On US of (f)A(ll)

Actually, that title should have been "US of A(utumn)", but then it just looked wrong using the British term when writing about the US. (U.S., if I'm being consistent in my AmericanEnglishness. Which I'm not. Of course.)

Autumn/fall (okay, since I'm on the topic. "Fall" is a silly word. It means something else, people. Having it both as the name of a season and "to drop or come down freely under the influence of gravity" makes things unnecessary confusing. "That was a great fall!"). Autumn/fall is for me the season most closely tied with the United States. Partly, it's because when I was there, I experienced fall (of the seasonal and not gravital kind). I saw beautiful foliage in several parts of the country, I tasted fall specialties such as pumpkin pie or candy corn, and I witnessed stores decorate for the most American of holidays: Halloween and Thanksgiving. Even before I visited the US, however, it was firmly established that fall is the "national" season.

Halloween and Thanksgiving helps. So does pictures from the North-East, of tall, gorgeous trees competing for personal bests in the "show your colour"-competition. The idea of fairs and festivals, pies, harvest, gigantic fields - again very much a part of my idea of the US before I went there.

All these things considered, I don't think it's surprising that it is during this time of year I mostly want to go back. I want to celebrate Halloween, the American way (would you BELIEVE that I left the country the day before Halloween?!). I want to hang out with a stereotypical sit-com family that watch football on TV while mom cooks the turkey for Thanksgiving. I want to have more pumpkin pie (even though I didn't like it much). I want to walk along a Minnesota field while admiring the colourful forest ahead. I want to smell stuff like maple and cinnamon and other things comprised into "pumpkin spice" in a Starbucks latte.

On 4th of July

I wasn’t going to post at all today, and especially not on this topic as I feel it isn’t mine to tackle. But then I read this wonderful post over at Confessions of a Watery Tart. I started writing a comment to her post, but before I was done typing I realized I had accidentally written a post of my own. So, since today is a special day (did y’all know it was the Norwegian queen’s birthday? I bet you didn’t. Most Norwegians don’t… But that is hardly the point. It is Independence Day in the US, and frankly, that is more important – even in Norway):

The United States of America is probably the one country in the world EVERYONE, regardless of whether they have been there or not, has an opinion about. Add that it is one of the most diverse countries in the world, and it shouldn't come as a surprise that the images floating around about the US are varied and often misunderstood or plain wrong.

Personally I have gone through several phases in how I have seen the US. During the Clinton years I was too young to know the meaning of the word "critical", but it wouldn't have mattered all that much anyway, since the world was still recovering from decades of Cold War-ness, and since we (in the West, at least) mostly agreed with the US, it was difficult not to still see the Americans as "the good guys".

I grew up, became a little more aware and a little wiser, and along came Bush. Regardless of whether you liked his politics or not, Bush definitely had one quality that made him collide with many people in other parts of the world. Everything he said was black & white. "You're with us or against us." "You're right or wrong." I think Norway mostly fell into the "with" and "right" categories, but we still felt queasy about it. Many Norwegians disliked Bush, then by extension the US, and eventually, Americans in general. (Which is ironic, because that meant that we saw the world in black & white, just like Bush...)

What turned me around again, were two things: first, I got to know some actual, real, flesh and blood Americans (since I, after all, can't be said to *know* Brad Pitt or Johnny Depp even if I've seen many of their movies). Through the online community, and through my studies abroad, I started to learn that Americans were as different, and as human, as the rest of us. Many of them became close friends. Some of them agreed with the Bush government. Some of them didn't. All of them were much more than their political and religious beliefs.

Secondly, Obama came to save the day. Please note that I am not saying that he is right or wrong, that I agree or disagree, or that you should agree or disagree with his politics. But the message he sent to the world – "we are willing to talk to you again" – definitely made a whole lot of difference. Let me just add that the jury is still out on whether this is a lasting difference or if it merely was a temporary after-effect of the reintroduction of grey zones in world politics.

By the time I finally got to visit the US last fall, my mind was filled with any number of ideas of what this country would be like. That is where I made my first mistake. As I said, the US is probably one of the most diverse countries in the world. It is nearly impossible to say what it is “like”, because it is like everything and nothing all at once. Mysteriously silent cowboys? Sure. Loud-mouthed rednecks? Absolutely. Clever and intelligent academics. Definitely. Sweet old ladies with the Bible close at hand? Yes, ma’am! Emo teenagers, stay-at-home moms and donut-munching police officers? All of the above. There is hardly a stereotype you cannot find in real life in the US. But in addition there are hundreds, thousands, probably millions more.

I only got to see a small part of the country when I was there. And yet this was enough to make me realize that I had been gravely underestimating the variety of the country. In Europe we tend to get offended when people refer to our vast and diverse continent as just “Europe”. You’re not European, you’re Italian or Swedish or Estonian or Hungarian. When Americans say they’ve been to Europe, we roll our eyes and count to ten before we ask them to specify the countries they visited. And yet we never do the same about the US. Whenever I talk about my stay last fall, I say I visited the US – I never say “I lived in Maryland”. Even if I now know that Maryland is a whole lot different than for instance Minnesota (which I also visited).

I remember writing a school report once, I’m guessing fifth grade or so. It was supposed to be about a country. I thought I’d be clever and ask my relative, Darlene, to give me some inside information about the US. So I wrote to her, asking what the main characteristics of the US were. I remember being slightly disappointed at her reply – which was something along the lines of “I don’t know where to start, can I perhaps tell you some of the characteristics of Minnesota specifically?”

I now know what she meant.

There probably isn’t any day as well-suited to celebrate the American diversity as Independence Day – the commemoration of the Declaration of Independence. In this declaration lay the foundations of the rights and freedoms that make the US the country it has become. Using these (at the time) new ideas stemming from the Enlightenment created a unique cornerstone for political thinking, both in the US and in many other countries. These are ideas that we still hold to our heart, and they have continued to play an important role in the development of international Human Rights for instance.

For this I admire the United States. There are many other reasons for me to admire this country (most have to do with the Americans I have met). In additon, there are a lot of things I don’t admire, and a lot of things about the way the US presents itself and is presented by others to the world that annoy me, or sadden me, or disappoint me. But those are issues I don’t feel the need to get into today. Because according to the American way of thinking (I am generalizing again, I know…) I am at liberty to believe what I want to believe, and I have the right to disagree. For that I am thankful.

So, regardless if you agree with the politics of the US or not; regardless if you love or hate whatever it is you perceive as “American culture”; regardless if you yourself is American – I encourage you to take some time today to consider your opinions about the US. Are you absolutely sure they are all correct?



Happy “birthday” United States of America, and queen Sonja of Norway ;)

On midwestern adventures (part one)

I was terribly nervous before I left for Minnesota – both the fact that I was about to meet someone I had not seen for 16 years, and the fact that I had to fly to get there contributed to my “close to breakdown” state of mind on Friday morning. However, thanks to the (placebo?) effect of some long-since expired motion sickness pills and the distracting effect of the Nobel Peace Prize, I was surprisingly unaffected by the flights.


When I arrived in Minneapolis Darlene and her son, Troy, were waiting for me. It took about two seconds – the same two seconds it took to recognize each other (I have, after all, changed somewhat since 1993) – and then it was as if we had known each other for ever. It felt a lot less weird than expected to meet again someone I’ve basically communicated with through postcards since I was six years old. Darlene has always been the nicest of people, and meeting the rest of them, I was about to discover that nice runs in the family. On our way to Sartell we stopped for dinner. That was where I discovered a couple of things. First, that I was not allowed to pay even a dime whenever we ate somewhere. To Darlene, this was the most natural thing in the world seeing as this was her way of paying back for the hospitality she and her mother received in Norway when they visited (did I mention that I was only six…?). Secondly, I discovered breakfast for supper. The beauty of this is that I often find it too much to eat the American (or even worse, the British) version of breakfast in the morning. At night, however… (I love hash browns!)

Once we got to Darlene’s house, where I also got to meet her husband, Dick, she gave me the grand tour. Darlene runs a daycare from home. The basement of the house was dedicated to this. In the rest of it, however, her house was filled with all sorts of Norwegian artifacts – either souvenirs from her trip there, or items her grandmother or other relatives brought with them when they emigrated. The Norwegian identity means a lot to Darlene. She also let me see some photographs – both from her vacation in Norway (how strange it was to see how little I was, and how young my parents looked! Also it was weird to see people, like my grandmother, who are no longer with us), and some older ones inherited from her grandmother. Some of these had Norwegian inscriptions, so I happily translated for them what I could decipher (old handwriting can be hard to understand).

The next morning we woke up to snow! Snow in mid-October is early even for Minnesota, especially considering they had just had a warm period. However, I absolutely loved it – made me feel right at home (though they haven’t had any snow at home yet, as far as I know). Luckily I had been warned, so I had made sure to bring some warm clothes. This was especially fortunate since we were to spend much of the day driving north, where it got colder still.

“North” technically meant about mid-Minnesota, to Darlene’s mom’s hometown, where a number of her (and mine) relatives still live. We got to meet her cousin Jeanie (or Janie – it was kind of hard to tell since they were identical twins. Even if I only met the one, the fact that they had such similar names made it hard for me to keep them apart. I’m told I’m not the only one) for lunch. Together the twins run a beauty salon, and Janie (I found the card she gave me, so I’m pretty sure this was her) is going to D.C. this fall on business. Unfortunately this is after I leave – otherwise it would be a lot of fun to see her again.

After chatting with her for a while (the diner we went to was a really stereotypical truck stop, one of those who probably haven’t changed much the last 30, 40 or even 50 years. I loved it!), Darlene and I headed for her brother John’s house. John is the family genealogist. I don’t know if his interest for family history got a kick start when he visited Norway back in the early 70s, but he definitely had fond memories from back then and he was happy to share. He also showed me several documents (some of which I could help translate). He had some charts, a family tree of such, sent to his grandmother (the one who emigrated, my great grandfather’s sister) by a local clergy man from her parish in Norway in 1935. Looking at these charts, I thought the handwriting was somewhat familiar. And quite correctly, in the corner of the charts was an inscription in Norwegian – “from your old friend, O. Gjörvad”. The local clergy man, Olav Gjørvad (as the modern spelling would be), is no other than my great, great grandfather on the other side of my family. Small world, huh? Since John had copies he offered me the charts, so I will now return them to Norway, after they have been in the U.S. for almost 75 years.

We spent the evening with John and his wife Shelley, and their gorgeous one-year-old granddaughter Arenda, that they were babysitting. After everyone in the family had beaten me thoroughly in every sport their Wiii had to offer, we went to the closest neighbor – Arenda’s parents Nick and Candi, where we stayed overnight. The next morning, Nick and Candi, who had been to a wedding Saturday night, were able to join us for breakfast back at John and Shelley’s. You might wonder why I am offering all these details. Basically, it’s primarily because I feel that it illustrates so well the hospitality they showed me. I felt so welcome everywhere, and they were such nice people. All this just because I’m family! Needless to say, I made sure to tell them all that they would be as welcome should they ever decide to visit Norway (I’ve got something of a debt to pay).

On Sunday we went back south, where we were scheduled to visit a grand old lady, but not a relative this time. The history museum in Saint Cloud is currently hosting the dinosaur “Sue”. She was pretty impressive, and I also liked the rest of the museum.

That night Troy took me to the local movie theater (which I loved, since this actually is the first time since I came to the U.S. I’ve been to the movies). And the next morning, to finish off my Minnesota stay in style, we went to the Mall of America. Depending on how you count, it’s either the largest or the second largest mall in the USA. It’s got more than 400 stores, I’ve no idea how many restaurants and cafés, there’s an amusement park and an aquarium, to mention some of the attractions. It’s also a good place to get lost, and to spend more dollars than you can afford. I enjoyed seeing it, though, and it was a nice end of my stay. We went directly from the mall to the airport, where Darlene and Troy dropped me off. I really hope I will get to see them again, and I certainly will stay in touch!

Leaving Minnesota behind for this time, I was so excited to go to Michigan to see Tami that I arrived three hours early... To get the details from the mayhem we caused, however, you will have to tune back in tomorrow…

On flying

I am not afraid of flying. Though I can relate to the phobia (I’m terrified of snakes), it doesn’t bother me much to think about the possibility that my airplane might drop to the ground. I know the statistics, and I know that the likelihood for something like that to actually happen is minuscule.


However, I’m not overly comfortable in an airplane either. This all started when I flew to Japan the second time (in 2006). Prior to this I had always enjoyed flights – I love the view from airplanes, I like the buzz of airports (except Newark, but that’s another story), I even enjoy airplane food. I adore travelling, and the airplane part has always felt like a bonus at each end of a journey.

Until 2006.

When you are flying from Oslo to Tokyo (and beyond), it is sensible to fly east. Well, I started by flying west. See, the cheapest tickets I could get my hands on were British Airways (amazing, I know…), and they required a stop at Heathrow. This added several hours to the travel time (flying there and back again, plus the wait at the airport), but the savings were considerable enough for me to ignore this. After all, I liked flying. And I liked waiting at airports. I thought.

The flight to Heathrow was fine, and the wait wasn’t so bad either. Fortunately this time I was not travelling alone, but with my friend, Linette. When we got on the plane that actually was taking us to Japan, however, things started to go downhill. First of all we were not seated next to each other. Annoying, but not to be helped (we tried). Secondly, and more importantly, there was something wrong with the plane. When there is something wrong with a plane, the solution always is to stay on ground. I get that. What I don’t get is why they had to keep all the passengers on the plane, for more than an hour, with no air-condition. By the time we left London I was very hot, very dizzy and I had a terrible headache.

The flight to Tokyo was about 12 hours. During this time, the only thing I could do was concentrating on not getting sick. I was really, really unwell. By the time we landed in Tokyo I could hardly walk, and it is one of the most discouraging things I have ever done to get off that airport, get on a bus for an hour and a half to get to another airport, and from there get on yet another plane. The second flight was almost as bad as the first, but thankfully shorter. When we arrived in Akita (where we proceeded to spend four delightful months), I felt exactly the way you do a Sunday morning after having spent your Saturday drinking 7 cans of beer, two bottles of wine and 5 tequila shots.

After this I developed a certain hesitancy for flying. I have flown afterwards, naturally – for one thing, I got back from Japan, and it’s not like I took a ferry to the US. I have also had a number of shorter flights in the three years between. Most of these are okay, it’s the long ones that really kill me.

When I went to the US it was the same thing all over again. Well, except this time it wasn’t an over-heated plane that was the cause, it was turbulence. A lot of it. For at least an hour before landing the entire plane was shaking heavily, and my face was as green as a European Tree Frog when we finally hit ground. It was possibly the worst way of arriving in a foreign country (followed by a delay in my connecting flight, hence my dislike for Newark airport), and believe me – had there been another way for me to get home than getting back on a plane – right there and then I wouldn’t have hesitated.

Thus I was not entirely happy about the thought of flying to the Midwest this week. I tried looking for train options, but as it took everything from 17 to 29 hours to get to Chicago or Detroit, I gave it up as a bad case. Instead I booked three individual flights between Baltimore, Minneapolis and Detroit. Two of them have stops, meaning I will be on five airplanes within one week. I try to comfort myself with the thought that at least they are all short flights, but I can’t ignore the fact that I am dreading the flying. Fortunately I have some travel sickness pills, and hopefully this will make the flights a little easier. When I get on another airplane in a few weeks – this time to back home to Norway – I think it will be my last flight in a loooong time. There are better ways of feeling hung-over.

On why I’m going to Minnesota

When I was about six or seven years old (or something – I can’t remember exactly when this happened, but I do know it was before I spoke any English), we were visiting my grandparents at Toten. This one summer morning (probably sunny, and we’d had strawberries for breakfast – or at least this is how most of my memories of Toten seem to go. It is one of the loveliest places on Earth, I can assure you) the phone rang. It was my grandparents’ neighbours (and relatives – but then again, most of the neighbours are relatives) wondering if we wanted a visit from some Americans.

These neighbours/relatives are the owners of the farm my grandmother grew up on (she was the youngest of twelve, while the owners of the farm were descendants of her second to oldest brother. Traditionally the oldest son inherited the farm, but in this case the oldest died unmarried). While my grandmother’s nephew still maintains the farm in full capacity, he and his wife have also for quite some time made a considerable part of their living as hosts for American tourists coming to Norway to “find their roots”. It’s a popular activity – going out to the beautiful countryside, spending the day at a farm, being served traditional Norwegian food in this lovely rural setting. On this occasion, however, a couple of the tourists had a very specific reason to come to this particular part of the country.

Darlene and her mother, Avis, had come to Toten all the way from Minnesota. They were trying to locate the relatives of Avis’ mother, who emigrated from Norway in the early 20th century, along with about 750 000 other Norwegians who left to seek “the promised land” in the west. Avis’ mother never went back to Norway, but it had always been a dream of Avis’ to see her mother’s native country. She had not previously been able to go herself, but her son, John, had been there some twenty years earlier while he was in the US army. When he was sent to Germany – I’m guessing this must have been some time in the late 1960s or the 1970s – he was instructed by his mother that if there was one thing he absolutely must do while in Europe, it was to go to Norway to visit relatives.

Dutifully, John and a friend left Germany on one of their leaves and went to Norway. I tried asking my mother who told me the story how they got there, but she could not remember. Last time she told the story I could have sworn she mentioned a rusty old car they had bought somewhere, which only lasted the exact time it took them to travel from Germany to Toten. However, this seems to be either a result of my overactive imagination or her overactive exaggerations. Either way, they got to Toten, with the single purpose of finding relatives. I might have given the impression that all the people there are related. It’s not entirely far from the truth, but it isn’t exactly correct either (exaggerations run in the family). After some detours, however, they eventually met my grandparents.

Let me tell you about my grandmother. She was such a special person. Not only was she the warmest, most caring and friendly person there ever was, she also was the family humorist, the quirky one (one of the first times my mother took my father home to meet her parents, my grandmother managed to lure her son-in-law-to-be into a trap that earned him a gallon of water down his pants. Did I mention she had an evil side?). It pains me to this day that I was only ten when she died, and that we got such a short time together.

Long story short(er), my grandmother took the two boys around the area. She even went with them as their “interpreter”, even though she had never learnt a word English in her life. My ability to speak body language (which I refined while living in Japan), surely comes from her.

When they finally went to Norway decades later, Darlene and Avis were trying to retrace John’s footsteps. Darlene knew that they had to go to a place called Toten, and they asked one of their guides how to leave their current tour group and get there. The guide, amazingly enough, happened to have a sister in law living in Toten, and even more amazing, this sister-in-law and her husband were running a farm where they accepted tourists for events. Darlene and Avis were sent with one of the tourist buses there.

You will already have guessed what happened – the farm was none other than my grandmother’s birthplace.

Avis’ dream finally came true – she got to see the country her mother was born in. They managed (with a little luck) to track down the people her brother had never forgot for taking him in. And Darlene became a truly wonderful friend of mine – even though we trough the first years of our penpalship only could communicate through proxy. As I gradually learned to read and write (and speak) English, I could write the letters myself. I’ve tried to keep up, but I must admit that Darlene is a far better penpal than I am. I don’t think she has ever missed my birthday.

Therefore, I am truly looking forward to going to Minnesota to visit them. Avis passed away years ago, but I will get a chance to meet both Darlene and John (I’ll make sure to ask him for his version of the story).