mountain goats

A fellow Capricorn friend of mine likes to claim, when we go hiking together, that we climb like mountain goats. I can't say anything against her, but you would be hard pressed to find anything in the mountains less sure-footed than me. Unless it was a mountain goat with a broken leg and a stress disorder after having been attacked by a cougar I suppose. Not that I suffer these ailments. I have no excuse for my unstableness. I generally fall over at least once per trip. Not that I let this stop me. Nay, say I, I shall not be oppressed by this lack of coordination! So I'm going to blame my muscle stiffness this evening on having fallen down about 7 times while trudging through the snow, rather than admit it is probably because I haven't gone hiking in the month than I've been back in Norway until this morning.

I might also have benefited from a bit more planning. Like keeping my matpakke in my pocket instead of in my backpack. Not that a half frozen sandwich was all that bad, and my coffee was still hot, so I wasn't freezing my belly. But it would have been smart to either wear my waterproof socks or my gaiters. Bit of snow melted into my shoes, but I'd already walked enough by that point that my feet were not in danger of freezing. In fact, I took my down vest off shortly after reaching the woods and was just wearing my Taku rain jacket. Insulation? Who needs it when she has an incline and crusty snow that variously holds her weight or doesn't? Really, I wouldn't have had a problem with snow getting into the boots if I didn't also have my steps go down six inches further at unpredictable times. And I was pretty warm until I started walking back down the mountain.

I also should have brought my camera so that it could be made known that snowy mountains in Norway look like snowy pine-covered mountains anywhere. And that the lakes look something less impressive when they appear to be little more than flat, treeless planes of snow.

wry, bacteria

Today was a kitchen day, again. My new Amrcan dorm mate and I are sharing bread and baking it ourselves. The math added up to be roughly equal to the super cheapness of Rema 1000's 4 kr bread and it is fun, if time consuming, to bake. And sometimes we need time consuming. I don't especially, as I should seriously be getting some of my big researchy type papers done. But baking is fun.

The really gross looking pic is the mixture of cultured milk and oil that I used in the bread. The bread is very tangy, probably from the kefir (technically that's the cultured milk that I used), and also because I decided to make a rye bread. I'm thinking next time I might favor barley or maybe barley and oats... yummy, bread...

I also made a stuffed red pepper and orange chicken for my dinner. Tasty. And I've been hitting up the salmon a lot this week. I've noticed that I've become a much less finicky eater since I came to Norway, as well as a more creative cook. For example, I actually create something for dinner nearly every night as opposed to grabbing a quick bowl from Noodles or deciding that cottage cheese and crackers is fine. For like, a week's worth of dinners. This must come from not having to go to school fulltime and work 3/4 time between two jobs... and the lack of cheap places to find a bite to eat. Though Madtown was not always the least expensive place. I think I've paid close to $8 for a burger there before. But is was a tasty burger... yum...

the visit

Yesterday the Americans (minus 1) visited the high school English class subbed this semester by a friend of ours. Our purpose there was to give the students an opportunity to speak English with native speakers and maybe to make the teacher cooler (hey, I got you Americans to talk to, how cool is that?). I'm all for anything that ups her authenticity and legitimacy as a teacher as she is a friend of mine, but because she's only maybe 9 years older or less than her students.

We came in, told a little about ourselves (hi, I'm me, I come from someplace and I go to some university somewhere), then talked to the students in groups of three. We asked them things about themselves, let them ask us things about ourselves and America. I got asked a question about cliques and talked to a football girl, a hip-hop boy who wants to be an actor, and bedroom singer. They were sweet kids, and in someways, I sort of think they were a little better behaved American teenagers, but also a bit more open about the drinking than I think our teens would be. Granted, I tend to avoid spending time with teenagers because of some basic distrust of them that I developed when I was one myself, but now I'm wondering if I've been a little unfair to the age group on the whole.

school are not as stringent as I remember from my time in high school. We didn't have the metal detectors that some schools have, but you had to sign in with the front office if you were not a student there, we had a campus cop (I think), and On the subject of cultural differences... the security at a (rural, admittedly) videregåendefield trips or classroom visitors were a case for paperwork and approval. Not so in Norway. The teacher invited us at her discretion, we didn't check in with anyone, and one of the students who sat in with us is actually in the next grade up, and was just sort of hanging out in the doorway when he was told not to be a disturbance and either get in or get out.

Norway wins 6-1

Today was the big innebandy game between Norway and Denmark. Well, really, it was Norway versus the foreigners because we were there to cheer on the American on the Danish team. I'm not sure, but I think perhaps all of the Danish students were either playing or there to cheer them on wearing the Danish team color. I'm somewhat surprised that I actually got into the game a bit. Innebandy is floor ball, or ice hockey without ice. It lacks the advantages of ice hockey (speed) and has the disadvantages of basketball (squeaky sneakers). The game was, however, reminiscent of watching my Hurricanes. Our boys where out there in red, and they lost. All the same, Heie Denmark!

worth it for the nachspiel

Kroa tends to involve either me working and thus getting home very late and being crank and tired, or else going to a show there and leaving with someone's beer spilled on me. Come to think of it, working a show tends to mean that I go home with several people's beer spilled on me. And then there was the CC Cowboys show last semester where an air duct was having the humidity of a very large crowd condensing on to it and then dripping on me. I had to move my scenevakt stool. Not that all events at Kroa are wet. Or that there are not rewards. I don't generally go to the nachspiel for the night's workers, usually because I'm really tired by then and don't want to try to figure out what these happily tanked Norwegians are trying to tell me about my vibrant hair.* But I walked a friend home after going out tonight, and we had a little nachspiel of our own. What is really good after a night out, especially when one's boyfriend has gone out of town for six weeks, is a friend to walk one home, a toasted cheese sandwich with a glass of milk, and something nice to listen to. Of course, Eric Clapton and a glass of milk mostly made me want to fall asleep on her couch, but we had a lovely little chat, as most chats with a good friend are, and then crawled off to the cozy cocoons of our respective beds. It's nice that there is only a little ice to crunch over between her house and mine.

*None of the other Kroa crew has ever commented my hair, but various drunken Norwegians have felt the need to pet my artfully tousled spikes and even a bartender has asked me if the color was natural. What is one to say? Yes, this atomic fireball red really just grows right out of my head.