my day with norwegian sports

I really need to get my papers written at this point, and to prevent myself from accidentally wasting the day surfing the internet I decided to settle myself in the kitchen with the television on something not annoyingly stupid nor distractingly interesting. With only three channels to choose from I was lucky that NRK 1 was running winter sports competitions all day. Unfortunately, writing in Norwegian makes biathlon competition fascinating. It does not, however, render the chariot races more interesting. No lie. Chariots.

kiitos paljon

Last night was "Frigg: thesis concert 2, or I go and have a fun night out and call it school work, continued." I like Finnish fiddle music, but it's a bit circular I don't always get into it as much as other things. The audience continued to be predominantly young, though I did enjoy seeing a couple of grannies at a close table. And I had friends who saved me a seat. Yay friends.

Starting to read Fiddling For Norway, I was thinking about the changes that folk music underwent in this country since religious movements began to associate fiddling and dancing with sin. Fiddlers either set aside or destroyed their fiddles, or they began disassociating their music from dancing and moving into concert performance. Fiddling for an attentive audience rather than active dancers meant that they could start increasing the artistic flourishes and reflect an understanding of classical training. Without dancers the music got more complicated. So what does the pietist movement in Norway have to do with Finnish fiddles? Well, I'm not as familiar with religious movements in Finland, but it seems logical that if there was such a reactionary sin-hunting movement in Finland there might have been something similar in Finland. I don't know. What I do know is that Finnish folk musicians are trained in a folk department at the Sibelius Academy, Finland's only school for higher education in music. I'm wondering if the virtuoso fiddling of Finland is heavily influenced by this formal education, or how far back the complicated fiddling styles go in Finland.

Less academic: I had an easier time understanding the band this time. For starts, the Finnish guys spoke English. I was rather surprised, as I had expected that they would know Swedish. It is an official language of Finland, and Swedish is close enough to Norwegian that the Norwegian audience would be able to understand it. Perhaps they do know Swedish, but are not as comfortable using it, and as an internationally touring band, it might serve them better to be well versed in English instead of Swedish. I did understand the Finnish that they used too, though it was limited to "Terve, tuolla." and "Kiitos paljon." "Hi there" and "thanks a lot" respectively. There was also a string of curses or some other random muttering that I missed, because I didn't hear it clearly. He was changing a broken string and not really talking to the audience, though to be honest, I probably would not have understood anyway. What did really please me, is that I had an easier time understanding the Norwegian spoken. My friend says that I am getting better at conversing in Norwegian, and she is doubtless correct, but as far as differences between the first show and the second, Harv speaks Swedish.

barista boys

sexy in any nationality, or perhaps I'm just attracted to people who can provide me with hot caffeine. While I did get lucky today, the only things I scored were a free latté from a Norwegian friend, and 25.50 kroner in redeemed Pant that someone forgot to take the receipt for. Sweet. That's like 4 bucks.

professionals

You might call them the Rolling Stones of Norway, except they are not known outside of the country (or at least Scandinavia). Norwegian popular music can be divided into two broad categories – those with English lyrics and those who sing in Norwegian. Those who sing in English – A-ha comes to mind – do so to achieve success outside of the Scandinavian countries. Most of them don't. Also, singing in English seems to make bands slightly less popular with Norwegians. Admitting the very strong limitations to my observational opportunities, it seems that the crowds are larger and more responsive to bands that sing in Norwegian. The effects have several variables to be weighed against, quite obviously. This is a small town, and I don't know how audiences in the larger cities respond to the Norwegian/English lyrics. At the same time, most of Norway is small towns and Bø does have a mix of students from all over Norway. My dorm mates alone represent southern, northern, and Bergen dialects.

Whether it is the language, the country rock, or some other mysterious quality that makes these granddaddies rock, Hellbillies are professionals. They don't just bring their instruments and some stage effects – a few extra lights or a toy monkey for example. No, these boys bring all their own lights, cables, stage risers for the piano man and drummer, monitors, build-your-own speakers and subwoofers, light and sound boards! Which meant that we had to unload and assemble all this stuff. Then we got to take it all down, load it back up, and get our own speakers hung back up. By the end of the night my cousin's belly hurt because it just wanted to be lying down already. The end of the night came at 5, and I have not been able to get to sleep before 2 the whole week since.

bargain

Give or take, this year the dollar has equaled about 6.5 kroner. There have been better years to travel here, based on the exchange rate. A few years back it was 1:9, something that we exchange students view as mythical as the legends of St Olaf. Of course, King Olaf became a saint because his hair and nails continued to grow after his death, of which the only remarkable thing would be why they kept the body hanging around long enough that they noticed. But we all obsessively watch the exchange rate because we're all relatively poor.* Norway is an expensive country, and we need all the advantages we can get if we are going to go play sometimes. So this makes the few bargains very exciting. Finding good food for cheap is crazy goodness because I might be able to forgo a beer, but I still need to eat dinner. Or in this case, lunch.

Lunch frequently means bread for Norwegians, and thus it means bread for me. 4 kroner bread from Rema 1000. I don't mean buns. I mean a loaf of bread. I never spent that much time in the really cheap groceries back home, but I don't remember there being fresh bread available. This is a 750 g loaf of crusty, whole-wheat bread for about 60 cents. Insane. I'm not going to claim that it is the finest bread ever, and it lacks the excitement of multi-grains and other such goodies. I'm just saying that it is quality bread for less than a dollar shown here in kjempenorsk style.

• Everything in a Norwegian dorm comes from Ikea. Bread knife, cutting board, dishes, and probably the toaster.
• An ostehøvel, the Norwegian invention for perfect, thinly sliced cheese.
• Very hot tea, served not in a mug but in a glass. This isn't always done, but if you can't hold it in your hand for five seconds, your beverage is probably too hot to drink anyway.
• The nøkkelost – "key cheese" with cumin and cloves – is a Dutch variety, but is of course made by Norway's dairy monopoly, Tine.

*This is relative to the Norwegians. Relative to the Eastern European and Spanish students the cost of living isn't quite as extreme. But we are college students and mostly we're kinda poor back home too.

sometimes I want to be somewhere else

I spent six and a half hours rigging up for a disco at Kroa on Friday. This was a large event with a DJ from Oslo coming in for two shows, Friday with a 16+ age limit, and Saturday with 18+.* The rigging was fun because I got to work with friends for the first time, but the disco doesn't appeal to me, so I wistfully looked up some venues far from Bø that would have some shows that I might like to go to. The closest of these is Mono down in Oslo. Mono seems to have an indie clientele, evidenced by the Camera Obscura show last month, and a show I would have enjoyed much more than my actual Saturday night activities.** They had a freakishly early in the evening free show with The Wombats.*** While I can't say they are a great band they seem like they have potential to at least be fun live. Though really, a show that starts at 6? What the frigg?

Mono is one of the reasons that I really miss living in a city. Specialized venues and large libraries. Oh, I will never be a country girl. But while I was checking out the upcoming events at Mono I also read some of their other news.

MONO HAR FÅTT UTESERVERING TIL KL. TRE!

Jepp, nå blir du ikke jaget inn ved midnatt hvis du vil nyte en sigarett til ett glass eller sju, eeeendelig har Mono også blitt en del av sentrum og vi får lov til å servere alkohol i bakgården til kl. 03.00. Takk til politikerne i byrådet som gjorde det mulig.

Mono has just gotten permission to serve drinks outside after midnight as they have just had their position in the city upgraded to 'located in the city center.' From inference, Oslo doesn't allow bars to serve their back gardens, aka side alleys with tables, after midnight even though they stay open until 3. At least, not outside of the central area. Seeing as Mono is a short walk from Karl Johans Gate and the central train station I don't see how Mono wasn't considered part of the city center before, but not living there I suppose I can't be expected to understand local politics. This seemingly random piece of information has me thinking about some of the other seemingly insignificant points. Coming from Madison with its recently established smoking ban in bars the similar ban in Norway hardly makes me blink, but remembering my bartender in Charlotte lighting up a smoke between pouring drinks I realize how non-universal this is. The airport in Frankfurt has smoking stations indoors. Oh my.

*I have been told that the vakt people love the 16+ nights because they get to search bags and take things away from people.
**After Saturday night at a dance party up in Breisås 1, I have a new strategy for preserving my dignity. It involves not going to dance parties.
***Thank you NRK Urørt podcasts.

Peace of Mind

For some reason, every time a professor asks to speak with me after class I get slightly nervous. I have no explanation for this, because I can't think of a single instance in which a prof asking to talk to me has meant anything bad. So when Prof Torvik asked me to wait after class today my first reaction was "but I was going to walk with my 'cousin'" followed shortly by, "what did I do?" I worry about everything though, even when I know there is no reason to worry. And in fact, talking to her gave me greater peace of mind today. I got tapped for a project. A project that will count toward my study points for next spring. Awesome.

Euroweek is a forum for building international cooperation between students, mostly in Europe, but the project I will be working on was proposed by a professor from Columbia. Six students from three countries investigate a topic and give a 45 minute presentation and create some sort of display and write a short paper. Then they get judged. Getting a special project might send me into a panic, no matter how cool it is. Because I have my big ugly thesis paper to write. And I haven't gotten started organizing the thesis into something that might eventually become a paper. Or done anything more than some preliminary research. And I panic about everything. But I feel pretty good about all this right now, because I also got some more information on my spring courses today.

My Euroweek project will count for 5 of my 30 study points in spring. My thesis will get to take up 5 more of my required points. Yay! I get time to work on my thesis. And I'm an impetus to get another program that the school has been wanting to do started. The international office has been wanting to try to get foreign students (this might just mean the American exchange students, I'm not sure) who have studied Norwegian previously into regular Norwegian classes, but with a lower competition level. The literature class that St Olaf's and I have been following as an independent study has been a proving ground for the project, so in the spring I'll be taking the other half of this class as a more integrated student, earning 10 study points instead of just 5.* And my independent study points remain available for my thesis work. Things are still not settled at all, but if this all works out it makes some things easier and everything more interesting. The Euroweek project will be a great thing for preparing for grad school, and hopefully help me get in to a good grad school as well.

*The class I am in now is lit before 1900, the spring class is after 1900. Both classes are covering credits that I need for honors in scan studies major.

Perspective

Two of the Danish students have dropped out of school here because they have fallen in love. Very sweet and romantic, except that the girl traveled here with her boyfriend of six years. The boyfriend is obviously not the one she fell in love with. So all three of these Danes are in the same program, and to avoid the incredible awkwardness, the love birds have decided to travel around Europe for a while before deciding what they will do next. All of this is a build up to: last night was their going away party. Most of the people there were Danish, and thus I couldn't even pretend to understand them when they spoke to each other. Three other "foreign" foreigners that went too, so I spent much of the evening talking to Czech and Slovakia, and Lebanon. Lebanon knows more about American politics than I do, because he reads a lot. He reads the news of the net, he reads biographies, the dude just reads. And he likes Bill Clinton. He read Bill's autobiography. He despises Jr. for the two wars we've got going on, not because he thinks terrorism is somehow okay or that Saddam was a good guy, but because he knows that the war on terror is making more enemies and that the weapons of mass destruction were never the real reason for invading Iraq.* Slovakia, on the other hand, doesn't like Clinton. For him, Reagan and Bush make it possible for him to study English and travel.** All Clinton did was drop bombs on his friends in Serbia. Also, he doesn't like that Bill lied about the affair. On the constitution, which he holds to be sacred. I don't remember precisely if the word he used was sacred, but the effect was the same. And I have to admit that he has a point. If you hated living under communism, you are going to love the men who saved you from it. We also discussed several films that I have not, but should have seen already. Bowling for Columbine being one of them. I got to tell them that of CNN things that have freaked me out, the Columbine shootings places higher than the Twin Towers for me. I spent an afternoon watching kids being evacuated from their school as two of their classmates decided who to shoot. I might be less disturbed by the plane hijackings because I didn't actually see it as it happened.*** In regard to the bullying brought up in Bowling, Slovakia asked me if it really is that common in America and I had to respond that it probably is. I'm not up on my statistics or anything, and I don't know how Moore portrayed the bullying. I asked how things are in Slovakia, and he responded that kids are becoming more rude. Eastern Europe can see every trend before it surfaces in their countries because everything (emphasis was on everything bad) comes through Western Europe from America.

*I am generally more angry about the poor support and armament that some of our soldiers are coming back complaining about, and the general use of economic warfare which is just as destructive, but doesn't make us look quite as dirty.
**On the subject of communism, people here seem confused by the Communist Party t-shirt. I like it for the pun. Argentina and one of the Italians were discussing it on Monday, and he thinks that the joke is Marx laughing at the dupes who put his social theory into practice.
***The Italian did see the attacks live and responded to it with a post-War of the Worlds disbelief at first. Surely this wasn't happening.

sketchy

One of our instructors asked us (the Americans) to help some of the other foreign students with their papers for class. We feel a little sketchy about this, because the students didn't actually ask for help. When they turned in their papers, well, we assume that they were happy enough with them. It's a pass-fail class anyway, so having really great papers isn't that high a priority. At least, it isn't for us, the Americans. Norwegians can be tactless in their directness sometimes.* But one of the American professors here presented the subject to these exchange students in a gentler way, and I just finished going through one of the guy's papers with him. St Olaf helped one of the others with his paper, and reported that she spent five hours just getting the English grammar into something that made any sense what so ever. They didn't even get into elements of composition. My fellow and I had a slightly easier time. Paper writing help from me is not nothing. For one thing, there is cake. Tasty home made carrot cake with creme fraiche frosting and a cup of tea. But the other part of it is that I didn't have very much confusing grammar to work though, so we worked on structure and flow. A paragraph really needs to be more than one sentence. Even if you are a scientist, a paragraph needs to be more than one sentence. I feel even more sketchy, because I did some of his rewriting for him so that we wouldn't spend five hours working things out. The help I gave him wouldn't fly if I were an assistant in the Writing Center on campus back home. But it was still his thoughts, and I tried to restrict my vocabulary and sentence construction to words and phrases he might actually use. This was hard for me, because I am very fond of big words and complicated sentence structure. But I am also fond of having my evening back to work on my own plethora of papers. We used two and a half hours with a smoke break for him.

*This isn't a blanket statement. There are also polite Norwegians.

abuse of power

I have bad parents. Most people, upon meeting my parents, would not realize how terrible they really are. Meeting my mum and pop, one might think that they were nice, funny, possibly even cute. The mistake has been made before. But as I was listening to Yat-Kha while trying to fall asleep tonight (you see how well that is going), I started thinking about how neat Tuva is. Here is this really unique singing style from an area that was an independent country for no more that a couple decades. The only way one would even know they were a country is the postage stamps. But there is a great pride in the regional identity. And I think this sort of thing is interesting and think other people should want to know this sort of information too. This is all my parents fault. It can't just be blamed on my own nature. They did it to my sister too. I also know a disturbing amount about NYC rats, despite not having been to new york. I think books on Louis Pasteur make good bedtime literature. Two of my favorite books are about fish. The social histories of cod and shad. I think it is really neat to know why John "Appleseed" Chapman really planted all those trees. So it isn't exactly child abuse, but they have obviously abused their position as parents to instill a profound curiosity about the world and a desire to share this curiosity with people who don't give a damn.

archives

I was lucky to acquire a diverse music collection while I was living in Madison. The city is pretty music rich given its size, and I didn't really have the time and attention to focus on everything I collected. Since I've come to Norway my resources have been severely restricted, so I've been going back and listening to some of the things that I may have listened to once and forgotten or gathered for sociological/historical purposes. In the former group is The Sea and Cake. I forget how much I like their sometimes jazzy, sometimes electronic pop sound. In the latter group, The Rolling Stones. One of my library guys who always came in for the a/v stuff recommended that I get my education up with Aftermath when I told him I was writing a sociology paper on post-punk music scenes. I like "Paint it Black", but everything else on the album just makes me snicker.

slem, slem, slem! snill, snill, snill!

I finally turned in my Hedda Gabler paper yesterday, so I'm taking a well deserved break from my required writing to do some non-required writing. Usually, when it takes me two weeks to write a paper, I mean that it took me two weeks of complaining about the paper while I thought through the ideas that I wanted to use and appeared to be doing nothing. Then I wrote the paper in one evening. No. I spent over two weeks staring at the computer screen, tired and frustrated, trying to type anything that made sense about the play. Because I had to write it in Norwegian. And my norwegian textbooks don't have that much information relating to Hedda.

I also had a traumatic experience recently, when my computer decided to freeze up while I was writing my first journal entry in several days. Not that it wasn't also traumatic when it has frozen up on my paper writing or my e-mails, but Word and Gmail have auto-save features, where as Blogger just disappears with all my clever turns of phrase. But a lot of things have happened since I last made any updates, so here are the last two weeks in review and reverse:

One of my dorm mates has a twin who, while not identical, looks enough like her that when I'm not paying attention I can confuse the two. So for the Halloween party at Kroa this Saturday it was only appropriate that they dressed as an angel and a devil. Every time they saw me they would chant "bad, bad, bad" and "good, good, good" at me. I also met another guy from Wisconsin, who I got to dance with us to Ghostbusters. Bravery points all around, because he danced despite being tanked, and we danced with him while he was tanked. I also saw another of my dorm mate's boyfriend again for the first time since the beginning of the semester. He lived in the dorm building (in fact, my room at one point) the last couple years before he graduated. Apparently all the buildings cluttering my kitchen view have gone in over the past couple years. Bø might be a rural college town, but it is growing.

While Bø is building, you can get a nice house in Tinn for a song. Since Norsk Hydro has gone inside the mountains and mostly automated, the towns around the hydroelectric plants have lost their major employer. Tinn still looks nice though, with a pretty little downtown. We drove through it on the way home from a field trip two Wednesdays ago to a stavkirke in Eidsborg and the Norsk Industriarbeiders Museum in Rjukan. Luther-girl and I were having an extra-cranky day. Being cold and rained on in Eidsborg didn't help. The tower was off the church and on the ground, and everything was wrapped in plastic, because it's no longer tourist season so it's time for repairs.* It was cool to get a mini-lecture on the structural changes to the stavkirke while sitting in the pews, but I didn't start feeling better until we got to Rjukan and were fed a nice paprika chicken lunch. The Industrial Worker's Museum is located in the old Norsk Hydro power plant in Vermork. I have had an affection for this power plant since I wrote a paper on Norwegian resistance fighters for my second college history class.

This was one of the field trips from a very evil week for we American students. Two major papers due, and three field trips. Granted, the trip to Eidsborg and Rjukan was optional, but our class that day was cancelled so that we could go. Then when we got back, I ran up to my dorm to grab a quick snack and my rain clothes, because then I was going to look for beavers as part of my friluftsliv class. We saw some beavers. Fall is not the best time to go beaver hunting. The long days of summer are better for this, because one can sneak up on the beavers while they are on land and get a good look at them. All of our beavers were in the water, and quick to disappear if we tried to get close to them. We also saw five swans. Two adults and two juvies. We got a lot closer to the swans than the beavers, and disturbed their attempts at sleep. The beaver safari was pretty cool. We got pølse. Norwegian and their sausages. Oh my. What wasn't so cool was the trip to Lifjell on Friday. At least, not for some of us. The friluftsliv class is large enough that with the Spanish alpine ecology students along, they divided us into two groups. My group got the Danish department employee. The first thing he said to us was that we were going to stick together. We stopped frequently to consult the map. He had us discuss the articles for class that day as best we could, see as we had not read any of them. He talked to us about hiker safety rules in Norway. They are pretty standard, but with the addition of avalanche awareness, not so important in flat Wisconsin. Then he gave us compasses and had us start learning how to navigate our way back with the maps on the smaller, sometimes indistinct trails. We got back right about on time. The other group, with the friluftsliv department head, they got lost. They didn't have compasses. At least, not other than the instructor. Heavy off-trail walking finally brought the two Americans in the group, far ahead of the other students, to a different parking lot than the one we started from. They got back an hour and a half after the rest of us. Fortunately, our taxi-bus wouldn't wait that long, so we all got to leave only slightly late, while our Dane stood around waiting for everyone else to arrive. Granting that we have only a select group of Danes here in Bø, they make a very good impression of the country.**
*as the church in Eidsborg is wrapped in plastic, it is obviously not the one in the picture. I took the picture on Bygdøya in the Folkemuseum.
**All of the Danes I have met are here in relation to the friluftsliv program. The are all very competent, friendly, and generally attractive. Denmark is obviously populated by some strange and wonderful race of fairytale people rather than humans.

permission to laugh

Humor requires a mutual understanding. An understanding that, even when people can speak the same language, it can be hard to establish. Sometimes it is cultural reference points. Sometimes it is an understanding between the parties that it is okay to laugh at language mistakes. It is absolutely essential to my mental health that I laugh, truly and deeply. The kind of laughter that bubbles up from your soul, like a popped bottle of champagne. I've been getting stressed out over various things recently, mostly the intense amount of work that I have to get done. I was having a crisis. Completely crisis girl. But yesterday I was studying in the kantina, starting to read up on identity theory again, and get all those sociology words working in my head again. I was not enjoying this. But then one of my Norwegian classmates saw me and came over to talk. She was post oral examing. This would mean giddy. She was giddy, getting over the anxiety that an exam in practical english can induce in a person. This was excellent. There was a great amount of giggling. I needed giggling. It also led to my having someone to go to a concert with. The concert was for part of my thesis research. Really. I shouldn't be dreading working on schoolwork so much when part of it means going to concerts. How much more awesome does studying get?

So I went to see Harv play at Grillen last night. As part of my thesis/sociological observations. The concert drew a relatively large crowd, but I'm not sure how many, because I'm really bad at estimating things like that. It is possible that I can get an accurate head count from the concert organizers. I spoke to them briefly at a table in the school on Wednesday, and they thought it was cool enough that I'm here in Bø that they introduced me to the band. Sweet. I got to shake the hand of Magnus Stinnerbom. He's played with Hedningarna. Though Harv has been getting more interesting in recent years too. And it makes a difference to see a show in a Scandinavian country. There are jokes based on cultural reference points that they can tell. I'm guessing that there were about 50 people in attendance; probably more than half of them were between 20 and 30-ish. And so far as I could tell, everyone was really into it. Two of the Danes I've met here even danced. They were good dancers too. The band sang a song well known to all Norwegians, though I didn't get it, my classmate should be able to explain it to me a little better. It was a really fun tune at any rate. I'd like to learn it. They were also telling jokes about Norwegian dialects, actually speaking in the dialects. The crowd really enjoyed this, and most surprising of all to me, they demanded two encores, and got them. Both aspects of this surprised me. And awed me. Of course, they were selling their cds, but because I'm on the NorthSide buyer's service, I already had the disks. The exact same disks. I don't understand completely why the band would be selling NorthSide cds in Norway, but they were. So I didn't buy a cd, and thus I didn't get a signed cd out of the evening. Instead I loaned my classmate 150 kroner so that she could get a cd to have signed. But she didn't get introduced to the band.

After the show there was much laughter and joking with my classmate. We discussed making her my Norwegian cousin, because her family is from a place about two hours away from the area that my great grandmother emigrated from, and I don't know my Norwegian family. Also, the job coordinator from Kroa was there, skipping the fattigmannsdisco to see Harv, but she had to go back to work afterward. And I met a couple of my classmate's friends, who dragged us over to the Bull Inn (O'Bulligans as we Americans have renamed it), for a final drink for them, and some water for us. On the way back home, back to climb up our kjempe big hill (or small portion of a mountain), we saw the Danes still sitting outside Grillen talking. They hailed me as we went past. It was nice. Vennelig, koselig, deilig.

Norwegian Ska

First, two notes on my trip to Oslo that I forgot to mention. When I got back to Bø my Spaniard (not that I have any particular claim on her, but she's the only one that I have a class with) was walking up the hill with the Italians and one of the Latvians. She greeted me with "My Captain" which I thought very endearing. We had been on the same sailing team. The other thing, was that I got an SMS* from one of the teknisk crew at Kroa asking if I could work for him the following day, which from the time of this post is now yesterday. He had a project coming due. Despite my own duedates in the near future, I agreed to take his position, and I'm very glad I did.
Hopalong Knut is boldly Norwegian, in that they sing på norsk. Lots of bands want to appeal outside of Norway, and thus sing in English. For example, the previous show that I worked with Grand Island and Blind Archery Club. If you go off exploring Hopalong, you'll find that it is only the words that are kjempenorsk. It was a fun show to work, both because their ska sound was more interesting than the last show's light rock sound, and because the teknisk volunteers got to be more involved with setting up the stage. We were there longer, and got to see the sound check before we went home to dinner. The crowd was also more lively, so there was a bit of pushing in the front rows center, and some very drunk kids, but for the most part it went off easily, and the kids went home earlier this time I think, because teknisk crew didn't have to help with the mopping. Just took down the equipment. There was much less waiting around too, and this was with four instead of three volunteers, only one band, and I had more of a clue what I was suppose to be doing and got to it. It definately gets better as you figure things out. And I saw my friends and neighbors in the crowd having a good, not too rowdy time. All but one of them said hello to me, but I was keeping an eagle eye on the crowd and didn't really say much back. With the beloved earplugs in, I couldn't make out much of what they said anyway. Eventually, I will learn to relax and have a good time as scenevakt, but for right now I'm pleased that I didn't nearly fall asleep at my post, and that I have learned how to quickly and correctly coil cables.
*a text message. I don't know why they call them different in Europe.

heldig med mono

Part 2 of Oslo in October:
Oslo is not the kind of capital city that one falls in love with quickly. It's charm might reveal itself over a period of living there, and it might make a difference that I visited at a time other than the peak of tourist season. But I don't like being surrounded by tourists. I like to pretend that I am not a tourist when I visit a city. My excuse this time was that I was there to do some 'research' at the museums, and to go to a concert. Because a concert is always a legitimate reason for going somewhere, without making me feel like a 'tourist'.
It was entirely possible that I would not be able to go to the concert. Camera Obscura isn't a completely unknown band. You pop-chart-listeners sit down and be quiet. I know they are on the indie charts, but the indie audience isn't that small. After the OC indie is trendy, remember? And indie kids are so the hipsters of today. Okay, I also think that indie is music for aspergers kids. Here you have a group of kids being hipper-than-thou by knowing a vast network of information, and using it for social standing in a select group. No one outside this group has any idea what these hipsters are on about, and by knowing music that someone else doesn't know, the hipster is thus hipper than the other. This is hyperbole of course. The really hip hipsters are much more open than this. This is why they are actually hip, instead of obnoxious. The hip-hipsters are really into the content of what they listen to, either for the politics of it, the sound, or some other ephemeral aspect, and they want to be connected to others that feel the same as them, and tell the interested periphery (that would be me) about it. I knew some really cool indie kids (though I don't think they would define themselves as such) back in Madison. It sort of spoiled me. Now I'm shocked when the people I talk to don't know the major indie record labels. Or the major pop labels. But really, after Nirvana, I don't think anyone who grew up during grunge has an excuse not to know who SubPop is.
After this very long tangent, back to Oslo. Without having a very clear idea in my head of where I was staying for the night, where the club that I wanted to go to Tuesday night was, or how to get to Bygdøya, I managed really well. I spent more money than I would have liked, and only brought home a coat. I found the hostel where I had reserved a bed a few blocks away from the central train station, without very much difficulty. I found the club I wanted to find almost by accident, and they had 11 tickets left to the show that I wanted to go to when I stopped in that afternoon. Café Mono reminds me of the King Club, slightly smaller and a little dolled up. I had a beer at the show, marvelled at how early it started,* and spoke to some random Norwegian guy after the show who told me that Michigan is cool, Wisconsin is boring, and everyone from North Carolina is a snob, but he patted me on the head and said I was a good girl. And of course, as far as museums go, I found those easily enough. So I was really lucky with Oslo. I didn't even get rained on, despite it being overcast with occasional rain the whole time. So perhaps I'm being unfair to the city. And I think if I was going to school there I would like it well enough. But I still think I would be fine with leaving it at the end of the year. The one place in which I was not especially lucky was with shopping. I wanted to get a zippered hoodie and a pair of sneakers. I didn't think any of the hoodies I found were worth 200 kroner. That might be because I can't do math, and didn't realize that 200 kroner is only about $30. That's not bad for Norway, really. But if I am going to put down $30 for a hoodie, it should be cool. Like with some band I like screen printed on the back. Or some neat design that not everyone and their cousin has, and doesn't mean a damn thing anyway. Instead, I found the second hand store, Uff, and got one of those flatteringly cut wool coats in tacky 70s colors. It is dirty-white, navy, terracotta, and olive. It clashes with my newly bright blue hair, my knit hat, most of my shirts, and my everyday bag. But I love it anyway, because it some how reminds me of my Nata, who is so far away.
*10! And on time! Shocking in Norway or America. And the audience wasn't tanked. I guess that is the difference between smalltown and city Norway.
**WI is my university, NC is where I grew up.

Bygdøya - the island of museums

Part 1 from my little trip to Oslo:
When I was a kid my parents came up with a museum game for my sister and me. We each got a notebook and pen, and were to write down interesting things that we saw. The game got both of us really paying attention, and then made the ride home more fun. Could we Stump the Parents with some obscure observation? I realized, while I was wandering around the bygdøya museums and taking notes for myself, that I was still playing this game. This is a list of things that I didn't know, or found interesting:

• Viking Ships:
• The Tune find. I'm not all that into Vikings anymore. I was at one point, but that has rather faded. The ships have been repaired, to appear as they were meant to, except for the Tune ship. I still love the Gokstad, with its beautiful line, and practical nature (as opposed to the Oseberg, which is dolled-up and gets more attention with its ladies found aboard). But I found that I really liked seeing the Tune find as found. It is little more than the bottom of the boat, but lets one see the interior construction better.
• The textiles. One does have to be in awe of standing in front of weavings and embroidery done over 1000 years ago.
• The carts are starting to deteriorate. There are about four carts found with the Oseberg, and three of them are now enclosed with one-sided windows, so that visitors can look in on them while examination and evaluation is conducted.
• The batteries in my camera were dead, and I didn't have any spares.
  
• Kon-Tiki:
  • I didn't know that Thor Heyerdahl:
  • Fought in WWII.
  • Was an environmental activist, using his observations at sea to fight ocean pollution.
  • Drew cartoons. There is one of a line of identical beauty contestants that the judges can't decided among. Apparently he didn't care much for contemporary asthetics.
  • Was of interest to President Clinton. He visited the museum a few years ago, was shown around by Heyerdahl's son, and has read the man's books.
  • I found batteries for my camera.
    
• Fram:
  • Visitors get to walk around on and in the ship. Very keen. It smelled like wood. Wood smells nice.
  • Horlick's of Racine, Wisconsin packaged malted milk for the 1926 expedition.
  • I got to look at the Gjøa, which is one of my favorites. The first successful navigation of the Northwest Passage. By someone other than indigenous people that is. Mostly the Northwest Passage was a fool's trip for the longest time, but with old glacier melt, the passage is opening up to become possibly more than a seasonal shipping lane. Sad.
    
• Folkemuseum:
  • This really requires much more time than I had for it.
  • The Sami exhibit is a small room off the toy exhibit. I'm trying to temper myself against taking this as a slight, because I'm not Sami or an ethnic minority, and they should get mad themselves if anyone is going to. I didn't learn anything there, but got to look at things that I've only seen pictures of before.
  • The Wesselsgate building:
  • The exhibit on drinking states that the Norwegian temperance movement was pro-beer, because it 'cut down on drinking of spirits'.
  • The apartments in the building have been set up from different time periods, including one reconstruction of a family home from the 70's, and an apartment following the set specifications for Nora's home in A Doll's House, which it was very appropriate to see this year, as the Ibsen anniversary.
    

kvedarskurset

I've joined a singing class (kvedarskurs) as part of my thesis research. I feel childishly happy to say that I am doing "participatory observation" as part of my research. So far, this means being somewhat confused and singing norwegian dialect while not being certain that I have all the words down right. It's fun. The class consists of 13 to 15 students (not completely certain how many yet), ranging from early twenties (3 counting myself) to maybe 60s? I'm not sure how old the eldest members are. The class is informal, and is as much a social hour (make that 2.5 hours) as a class.
Having less to do with my thesis research, it is yet another example of how to interact with Norwegians. It really does help to know some of the language. After that, join things, feel okay with feeling awkward/confused, and maybe do it alone. I'm not sure if it is that I am less intimidating when I'm on my own, or if it is that I'm forced to be more open to others when I don't have someone who I can talk to easily with me.* I have it pretty easy in this class, because one of the norwegian girls from the Midwestern Texts lecture and one of the Americans that isn't here on exchange are in the class. And the one I assume to be the oldest member of the class is completely adorable and very sweet. When I asked her if she knitted her shawl she tickled me with it, which I might have taken as an invasion of my space, but found charming instead. I've completely forgotten what kind of goat it is. It's not cashmere. Something that starts with an A, I think. Very soft yarn. Apparently there is a farm near Notodden from which the fiber came. As a knitter, I find this very keen. Some how Slow Knitting doesn't carry the same effect as Slow Food, but the meaning of the latter is what I am interested in with my fibers whenever possible. This is, however, secondary to my lust for really fabulous natural fiber. I still want to get some qiviut.**
*many are shy about their english, which is still much better than my norwegian.
**qiviut is fiber from muskox, making the softest and warmest of textiles.

It's not Norway until you get rained on in an open boat at sea

This weekend we had our big friluftsliv field trip. Camping, sailing, and rowing off a southern coast of Norway for two days and one night. After paddling river kayaks with the Danes and this trip I really wonder that I have managed so long without being in a boat. It's been a few years since I was last in a water craft. And I really missed having my own life vest. It's bright yellow, and doesn't make me feel like I'm being strangled. It's not that I don't like having things around my neck. I wear necklaces and chokers. But I don't like tight-collared shirts, and I don't like stiff floatation foam around my neck either. But I love boats.
Despite having spent a lot of time on water as a kid (thanks Mum and Pop!), I was feeling unnaturally skittish about the boats to begin with. It took me a day to feel comfortable hopping on and off. Probably because I'm also lacking in coordination frequently, and didn't want to slip on the rain-slicked granite rocks. But I did a good job of rowing for the most part. My oars slipped up on me frequently, and then I'd break rhythm trying to get them back where I wanted. I also figured out being steersman before too long. I really didn't get to spend enough time on the boats, despite the extra trip I got to make in the early morning to pull in the fish nets. I was a little disappointed that I didn't get to go along to set the nets in the evening. Our Danish teacher (the primary teacher was Swedish, with a super-awesome 'amish' beard) went out on his own to set the nets. But we caught two cod, and one other fish that we got to eat. We also caught an other fish that got eaten by the 10-15 crabs in the net, and several jellyfish. I got a slight sting from one jelly, or rather, the remains of the jelly after it was pounded against the side on the boat to get it out. And I de-netted one of the cod. I was very pleased with myself for not being squeemish. Really, I shouldn't be grossed out by handling a fish. I worked in a pet store and handled fish regularly. But I hadn't handled an ocean (or lake or river for that matter) fish that I was in part responsible for killing and intent on eat afterward. It was a handsome cod, and felt oddly nice to hold, but as my sister says, "Sometimes Bambi's gotta take one for the team." It was not the most impressive fish soup I've ever had that night. Cod are not the most flavorful fish after all. And there were only three fish for 20 people, so there were some supplimental fiskeboller in there, but it was still fish I was involved in pulling from the sea, so there was a personal satisfaction in eating it.

prepositions, from and for, a distinction

I did not accidentally purchase a $200 train ticket. I just got confused and excited about the idea of going to a music fest in Trondheim for significantly less than $200. by:Larm is described on the 120 Days myspace* page as a Scandinavian SxSW. Which may or may not be true, but not having been to SxSW, it is less likely that I would be disappointed if I went.

*my hatred of myspace has been mitigated by it's usefulness in looking up indie and Norwegian bands, but is not completely dissolved.

drinking again

I must not be too embarassing when I'm drunk, because the Norwegians still come and talk to me later. I was trying to figure out why the guy sitting next to us at vinkveld looked familiar tonight, until he and his friend moved over to talk to us. It turns out I went to a nattspill with them last Monday. The answer is, as my dansk språkelig venninne says, just go be awkward, and it will do you good. The scandinavians apparently understand being awkward, and don't think you are a loser for being uncomfortable when you meet them.

In other news, I feel like my norwegian has gotten worse since I arrived. Now, go check out Haley Bonar.

I got:

• A bruise on my knee from when Wisco's dorm mate tripped me while moving a monitor.
• A shirt that reads "scenevakt" (stage security) on the front and back.
• A cut on my elbow from when I hit it against a door putting said shirt on.
• To move guitars.
  
• Cranky. I've had insomnia for the past week. I can't get to sleep before 2 or 3, and then I wake up at 7.30 or 8. I became really tired as scenevakt, perhaps because Blind Archery Club and Grand Island don't really do much for me. Okay, they are good musicians, but their tunes don't move me. Watching the audience really enjoy themselves was good. Until it was the 'I don't want to go home' handful that were keeping us from washing the floor and getting to
• A beer.
  
• A ride home.
  

I really need a bike

Living up in Breisås is great, including the obnoxious hill (or portion of a mountain to be accurate about it) that I have to climb to get home. No, I couldn't ride up this hill. No possibility of that. But it's a good way down to the school, and it's even longer to Kroa. After the hill, most of the way is gloriously flat, being down in the valley, but it still takes about half an hour to go there. So whenever I work a show there, like today, I get a couple of nice long walks in. For concerts, start work at 2 setting up things. For Blind Archery Club and Grand Island, I helped set up a couple platforms for drums and keyboard, placed and connected monitors, and then we cut a few more gels for the lights. Gels into the lights, and while we were waiting around to find out what's going on we got a short lesson on mics in Norwegian. That I followed pretty well, but I had the instructions for working stage security in English. Set up, so far as volunteer tech crew goes, went pretty quickly. I spent about 3 hours there, but most of that was sitting around. Then I go back at 10, to watch the kids up front and make sure they are not too drunk or going to pass out.

Rawr!

Hedningarna played at the Telemark Festival this year, while I was trying to save some cash to live on for a year in the town where the festival takes place. I arrived two months later.
The positive side, is that I'm getting back to collecting research material for the thesis paper I need to write this year. I also have roughly one month to apply for the grant money the honors department recently informed me of. It's a relatively safe assumption that other people are much more organized in what they are asking for than I am. They can probably justify why their research needs to be done, and have more than a general idea of what they are writing about. But I'm trying to focus on the positive here. I've made e-mail contact with a couple of the Finnish girls I met in January. One is a fan of folk metal and the other studies kantele (she is one of the most awesome people I have met, and she gave us a post-drinking impromptu concert when I told her I am interested in Finnish folk music). I spoke with a girl tonight who married an amateur musician, and she is going to bring me his cd to listen to, and I'll get to interview him. This means that I have to start creating interview questions. I've never really done interviews for a serious paper before. I'm not really sure what all the protocols are. For example, should I have some form of agreement written up, stating that 'this is what I'm going to do with this information, and I have your permission to do so, sign here'? I'm not sure how much music I am going to have to delete from my iPod so that I can use it as a mini-recorder. So I get to fake it, and pretend I know what I'm doing. And with luck, it will all turn out okay.
In other news, the forspillers are out in raucous force, it being a Thursday night, and I really need to get my journals for Telemark culture written, so no playtime for me.

They told me...

...you will not eat as well there.
I have not found this to be true. I was primed with my collection of top-shelf herbs and spices, but my own cooking has been supplemented by the cooking skills of Wisco, Luther, and my dorm mates. I definitely eat better here than I did back home, because I don't live in a damp cave where whatever I set over the heat would linger in scent on my bed linens. And there is sunlight in my kitchen, provided it isn't raining.

...Norwegians are shy or naturally reserved people.
I am shy, but bored sitting in my dorm room with the door closed and curtain drawn. So I go down to campus to read sometimes. I go to concerts. I just go outside. And the Norwegians come to me. I went to Karpe Diem on my own, and some classmates (who I didn't recognize at all I'm sorry to say) came over to talk to me. Or they come over and talk to me while I am reading. Or like Ms Polish, they visit the church while I'm looking around, and we talk for a while.

...if they know you speak English they won't talk to you in Norwegian.
Last night I went to Vin Kveld at Den Gode Nabo with the Americans. They like to go around 9. I'm starting to think that 10 would be better. A little before 10. And when we share a bottle of wine around 9, and we see each other in classes everyday anyway, there isn't that much to say that's new. So we are done a little after 10, and ready to go home. Sleep. Finish homework. Chat online to our friends who are now done with work or school. Those of us who live in Breisås met Luther's second floor neighbors heading out. I decided to be easily persuaded, and encouraged Luther to come back out too. Tragically, she is under 20, and a lot of the bars here have a 20 and over age limit, not because they can't drink earlier (18 is legal, and that is considered strict by Scandinavian standards), but because they have something against students in their last year of videregåendeskole (high school). So Luther got stopped at the door, but was able to call one of her dorm mates to come pick her up. All of this is beside the point that I am trying to make right now. We agreed to go with the neighbors if they promised to speak English to us, because while I'm quite good at explaining how bad I am at Norwegian, I'm not good at small talk in the language. Most of our fellow students want us to speak Norwegian, either because they are shy about their English, or because they think it's cool that we can.

...the countryside is beautiful.
And this is completely true.

Baptism

I have spent rather more time in churches than I am accustomed to, so today I went to a "house" of worship I'm more comfortable in. I went to Bø Elva with the Bergen dorm mate and the school paddling club. When Bergen and I decided to join the trip we thought it would be a pleasant paddle down the river in canoes. Instead, I got baptised in Norway learning to do eskimo rolls. The club only had one spare wetsuit, so I did it in my black pants and a t-shirt. Consider, that in Gvarv (the closest city to Bø that I could find on weatherunderground) the high today was 13 (55 F). The river was COLD! I loved it anyway. Bergen had a harder time of it. She's afraid of being submerged in water. I, however, have a fear of down. This was a problem for me when I was younger, and would happily climb up the lighthouses on the Outer Banks and look out over the ocean and straight down to the beach, but then couldn't get back down the narrow stairs.
Yes, I certainly did have my moments of panic, but that just meant bailing from the kayak. I only hit my head on the boat, and that was just once. I certainly didn't perfect my technique for righting my boat today, perhaps in part because I was slowly freezing, but I did get comfortable keeping my head underwater. Cold, cold water. But very clean. So are my sinuses now. Not that I inhaled any water, I just didn't have a nose clip to keep the river out. I also appreciated having short hair.

In church again

I went up to the churches here in Bø again. I was on a photo expidition for both my father and myself. I took something just under 200 pictures, which is a complete shock to me, because I am not a picture taking person. Snapshots are just not my thing. But this was research, and I can totally rock the research excuse. I felt a little sketchy, because I am not a church attending person and I always feel like I am trespassing in churches. It also doesn't help that I was taking lots of pictures of headstones, while a few people were attending to the graves of their departed.
While I was out in the church yard a Polish woman in my Immigrant/Emigrant class came up with her boyfriend. While I was talking to her, one of the groundsmen came over and asked the boyfriend if we would like to look inside the church, so I got to walk around in the stone church without anyone to tell me I couldn't walk behind that, or don't touch this. I didn't climb the ladder up to look at the church bells, but I thought about it. Most of the pictures I took are of very little value as lovely compositions to look at, but hopefully will make good reference shots for Pops. I am a very good daughter and he should remember this.

du vinner igjen tørkeskap!

I've never been too particular about my laundry. Clean and not shrunk tend to satisfy me well enough. That was when I had a tumble dryer. With the drying closet here, I have a problem. Stone hard towel. All the rest of my clothes are doing fine. My t-shirts are soft and cuddly when they come out. So I've bought some fabric softener (after puzzling over the product labeling a bit), and have been trying to get a soft, absorbent towel out of it. I have, apparently, no skill with fabric softener, but am adjusting to the abrasive towel. It only takes a couple of showers before it relaxes back into something like a textile instead of course sandpaper.

I've been whining a lot, but that doesn't mean I don't like it here. Thus, a brief list of good things:

• dinner parties
• dormmates who are very nice about repeating themselves until I understand (and using supplimental English)
• my bathroom floor heater
• the electric hot water pot
• mountains and trees and the pleasant little creek through town
  

the importance of forspill and other notes

Norwegian litter
We, collectively the Americans, had been led to believe that Norway was a very clean country. Perhaps the problem here is that this very small town is heavily populated with students who don't have any particular attachment to the place or keeping it clean. That certainly seemed to be the case in Madison, which had the fun Sunday morning sidewalk sport known as vomit-hopping. Some of the students have actually become attached to the place. Enough to take some heavy road material home with them. My first Saturday here I walked up the hill to my dorm with four drunken boys that decided to take one of the road blocks that prevents drivers from turning onto the pedestrian path at the bottom of the hill. Else wise, we have also happened upon a grocery cart in the stream, chip bags, and lots of discarded pant. Pant is the deposit one pays on cans, and glass and plastic bottles. Pant is usually 1 krone (2 for large bottles), so about 15 cents. We have become the hobo street collectors, gathering up pant that is not broken or flattened beyond recognition to redeem at the grocery stores and make that flatbrød and ost that much less painful to buy. Pant collection is our only source of income, as none of us have jobs over here. Wisco-guy and St Olaf have a pant sharing socialist system, as there is a pant policy being enforced by one of Wisco's dorm mates that he is protesting. Wisco collects it, St Olaf stores it, and they use it to buy their hard cider.

Taking The Walkmen to church
I didn't bring my camera with me, but rather my iPod as I walked up to the churches on a whim before norwegian class last week. The old church was built in the 1100s. The "new" church, which shares a churchyard, was built in 1875. I didn't go into either one; I did have to go to class that afternoon and I was more interested in the graves. Quite delightfully, all of the graves had some small marigold or rose planted over them. Unexpectedly, most of the gravestones read dates of interment no earlier than the 1950s. There were perhaps one or two that predated the mid century mark.

Dyrsku'n
Today's field trip was for Telemark Culture class, rather than Friluftsliv. We went to the regional animal show and admired the cattle. They were whiffy. But the region's pride, the Telemark cow (I'm not such a cow cconnoisseur that I could tell the difference between the Telemark cow and the other cows other than the horns and the coats) was being celebrated. I'm not sure if the Telemark ice cream that I ate was so delicious because it was fresh or because the cows really are so miraculously wonderful. Perhaps it is also superior grass, and that these heritage bovines are raised eco-friendly. There was no vanilla in the ice cream. Pure, straight up, airy and frozen, this was nothing more than milk and sugar. In a waffle cone. Yum.
Pictures from this, the previous Gygrestolen field trip, and all future field trips can be found at http://www.flickr.com/photos/kjerstinator/. It is not necessary to list me as a contact to see the pictures, but it would be friendly.

Doors @ 9, show @ 11.30
Even for Norwegian students living with the nationally high pay scale, getting liquored up is expensive. This is why forspill is so supremely important. The concerts are planned to account for this pre-partying. Most American concerts would list doors at say, 10, and then get started around 11 to 11.30, but Norway wants to give the opportunity to get drunk expensively while waiting for all the people getting drunk on the cheap. My problem with forspill, is that it starts at 6. I am generally happy with two pints in a night out, but with forspill I've found myself consuming two liters. Which is why I skipped the forspill last night, and got to the show before 11, when there was nearly no one there. Fortunately, being American in smalltown Norway (and where besides Oslo and maybe a handful of other locales is not smalltown Norway) has a little cache. I got to talk to two outgoing girls about cultural differences while I waited. This was also the first time that a dj played good music. How a roomful of white guys who can't dance identify with "my niggas" I have yet to comprehend, but at least I didn't start fantasizing about nail guns to the head. And it was a Norwegian hip-hop show, so you can't really ask for anything else.

hurra!

I have just realized that it is Thursday, and I have not spent all of my 1000 kroner allowance for the week. Indeed, I haven't even spent kr 500. After the concert I've intent to go to this evening I might have (if one counts the kr 200 phone card that I bought, but that will last a while, and didn't come out of my precious cash reserves, so I don't think I should have to). I also had a few kroner left over from last week, so this might be a few kroner over a kr 500 week, but it's looking to be close, and thus I rejoice.

It is certainly not that I wouldn't be obsessed with money anyway, having a set limit on my finances rather than a small but steady income. I am rather more taken up with it than I might elsewise have been. As cash reserves in the form of a bank card, I have accessible to me only about one third, or possibly one fourth of what I should have. My mum very, very, very generously supplied me with some money to live on while abroad, which is fabulous. Really grand, as I didn't do so well at setting cash aside during the summer as I had hoped. I tried. I did. But I had less than $1000 for Norway by the end of several 45 to 50 hour weeks. That portion is, or rather as that is the portion I've been using, was all in my bank in Wisconsin. The funding from my mum is in a new account in North Carolina. But the NC bank has failed to send me (or rather my mum, who will then forward it to me) the ever so important bank card, so that I can access this money. Thus kr 500 week deserves a celebration. A very inexpensive celebration.

For reference, kr 500 is about $77 right now, and Norway is an expensive country. I should also say, that my rent and stuff for the semester is prepaid (as it would be were this lovely ski chalet an american dorm), rather than pay-as-you-go as it is for Norwegian students. Instead of paying everything at the beginning of the semester, Norwegian students are expected to keep track of their finances well enough to know what is beer money and what is rent money from month to month. Most of it appears to be beer money.

nosh and ennui

I would not have thought that my favorite snack here would be lever postei på wasa brød. Though I suppose it is not so suprising, as I did develop a sincere affection for pate de fois gras in pate feuillete triangles, so my early dislike for liverwurst was already highly compromised. Other than this, I am embarrassingly obsessed with things non-Norwegian. What do I lust for? Spanakopita, a plate of red pepper hummus and tapanade with hot pita wedges, salsa, fresh pesto pizza. The delightful bottle of red wine that I shared with Wisco-guy and St Olaf last night inspired the pita and hummus craving. What could be better than kr 100 wine and pitas? So now I know there is a bar/restaurant here that I like. Den Gode Nabo played Cake. I was well pleased.

The problem is, general ennui. I'm here to write a thesis paper on Scandinavian folk music, yet I'm spending most of my time listening to midwestern and canadian indie rock on my ipod. I'd say it is less homesickness than temporary academic burnout. I want to spend my time going to concerts and cooking for friends rather than reading non-translated norwegian emigrant literature. I want a team and a small construction project, or an espresso machine and a long line of customers. Other than the very early hours, I think Starbucks was really one of the best jobs I've ever had, and I've been missing it recently. Possibly, I want to do skilled manual labor for a while. I want to feel concrete and practical.

shame and amendment

A club mix of John Denver's "Take Me Home, Country Roads"? Can and should must never be confused.

However, I must apologize to the Norwegian boys, they can dance. Most of them can't club dance (so why are they listening to club music?), but they actually possess greater skill in dancing than grinding. Norwegian guys spin their partners and move almost like a '50s sock-hop. It's really pretty cool to watch, and one doesn't feel anything like one has just been exposed to soft-porn.

norway botanical

Yesterday was the first field trip for friluftsliv, aka, hiking for credit. Today is wimpering about the pain in my legs. I've gone all sissified, which is embarrassing to me, because I walked a lot in Madison. It's just that I didn't walk up many mountains there, seeing as it is so very flat. So today is a little wimpy, but the hiking yesterday was pretty awesome. Blueberries were picked and consumed in short order, and several people gathered mushrooms. Not the redcaps featured in this picture obviously, but ones such as the more humble brown fellow in the back. Note the spungy underside, gills are apparently bad in this instance, though why I'm not quite certain. I don't think it was death mushrooms, but maybe they don't taste as good. In the way of edibles, there was also an herb that makes terrible tasting tea, but helps one sleep. I've forgotten it's name, which I only heard in Norwegian, as our fabulous trip leader did not know the English name. Other than that, there was lots of pine, and and a tree with red berries said to predict the snow. I don't know whether it predicted lots of snow, as I didn't have any previous years to compare the current berry count to.

Common roadside plants include yellow yarrow, red and white clover, and simple magenta roses. There are rosehips everywhere right now.

the crows and I

Crows in Norway are not quite the same as crows in the US. We never think of crows as anything but black, but with the white and blue on the Norwegian crow, it is harder to think of them as a "murder of crows." Heckle here was teasing me while I had lunch today. He and Jeckle were feeling a little camera shy, but were apparently interested in something outside my kitchen.

playing chess

I can't play chess. I really suck at it. I'm also bad at running, catching people, and remembering where things are. I can't find my keys (singular while here, I have only one key), I can't find numbered cones on a tennis court quickly. But I can play logic games. Which is part of why my team won both the logic games today in friluftsliv. The other, possibly more important reason, is that my team didn't have as strong a language barrier. Israel and Argentina both speak really good english, and the two Italians were the ones that translate for the the third. And there was one of the Americans with me. The opposing team was three Americans, plus the Apostle, the third Italian, and Miss Spain. Other than the Americans, the english was a lot more shaky over there. I'm still proud like a five year old.

This helped when I sat in on a Norwegian literature lecture today. Eventually, I started to understand things, but we (St Olaf and I) were asked a question på norsk. I answered it, kind of, dispite not knowing what exactly was being asked. I think the question was What was America called during the Middle Ages (1000 to 1500), and I answered with a very doubtful Vinland. This was either the answer, or not too far off, because he did write Vinland on the board before saying something about Amerigo Vespucci. Still, I suspect I looked rather terrified through out the class. I did get better, and I even took some notes during the second half of the period, because (thank you Mike and Vikings class!) I am actually familiar with what the prof was saying about the sagas.

those are not hips, they are sculpted cement

I really don't think that "I'm Norwegian" is any excuse for a complete inability to club dance. Really, if you are going to drink that much, then go to a 'disco' then you should be able to friggin' groove. Or at least attempt to groove. So instead, the two times the americans have been out and drunk, we've danced with each other. Last night I danced with some asian guy a little older than I would have liked, but at least the guy could move.

So that complaint made, there were some coordinated Norwegians out yesterday. I was getting rather drunk with some more of my neighbors, but St Olaf was getting some pretty dancing with Wisco's norwegian dormmate. It was impressive, and I am slightly jealous.

first, find the americans

So this is Norway. Or rather, this is small town southern Norway. In the week that I have been here, it has been sunny, but it has also rained every day.

I live in a dorm doing a fairly good impression of a ski chalet.

I accidentally bought buttermilk (or something like it) instead of yogurt. I blame my confusion on jetlag, and Finland. Finland packages yogurt in cartons like cardboard quart milk cartons. Norway packages buttermilk and milk this way, but not yogurt. But I've actually come to enjoy the sourness with my morning müsli.

I am the ocean and this is erosion, or...

Sisyphus and the wall. In repayment for partially funding and outfitting my expedition, I get to scrape my parents' dining room walls down to the bare plaster. No wonder they have been complaining of sprained shoulders and sore hands. The work became tolerable when I fished my own bladeholder out of my toolbag, and I wonder why they have been scraping paint without a handle on their razorblades. But it is always fun rearranging coastlines of paint and destroying things.

New gear includes:

• external hard drive for storing laptop image
• awesome hiking boots for drenching in bog water
• a 70s hiking pack which rode around on my pop's motorcycle
• vintage REI down sleepsack from my mum's college days
• steel coffee press mug

Flaks!!!

All she really ever wanted to do was show off her...

I should be packing. There are the things that go in boxes to stay in the states, things that go in luggage to leave the states, and things that go off to Saint Vinny's. Some things have already been sorted out in this manner, but there is still more to do. The work got that much greater and more frustrating when flash flooding visited the isthmus and my basement apartment, fortunately not doing any tremendous amounts of damage, but water-logging my rug and dampening some of my already packed boxes.

My resentment over this predicament is mitigated by the happy-marinading in booze that my friends have been kindly providing me with over the past week and the tattoo that G gifted me. Yes, it is like a cat scratch, but a drawn out scratch when you can't smack the cat for its naughty behavior. I've gotten an alarm clock. Oh, blessed alarm clock. But for some reason I keep waking up before the alarm goes of afraid that I've over slept.

You always need more...

Passport photos. Photos for the passport, obviously. Photos for the school, because getting accepted to the program from the "home" institution isn't good enough. There is an application form for the school that wants a photo. Didn't realize this. Photos for a Visa. Photos for an ISIC card. That will have to be renewed. Might need a new photo then too. Most of my photos have been taken while sick. At different times, because I never realized just how many I was actually going to need. So much for vanity.