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hjernenmingjørvondt
my norway blog

onsdag (wednesday), 9 august 00

Lunner, Norway (at Yngvar & Marit’s)—“Everything’s Bigger in America”

Early this afternoon, Svein drove me out to my uncle Yngvar’s. I haven’t seen Yngvar in 31 years—since the year we lived in Norway in 1969. I was 6 then. Because of family friction that I won’t go into, Yngvar was out of contact with my mom for years. Last year I didn’t get to see him because I was staying with my aunt and because I was worried about the friction that was still between them.

So while I was planning this trip, I made it a point to call him and let him know I was coming and that I’d like to visit him. He was very excited, and I have to admit, so was I after talking to him.

So here I was, driving out to see him. I had no idea what he looked like, what his wife was like, or even how many and old his kids were. The drive was beautiful, of course, and as we headed north of Oslo, the scenery became less like farmland and more like forests.

On the highway, we were flagged down by a cop standing on the side of the road and directed to pull into a make-shift traffic stop. What happened next would have all the civil libertarians in a furor. One of the waiting policemen politely (almost casually) asked to see Svein’s driver’s license and then asked him to breath into a breathalizer. Svein happily complied and then informed the officer that I was visiting from America and he was driving me to Lunner. The cop smiled and wished me a good trip, and we were on our way. Svein told me that they often set up unmarked speedtraps and sobriety check-points and whatever else rather routinely. The maximum blood alcohol level you can have is a mere 0.01% (compared to our usual 0.10%), which means that if you had something to drink the night before, you still might not be legally sober the next morning!

Svein pulled off the main road and followed smaller one toward Lunner. Almost immediately we came upon a small lake surrounded by hills. It was your typical “On Golden Pond” kind of lake: reeds and swans and small wooden docks and ducks and lily pads. Idyllic and serene.

This, said Svein, is where Yngvar and Marit and the kids live.

On the lake?

Yes.

Wow.

We pulled into the driveway of the first house we came to, and as we did people came out of the house. I was a bit nervous. Svein waved at the man who must be Yngvar, who smiled and waved. I got out of the car and Yngvar rushed towards me.

“Everything’s bigger in America!” he said, giving me a surprised but happy look, and we hugged each other.

He looked at me again and shook his head. “It’s been too long.” After he shook Svein’s hand, we went inside and sat ourselves on a porch overlooking the lake, which is only twenty yards down the slope of their back yard.

Yngvar is definitely my mom’s brother. I could see the resemblance in the shape of his face and his nose and that fact that he had very few wrinkles for a guy in his mid-fifties. He has the look of working man’s intellectual—which is what he turns out to be. As we talked, he kept shaking his head, hardly believing that we were finally together. I liked him instantly, and for a reason I couldn’t quite explain, respected him. He seems to be a man not to be trifled with, a good man who knows when to be tough.

Svein had to get back home, and after he left, we continued to talk. We talked most of the day. About all sorts of things, especially about Yngvar’s love for the outdoors, his job as a hospital administrator, his family, and his involvement in politics.

Oddly, although he is a member of the socialist party, and politically very liberal, he works for one of the only private hospitals in Norway. He thinks that private medical care is the way to go. It’s funny that while in the US we are flirting with the idea of a national health care system, those who have lived with it for 40 years are abandoning it. My uncle is also very big on private ownership of guns, especially hunting weapons. He’s a very big outdoorsman, having spent weeks in the mountains with nothing more than his backpack, his rifle, his fishing pole and his dog.

He showed books from his huge library: pictorial encyclopedias of Norwegian plant and wildlife, atlases, histories, and guidebooks. I was fascinated. He knew Norway upside-down and backward. And he loved it.

He did, however, discover where I stood politically by asking a few benign questions. When he criticized George W’s support of the death penalty, he saw me stiffen. I wasn’t going to go head to head with my long-lost uncle the first day we met, so I let it pass. But later in the day, he mentioned he figured out where my political tendencies lie, and my reaction earlier in the day verified it. Sharp guy.

Except for a walk around the neighborhood, we mostly sat and talked the whole day. At the end I was tired. I’m not used to this much interaction. The last couple of days have been pretty intensive for me, since I want to make the most of the time I have with everyone. I’m beat. æsj!

tirsdag (tuesday), 8 august 00

Skoglund (at Bente & Svein’s)—“McRudolph & Fries”

Everyone cracks up here when I tell them about how geographically and culturally clueless we Americans are. Like several years ago when I was traveling with some friends and we had a long layover in the Amsterdam airport and one of my friends, looking at the pretty women around, him commented, “I sure love the Scandinavian countries,” and when I told him Holland wasn’t Scandinavian but continental, his reply was, “Whatever, they’re all blonde and Nordic.” Or a friend who asked me prior to this trip whether they had McDonald’s in Norway, and if so, did they serve beef hamburgers or were they made from some other local meat, like reindeer? Actually, I said, they serve McRudolph burgers. “Really?” he said

So last night when Bente found out that I never had reindeer, she decided that not only would she cook some for dinner, but she would send me into the local market with a list and I was to navigate my way using my feeble Norwegian. Ahem. I wasn’t sure how serious she was, but I wouldn’t have put it past her.....

So today she drove me around the local countryside. As I mentioned yesterday, beautiful scenery. At least totally unlike what I see in California.

First, we visited the local historic church. Very simple: thick stone wall with typically Norwegian wooden altar, pulpit and pews—carved and painted.

Then we visited the two largest nearby towns: Askim (pronounced “ah-shim”) and Mysen (pronounced “mee-sen”, rounding your lips on the “ee”). It was in Askim we found Café Rudolph. Of course, we had to go inside for a snack. But tried as we could, we found no reindeer on the menu. So we settled for coffee and pastries, and took them outside to the patio.

After we took a trip to the lake, we stopped off at the market to pick up groceries for dinner. Bente kept insisting that she would give me a list and I would have to do the shopping, but when we pulled into the tiny parking lot, she relented. So we wandered the tiny aisles.

Norwegian markets are usually no bigger than your local video store in the States. They don’t have the mind-numbing selection we have here. But they do have mind-numbing prices. Everything is expensive here, especially the luxury items. Meat of any kind is easily twice as much as at home. Beer can run $15 a six pack. And that’s figuring in the great exchange rate I’ve been blessed with.

Bente found some frozen reindeer chunks in a fancy plastic package (try to find that in your local Vons), as well as the usual staples. Thus, we headed home.

When dinner was ready, the steaming pot of reindeer and mushroom stew was set before me, next to a huge bowl of rice. The aroma was strong, spicy and sweet at the same time. As I took my first bite, Bente and Svein watched me expectantly. It was strongly flavored, very pungent and wild—this was not domestic meat, and it tasted nothing like chicken. It was not bad, I didn’t dislike it, but it was definitely an acquired taste. There wasn’t much subltety to it: it pretty much wrestled you to the ground and said, “I’m a wild animal! You hear me? I eat nuts and pine cones and moss and berries and roots and tree leaves and pine needles and anything else that’s green that I can get my teeth on! No corn. No oats. I’m the real deal! I’m Bambi’s mother!” Which I can respect. It’s just that this strong flavor is overpowering after a couple of mouthfuls. I wanted to cry uncle.

Bente saw the look in my eyes, and said, “You don’t have to eat it all. I know it’s an acquired taste and you’re not used to it....” Off the hook! I swallowed a few more bites in good faith so that I did not seem too eager to abandon a nicely prepared supper. But I was relieved. The reindeer mastered me and I submitted.

Maybe another time.

Sidelight: “I like my coffee black ... like my men.”

Norwegian drink more coffee than is humanly possible. Strong. Black. No cream. No sugar. Mass quantities. At all hours. I had a sneaking suspicion that if they could find a way to make it available in an intravenious drip, they’d have coffee while they sleep as well.

I have never been a coffee drinker. I like it strong, but I also like it heavily creamed and sugared. So at every meal the long-neglected sugar bowl and creamer were set conspicuously next to my place at the table. I eventually went without cream, but not without sugar, my beloved sugar. Which is why I usually opted for good ol’ American Coke over coffee when given the choice. You never know how much red, white and blue are in your veins until you spend some time in a foreign context—no matter how much you convince yourself that you’re not entrenched in your Yankee culture....

Sidelight: “It’s not raining and it’s 60 degrees ... let’s eat outside!”

Eating outdoors is a Norwegian imperative whenever possible. Every café and restaurant has outdoor (usually sidewalk) seating, and every table is full on days it is warm enough and dry enough to dine outside.

I guess this is because Norwegian winters are so dark and cold that everyone wants to take advantage of the light and warm summers—that is, when it isn’t raining.

So everywhere I ate, I tried to sit outside. And it was nice. And sociable. Frequently, people walking by on the street would stop to say hello to someone eating in the café, a few friendly words exchanged, and they were on their way again. Understandably, it was always a great place for people-watching.... æsj!

mandag (monday), 7 august 00

“Deer and Moose and Elk, Oh My!”—Skoglund (at Bente & Svein’s)

Today I was going to take a morning trip Oslo before meeting my cousin Bente’s husband Svein for the trip out to their place for a couple day’s stay. Tom forgot to leave me the key, so I was house-bound....

At 1pm, Svein picked me up and drove me out to their house in a small farming town east of Oslo, just north of Heiås. It’s mostly rolling hills and lakes, with forests covering the tops of the hills and fields of oats and wheat covering the valleys. Just west of them is a large lake that stretches for miles north to south.

On the drive, Svein gave me a very cool gift: a large and comprehensive Norwegian-English dictionary. It’s published in Norway (by the publisher Svein designs books for), so the discussions of grammar are exclusively explaining English grammar to Norwegians. So my mission, whenever I spoke with Svein, was to be armed with the dictionary, ready to translate an English word into Norwegian, or vice-versa. All of my family were great about helping me with my Norwegian, but Svein seemed just a little more determined. Or maybe I just clicked with his approach.

That first night Svien took me for a walk with their German Shepherd, Inka. He took me to a clover shaped lake up in the woods. The thing that surprised me was how dense the woods are and how green the forest floor is. I learned the Norwegian words for beech (bjørk), pine (furu) and spruce (gran), which are the trees that make up most of the forest. As we walked along the edge of the lake, we picked blueberries. Oddly, for such a beautiful location, there was no one else on the lake.

Though we didn’t see any, Svein explained the woods were full of moose (which we call “elk,” since they are about half the size of North American “moose”), and they often wandered out on the road, getting hit by cars (and injuring many people). Also, though they are rarely seen, a local kid ran into a bear not long ago. æsj!

sondag (sunday), 6 august 00

“A-Ding-Dang-Doo”—Strömstad, Sweden

Yesterday, Tom and Åsa took me south to visit their friends Anders and Mia just over the border in Sweden. Anders’ family owns a small cottage outside of the seaside town of Strömstad. This was the second time I met Anders and Mia—last year we met them in the town itself.

The drive down to the Swedish border along the western side of Oslofjord is beautiful. Rolling green hills, topped with dense green forests, the valleys with red farmhouses and barns and fields of oats. The farmhouses and barns themselves are immaculate: cleanly painted brick red (or sometimes blue) with white trim, Norwegian banner flapping in the breeze. Most had small flower gardens planted in the front yard and their lawns neatly trimmed.

In the forests there is still wildlife, which we were constantly reminded of by the frequent “elk crossing” signs along the road. We found out that these were not empty warnings. Near the Swedish border traffic slowed and we saw why: a northbound car was pulled over to the side, its windshield completely smashed in and a series of small dents on the bumper and hood. They had hit an elk—the bumper taking the legs out from under the animal, putting it into the windshield. No one was hurt, but there was an injured elk on the loose.

The border between Norway and Sweden is pretty fluid, which disappointed me since I wanted another stamp in my passport.

The coastal area of Bohuslän (the district which includes Strömstad) is a series of inlets, fjords, and small rocky islands (think Scotland). Anders cottage is a four room wooden structure right on the water. Virtually the whole side of the cottage facing the water is windows. A narrow path leads down to the water, past the boathouse and through the bushes and shrubs.

Mia served up a lunch of pickled herring and potatoes. Though I didn’t know what it was at first, I discreetly watched how others ate it and and did the same.

After lunch we went shopping. Food prices in Norway and Sweden are radically different. Because of taxes and tariffs, some items cost four times as much in Norway as they do in Sweden. So Tom-Helge and Åsa stocked up on meat and sodas and diapers. The shopping trip gave us also a chance for a quick walk around town.

When we got back to the cottage, Anders and his friend Raymond were set to take us in the boat out to one of the islands. I hadn’t really dressed for this—khakis and hard street shoes—but they offered me other shoes, so I of course went.

The wind had picked up since we were in town, which was a mixed blessing. It meant that the clouds were blown away and the sky was clear and blue, but it also meant the sea was whipped up into some decent sized swells. Anders pointed the outboard toward Långö (“long island”) with the wind at our 10 o’clock. Which was the side I was sitting on. Every time we hit a swell, the wind picked up the spray and soaked my back and the sides of my legs. Tom had it worse: he was getting it square in the face. The trip was gratefully short. But the island itself was cool.

Anders (pronounced “ahn-dersh”) brought some coffee—Scandinavians drink coffee like it is the source of life itself: always and everywhere—and we talked in the courtyard of a small cafe. The cafe is called “Alaska,” named by a Swedish woman who went there during the gold rush early in the century, and came back to Sweden. We talked about the difference between Scandinavians and Americans. I asked Anders and Raymond what Americans sounded like to them, since most Americans think Scandinavians sound like the Swedish chef from the Muppets. They both laughed and thought a moment. (It was tough because they are both fluent in English, so it doesn’t sound like nonsense words to them.) Then Raymond laughed, and in a strong Texas twang, said, “A ding dang do!” Anders repeated it, laughing at the sound of it. It was dead on. Flat with strong dipthongs.

Then we walked to the other side of the island to see the windswept, rocky side. Though it was windy, it was still warm, and our clothes were able to dry out some.

The wind was at our back on the return trip across the channel, so we were able to stay dry. After a dinner of spaghetti, we packed up and headed back to Oslo. It was a long, but fun, day. æsj!

lørdag (saturday), 5 august 00

“Cold Water Wimp”—Oslo/Blystadlia

Today was a pretty lazy day. Tom took me in the morning to the post office to exchange some money and then to the store to pick up a couple of essentials. It’s good to be an American in Norway this summer since the dollar is so strong. Last year, I got only about 6 kroner per dollar, but today the exchange rate was 8.9 kr per dollar.

Around noon, my other cousin Bente and her husband Svein came by and we sat outside and had some coffee while Thea played on the swings.

Later we took a walk over to the small lake on the other side of the ridge. I’ve been spoiled in California: the water was too cold for me to go any deeper than mid-chest. Everyone else jumped in like it was a warm bath. (But I did have a better tan than anyone else...)

Tonight, tasty home-made pizza, compliments of Åsa. No fish (especially lutefisk) or lefse yet.

The amazing thing is that although it’s almost 8:30, the sun is still in the sky and won’t go down for another hour and a half. Land of the (almost) midnight sun.... æsj!

fredag (friday), 4 august 00

“Sleep is for Sissies”—The Flight and Oslo/Blystadlia

Well I made it to Norway!

I didn’t sleep either on the flight from LAX to Amsterdam, nor from Amsterdam to Oslo. My travel agent did me the favor of giving me and exit row seat (aisle as well!) so I could strech out all 6'4" of myself. Which was nice. But I didn’t realize the down side if that seat: its proximity to the restrooms. So as I tried to sleep I was frequently getting bumped into or tripped over by people waiting for the head. Even the earplugs and eyeshades (I’m such a geek) didn’t help. It also didn’t help that I let the tall Dutch guy sitting behind me with his girlfriend come sit up in the seat next to me so he could stretch out as well. So there sere two big guys fighting for armrest and shoulder space trying to ignore the shuffling of feet and the whoosh of the flushing commode. I had to fall back on my college mantra: sleep is for sissies.

So when I arrived in Oslo yesterday afternoon I was determined to beat jet lag and stay awake until it was bedtime. I think I was awake for almost 36 hours.

When I arrived in Oslo, my mom’s friend met me to give my Tromsø to Oslo plane ticket for later in my trip. I was also glad to see her because I knew she could help me to get on the right train to get to my cousin’s. You see, my cousin Tom-Helge couldn’t pick me up since he was working, so his wife Åsa had to do the duty—but she didn’t know how to get to the airport. So I was to take a certain train to a certain station near their home and she would pick me up there. Problem was, I forgot to print out his e-mail. I realized this somewhere over Greenland. But I wasn’t worried. I’ve been in worse travel predicaments. Berit (my mom’s friend) helped me get on the right train and told me which station to get off at: Lillestrøm. And when I did, there was Åsa and their little girl Thea!

This morning I slept in. At about noon I took the bus into Oslo and walked around downtown. It turned out to be a beautiful day. Warm, sunny and bright. I forgot how clean it is here. Everything is so well taken care of. Even the bus ride was a pleasure (though it took an hour to wind its way to town). Green rolling hills, brightly colored houses, pine trees. Oslo, though a small city, is at the same time both very quaint and very sophisticated.

Tom was off work at 2:30, so he met me and we wandered around Oslo, ate at McDonald’s—not my first choice, but because it was cheap—and had a Norwegian beer in an open-air cafe at Aker Brygge, a row of shops and restaurant along the wharf.

I think that’s enough for now. Tom and Åsa are probably wondering why I’ve been on their computer so long! æsj!

tirsdag (tuesday), 2 august 00

“Pre-Vacation Jitters”—Irvine, California

I’m leaving for Norway tomorrow and I feel wholly unprepared. I feel like I’ve packed too much, though I only have two bags (it’s probably because I’m taking a jacket). But I still am carrying more than I did last year. So tonight I’ll unpack some things. Since I do have a “base camp” (my cousin Tom-Helge’s) while I’m there, I don’t have to schlep everything around with me. But it’s that initial trip from the airport to Tom’s (maybe involving a train trip).

I also worry that I might not have enough presents (or the right ones for people).

But the upside is that my apartment is completely clean (except for my scientific experiments in the fridge). A clean apartment helps to cut down on post-vacation depression. æsj!