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.