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.