Norwegians are, I guess, famously reserved, which I failed to notice until I read this blog post by Jessica, the younger sister of one of my good friends in Minnesota, who is spending a semester in Bergen. I thought, "But people here have been so friendly! But they've helped me when I've been lost!" Then I thought, "BUT. BUT I HAVEN'T BEEN IN A SINGLE NORWEGIAN'S HOME." (Brynjulv's apartment doesn't count, because, being a CouchSurfer, he's not, you know, normal.) And then, even worse, "BUT I HAVEN'T EVEN DONE ANYTHING SOCIAL WITH A NORWEGIAN." No coffee, no walk, no romp through the snow.
This was a blow to me. My impression that people here are, in fact, friendly and helpful, even friendlier and more helpful than the people in Bergen whom Jessica describes, was backed up by several other people, some of whom said, "Well, it makes sense! The southern parts of the country have been relatively densely populated for a long time, but in the north, many people have come from other places to work, and the help-thy-equally-lost-neighbor legacy lives on." I've experienced the present-day version of help-thy-equally-lost-neighbor, which is help-this-equally-lost-foreigner. On the streets and in cafes, fellow foreigners just talk to me, or vice versa. I've met people from Eritrea, Iran, Gambia, and other parts of the world in public places; we are magnetically attracted to one another. (And it's not hard to find foreigners here; over half of Tromsø's residents aren't originally from Tromsø.)
But we repel Norwegians, who are friendly and helpful, but, I guess, famously reserved, even here in Tromsø. They will show me how to get to the library, but they won't ask where I'm from. And they will smile back if I greet them, but wonder if I'm a little off my rocker. It took me a long time to understand the distinction between friendliness/helpfulness and openness. Sometimes I still mix them up.
(Writing about this, I'm reminded of a hilarious incident in Pavel's dorm kitchen. He had just moved in, and we were having lunch at the table, discussing Norwegian reservedness, when a tall, Norwegian-looking guy walked in and started preparing his meal. Pavel asked where he was from. "Here." Then Pavel asked, "And do you think Norwegians are reserved?" And the Norwegian said, "Maybe . . . maybe we are reserved. But I don't know why." Then: SILENCE. End of conversation. He turned his back on us to finish doing the dishes. I think this was the real answer to the question.)
Fortunately, some Norwegians break out of the reservedness mold! They crack the shell of reticence! They smash the wall of polite disinterest! I was lucky to meet TWO of these in the past week. One I've mentioned already: Kristin, whom, it seems, I was fated to meet. We first met on the street when I asked a man walking by Brynjulv's apartment how recycling in Norway works (it's great! five colors of bag, each for a different material!). This man is Abbas, and we became friends while we walked into town. This was possible because we are both foreigners and therefore magnetically attracted to each other. He is from Iran, but has been studying engineering in Norway for a few years. Walking with us was his son, Salman, and behind us came his wife, Maryam, and Kristin, their friend and neighbor. I explained to them what I was doing here; we agreed to have dinner sometime; I hoped to see them again.
And a few days later, I did see Kristin again! On Wednesday we both attended the first meeting of Tromsø's chapter of Save the Children, and I discovered that she speaks near-perfect Spanish. That night we took our relationship to a whole new level when we facebook-friended each other, and I learned from her profile (how much more intimate can you get?) that one of her favorite books is Michael Ende's The Neverending Story, which has long been my all-time favorite book in the world. This boded well for potential friendship. On Sunday we spent the whole afternoon together at the Tromso Museum and later at Salman's 5th birthday party (about which I'll write in another post -- this one is supposed to be just about Norwegians), and actually BECAME FRIENDS. She's coming over for dinner on Thursday -- this is, in case you don't know, something FRIENDS do -- and at some point in the near future I'll be allowed to enter her apartment. She insisted that it was too messy when we stopped by there on Sunday.
My first Norwegian friend! And an invitation to a Norwegian home! The second invitation came later on Sunday night, at the TIFF volunteer party, which I spent entirely with Maiten and a Norwegian woman named Tove, fellow volunteer at Fokus Kino from Monday to Wednesday of last week (again, I'll write about the film festival in another post -- this one is about Norwegians). Tove is kind and tolerant of my obsession with the northern lights, which I've still only seen twice, and she invited me to eat with her sometime next next week. This is particularly exciting because her children are all much older than I am, which means that she is much much older than I am, and I love spending time with People Who Are Not My Age (and who are usually calmer and wiser than People My Age, myself included). There's just so much to learn from everyone.
So: This week was groundbreaking. I was invited to TWO Norwegian homes -- I didn't even have to threaten them! -- and made friends with the Norwegians who live in them.
Yesterday I said that I had to write about people, movies, and Norwegian culture. This is the "Norwegian culture" post. I will write about "people" and "movies" sometime soon, but probably not today. My plan for today is to go for a walk in the snow, read and people-watch in the library, and eat dinner with Katarina and two of her friends. It's amazing that I manage to stay so serene while leading such a stressful lifestyle.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
A couple of welcome-backs (Tromsø, Norway)
Oh geez. This is one of those intimidating blog posts -- the ones for which I first write an outline (the outline for this post has thirteen bullet points), which, instead of giving my writing any structure, makes me a little bit twitchy with stress and raises my heart rate. So much has to be reported! So many people have to be described in full detail! So many adjectives have to be employed! Fortunately for me, as soon as I start the next paragraph, I'll forget about all about my outline and write about, oh, say seagulls, which are not one of the bullet-pointed items.
The seagulls:
They have come back! I noticed them when I was walking into town last week, and thought, "Have they been there all along? Had I become desensitized to their loud, insistent cawing the way I'm deaf to the hum of the refrigerator? Did I just wake up from a silent dream? Does anyone else see them? Are they really there?" Just before writing this paragraph, I asked Katarina the first of these questions, and phew! my sanity appears to be intact. The seagulls, which fly south for the winter, seem to have returned north for the winter. I'm really not sure if this is normal -- it has, after all, been colder and snowier in the south than usual, and warmer and rainier in the north -- but even if the poor birds have gone loony, I'm glad that they're making a racket by the seashore again. The other prominent winged inhabitants of this island -- magpies -- have given me the creeps ever since I watched one of them knock a featherless chick out of a nest, peck it to death while it squirmed on the ground, and eat it in a park in Madrid. Ungh.
The arrival of the seagulls almost coincided with the return of that most beloved celestial object, Mr. Sun, to the skies above Tromsø. I'm pretty sure that nobody else was as excited about this as I was -- I squealed and bounced and thought it appropriate to stare directly and meaningfully into it for a while, while my retinas thought, "Whoa whaaaat?" -- but on January 21st, some stores sold solbolle, and this past Sunday was SUN-day (cute) at the Tromsø Museum. There was a presentation on the northern lights (for which, of course, we can thank our own Mr. Sun and his unpredictable temper) and a choir concert with a sunny repertoire. The songs were in Norwegian -- shocker! -- and Swedish, but Kristin, a new friend, translated some of the lyrics for me, and the melodies were so upbeat that everyone walked out smiling. Yes! This is a happy time! In olden days it was an even happier time for schoolchildren, because they had January 21st off from school, but at least they can enjoy bread and music. And, you know, SUNSHINE.
I've made it sound like it was dark until, suddenly and hallelujah, the sun rose above the horizon and all was brightly lit and glorious -- like a revelation, or a lamp -- but actually the days have been getting longer since December 21st, and weeks ago already the daytime hours lived up to their name. It's strange to think that the days will soon start encroaching upon the nights, and that in a few months the sun won't set at all. I think of it as a pendulum -- here, the arc is almost a semi-circle, with light on one extreme and dark on the other, and the farther south you go, the smaller the arc becomes. Surprisingly, several people I've talked to aren't so thrilled to be swinging back to the light. They call the winter "cozy" and "calm," the proper state for a winter land, and complain about insomnia in the summer. Apparently Mr. Sun slacks off when it comes to warming this part of the world, too, so that even when it looks like a summer paradise, it feels like, oh, Norway. Never-hot-Norway. I can see how that would dampen some already sleep-deprived spirits.
I've addressed only one of the items in my bullet-pointed list (the sun concert) so far, and lightly touched on another (new friends -- Kristin is one), but the oomph, the oomph is GONE. I'll post this now and tomorrow write about people, movies, and Norwegian culture. Ooh, when I put it like that, it's not intimidating at all! I just have to write about three things! Very doable. Hardly a challenge. TOMORROW.
The seagulls:
They have come back! I noticed them when I was walking into town last week, and thought, "Have they been there all along? Had I become desensitized to their loud, insistent cawing the way I'm deaf to the hum of the refrigerator? Did I just wake up from a silent dream? Does anyone else see them? Are they really there?" Just before writing this paragraph, I asked Katarina the first of these questions, and phew! my sanity appears to be intact. The seagulls, which fly south for the winter, seem to have returned north for the winter. I'm really not sure if this is normal -- it has, after all, been colder and snowier in the south than usual, and warmer and rainier in the north -- but even if the poor birds have gone loony, I'm glad that they're making a racket by the seashore again. The other prominent winged inhabitants of this island -- magpies -- have given me the creeps ever since I watched one of them knock a featherless chick out of a nest, peck it to death while it squirmed on the ground, and eat it in a park in Madrid. Ungh.
The arrival of the seagulls almost coincided with the return of that most beloved celestial object, Mr. Sun, to the skies above Tromsø. I'm pretty sure that nobody else was as excited about this as I was -- I squealed and bounced and thought it appropriate to stare directly and meaningfully into it for a while, while my retinas thought, "Whoa whaaaat?" -- but on January 21st, some stores sold solbolle, and this past Sunday was SUN-day (cute) at the Tromsø Museum. There was a presentation on the northern lights (for which, of course, we can thank our own Mr. Sun and his unpredictable temper) and a choir concert with a sunny repertoire. The songs were in Norwegian -- shocker! -- and Swedish, but Kristin, a new friend, translated some of the lyrics for me, and the melodies were so upbeat that everyone walked out smiling. Yes! This is a happy time! In olden days it was an even happier time for schoolchildren, because they had January 21st off from school, but at least they can enjoy bread and music. And, you know, SUNSHINE.
I've made it sound like it was dark until, suddenly and hallelujah, the sun rose above the horizon and all was brightly lit and glorious -- like a revelation, or a lamp -- but actually the days have been getting longer since December 21st, and weeks ago already the daytime hours lived up to their name. It's strange to think that the days will soon start encroaching upon the nights, and that in a few months the sun won't set at all. I think of it as a pendulum -- here, the arc is almost a semi-circle, with light on one extreme and dark on the other, and the farther south you go, the smaller the arc becomes. Surprisingly, several people I've talked to aren't so thrilled to be swinging back to the light. They call the winter "cozy" and "calm," the proper state for a winter land, and complain about insomnia in the summer. Apparently Mr. Sun slacks off when it comes to warming this part of the world, too, so that even when it looks like a summer paradise, it feels like, oh, Norway. Never-hot-Norway. I can see how that would dampen some already sleep-deprived spirits.
I've addressed only one of the items in my bullet-pointed list (the sun concert) so far, and lightly touched on another (new friends -- Kristin is one), but the oomph, the oomph is GONE. I'll post this now and tomorrow write about people, movies, and Norwegian culture. Ooh, when I put it like that, it's not intimidating at all! I just have to write about three things! Very doable. Hardly a challenge. TOMORROW.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
A shortie about the SUUUN (Tromsø, Norway)
I am just writing to say (ahem):
1. The sun will rise tomorrow. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
2. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
3. The meeting with the nun (in the singular -- Sister Hedwig) on Sunday was WONDERFUL. Amazing. Life-changing. I am going to write a full report tomorrow morning and send it to the convent for a blog post go-ahead. Then I will go ahead and post it in my blog.
4. Between "morning" and "and" in the last sentence, somebody called Katarina to tell her that the northern lights were putting on a show. We ran outside to look at them. My first time! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
5. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
6. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Please excuse me while I go and have a heart attack.
Nun report forthcoming! On a day with SUN.
1. The sun will rise tomorrow. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
2. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
3. The meeting with the nun (in the singular -- Sister Hedwig) on Sunday was WONDERFUL. Amazing. Life-changing. I am going to write a full report tomorrow morning and send it to the convent for a blog post go-ahead. Then I will go ahead and post it in my blog.
4. Between "morning" and "and" in the last sentence, somebody called Katarina to tell her that the northern lights were putting on a show. We ran outside to look at them. My first time! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
5. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
6. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Please excuse me while I go and have a heart attack.
Nun report forthcoming! On a day with SUN.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
A reason for breathless anticipation (Tromsø, Norway)
In about thirteen hours, I will be attending mass at the Carmelite convent in Tromsø, after which my new friend Pavel and I will eat breakfast with the nuns and then talk with them about time. WHOA WHOA WHOA. This was Pavel's idea, and, because 1. he speaks Norwegian and English (among other languages), 2. the nuns speak Norwegian (among other languages) but do not speak English, and 3. I do not speak Norwegian but speak English (among other languages), he was my interpreter during our first visit and will be translating all of tomorrow. For this and other personality traits, I am convinced that he is an angel. And I'm so excited to meet the nuns and learn about their lives! I'll give a full post-meeting report.
Pavel is a friend of Katarina's, my new housemate, who is also wonderful. He spent a few nights with us while he was looking for an apartment, and every evening the three of us drank industrial amounts of tea, chatted into the night, and sometimes engaged in less mature activities like balloon soccer and phone book-ripping (after I explained the theory to them, they both ripped a phone book in half -- the hot dog way!). Katarina is from Slovakia and Pavel is from the Czech Republic, both of which I have added to my List of Places to Spend Time in Before I DIE.
Now Pavel is gone (sob), but I hope to see him a lot in the next two months. In the past week, Katarina and I have watched three Tromsø International Film Festival movies (Mid-August Lunch, Same Same but Different, and 35 Shots of Rum -- recommended, not recommended, and not recommended, respectively), and I have watched another (Alle Anderen -- highly recommended) with a fellow passer-through, Maiten, a Dutch girl who is making a documentary on the polar night. We get in for free because we're volunteers! While waiting for Katarina in a cafe one night, I met a very nice man from Eritrea, Mateo, with whom I had tea two nights later. He has been in Norway since 2005, a refugee from religious persecution. I hope to see him in the next two months, too.
What else to tell? Well, I suppose I should apologize, faithful readers, for failing to write in a whole week, and then writing such a booooooring post. Your head is probably nodding as you read these words. Your eyelids are heavy . . . your chair is so soft and squishy . . . your feet are so warm . . . But there is a reason I haven't written! The reason is this: Katarina and I are STEALING wireless internet, which we know is bad and for which the technology gods will surely punish us, but which has also introduced a new personality into our household: IngerOnline. Inger is our mysterious neighbor, the victim of our wireless internet theft. Katarina and I joke that someday, we'll run into Inger while we're taking out the garbage, and, after introducing ourselves, we'll blurt, "BUT WAIT! Is your last name Online?!" And if it's not, we won't have to feel guilty. Inger Online -- a faithful companion for those lonely winter days.
But not that faithful. Inger Online sometimes TURNS OFF her wireless unit (the nerve!), and even when it's on, reception is so weak that we can only connect to the internet on the windowsill of Katarina's bedroom, which is at about chest level. This means that every second we spend on the internet is another day we'll suffer from carpal tunnel syndrome in the near future. This, combined with my general aversion to screens (which naturally prevents me from writing this in a text editor in a more comfortable place and copying and pasting it into my blog at the windowsill), is the excuse I present for non-communicativeness and a booooooring post (who can write inspired words standing at a windowsill?).
I'll write more, and better, about my new acquaintances, friends, and activities soon. And the nuns! I'll write about the nuns! But for now I'll spare my wrists.
Until soon, then, Inger Online permitting.
Pavel is a friend of Katarina's, my new housemate, who is also wonderful. He spent a few nights with us while he was looking for an apartment, and every evening the three of us drank industrial amounts of tea, chatted into the night, and sometimes engaged in less mature activities like balloon soccer and phone book-ripping (after I explained the theory to them, they both ripped a phone book in half -- the hot dog way!). Katarina is from Slovakia and Pavel is from the Czech Republic, both of which I have added to my List of Places to Spend Time in Before I DIE.
Now Pavel is gone (sob), but I hope to see him a lot in the next two months. In the past week, Katarina and I have watched three Tromsø International Film Festival movies (Mid-August Lunch, Same Same but Different, and 35 Shots of Rum -- recommended, not recommended, and not recommended, respectively), and I have watched another (Alle Anderen -- highly recommended) with a fellow passer-through, Maiten, a Dutch girl who is making a documentary on the polar night. We get in for free because we're volunteers! While waiting for Katarina in a cafe one night, I met a very nice man from Eritrea, Mateo, with whom I had tea two nights later. He has been in Norway since 2005, a refugee from religious persecution. I hope to see him in the next two months, too.
What else to tell? Well, I suppose I should apologize, faithful readers, for failing to write in a whole week, and then writing such a booooooring post. Your head is probably nodding as you read these words. Your eyelids are heavy . . . your chair is so soft and squishy . . . your feet are so warm . . . But there is a reason I haven't written! The reason is this: Katarina and I are STEALING wireless internet, which we know is bad and for which the technology gods will surely punish us, but which has also introduced a new personality into our household: IngerOnline. Inger is our mysterious neighbor, the victim of our wireless internet theft. Katarina and I joke that someday, we'll run into Inger while we're taking out the garbage, and, after introducing ourselves, we'll blurt, "BUT WAIT! Is your last name Online?!" And if it's not, we won't have to feel guilty. Inger Online -- a faithful companion for those lonely winter days.
But not that faithful. Inger Online sometimes TURNS OFF her wireless unit (the nerve!), and even when it's on, reception is so weak that we can only connect to the internet on the windowsill of Katarina's bedroom, which is at about chest level. This means that every second we spend on the internet is another day we'll suffer from carpal tunnel syndrome in the near future. This, combined with my general aversion to screens (which naturally prevents me from writing this in a text editor in a more comfortable place and copying and pasting it into my blog at the windowsill), is the excuse I present for non-communicativeness and a booooooring post (who can write inspired words standing at a windowsill?).
I'll write more, and better, about my new acquaintances, friends, and activities soon. And the nuns! I'll write about the nuns! But for now I'll spare my wrists.
Until soon, then, Inger Online permitting.
Friday, January 8, 2010
A resource for young'uns (Tromsø, Norway)
"Young'uns" is a category into which I, being under the tender age of 25, fit, so I didn't feel too creepy yesterday afternoon when I walked into Tvibit, Tromsø's youth house, even though in spirit I've been an old granny for years. I walked past several tables of hip-looking teenagers engaged in relaxed conversation over cups of hot coffee (of which, I noticed, there was a full and free-for-the-taking thermos nearby) and made my way to a sign in the next room that said "Information". Oh, but what information! What enlightening clarification!
Once again, Norway takes the cake for public resources. Here is an excerpt from Tvibit's website:
At Tvibit anyone can arrange events, concerts, exhibitions, plays, dance performances etc. free of charge! All you need is an idea, and we will help you getting started. As long as the event is in Tvibits spirit, we enqourage it (this means that we don’t throw parties, birthdays etc. here). We will help you with equipment, rooms, people and other things you might need to make your event happen.
This was all explained to me in more words by the smiling woman behind the desk under the "Information" sign, who also told me about Tvibit's free health center, where anyone can drop in for a consultation with a doctor four days a week, and existing clubs (writing, photography, international, and, of course, I could start my own if I wanted to). There was a cafe downstairs with computers available for my use, and, if those were occupied, several computers in this room and in the project rooms with which I could surf the net, write a paper or plan a project. If I needed video equipment, I could check it out of the film house, and if at any time I had further questions about anything, I shouldn't hesitate to drop by and ask. I half expected her to offer me a trip to the Balearic Islands for inspiration -- but she didn't.
I'd walked by Tvibit's two glass-walled floors many times and seen groups of young'uns chatting in map-lined rooms equipped with computers -- now I know what they were up to! They were SOWING THE SEEDS OF CULTURE. For fun and with government funding. I just think that's the goshdarned greatest thing in the world. Don't you?
Yesterday I also had my first encounter with the Norwegian educational system. I hope to audit a class at the university called The Sami Nation, and, prudent student that I am, attended the informational session mentioned on the web page. This was all fine and dandy, except that the informational session was in NORWEGIAN. Who knows why?! I had sat in the middle of my row and couldn't get out without breaking some kneecaps, so I settled into my chair, pulled out a book of plays by Friedrich Dürrenmatt, and perked up whenever I recognized a word (the toughies, like "historie" or "klasse" or "bok", e.g.).
I never feel so klutzy as when I don't understand what people are saying to me. I've been missing Berlin recently -- I think because Tromsø is more like it than any other city I've visited this year, which is not to say that they're at all similar -- and one major difference between my stay there and my stay here is that, there, I was the one who had to make the extra effort to communicate. I was the one speaking in a foreign tongue and saying things like, "Now we must make goodbye" or "Excuse me, I have to go inside the toilet." In Norway, I cringe whenever I say, "I'm sorry, I don't speak Norwegian. Do you speak English?" Of course almost everybody does, but it feels unfair to force them to go through the discomfort of trying.
Three more things to tell:
1. I took another ice bath this afternoon, this time IN THE DARK (the group's usual meeting time is 5:00). You know, no big deal. Just had to dig a hole in the snow to put my things in. Managed to get dressed with frozen lumps for fingers. Same old, same old.
2. I went to the Tromsø University Museum today, where there is a temporary exhibit on homosexuality in animals. I almost teared up when I saw the pair of lesbian swans who had mated for life (and were still together in death, taxidermied and romantically posed). Did you know that lesbian swans raise cygnets together? And sometimes lay eggs in the nest of a pair of male swans so that they can raise cygnets, too? Did you know that homosexual behavior has been observed in over 1,500 species, and some species are almost entirely bisexual? Did you know that male flamingo couples can actually raise more flamingo chicks than male-female couples, because they have control over more territory? (The English translations were poor, and I read over and over again that the gay flamingos could "raise more chicken" until I laughed out loud.) They are called "super-fathers". There are also "super-mothers". I want to be a super-mother! The museum website asks: Is it reasonable to use the word "unnatural" about homosexuality? I think the correct answer is NO.
3. Tomorrow I move out of Brynjulv and Ellen's apartment and into Katarina's living room. A new temporary home! A new housemate! Oh, the potential.
It is snowing fingernail-sized pieces of fluff. Ten points for Mother Nature!
Once again, Norway takes the cake for public resources. Here is an excerpt from Tvibit's website:
At Tvibit anyone can arrange events, concerts, exhibitions, plays, dance performances etc. free of charge! All you need is an idea, and we will help you getting started. As long as the event is in Tvibits spirit, we enqourage it (this means that we don’t throw parties, birthdays etc. here). We will help you with equipment, rooms, people and other things you might need to make your event happen.
This was all explained to me in more words by the smiling woman behind the desk under the "Information" sign, who also told me about Tvibit's free health center, where anyone can drop in for a consultation with a doctor four days a week, and existing clubs (writing, photography, international, and, of course, I could start my own if I wanted to). There was a cafe downstairs with computers available for my use, and, if those were occupied, several computers in this room and in the project rooms with which I could surf the net, write a paper or plan a project. If I needed video equipment, I could check it out of the film house, and if at any time I had further questions about anything, I shouldn't hesitate to drop by and ask. I half expected her to offer me a trip to the Balearic Islands for inspiration -- but she didn't.
I'd walked by Tvibit's two glass-walled floors many times and seen groups of young'uns chatting in map-lined rooms equipped with computers -- now I know what they were up to! They were SOWING THE SEEDS OF CULTURE. For fun and with government funding. I just think that's the goshdarned greatest thing in the world. Don't you?
Yesterday I also had my first encounter with the Norwegian educational system. I hope to audit a class at the university called The Sami Nation, and, prudent student that I am, attended the informational session mentioned on the web page. This was all fine and dandy, except that the informational session was in NORWEGIAN. Who knows why?! I had sat in the middle of my row and couldn't get out without breaking some kneecaps, so I settled into my chair, pulled out a book of plays by Friedrich Dürrenmatt, and perked up whenever I recognized a word (the toughies, like "historie" or "klasse" or "bok", e.g.).
I never feel so klutzy as when I don't understand what people are saying to me. I've been missing Berlin recently -- I think because Tromsø is more like it than any other city I've visited this year, which is not to say that they're at all similar -- and one major difference between my stay there and my stay here is that, there, I was the one who had to make the extra effort to communicate. I was the one speaking in a foreign tongue and saying things like, "Now we must make goodbye" or "Excuse me, I have to go inside the toilet." In Norway, I cringe whenever I say, "I'm sorry, I don't speak Norwegian. Do you speak English?" Of course almost everybody does, but it feels unfair to force them to go through the discomfort of trying.
Three more things to tell:
1. I took another ice bath this afternoon, this time IN THE DARK (the group's usual meeting time is 5:00). You know, no big deal. Just had to dig a hole in the snow to put my things in. Managed to get dressed with frozen lumps for fingers. Same old, same old.
2. I went to the Tromsø University Museum today, where there is a temporary exhibit on homosexuality in animals. I almost teared up when I saw the pair of lesbian swans who had mated for life (and were still together in death, taxidermied and romantically posed). Did you know that lesbian swans raise cygnets together? And sometimes lay eggs in the nest of a pair of male swans so that they can raise cygnets, too? Did you know that homosexual behavior has been observed in over 1,500 species, and some species are almost entirely bisexual? Did you know that male flamingo couples can actually raise more flamingo chicks than male-female couples, because they have control over more territory? (The English translations were poor, and I read over and over again that the gay flamingos could "raise more chicken" until I laughed out loud.) They are called "super-fathers". There are also "super-mothers". I want to be a super-mother! The museum website asks: Is it reasonable to use the word "unnatural" about homosexuality? I think the correct answer is NO.
3. Tomorrow I move out of Brynjulv and Ellen's apartment and into Katarina's living room. A new temporary home! A new housemate! Oh, the potential.
It is snowing fingernail-sized pieces of fluff. Ten points for Mother Nature!
A blue sky! (Tromsø, Norway)
As I type, I am looking out the window at a BLUE(ish tinted with yellow) sky. IT LOOKS LIKE DAY. Oh glory be! Now I know that my real enemies are the clouds; the sun and I are on speaking terms again.
In the time I've spent sitting in front of my computer looking up the idiom "on speaking terms" (in a relationship close enough for or limited to friendly superficialities OR in a relationship of open, willing, or ready communication -- the sun and I are "on speaking terms" in the former, and limited, sense of the idiom), clouds have crept across the sky and it has started to snow lightly. Coastal weather. What a crusher.
But I know that there is a blue(ish tinted with yellow) sky behind those clouds! And the snow is very pretty.
Soon I'll write a rave review of Tromsø's youth center, which is almost as amazing a resource as the library.
The snow is gorgeous.
In the time I've spent sitting in front of my computer looking up the idiom "on speaking terms" (in a relationship close enough for or limited to friendly superficialities OR in a relationship of open, willing, or ready communication -- the sun and I are "on speaking terms" in the former, and limited, sense of the idiom), clouds have crept across the sky and it has started to snow lightly. Coastal weather. What a crusher.
But I know that there is a blue(ish tinted with yellow) sky behind those clouds! And the snow is very pretty.
Soon I'll write a rave review of Tromsø's youth center, which is almost as amazing a resource as the library.
The snow is gorgeous.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
A sparkling island (Tromsø, Norway)
Well, this post is long overdue! Brandon has left (sob) (as in "how sad," not that he has a mean mother), as have the two young Dutch men who served as my adventure buddies for the two days following Brandon's departure (sob), and now I am alone, again, with Tromsø, this slug-shaped artificially lit island city that manages to be beautiful and warm despite the dark and sub-zero temperatures. Sub-zero on the Celsius scale, I should say. The temperature on the Fahrenheit scale is not as impressive as I'd hoped it would be, although I've been assured that, when wind and humidity are taken into account, the residents of Tromsø suffer more than the residents of, e.g., Karasjok, where it is a whopping 29 degrees Fahrenheit colder than it is here (18 and -11 degrees, respectively).
On New Year's Eve, after our polar bear swim (fortunately polar bear-free -- the night before I'd had nightmares/involuntary violent fantasies in which I was dismembered by a hungry polar bear displaced by global warming) and meal of whale flesh, Brandon and I walked across the bridge to Tromsdalen, where we took a cable car up to the top of the first swell of a line of snow-covered mountains. We arrived unfashionably early and spent several hours walking along the mountains, which glittered in the light of the full moon. At one point, Brandon turned to me and said, "Irene! Do you hear the silence?" Which should give you an idea of how heaven-like the landscape we were exploring was. Here is a picture of that landscape:
(Notice that the snow ACTIVELY SPARKLES. That's no passive reflection you see going on there. This snow is ALIVE.)
Towards midnight, we headed back to the cable car building to watch the fireworks in Tromsø from above, feeling much like Zeus and his cohorts on Mount Olympus, but before the show we caught a wee glimpse of the Northern Lights, pointed out by a very friendly Irish or Scottish (Brandon and I disagreed about this) couple. It was more like one very faint light smeared out, tinting the grayish sky a little bit lighter gray. Disappointing, to say the least, but we of indomitable good cheer and optimism recover quickly from such letdowns. After cursing and loudly disbelieving our bad luck, we went to watch the night's main spectacle, which did not disappoint at all. This is what Tromsø looks like from above:
Now imagine it sizzling and popping with fireworks. You have to imagine it because my camera ran out of batteries long before the stroke of midnight, but maybe it's better that way. It was beautiful! There were fireworks up on the mountain, too, and we were surrounded by children with sparklers and other Things On Fire, so we started the New Year with a dazzling display of light. I hope that this means that the whole year will a dazzling display of light -- you know, metaphorically. I am always up for being dazzled.
Brandon left on the 2nd (sob), and that afternoon I met up with Tim and Ruben, who had written to me via CouchSurfing and asked me to show them around town. We went to the Nordnorsk Kunstmuseum and the Perspektivet Museum, which both had excellent exhibitions, and then we walked around town, which was already starting to come back to life after the holidays. The next day was more eventful -- both Tim and Ruben swam in the icy sea under my inexpert supervision (they joked about weak hearts and having just one lung while I played out about a hundred worst case scenarios in my head) and survived.
After getting on the warm bus to head home, we decided to go on the cheap tour of Tromsø and the surrounding area, i.e. we rode a bus for about an hour and a half as it looped to the northern end of the island, back through the center and over the bridge into Tromsdalen, and finally close to the apartment where I'm staying. The bus driver, a tattooed ex-seaman, eyed us skeptically at first, but towards the end of our tour opened up and even boasted that he had never once in his thirteen years as a bus driver scratched the side of the bus while passing through a bridge that was only eighteen centimeters wider than the bus (we had commented on the narrowness of this bridge the first time we passed through it; the second time I was mentally cheering for the bus driver and dreading even more the day when I will have to get my driver's license).
Tim, Ruben and I ate, watched "Pulp Fiction" (I ran to the kitchen whenever somebody pulled out a gun, and read in the staircase during the most violent scene), and then I almost forcibly ejected them from the apartment, overwhelmed by an inexplicable flood of antisocial feelings. It was really very rude of me -- I lost major Social Interaction Points -- but they were kind enough to overlook it and invite me to eat with them at their hotel yesterday evening, which I did.
Today was a successful day, even on the social interaction front. After sleeping a few hours -- insomnia, which I will get to shortly -- I showered and headed to the library, which still holds Wonder of the World status in my book. I read half of a book of poetry by Stephen Dobyns, whose poem "Tomatoes" I really like, and made zero friends. However, I did manage to locate the Tromsø offices of Save the Children and Amnesty International, reconnected with Kine, a woman I met at the Christmas Eve volunteer dinner, and gave both her and the sole AI employee my e-mail address and a smile that meant, "Thank you so much for letting me have tea with you and telling me how to volunteer with your organization! You have no idea what this is doing for my state of mind! I am so happy that I'm smiling!" But they probably just thought I was being polite or, likelier still, a weirdo.
It's good that I'll be volunteering with these two organizations because I just found out that I'm not allowed to take university courses (against the Watson philosophy!), which was one sure-fire way that I was planning to meet people. I will be attending one lecture class on Sami culture and history, because they're here and I'm here and it seems silly not to, but that's it for academic structure in my life. In response to this sudden change of plans, I spent about two hours feverishly planning excursions to other cities (while a tiny voice inside my head reminded me, "Budget! Budget! Budget!"), and have decided to go to:
- Jokkmokk, Sweden for the first week of February to attend the Sami winter market.
- Karasjok, the Sami capital of Norway, shortly thereafter.
- Svalbard in mid-March to witness the sun festival.
!!!
The sun makes its first appearance here in just a few weeks, and I have to say that it is coming none too soon. Yes, people leave their houses, walk around town, and even ski in the dark, but it's just not the same as having a few hours of real daylight during which you WANT to go outside. Residential streets are quiet as graves -- you hope that there are living humans inside all of those brightly lit houses, but there's no way to know. They might all have disappeared! So: the darkness turns an otherwise pleasant city into a playground for existential fears.
Also, I've been having quite a bit of trouble sleeping. At night I lie in my bed, staring out into the dark, for hours, and it seems that as soon as I fall asleep my alarm clock starts beeping wildly at me. I set it for 9:01 in the morning so that I can be ready to leave the house shortly after 10:00 and take advantage of the twilight hours, and I've started using the large sunlamp in Brynjulv and Ellen's living room to simulate morning before that. It's wearing me down, though. I've been moody and sad, and I'm eating like a moody and sad person does, and my interactions with the outside world are moody and sad unless I make an effort to look less moody and sad. IT IS ALL THE SUN'S FAULT. But I'll forgive it as soon as it comes back in T-minus 16 days.
Now I'm going to go for a walk -- perhaps I will buy an overpriced tea at a cafe and try to chat someone up. PERHAPS I WILL SEE THE NORTHERN LIGHTS. I obsessively check this site, but so far it has done nothing but give me false hope. PERHAPS MY HOPE WON'T BE FALSE TONIGHT.
On New Year's Eve, after our polar bear swim (fortunately polar bear-free -- the night before I'd had nightmares/involuntary violent fantasies in which I was dismembered by a hungry polar bear displaced by global warming) and meal of whale flesh, Brandon and I walked across the bridge to Tromsdalen, where we took a cable car up to the top of the first swell of a line of snow-covered mountains. We arrived unfashionably early and spent several hours walking along the mountains, which glittered in the light of the full moon. At one point, Brandon turned to me and said, "Irene! Do you hear the silence?" Which should give you an idea of how heaven-like the landscape we were exploring was. Here is a picture of that landscape:
(Notice that the snow ACTIVELY SPARKLES. That's no passive reflection you see going on there. This snow is ALIVE.)
Towards midnight, we headed back to the cable car building to watch the fireworks in Tromsø from above, feeling much like Zeus and his cohorts on Mount Olympus, but before the show we caught a wee glimpse of the Northern Lights, pointed out by a very friendly Irish or Scottish (Brandon and I disagreed about this) couple. It was more like one very faint light smeared out, tinting the grayish sky a little bit lighter gray. Disappointing, to say the least, but we of indomitable good cheer and optimism recover quickly from such letdowns. After cursing and loudly disbelieving our bad luck, we went to watch the night's main spectacle, which did not disappoint at all. This is what Tromsø looks like from above:
Now imagine it sizzling and popping with fireworks. You have to imagine it because my camera ran out of batteries long before the stroke of midnight, but maybe it's better that way. It was beautiful! There were fireworks up on the mountain, too, and we were surrounded by children with sparklers and other Things On Fire, so we started the New Year with a dazzling display of light. I hope that this means that the whole year will a dazzling display of light -- you know, metaphorically. I am always up for being dazzled.
Brandon left on the 2nd (sob), and that afternoon I met up with Tim and Ruben, who had written to me via CouchSurfing and asked me to show them around town. We went to the Nordnorsk Kunstmuseum and the Perspektivet Museum, which both had excellent exhibitions, and then we walked around town, which was already starting to come back to life after the holidays. The next day was more eventful -- both Tim and Ruben swam in the icy sea under my inexpert supervision (they joked about weak hearts and having just one lung while I played out about a hundred worst case scenarios in my head) and survived.
After getting on the warm bus to head home, we decided to go on the cheap tour of Tromsø and the surrounding area, i.e. we rode a bus for about an hour and a half as it looped to the northern end of the island, back through the center and over the bridge into Tromsdalen, and finally close to the apartment where I'm staying. The bus driver, a tattooed ex-seaman, eyed us skeptically at first, but towards the end of our tour opened up and even boasted that he had never once in his thirteen years as a bus driver scratched the side of the bus while passing through a bridge that was only eighteen centimeters wider than the bus (we had commented on the narrowness of this bridge the first time we passed through it; the second time I was mentally cheering for the bus driver and dreading even more the day when I will have to get my driver's license).
Tim, Ruben and I ate, watched "Pulp Fiction" (I ran to the kitchen whenever somebody pulled out a gun, and read in the staircase during the most violent scene), and then I almost forcibly ejected them from the apartment, overwhelmed by an inexplicable flood of antisocial feelings. It was really very rude of me -- I lost major Social Interaction Points -- but they were kind enough to overlook it and invite me to eat with them at their hotel yesterday evening, which I did.
Today was a successful day, even on the social interaction front. After sleeping a few hours -- insomnia, which I will get to shortly -- I showered and headed to the library, which still holds Wonder of the World status in my book. I read half of a book of poetry by Stephen Dobyns, whose poem "Tomatoes" I really like, and made zero friends. However, I did manage to locate the Tromsø offices of Save the Children and Amnesty International, reconnected with Kine, a woman I met at the Christmas Eve volunteer dinner, and gave both her and the sole AI employee my e-mail address and a smile that meant, "Thank you so much for letting me have tea with you and telling me how to volunteer with your organization! You have no idea what this is doing for my state of mind! I am so happy that I'm smiling!" But they probably just thought I was being polite or, likelier still, a weirdo.
It's good that I'll be volunteering with these two organizations because I just found out that I'm not allowed to take university courses (against the Watson philosophy!), which was one sure-fire way that I was planning to meet people. I will be attending one lecture class on Sami culture and history, because they're here and I'm here and it seems silly not to, but that's it for academic structure in my life. In response to this sudden change of plans, I spent about two hours feverishly planning excursions to other cities (while a tiny voice inside my head reminded me, "Budget! Budget! Budget!"), and have decided to go to:
- Jokkmokk, Sweden for the first week of February to attend the Sami winter market.
- Karasjok, the Sami capital of Norway, shortly thereafter.
- Svalbard in mid-March to witness the sun festival.
!!!
The sun makes its first appearance here in just a few weeks, and I have to say that it is coming none too soon. Yes, people leave their houses, walk around town, and even ski in the dark, but it's just not the same as having a few hours of real daylight during which you WANT to go outside. Residential streets are quiet as graves -- you hope that there are living humans inside all of those brightly lit houses, but there's no way to know. They might all have disappeared! So: the darkness turns an otherwise pleasant city into a playground for existential fears.
Also, I've been having quite a bit of trouble sleeping. At night I lie in my bed, staring out into the dark, for hours, and it seems that as soon as I fall asleep my alarm clock starts beeping wildly at me. I set it for 9:01 in the morning so that I can be ready to leave the house shortly after 10:00 and take advantage of the twilight hours, and I've started using the large sunlamp in Brynjulv and Ellen's living room to simulate morning before that. It's wearing me down, though. I've been moody and sad, and I'm eating like a moody and sad person does, and my interactions with the outside world are moody and sad unless I make an effort to look less moody and sad. IT IS ALL THE SUN'S FAULT. But I'll forgive it as soon as it comes back in T-minus 16 days.
Now I'm going to go for a walk -- perhaps I will buy an overpriced tea at a cafe and try to chat someone up. PERHAPS I WILL SEE THE NORTHERN LIGHTS. I obsessively check this site, but so far it has done nothing but give me false hope. PERHAPS MY HOPE WON'T BE FALSE TONIGHT.
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