An apology for the premature death of my blog (Tromsø, Norway)

. . . and a guest writer!

But first: I'M SORRY. I've received several e-mails of blog-related concern ('Irene, your blog has been quiet, does this mean that you are in need of rescue?') and think it's time to explain myself to you, maybe-not-so-faithful-anymore readers. The past month has been full of travel, wonderful, adventurous and often cold, and I've preferred embracing real, solid objects to withering before the cold glow of a computer screen. Computers just make me feel gross. My eyes and restless nature complain. And since I probably won't have the chance again to be as disconnected from cables and satellites as I am this year, I'm taking advantage. Actually, I'll be shipping little Toby (that's my computer) home in about a week in preparation for my travels in Peru and Chile, so my blog posts will be even fewer and farther between! But I probably will never be in need of rescue. DON'T WORRY.

In the past month, I've learned to hitchhike, and have used this mode of transportation to get to Kiruna in Sweden (where I saw snowmobiles doing back flips off a jump -- did you know this was physically possible? I'm still skeptical), and Kautokeino and Alta in Norway. Kautokeino is an important Sami town (the Sami are the indigenous population of Norway, Sweden, Finland and part of Russia), and I learned there than in the Sami language, time does not go; it comes. There's always more of it, not always less. Ha! Stress! Try to get me now! I think it's a thought-worthy philosophy (language is philosophy, no?) for reasons not related to stress-bashing, too.

I also went to southern Norway. As much as it shames me to admit it, I was a passenger on board the Hurtigruten, which sounded, when Katarina and I were buying the tickets, like a romantic and adventurous and educationally valuable (for its historical background) experience but ended up being . . . a cruise. Trapped in a giant floating hotel. NEVER AGAIN. But the coast of Norway is, as the brochures claim, breathtaking, and I'm glad to have seen it. Tonight I leave for Svalbard, where I will find the global seed vault and applaud long-term planning and preservation of biodiversity (yes, I will actually clap my mittened hands, maybe also nod approvingly), and on the 13th will fly to Oslo, on the 15th to Santiago, on the 16th to Lima, and on the 17th to Cusco. Phew. So much space between my feet and the surface of the earth for so many hours!

People have featured as prominently in my life the past month as places. Kristin remains a friend, as do Abbas, Maryam and their son Salman, Fatima and her husband Armin, and Atiyeh, all of whom I met at one birthday party! Another Watson fellow, Laura Candler, visited for a few days before going up to Svalbard herself and was my hitchhiking buddy to Alta for a few days after, and the time I spent with her was just wonderful. (She's the guest writer, and if you're sick of this dry update, you should jump ahead to the italicized work of art below.) The people who picked me up when I was hitchhiking were all great -- so generous, so kind, soooo talkative -- and, if there weren't over fifteen of them, I'd list and describe them all. Katarina and I stayed for a night with Jessica, whose blog I referenced in my last post, in Bergen, and we talked Minnesotan to each other. Who else can I mention? Surely I'm forgetting several dozen people.

I've grown to love Norway, and not just its government (the one that takes care of its people!), which awed me at first, but also its inhabitants and mountains and weather and celestial spectacles of light, and the way people gasp in assent -- this last merits explanation. Months ago, I was talking with an elderly woman who, every few seconds, would inhale sharply between sentences. 'The weather has been nice recently -- (GASP!!) -- Looks like it's going to snow again, though.' My first thought was that she might have some sort of breathing problem, and I jumped every time, mentally preparing to run for help if she collapsed clutching at her chest. She didn't seem distressed, though, and I never had to run for help. Later I heard from two Germans in Sweden that the people in the town where they lived did it, too, and that it was the bizarre Scandinavian way to say 'yes.' I thought, 'Noooo. Whaaaat?' A few days later, though, this wacky claim was confirmed by Kristin, a Norwegian herself and no liar, and she furthermore explained that the gasps were simply inhaled 'ja's. Instead of wasting precious warm breath on gap-fillers in conversation, Norwegians and Swedes continue to speak while breathing in. It's the charmingest thing you could possibly imagine. If I could marry a cultural behavior, this would be it. Our children would inhale entire sentences.

All right, I should stop before I get teary-eyed. My time in Norway flew -- but, the Sami would say, it flew towards me, not away. (GASP!!) Here's Laura's guest blog post:

Tall Pines in Georgia stands for more than trunks and needles, resin and fire-signalled seeds. It is a song. And a song can be with you anywhere without the weight of a pack slung around in turbulent flights. Songs pass the time without pages or folded corners, and bus stops reverberate splendidly in dry winter air. Crisp, clean, clear.

One morning while waiting I envisioned a man saddle a horse and cross the Blue Mountains through tall, dark pines filled with mockingbird mimicry - all the way to the Allegheny, and all for love. The same day showed me Sweet William and Lady Margaret flowering beside a bench in musical ignorance, oblivious to seasons, to sunlight. It was winter in the air, on paper and peoples' faces, but nevertheless, Tall Pines in Georgia clung to their needles white-knuckled and didn't mind being the only ones in green. They grow on.

And the song. The song stays in my head like stars in the Arctic darkness, hiding above clouds that pass by below but there all the same, all the time, light years away, and fills me with warmth. The clouds today are lithe, stretching thinly over the Barents like a furrowed field of Mama's white hair. Sometimes the earth needs a gentle covering; sometimes the stars shine too sharply. The ocean needs its islands, as much as it abuses them. And empty bus stops call out for songs from travelers' mouths, even if only in passing.

by Laura Candler.

Her blog can be found here: http://swooningblue.blogspot.com/, and I highly recommend it! She's studying curious clouds this year, and the way and extent to which people include the skyscape in their sense of place. And she has great eyes that see beautiful things, and fingers that can play the guitar while she sings.

I don't know when I'll update my blog next, but in the meanwhile, be well and, if you're reading this, I probably love you. Looooooove.