki as if it were a proper vessel. If we wanted to exhibit it, it had to be in city parks, which cost money. Moreover, charging an entrance fee was prohibited, so we soon realized we had a "white elephant" on our hands. We couldn’t get rid of it either—no one wanted it, and if we let it drift at sea, it would pose a hazard to maritime traffic. The solution was that a generous shipowner took it aboard one of his ships to Antwerp. Another shipowner arranged for it to be transported to Oslo.

Before the Kon-Tiki raft made it that far, Thor Heyerdahl had offered it to the Norwegian Maritime Museum. While they were interested, they could not afford the expenses of storage and exhibition, as the museum was undergoing significant expansion. When the raft arrived in Oslo in December 1947, Heyerdahl found himself in a predicament. The ship’s crane could not lift the 20-ton raft, still waterlogged. We had to rent Goliath, a floating crane, which cost NOK 1,200. Then the raft had to be towed across the bay to the Fram House, where it was to remain until a decision was made regarding its fate. It lay there all winter, frozen in ice and weighed down by snow, visited only occasionally by a loving couple who found shelter in the bamboo hut. Morgenbladet made a valiant effort to save it. A fundraising campaign was launched in the summer of 1948 to raise funds for a shelter. Around NOK 15,000 was collected, but this was not enough to solve the problem.

In the spring of 1949, three men—wholesaler J. Johannson, shipbroker H. T. Gram, and shipowner Sverre Ditlev-Simonsen—formed a committee to establish a shelter for the raft. Architect F. S. Platou designed the plans, and the costs were estimated at NOK 26,000, which was gradually secured.

Once it was certain that the raft would be preserved, I took steps to pull it ashore before it was completely stripped. A construction firm was hired, and the raft was hauled onto land in the early summer of 1948, placed on logs beside the Fram House. However, we had not anticipated that this would cost NOK 1,500, which I fortunately borrowed from a friend since the company insisted on immediate payment. By October 1, 1949, the shelter was completed, with the raft at its center. The Norwegian Maritime Museum played a crucial role by providing a free plot of land.

It was a big day, but only Heyerdahl and I were truly aware of how bad the state of the raft was. The stay in the Oslo Fjord had taken its toll. The ropes had begun to rot, and there was an indescribable amount of filth everywhere. The raft simply reeked of sewage from a distance. There was no way around it—all the knots had to be untied, the ropes removed, and both the ropes and the logs had to be cleaned before the raft could be reassembled and presented to the public. It was a terrible job and took a total of 32 Sundays and holidays. I was the only member of the expedition who lived in Oslo and could take responsibility for the work. But since I was permanently employed in the military, it had to be done on holidays. I relied on my many friends, but I must admit that all goodwill was exhausted already early in the winter.

When we took over the house in October 1949, the construction accounts showed a surplus of 200 kroner, which could be used for ongoing work. However, it didn’t go far, as the interior walls had to be paneled to make room for maps and photo montages. Additionally, a small room was needed for selling tickets, postcards, and souvenirs. Electric lighting was required, gutters were needed, and so on.

We found ourselves in a dilemma once again. Even after the house was built, the Norwegian Maritime Museum could not accept Thor Heyerdahl’s gift, as it was still clear that the raft would bring significant expenses, and the income was based on hope and assumptions. Despite still being in considerable debt, Thor Heyerdahl secured a loan of 10,000 kroner on January 3, 1950, for the restoration of the raft and to cover the aforementioned expenses. However, this was not enough to make the house presentable, and on May 20, 1950, he had to extend an additional 5,000 kroner. By then, however, it was already evident that there was significant interest in seeing the raft. *The Kon-Tiki* book became an incredible advertisement that spread worldwide. The Kon-Tiki house opened to the public on May 15, 1950, and already after the first season, the accounts showed a surplus, allowing the loans to be repaid. Visitor numbers continued to rise year after year. In 1951, there were 72,641 visitors; in 1952, 105,833, with a steady increase until the new museum in 1959, as previously mentioned, reached 170,500 visitors.

In order to bring the Kon-Tiki House institution into proper order, Heyerdahl established regulations for the storage and operation of the raft at the exhibition on December 29, 1949. While he was still in debt, as mentioned, he took on full financial responsibility for the raft’s exhibition. But not only that—he decided that if the operation generated a surplus, a fund should be established for students using the funds that were not needed for the house and its maintenance.

Already shortly after his return home in 1948, Thor Heyerdahl contacted the Norwegian Maritime Museum. Director Kristian Kielland was personally very interested in providing all possible support, even though his board could not allow the museum to take on any responsibility for the raft. Later, Heyerdahl connected with Professor Gutorm Gjessing at the University’s Ethnographic Museum, who was also interested in supporting the preservation of the raft. The aforementioned two museum directors agreed to join a committee that, together with Heyerdahl (with the undersigned as deputy), would form the board of the institution. The board was formally constituted in May 1952 as a legal entity with appropriate statutes, based on Heyerdahl’s previously established regulations. Since then, the board has continued to consist of representatives from the same institutions.

From the very beginning, I have served as the museum’s daily manager. Since, as mentioned, I had other full-time employment, the job had to be carried out purely as a hobby in my spare time. The challenge for me was not managing the museum’s operations, but rather fulfilling the many representational duties that this unusual museum brought with it. The house was not even finished before I began receiving phone calls and letters addressing me as "director" and "curator" from various authorities, tourism institutions, embassies, and so on, inviting me to receive distinguished guests. If I declined, I was criticized and reminded how "other directors" would always attend! I must admit that I felt rather embarrassed, as I believed the Kon-Tiki House had little to offer. However, a determined lady, well known to us all, quickly put an end to this misconception—after all, the Kon-Tiki raft had long since been promoted on the international travel market as a new Norwegian attraction. Personally, I had never intended to compete with professional museum staff. I simply felt a certain duty to assist in restoring the raft. But since no one else was willing to take responsibility for the operation of the Kon-Tiki House, I could hardly excuse myself from the matter. Thus, in Heyerdahl’s many absences over the years, I found myself serving as a guide for kings, queens, princes, princesses, dukes, generals, world politicians, countless institutional representatives visiting Norway, and, not least, scientists and museum professionals from near and far.

When the operation began generating a surplus, the board found it appropriate, in accordance with the statutes, to award scholarships for maritime historical research. A total of NOK 15,000 was distributed among four selected applicants.

However, it soon became clear that it was unfortunate that the raft could not be viewed during the winter months. Additionally, Thor Heyerdahl continued his expeditions, bringing back extensive material from South America and Polynesia that ought to be made accessible to the public.

As the first step toward establishing a modern museum, the plot of land we had borrowed from the Maritime Museum was purchased. When the plan for a new museum building was discussed by the board, the representative from the Maritime Museum advised against the proposal, citing significant concerns about taking out a NOK 700,000 loan for an enterprise that was highly time-sensitive and could lose its relevance—and thus its income—over time. On the other hand, the board of the Norwegian Maritime Museum was willing to allocate space for the raft in the new Maritime Museum for as long as there was interest. Heyerdahl appreciated this offer but ultimately chose to take out the necessary loan instead, a decision that was also supported by Professor Gjessing. Construction of the new museum building began in 1956, and within approximately seven months, the building was completed. Unfortunately, the final settlement brought an unexpected financial setback that nearly put us in a difficult position—the construction budget had been significantly exceeded.

The permanent museum building was finished in 1956 (Photo: Mittet, Public Domain).

In our distress, Thor Heyerdahl sent a personal letter to the Minister of Finance requesting either exemption from or a postponement of the payment of the sales tax. The request was flatly denied. Today, we admire the Minister of Finance for his great foresight! The new museum received a number of visitors that far exceeded even the most optimistic estimates, and we managed to cover the additional expenses. In the end, that was exactly what we had hoped for.

In 1958-59, we took out new loans of approximately 50,000 kroner so that most of the exhibition plans could be realized. These included an underwater museum beneath the raft, a true-to-life replica of an Easter Island family cave, a boat hall featuring a collection of boat models and primitive artifacts from South America and Polynesia. However, a large collection of material from Easter Island must remain in storage for the time being. Easter Island deserves its own large section, but finances will likely not allow for that for a few more years. 

The name Kon-Tiki seems to have a magical power. The museum receives letters from people of all backgrounds and professions from around the world, asking about all sorts of things. The Russians, in particular, have shown great interest lately, after The Kon-Tiki Expedition and Aku-Aku appear to have reached every corner of their vast country. Many Russians are eager to join the next expedition. Everyone receives a response, but it is a bit troublesome with the Russians because they write in their native language.

Countless schoolteachers have requested a picture of the Kon-Tiki raft to hang in their classrooms or have asked for drawings to build raft models during handicraft lessons. Kon-Tiki models are being built at schools in the USA, Canada, England, Scotland, Burma, Siam, Switzerland, and other countries. In Yugoslavia, there is a scout troop named Kon-Tiki, where the patrols are named after the expedition members. In Germany, a city has a kindergarten featuring both a raft and a whale shark. In France, there have been plans for a Kon-Tiki raft route on the Seine. In England, a well-known poet has written a long tribute poem to the Kon-Tiki expedition, The Ballad of Kon-Tiki, published by Oxford University Press in 1952. According to Professor Otto Lous Mohr, the Kon-Tiki expedition was practically the only thing King Ibn Saud knew about Norway. At Moscow University, Heyerdahl’s migration theory and expeditions are included in the regular lectures. In Canada, hyper-modern restaurants are being designed where only so-called Kon-Tiki specialties are served (though they likely bear little resemblance to the original menu!). And so, the list goes on endlessly.

Thus, it does not seem necessary for the Kon-Tiki Museum to invest heavily in advertising. Thor Heyerdahl’s books and films have taken care of that. However, the fact that the original raft is now housed in its own modern museum and has been on display for its eleventh year is primarily thanks to Morgenbladet and the three men previously mentioned, who saved the raft from rotting away in the brackish waters of the Oslofjord.