Adventures in Oslo

Busy and nice days here in Oslo. Ben and I have had a whole series of small adventures over the past few days. Thursday morning before class we took a tour of the east side, Oslo Ost, which encompasses Grunnerlokka and Gronnland and is the haven and home for immigrants. Oslo Ost is very different from where we live. It's like you pop out on one side of Torgate and all of a sudden the faces are more diverse, the streets are dirtier, the shops are ethnic, the kebab places are more frequent, and the vibe is entirely different. I like posh Oslo West, but of course I love to go to the east side. We found our Asian market, our Halal shop, and a very authentic kebab/eats place, flying a flag of a country I have yet to identify. We bought all kinds of spices and veggies and Asian things we've missed--fish sauce, coconut milk--and then stocked up on olives and other middle eastern goodies.

Thursday night there was an Equinox festival, lights on the Akershelva, where the entire city seemed to pour onto the walkway of the Akershelva (Akers River) to see performance art and singing groups and other public art projects. The entire way was lit with candles in tunafish cans, and sometimes the river itself was lit by fires or strobes. It was overall a really neat evening, preceded by a heavy traditional Norwegian dinner with Fulbrighters at a restaurant called Kaffistova (don't need to go there again, but the company was good), a glass of wine at a bar, and then the long stroll. One thing I will say: after living in San Francisco, my tolerance for bad street art is fairly low. Firedancers are fine. So is contact improv. But in California I saw enough to last me a lifetime.



It's so nice to be outside these days. It's fall--a real, New England–style fall, the one I have missed terribly since I moved to California. (Oregon has a fall that, with an active imagination, can seem somewhat enchanting. California's fall sucks.) The air is crisp and clean, the trees are all red and orange and yellow, and we're having these random gusts of wind that periodically envelope you in big swirling tornadoes of leaves...sorry, I'm waxing a little too much on this. Suffice to say, it's lovely, and we've been making time to be out in it. Friday, we took the T Bane (subway) up to Oslomarka and went on a long walk with another Fulbrighter, Charlie. We eventually found our way to a hytte and then back to another T Bane stop, and hopped back into town. In the winter, this wooded area is apparently all lit cross-country ski trails.

When we came back from the hike it was time to go to the embassy for a happy hour election shindig we'd been invited to. There had been a series of speakers, too, but we bailed on those, opting to show up for the 25 kroner wine and 20 kroner beer (cheapest in town). The embassy was packed with Americans, but, weirdly, those of us who showed up when we did were greeted with a fair amount of hostility at the visitor's entrance. They took our passports, scanned them, kept them while we waited outside for twenty minutes or so, grilled us about why we were there, played dumb when we said we were there for the event ("what event?" asked the security guard)--frankly, it was very uncomfortable and sort of strange, and it turns out it all turned on something silly like they were expecting us earlier and didn't know what to do when we showed up when we did. The experience made me realize that since 9/11 the government is totally paranoid, even of its own citizens; but also that we, as Americans, feel constantly entitled to better treatment. Ben was this close to getting really shirty with the guard, and I'll admit that my tone was pretty sharp when she asked me who'd invited us to the embassy: "The Fulbright foundation," I said, nose in the air...the Norwegians around us patiently waiting their turn...

Ah well; we got in eventually.

Phew, busy day, that--we then had Petter and Eldri for dinner, our almost-first guests since we've been here (we had an impromptu dinner with Alexis, a friend of my brother's, two weeks ago). It was good to be able to cook for them for a change. Ben's Malaysian roast chicken was delicious, my Vietnamese spring rolls excellent, and the conversation was nice too. I loved that when Petter and Eldri arrived they looked like they were going out for a nice dinner. Eldri in a skirt, Petter in a sweater, carrying wine and flowers from the garden. It's a small gesture to cook dinner for them after everything they've done for us since we got here, but I think they enjoyed themselves and we really did too.

So, tired, we went to bed around midnight, but got up at 3:00 a.m to watch the live presidential debate. My man Obama held his own, I thought, though his demeanor was a little stiff. I wanted to coach him not to mutter "John, I never said that," every time McCain made a false allegation, to save it up for later and really slam him. I think Obama is a pretty classy guy, but he seemed vaguely petulant at times. That said, I still thought he did alright in what I expected would be a tough debate. But of course when it was over at 4:30 and Ben fell immediately back asleep I tossed and turned for hours more, worrying about the election. Petter called at 10:00 and woke us up; Petter is the sort of man who makes you want to appear like you're up at eight every Saturday morning doing something productive (because you know by ten he's halfway through his to-do list). Turns out he was calling to tell me they were rebroadcasting the debate on TV at a reasonable hour. I hope they do that with the next one, because I'm afraid if I get up in the middle of the night to listen to Sarah Palin go head to head with Joe Biden I might have Kafka dreams for a week.

But I digress.

Can I go on a little longer about our adventures? So much to tell--yesterday we took a ferry out to Hovedoya, one of the islands in the Oslofjord. It was a blustery cold fall day, and we walked through these cloister ruins:




and then hiked around the island. The landscape was similar to that of my beloved Cushings Island, and similar I guess too in that there were remains of lots of old stuff, the cloisters and then these two small armories:



Some cannons. And sheep! Lots of sheep. The sheep look pretty awesome in their winter coats. They're so ragged they pick up burs and sticks wherever they go, and then have to drag them around all winter.





(That's Ben on the right.)

That island was cool. It was a very romantic place, somehow. You kind of wanted to just sit in someone's arms and look at the sea all day.



One brief last note: my Norwegian is exploding a little, at least in my own head. I'm starting to form sentences that make sense, and my guessing is getting better.

Pa gjensyn!

Bright Days in Oslo

It was so nice to read comments from my cousin Ellen on the subject of worrying moms who are proud of their daughters, Pattie Belle, our fellow Fulbright-and-dependents-in-crime on the subject of adjusting, and Jesse, who took over our apartment in San Francisco and admits to using lots of exclamation points to stress how happy she is! In a new place! Wowee!

But it's a lovely day in Oslo, is the truth, and I'm finding myself feeling pretty happy and at home today. Ben is off playing frisbee again, or, more accurately, probably getting a beer with his frisbee mates, and I just did a Norwegian lesson (Gotta snakker bedre Norsk if jeg vil get some arbeid her) all about visiting Oslo and the many fine things there are to see here, like the Vigelands park--which, by the way, is a ten-minute walk from our flat. Did I ever mention that we live in the posh part of town? Which is sort of ironic if you think about it.

This morning I wrote at the Nasjonal Bibliotek, a gorgeous space to work. A chapter of my memoir was a finalist in a contest a while back, and I finally got around to finishing the revision and sending it in for publication. Then I worked on a poem and a short story. After many weeks away, even months, I wasn't able to put in one of my epic, five-hour sessions, where I emerge bleary-eyed and unable to talk like a normal human being for the rest of the day, but it was a good start. Then I spent the afternoon with Kristin. We had tea and scones first, then walked over to the Barnehage--the Kindergarten, which here is like day care all kids go to, and the government subsidizes it, and it's very cool--and picked up Rannveig and Agnes. On the way home (Agnes on her razor scooter, Rams on her tricycle) we stopped in this little unassuming chapel and lit candles. I lit one for my mother in law Samm, who isn't well. I am not very religious, but sometimes the urge hits me and I make a gesture in a church or on a mountain top. It felt good to do that today.

Yesterday morning Ben and I walked down to the waterfront, got a coffee and sat and looked at the boats and the Akershus Festning. It was very peaceful. These are wonderful days to be outside.

We Are Doing OK.

I got some good comments on my last blog entry, which leads me to believe others than my faithful mom are actually reading this thing. Which is nice to know. Is there some notice you people get when there's a new post? That last one cracked me up on the rereading, and to update everyone: a) I got into the chorus, phew; and b) I have not bought one bar of Walter's since I wrote (I did cave on a small bar of the Freia product called "Melk Sjokolade med Non-Stop," which is, to add insult to injury, chocolate with fake M&ms (Non Stops) in it, and thankfully, it was not very good. So we may be be over the worst).

Today in the Schlottsparken: a guy battling a real addiction, all doubled over on heroin, with needles all around him and blood dripping down his arm. Ben called the authorities, who never showed up; mere months ago, he saw this kind of thing daily in the Tenderloin, and would never have called the authorities because he would have known they would never show up. Funny how your perspective adjusts. I saw a homeless guy yesterday. One homeless guy! He's about the fifth I've seen since I've been in Oslo.

So, speaking of adjusting, we are doing okay. My mom has asked me several times lately, "Are you doing okay?" Partially I think she asks because, like most moms, she is actually a worry wart dressed in a mom suit, and I love her for it, but also because she has been noticing me forcing smiles on my Skype screen when we talk and occasionally sounding down in my emails. So I decided to write about it a little. Another Fulbrighter, Jen, said something about how she spends a lot of time on Skype with her friends trying to sound like her life in Norway is really exciting. I knew instantly what she meant, that we want everyone at home to think we're having such an amazing adventure! Because we are! So many new experiences! But then, we're also not having such an amazing adventure, at least not all the time, and then I thought, well, actually it's complicated, and then I thought I'd just explain myself. So here goes.

It's an adjustment, moving to a new place, and if you're like me, and have done so every three years since you graduated from college, you know that after a while the old bones feel achy just thinking about a new apartment, new job, new city, new community, new set of friends, new coffee shop, new grocery store. It's always really fun to discover new things, but sometimes, you get homesick for the old things. That's all it is, really. But somehow moving to a new country—where you add to that list "new language" and "new culture" and "new set of incredibly annoying bureaucratic procedures"—makes that homesickness more compounded, at times. The upside being, the exciting is more exciting, too, and when Norway has been at its finest, it has been some of the nicest times I've had in ages and ages. So my prediction is that it will all level out, we'll come to love this place, to find it home-like, and to not be homesick at all. But right now, it feels a little like an adjustment, and I suspect it will for a bit.

Onto happier subjects, like Norway at its finest.

We spent 24 hours at Thor and Kristin's cabin in the woods last weekend, just Ben, me, Thor, and Rams, who at one point said, "Daddy, I'm having such a nice time." The cabin is a classic Norwegian hytte but just better. It's such a cosy little place, solar-powered lights, fireplace, no running water, little sauna, loft, and lots of places to hike. The air there is very, very fresh, the landscape wet and mossy and high. We wore rubber boots the entire time we were outside. They did not save me when I plunged through the moss and into the pond in front of the cabin. I'll spare you the details.

Sunday was one of the most lovely days we've had in Oslo, an early fall kind of day. Sunny. Ben played frisbee in the Vigelands Park, so I took the opportunity to go watch him play and take some photos. Enjoy.

Addendum.

But wait! Just in case you thought our lives were all fun and games and amazing hikes, I thought I should disavow you of that belief. The truth is, Ben and I are underemployed/schooled; we spend a lot of nights wasting time on the Internet or watching random stuff--a bad Norwegian movie called "Kvinnen i Mitt Liv" (women in my life), some BBC crime drama called "Lewis," "The Wire"--; we got up at nine this morning, because we could; and we have an addiction problem. No; it isn't pot or heroin or even bad Norwegian TV. It's Walter's Salty Nuts.

A chocolate bar. Not even a very good one by most standards. It's about Cadbury's quality, minimum 30% cacao content, says the label. But, besides milk powder and other fillers it's packed with the most delicious roasted, salted, and caramelized nuts, and on the label is a picture of a dude named Walter (Valter), who really loves his job. He even says so! So far we have gone through four jumbo-sized bars of Walter's. A jumbo-sized bar here is about a foot-and-change long. It's obscene. I keep making proclamations that we will stop eating so much sugar. Then Walter calls to me from the drawer, and I give in. It's like crack; not that good for you, not even that good, but you MUST HAVE IT every night.

Thank God I've taken up with the Mormons. Yes, friends, after exploring all our language class options we decided to go with the free one, taught by someone named Elder Maxwell (Eldste Maxwell), which meets twice a week at the LDS center here. E.M. is probably nineteen, on his two-year mission, and actually speaks really good Norwegian, which he is imparting to me for free. So who am I to quibble over the ins and outs, no pun intended, of polygamy?

In other news the chorus rigamarole is getting to me. Last week there was some delay so I couldn't audition, and tonight I showed up, did my thing--some scales, some pitch matching, and a rendition of my old standby, "The Mining Song" by the Cowboy Junkies, and was told thank you please go home now, we will let you know. Crikey. By the time I'm accepted--if I'm accepted!--I will have missed over a month of rehearsals. No real shock, though; did you know in Norway you have to register with the post office when you get here?

I am rambling; I'm also baking gluten-free bread. In a minute I'm sure Ben and I will do something like play bananagrams or start the conversation we have at least once daily: "What do you want to do?" "I don't know...what do you want to do?" We'd take the conversation to the bar, but who has $20 to spend on a beer?

Peace out brothas and sistahs.

Oh, by the way: if you click on this link you can play some game created by Walter's chocolate company, Freia.

http://www.freia.no/2008/spill/

Bessegen and Beyond

Hey.

Long time. Last week felt eventful, and I kept thinking I'd write--I mean, "blog"--but then the time slipped by. And I decided to wait until we'd returned from our hiking trip to Bessegen, so I could share some photos and stories of one of the most beautiful places I've ever been.



I wish these camera-phone pictures did the place justice. They don't; for one thing, they make Jotunheimen look like it was gray and overcast. In reality we hiked on a brilliantly sunny (read: cold and crisp) day, the best day we've had in weeks. We drove to Jotunheimen on Friday afternoon in Petter's minivan, the same one we used for our roadtrip three summers ago when we first got the bug in our heads to try to live in Norway some day. We even retraced some of the same routes, but of course, when we drove up north in June of 2005 the snow was piled eight feet high on the sides of the roads. In September it's colder, but no snow.



We caught a ferry to a hytte, a cabin, called Memurubu, a word that to me seems vaguely Norwegian at best. But the place was extremely Norsk, a snug little structure run by hydro-electric power (it appeared) and flanked by the most stunning mountains. When we got to the cabin (cabins--there were several separate guest houses) it was blustery cold, but clear enough to see why Jotunheimen (that's the region) is called Land of the Giants. The giants are glacially carved out mountains that descend into deep lakes. The one the cabin sits on is brilliant green. Phew. Amazing.



The first afternoon we did a short hike, ate some dinner, played some Gloom (random Edward Gorey–inspired card game we brought with us), read our books, and went to sleep in a shared bunk room that luckily was not too noisy, too cold, or too packed. It was just about perfect, in fact. By nine the next morning we were on the mountain, Bessegen, known for its knife edge between two lakes, one about 700 meters down, one about 400 meters down. The terrain getting there was rolling, steep climbs interspersed with pleasant descents, so you never felt truly, truly exhausted. I nean, it was hard, but very manageable. And once we got to the knife's edge, a fifteen-foot wide, rocky, not-quite-true knife's edge, to my mind, the views were so incredible I didn't even mind that I had to scramble to get up it. Here is the small alpine lake before you hit the knife's edge.



The only bummer, if I can even call it that, was the sheer volume of people climbing Bessegen that day. We knew Sundays were the less populated day, but Saturday's weather was supposed to be much finer, so we decided to brave the crowds. There were crowds, alright...but we didn't really care.

The view looking down:



And the bigger lake that's on your left as you climb up to the knife's edge:



Getting out of dodge was good for me. Oslo is a small city, and though it can be quite pretty you don't really understand, here, the true beauty of Norway. Getting up to Jotunheimen kind of reminded me why we'd come. The ethic around outdoorsyness here is different than it the States. For one thing, everyone is into it. My sister-in-law yesterday asked me whether all the Norwegians were beautiful, and I realized, yes--because they're so physically fit. They have good color and complexions. They look like they like to be outside, and if the crowds on Bessegen were any indication, they like it a lot. Everyone all kitted out in fancy gear, American brands and others. Funny. Another way it's different is that, in the National Parks here, there are signs that tell you: this is your land. Feel free to take any mushrooms, pick any flowers, go anywhere you want, use it how you like. That to me seemed initially scary, and I have to say I thought the trail on Bessegen could have been maintained in such a way that would be more protective of the alpine vegetation. But on the other hand, I didn't see much trash, or evidence of people gratuitously polluting (no jet skis on the lakes). So.

We got back Saturday evening, exhausted. Mostly, my legs and feet were tired because my hiking boots weigh about five pounds each and the glacial terrain means rocks, rocks, and more rocks.



Yesterday we did our usual: hung around with the Steen clan all day. We went to Thorbjoern and Kristin's for breakfast around 9:30, and got to meet the brand new Ms. Inga, born last Tuesday. She is newborn looking and squeaks like a mouse, which is funny and really cute. Here is a not-so-clear picture of Kristin with her in tow, though you can't see the baby at all as she's swaddled in the swaddling thingy:



And here is Ms. Rams, who is having a minor and very sweet adjustment period with regards to the new baby. "Nursing" her doll:



And hours later, when we were walking over to Petter's for dinner, she said to her mom, "Mama, let's leave Inga at home." Poor thing. Luckily she has some of the greatest parents in the world, so I'm sure she'll be fine.

So life continues in the Nordic clime. Last night we had long conversations with friends and family back home, mostly via webcam. My niece has lost her two front teeth! She looks like a jack-o-lantern. I miss her. And others. You know who you are.

Skum

We're just ending a busy and mostly nice weekend.

Saturday I was supposed to go to this chorus master class. Well--I was welcome to go, according to the chorus leader, but since I haven't officially auditioned yet I wasn't required to. Still, I thought I might check it out, until the mild sore throat I'd woken up with Friday morning turned into a really sore throat on Saturday morning, and I decided to spend the day getting well.

We had run mad on Friday, helping a friend move, running errands, and taking a two-hour trip to IKEA, where we bought a few more essentials for our flat. We then moved some more stuff in and, finally, spent the evening lingering over a beautiful and rich meal with Thorbjoern and Kristin, which may be why my throat began acting up again. So Saturday I was clogged up and throaty and hoarse, and fantasized about sitting in my pajamas all day reading. Instead Ben and I had an industrious morning doing house projects: recovering the kitchen chairs we'd gotten from Petter and Eldri that unfortunately stank of mildew, cleaning, organizing our work space/dining area. I topped off the afternoon with a nap, which was, I think, the key to my healing throat, and then in the late afternoon Ben convinced me to ride with him down to the Akershusslott og festning, the Akershus castle and fortress. It was a perfect late-afternoon trip. You get this nice view of the Oslo harbor (here's a fuzzy cell phone picture; it's actually quite pretty)--



and the castle itself is pretty charming, too:





A quintet was playing jazz, and it turned into a nice sort of dim cool evening. We rode to the store, picked up some stuff for dinner, and had a mellow night watching "Darjeeling Limited."

Mellow until 2:30 a.m., that is, when our old pal upstairs started his regular Saturday night routine. Pounding bass, shrieking babes, the whole deal. At 2:45 I went up to talk to him. I knocked as loudly as I could; he didn't hear me. Ben came up and really pounded, and that's when the guy came to the door. I decided to kill him with kindness. I asked him very nicely if he could turn down the music. I stressed how loud it was. He assured me he was sorry and would turn it down. I said thank you and goodnight, and for the next thirty minutes I was optimistic. Around 3:15, though, the music got cranked up even higher than before, and the racket went on for a solid hour and more. When it finally got quiet at 4:35 a.m. I silently thanked God, removed the pillow from my head, and managed to fall asleep until what I consider morning.

We met our new friend Arne at 11:30 a.m. in Tøyen, as planned, even though we were both sleepy and a little depressed. After such a nice Saturday (lørdag) polishing up our flat, it was feeling uninhabitable, and we were wondering if we should move out. I'll admit that feeling was slightly intensified for me after a several-hour stroll around Oslo's ethnic and indie rock neighborhoods, which are sort of one and the same and pretty awesome. Arne is a fabulous tour guide, and he took us into so many gritty bars and cafes and arty areas. We shadowed the river that runs through Oslo, the Akerselva, which as Arne says is more of a creek than a river. Nonetheless: jazz clubs, little flea markets, a tiny bit of street food (precious little of that in Oslo, I fear, but maybe I haven't found it yet), kebab shops, halal butchers, Asian markets, more cafes. I loved it.

So that was reaffirming, and when we parted ways with Arne (Arne, sideways:)



we came home and decided to go confront the asshole. We knocked gently, and woke him up (yesssss!). It was 3:00 in the afternoon. We had what seemed like a genuine conversation, in which we got him to agree to a) let us know when he's planning on having a party; b) turn down the music if a party happens spontaneously; and c) invite us, maybe. Sounded like a pretty great party, I must admit.

But I'm calling the cops next time, if I have to.

Just got back from dinner at Petter and Eldri's, a real family affair tonight. Kristin, who is now three days overdue to give birth, all of a sudden announced to everyone that we were staying for Christmas. Next thing I knew the entire table had erupted. "Fantastic! We'll have it here," Eldri says. "Thorbjørn can cook," Petter says. "Well and of course we'll go to church," Thor says. "In your traditional clothes, right?" I ask him. "Yes and now Agnes and Rannveig wear them too!" says Eldri. And the chatter continues, all while I'm shooting glances at Ben, since we haven't definitely decided we're staying for Christmas. I think we might, though. And how nice to be wanted. And what a nice experience, a Norwegian Christmas.

I love family dinner. It's the best meal we eat all week. And of course it makes me long for and miss my own family. But I'm trying to squelch those feelings for now, because I'm happier here in Norway than I was a week ago, and hoping to remain so.

Good week planned; I'm teaching Whitman and Dickinson, and in my online class, a Ray Carver short story. I'm having lunch with The Professor on Tuesday, which is nice--she invited me. Meeting a friend of a friend for coffee on Thursday. Hopefully auditioning for the chorus on Tuesday. And Saturday Ben and I are going on an adventure with a woman named Jen from the Fulbright program. We're hiking in an area called Bessengen, staying at a hytte the night before. I can't wait. It's fall here, now, all of a sudden. The candles are lit.

The view from our flat:



A funny couple pics I have to share before I sign off. Friday we borrowed a roll of foam ("skum") from Thor and Kristin, the better to cover your kitchen chairs with, my dear. We took it to our place in Petter's car, cut the foam, and drove it back in the car. Then we needed to get it the short distance from Petter's to Thor's...on our bikes. I was getting some pretty great looks:





Skum! Skum!

Stabbur Snabb

So there I was, eating some sausage...

Sorry. I know this photo is totally obscene. But I mean, who makes a foot-long sausage and then calls it the Stabbur Snabb? The Norwegians--that's who! (And who decides to pose an obscene photo with said sausage and then capture it with his cell phone? One guess.)

I have been running around mad for three days, just class planning and setting up a class I'm teaching online from the States. And of course, making my second trip to the immigration office to plead for residence, after slashing through a whole lotta red tape at the university. They failed to tell me I needed some stuff (proof of my Master's, for one) before I got here. The funny thing is, I keep going up there--to the Uni, not the immigration office--to pick up paperwork from my mailbox, dressed in, say, biking pants and muddy, mushroomy sneakers--and then finding myself having to get into conversation with the clean-cut and very professional-looking department head (who tells me the paperwork isn't ready yet). A bit embarrassing.

But today I finally brought the completed stuff to the UDI office. Hopefully they'll let me stay.

I made this pact with myself that in Norway I would release some things. In San Francisco last year I found myself being pretty wrapped up, busy, frantic, having a hard time slowing down and looking around. I decided to move more slowly in Oslo, to breathe a little, to enjoy this place. The Norwegians so far are a more mellow people than mine. Even Ben, historically laid back, has commented that he feels sort of like the uptight American guy when we spend the afternoon drinking tea and eating too much cheese in Kristin and Thorbjoern's garden as the kids run around. But this week I've done a terrible job at my new resolution. I've been stressed out, frantic, rushing around, anxious about a million things: my class, the fact that I missed out on all the Norwegian courses this session, immigration. I also decided to check out the University of Oslo chorus last night, and had me a good old case of stage fright. I walked around all day yesterday feeling stressed out (and then I didn't even have to audition--I do that next week).

I don't know. Still making sense of Oslo, I guess.

The sky is huge here and quite...expressive. Lately it's been deciding whether or not to rain. It's moody that way, and quite beautiful when it's all fraught with clouds. We have daylight until about 8:30 in the evenings, but that is changing pretty rapidly--we lose three minutes a day, according to the Internet. The sun is no longer rousing us at 6:30. More like 7:00, and losing 2-3 minutes a day on that end. Today was five minutes darker than yesterday, and tomorrow will be five minutes darker than today...

Here's a picture of Rannveig, who we're now calling Rams. Because Rannveig is extremely difficult to say.



Isn't she a cutie? Her mom is due any day.

And here, the Japo Sushi. So offensive, and yet...so close to the great vegetable store so we see it all the time.



More pics when we get a real camera. I want to document the Vigelands Park before it gets too dark. It's a lovely spot.

Ha det,

Susie