God tur!

Something fun happened yesterday! I got a mysterious notice that I had received something too large for my mailbox. My parents had already sent me three boxes with my research materials and winter clothes, and another box with some essentials -- Bunny mac, chocolate chips, the Lincoln newspaper. So I wasn't expecting anything else from them. Intrigue! Normally, we have to go to the post counter in the grocery store to get our packages, but for some reason this was being held for me in the room where they sort our mail and put it in our boxes. I had to ring a doorbell to get the attendant to help me -- It was like the Wizard of Oz! Anyway, turns out the mail attendant, who for some reason I assumed was a haggard old woman (I guess because she's locked in behind a bunch of mailboxes all day long) turned out to be a really cute boy. This made me a little flustered--in fact, I had trouble remembering my own address (Our kids will be beautiful!), but the guy seemed to understand. He went around the corner and came back with this! So, in case you were wondering, Jeremy, I got your package! And it just serves as proof that my friends are really cool. I haven't eaten the soup yet, but the Reese's Pieces started a pretty funny conversation with my hallmates about the heavenly combination that is chocolate and peanut butter (Apparently, the German girl ate a lot of peanut butter cups when she was an exchange student in the US; the Portuguese girl was skeptical.) And the music was totally Christmas and my birthday combined, and maybe Easter, too ... Plus, I got to look silly in front of a cute boy, so you're due some gratitude all over!

As a bonus to this entry, I've got a picture of the very small party I threw a couple of weekends ago. The Czech girls are reciprocating this weekend, so I guess I'm hip with them now.



I'd also like to point out the homage to Che Guevara in the background. We're not sure where it came from, but it has strands of dried flowers and what appear to be potato chips hanging on either side. Hm.

A picture of one. Not an actual one. At least not literally.

Figuratively there's all kinds of sunshine! But figurative sunshine does not come through your window at 6:30 and wake you up. Nor does it come through your window at 7:30 and say "Hey, let's go outside and catch the t-bane to campus!" It's really more of an internal thing.

All that to say, I had a week off from Norwegian class, which was supposed to give me a chance to write a paper, but served the additional function of keeping me from noticing how dark it's getting in the morning. Once I got to the train platform at about ... 7:45? It was starting to get light out. It was funny to pass a construction sight that was fully lit with spotlights and such at around this time. The sun doesn't come up early enough for construction workers in the winter. Just one of, I'm sure, many consequences of the short days here that I hadn't anticipated.

My grandmother sent me an email the other day asking if I'd seen the Northern Lights. I haven't. It's supposed to be much easier farther north. But I also get the impression that it's one of those things you seldom see if you go looking for it. On the other hand, I bet if I got up at 3 or 4 in the morning several nights in a row and stared upwards I'd eventually see something. What I secretly wish (or not so secretly now!) is that I were a little kid whose mother or father or grandpa had a fascination with the lights and sat outside until all hours looking for them. And, on a night when they appeared, they would come into my room and wake me and drag me out in my pajamas and heavy coat and snow boots to have a look. Maybe there would be cocoa too. That would be great.

After you've been in Oslo for awhile you start to notice something: Everyone's pretty ... in mostly the same way. The buildings are cute ... in mostly the same way. Most of the streets are clean ... but if you find one that isn't, you should look the other way. In fact, if you see anything at all unusual or out of the ordinary, it's probably best to ignore it, at first, until you can confirm that it isn't anything threatening.

After awhile you start to miss different colors ... of buildings, of food, of people. You wonder how hard it must be to be marginal in this society -- not to look like a model, for instance, or to harbor a strong desire to have a purple house or a green house instead of one that's red or yellow.

So, on one of our walks around the city, Lisa and I went in pursuit of some color--literally and figuratively. We tried to find The Blitz, a concert venue, cafe, and generally meeting place for the punk scene in Oslo for decades now. Alternatively, Lisa suggested that if we couldn't find it, we just follow the next interesting person we see.

We ended up missing the place that particular day, but on Friday my newly formed Gang of Three (with the arrival of Lisa's boyfriend last Thursday) set out in search of a different atmosphere and some "cheap ass cheap" food (in the words of Wes).

We definitely found what we were looking for. It was a huge relief to drink coffee and eat sandwiches in what can only be described as a dive, run by a kitchen full of kids with lots of ink on their arms and metal on their faces. It seemed like most everybody in the place knew each other, so, what with our insistence on speaking English and all, we stood out a little. But, honestly, not too much. I mean, we had our share of extra holes in our heads between the three of us, and Wes has a tattoo, so I was pretty sure we wouldn't get beat up, anyway.

I didn't take a picture of the place myself, but here's one I stole. Yes, that is a big fist punching a swastika. And there's a graffiti version of the Scream on the other side.

I used this particularly winning quote (from Gilmore Girls, no less; I am SO not punk rock) because Lisa and Wes are themselves products of a Christian upbringing in the era of such contradictions in terms as "Christian punk and hardcore" and "Pastor Cool." So, we have lots of fun stories to share about various embarrassing youth group activities and what bizarre things happen when you get a bunch of artsy, attention-hogging kids together and tell them they can worship God "any way they feel like it." Scary...

S'anyway. Our second excursion in search of "alternative Oslo" was a Sunday afternoon walk along the Aker River (really dirty in the daylight, by the way) to the outdoor market they have every week at Hausmania, an artist commune of sorts in Grunnerløkka. (Lots of cool graffiti around. And one very cool outdoor chandelier, see above.) There were lots of dreadlocks around, as well as vintage clothing, art pieces, and knitwear for sale. We were pretty pleased to find the felted coin purses with Che Guevara patches sewn on to them. Like every good Norwegian event, they also sold waffles, and people brought their baby carriages and significant others and moms and wandered around with a waffle in one hand and saft in the other. It wasn't anything big, but it was a nice diversion. As an added bonus, the whole shebang takes place on "No one's Street." I've got a pic to prove it.