God tur!

Last semester, I only managed to make it out to one show. (Let us not forget the glorious Antony.) So this semester, I thought I’d outdo myself by going to two! (Of course, there might be more than that, but I’m at least setting a baseline of two.) The big winners on the list of bands coming through Oslo were I’m from Barcelona and Joanna Newsom. I don’t know anyone else here who likes I’m from Barcelona, and concerts in Oslo are fairly expensive. So, like my solo Antony adventure, I thought I’d solo my way over to IfB and have fun singing along to twee songs about waking up late, building tree houses, and doing your crappy art.

This album got me through the fall, I kid you not. If you’ll remember, I had Norwegian class at 8am two mornings a week during the dark days, so I would get up in total darkness and ride the train in darkness and then speak awkward Norwegian for 3-4 hours. Blech. So, on my dash out the door and up the hill to the tbane, I would crank up the first song on “Let Me Introduce My Friends,” which, appropriately enough, begins “Daaaaaamn … oversleeping again.” However, this stressful phrase is accompanied by bouncy bells! Bouncy, happy bells! So you feel good about your tardiness! At least, I did.

Anyway, the concert last night was a joy. It takes about 30 minutes to play the entire contents of the album, basically, but the addition of balloons, confetti, and a bunch of random people wandering on and off the stage, hugging, sitting on each other’s shoulders, teaching audience members to play the kazoo, etc., made the whole affair festive and well worth seeing live. They also added a couple of songs not on the album. Themes included Britney’s shaved head, being a bear, and one particularly clever song about Steve Zissou which managed to rhyme the words “ecstatic” and “aquatic.” Listening to a bunch of Scandinavians sing “a-kwatic” at the top of their lungs was pretty delightful, let me tell you.

Oh, the other fun thing about going to concerts in Oslo these days is that I can tell what they’re saying in that funny language of theirs between songs. Not that between-song banter varies too much, but still. I feel cool. For example, one of the little additions they made to the album versions of the songs was at the end of “Oversleeping,” where they sang “Faen!” over and over, again at the top of their lungs. “Faen!” just means “the devil!” in Norwegian, but it’s one of the strongest curse-words they have, because, frankly, they don’t have that many curse words. Hence, if you watch a Norwegian movie, they will translate “Faen” to the f-word. In fact, many Norwegians will tell you that “Faen” means “f***”, but don’t believe them! (Like the censoring there? I’m learning to be a responsible internet-user.)

All this to say, I had an excellent time with my new friends from Barcelona (well, actually from Sweden, but whatever). And I’m glad I got the chance to show my appreciation for the sunny music that kept me going during the rainy, grumpy months of fall. In conclusion (and in the spirit of IfB!), might I remind you: Don’t give up on your dreams, buddy!

Or knit you one. One of my goals upon coming to Norway was to learn how to do some sweet color work. While I've yet to attempt the 3-color patterns, I have successfully completed a 2-color hat ... with earflaps! I wore it skiing up in Lillehammer, and, let me tell you, it was warm. I made it with good old Dale yarn, so it had better be. I'm not sure what the yarn was called, but it had a raven on it, which I liked because ravens seem to be a theme that has cross-cut my time in Norway. Without further ado, some pictures. Værsågod!

At the beginning of February, we had a little shindig for a special lady, my friend Lisa. She had just finished hair modelling for a hair design convention in Oslo (gee, I wish I had pictures of that!), so she was looking pretty awesome! Joel made lasagne, I made salad, and Lisa brought the cute dress! I also made the cake from scratch, so I was pretty proud of it. Check-check-check it out! (Oh, and due props to Amelia for the photos.)

Okay, so maybe I am not an expert just yet. But I have knit a Norwegian star hat with ear flaps, and I have been initiated into the wide world of cross-country skiing, so I am feeling pretty cool right about now.

This past weekend was the great Fulbright reunion, where all the people we haven't seen since August get together and swap war stories. On the first day, we each give ten minute presentations of our projects. It's a scary prospect since it takes all day, but everyone is doing very different things and in general knows what they're doing, so it was actually pretty interesting. I particularly liked hearing from the women who are travelling around Norway teaching American literature and culture to jr. high and high school students. Apparently, they all think an American is a chubby white kid with a backwards baseball cap.

On the evening after the presentations, we were invited to the house of, I guess, the second-in-command ambassador to Norway. The US government bought some swanky 1930s mansion in a fancy part of Oslo, so we got to go there and eat appetizers and listen to speeches about how educational exchange is going to save the world. It was nice enough.

The next day, we left for Lillehammer. I had already rented skis from the student athletics center here, because they rent them very cheaply and for the entire season. Unfortunately, I went rather late and the selection was quite poor. I have a bent pole and the bottom surface is peeling off one of the skis. The upshot is that the guy gave them to me for half price.

Even though I could have gone downhill skiing, I chose cross-country for two reasons: 1. It's what the Norwegians do, and I tend to respect that whole When in Rome thing 2. When I was 9, I hit a parked snowmobile while going down a bunny hill, and ever since I haven't had the kind of passion for going really fast while standing on top of two slabs of wood that other people seem to have.

On the first day, I went out with a big group of people. We were mixed level-wise, so we took a long tour but took our time. It snowed all day, and, frankly, you couldn't even tell we were on a mountain. Also, ice kept building up on my skis. Lisa and I crashed into one another on a downhill and got a little behind the group. We tried to catch up, but finally the ice got the better of us, and we just took off our skis and walked. Hiking on snow is not fun, in case you were wondering.

Deciding we'd had enough physical exersion for the day, we hit the sauna, and I spent the rest of the afternoon watching television (a luxury, seeing as I don't have one at home). There's this Norwegian reality TV show where they take a bunch of teenagers to some island or something and make them live like it's 1930. Then they cry because they have to eat their pet rabbit. Pure gold, I tell you.

The next day is the day I actually have pictures from, so hold onto your hats. I hit the trail with a Fulbright researcher, her Norwegian husband, and her 8-year-old son. They had planned to take the ski lift up to a trail that goes around on top of the mountain above tree line, and then comes back down (more gently than a downhill run, obviously) on the other side and winds back to the hotel. Since I hadn't actually been on top of the mountain yet, this sounded like fun to me, so I tagged along. Here are two of my skiing companions approaching from a distance:


As you can see, it was white up there. Really white. And windy. The snow was very loose and soft and a dream to glide across (or do a face-plant in, as I managed to do on several of the downhill parts). I felt like an Arctic explorer, it was awesome!


From the top, we could see Jotunheimen in the distance, which is a central plateau in Norway where all the tallest mountains are. See them? They're right past the ski lift there.


More mountains:


And finally, a bit of strange snow formation. That pole is how we know where we're going.


And that was my adventure! There exist pictures of me actually on the skis, but other people took them, so I haven't seen them yet. If there isn't too much snot on my face (an inevitable hazard of winter sports) , I'll be sure to share them later on.