On socwardness (part whatever it is by now - who keeps count anyway)

It is an old, much bespoken, and thus well-known problem for Norwegians when encountering Americans that we misstep on one particular (and very crucial) part of initial social codes: the greeting. Anyone having experienced the horrified look on their faces when we reply to their greeting "how are you?" with an actual answer to how we actually are doing. 30% hilarious, 60 % awkward, and, if you're lucky, 10% insight that this is not something you will ever do again.

Globalization and all that - Norwegians and Americans meet one another fairly frequently these days. Most of us have learned that the appropriate way to respond to this polite question is the equally polite "Fine, thanks. How are you?" or some version thereof.

However, globalization and all that - the custom of asking someone how they are doing is migrating. I've noticed this more and more the past few years - you can hardly run into someone, American or no, here in good ol'Norway, without them inquiring the dreaded faux-pas-in-the-making: "Hvordan går det?" (which actually sounds quite ridiculous, and directly translated means "How is it going", because even silly customs adapt somewhat and the direct-direct translation of "How are you?" would be "Hvordan er du?" and that sounds ridiculous-er still, though why we don't just use the formerly perfectly acceptable and proper Norwegian "Står til?" ("Stands to?" Yeah, I know...) or "Hvordan har du det?" ("How are you having it?") is beyond me. But I digress).

Faux-pas-in-the-making because even though we have learned not to burden Americans, who only meant to be polite when asking this (when you think about it really quite) intrusive question, with an honest answer, we still struggle with knowing how to deal when we're meeting the same issue among our own.

It's a fine balance. Because this migrated greeting is still new to us, we can't yet be entirely sure that the answer we have learned to provide when meeting the greeting in its original form is the correct one. If you reply "Joda, bra. Hva med deg?" (or some version thereof), you risk being met with suspicion. It sounds too much like a formula. We haven't internalized the greeting enough to have such a formula. Thus you need to provide some form of flesh. But how much?

"Hvordan går det?"

"Nja" (you don't need to know much Norwegian to realize that when someone starts their reply to that question with a contraction of the words for "yes" ("ja") and "no" ("nei"), it can't be good...) "[insert long rant about how you actually feel because it is autumn and we had a shitty summer and you have not slept well for weeks and you think you might be catching a cold and you are currently experiencing one of your periodical antisocial bouts which people are not actually respecting (probably because you only tell them through growling extra much before replying with a semi-honest answer to their question of how it is "going") and you secretly (and not so secretly) worry that you are setting yourself up for failure at work and you hate the fact that you have not cleaned the bathroom in two weeks which obviously makes it super disgusting but you also have absolutely no energy to actually clean it and if you could you would just stay at home all that and bake but you can't because pastries makes you fat(ter) and you have to go to yoga]".

Well, actually, you won't reply that. Because since you meet people, even here in good ol'Norway, who ask you this (when you think about it really quite) intrusive question on a daily basis, and thus you have experienced the formerly American-specific-but-now-globalized version of the face even here in good ol'Norway. You have told someone the brutal honest truth, and you've seen the blood drain from their face, their eyes blink slower than normal with that extra squeeze when the eyelid reached the bottom of their eye as if to buy them time before they have to open their eyes and look at you again. You have seen them heave seemingly insignificantly (but really quite visible when you look for it) tighter, longer, deeper than normal when they take a breath of air. You have seen the face of regret. ("Why did I even ask?")

You have seen that face before, and so you reply, instead: "Joda, bra. [insert customized comment about the weather] Hva med deg?"

On leaving the U.S., again

Let's start at the beginning: what does a pop tart really taste like? I have been in the U.S. long enough that I should have had plenty of opportunities to find out, but honestly, I've never tried one. And never really felt like trying one either. Especially not for breakfast. I have vastly different ideas about what a good breakfast should and should not entail than what most Americans do (judging only from the breakfast aisle in any given grocery store, naturally).

Well, even if I am leaving I have made sure I'll get the chance to figure out this mystery. I've bought a box of pop tarts. I fully expect I won't like them very much, but at least now my expectations aren't too high...

Don't get me wrong, I approve of a lot of breakfast related things here too. For instance the concept of going out for breakfast (even if I normally would choose a different dish than pancakes, but even I get that this only makes me weird...). Or even better, brunch. One of the restaurants in the vicinity of my hotel in Atlanta advertizes that they serve bottomless mimosas* or Bloody Marys for Sunday brunch. Even if that makes me think of Kenny Falmouth of Monkey Island, it does sound like a sweet deal.

My own breakfast routine most days while I've been in the U.S., however, has been quite a bit more sober than that. I've been in two different hotels in two different parts of the country, but I could always find some channel that showed reruns of old shows - especially "Charmed". Interestingly I never really watched "Charmed" when it was a big deal way back when I was a kiddo (many of my friends did, and I can't remember exactly what made me not watch it, though I suspect it might have had something to do with the fact that we didn't have cable or satelite, and thus a very limited range of channels). Anyway, with all these reruns - and not just this time, but last time I visited the U.S. too, as well as when we went to the U.K. for vacation in November - it seems I have the show pretty much covered. But then, yesterday, the seemingly endless string of reruns ended. The very last episode of the show! Now what will I do for breakfast? I suppose it was only fitting as I am leaving today. Also, I am ignoring the fact that they started over again with the very first season this morning, so I really could watch it all if I only stayed a couple of months more - with three episodes per day that should probably cover it...

Even if I haven't watched it religiously in the past, however, I still know the show well enough to have the benefit of rewatching, as the best thing about watching old shows, of course, is that you don't have to pay very careful attention. So I could walk back and forth, take a shower, get dressed, eat, or even work a little while it ran in the background. While this has been a perfect mode for the minial task of sorting through archive documents as afterwork from my visit there during work hours, I am relieved it is over. My back aches from being slumped over my laptop for long stretches at the time, in uncomfortable seating positions in a hotel bed. My eyes are sore and my head hurts from trying to remember archive codes and sorting the files into their right place. My fingers have paper cuts from old documents, and I am sick of working twelve hour days (even if portions of them have been accompanied by "Charmed"). I even missed out on vacation days during my stay here, as most Norwegians take the whole week of Easter off.

Another good thing about ending my TV-meets-work streak now is that I don't have to watch commercials anymore. We have commercials on most channels in Norway too, but first of all I don't watch all that much TV at home (I have Netflix and HBO Nordic, after all), and secondly, last time I checked our commercials were less disturbing than many of the ones here.

What mostly baffles me are the medical commercials. This and this drug will help you with this and that disease. It will have the following side effects: [insert long list of terrible things that almost always ends with DEATH for good measure]. Talk to your doctor today!

Talk to your doctor? Why would I, as the patient, go to my doctor and explain about some drug? Isn't it the doctor's job to tell the patient what the best treatment for whatever disease or ailment they have should be? I realize doctors in the U.S. are frequently sponsored by the medical companies and thus might have preferences for specific drug for other reasons than what works better, but if that's the case you really ought to find another doctor with a better sense of ethics, rather than presenting the one you've already got with a lecture based on a TV commerical.

But that set aside, back to the commercials themselves. Can we all agree that they are pretty disturbing? Listing all those side effects is obviously something they are obliged to do for legal reasons, but I still find it amazing that someone would take them up on the offer of talking to their doctor after having heard all the horrible things this drug might inflict, presented to them in a voice of an actor you can *hear* is wearing a fake smile (how can you hear that, you ask? Well, just listen the next time one of those commercials are on. You can hear it).

Secondly, why are they always walking on the beach in these commercials? Strolling along the shore, or in a forest, or playing in the garden with a pet or child. Always the same setting. Fake smiles. Super disturbing.

Finally, the most disturbing thing to me isn't the medical commercials themselves, but in combination of another type of commercials: the mass lawsuit ones. "Have you or your loved ones experienced [insert terrible side effect caused by medical malpractise]? You might be entitled to compensation!" I realize there isn't a coherent line from people suggesting to their doctors what medicines to take for their ailments to them suing the doctor (or whomever) for having suffered consequences of malpractise. But it seems to me there is something strange about where the system puts liability. The patient is supposed to advice the doctor, while the doctors and other parts of the healthcare system are forced to focus on covering their butts legally rather than providing the best possible option for the patient. I'm not saying it's necessarily different elsewhere or that I have a solution to this, but I am saying the frequent commericals serve to give a creepy reminder of what a nasty world it can be.

I'll miss things too, though. I might have issues with certain parts of commercial America, but I don't think I'll ever stop marvelling at the selection in stores here. Whether it is grocery shopping or browsing for dresses, I keep finding myself enchanted. It's dangerous for my wallet, but it's making my little shopping heart burst with joy. Every time I visit the U.S. I seem to end up with a new wardrobe and don't even get me started on bookstores. When I came here in 2009 the selection seemed wider (I miss Borders!), but give me a good Barnes & Noble any day, and I'll be lost that day. They even have coffee in there! Why would you ever want to leave?

More important than the things I leave behind (good or bad), though, are the things I'm going back to. I miss my home, I miss my friends and family, I miss the regularity of my daily routine (the normal one, not the one involving "Charmed"), Norwegian language, food and weather (!), Oslo, my apartment, all the things I know and love. Most importantly, I miss my boyfriend. Four weeks is a long time to be away from everything, and even though I've enjoyed my stay in the U.S. I can't wait to go home.

Now I'm going to make the hotel cat who has been keeping me company this morning go back out into the corridor so I don't accidentally pack him, and then I'll finish stuffing my suitcase. Somehow, it gained weight during this trip (see section about "shopping" above).











*Huh. When I googled "bottomless" to find the link for Kenny, Google automatically suggested "bottomless mimosas atlanta". Apparently, this is a big deal here!

On jolly July, aberrant August

It's been a weird summer in Norway. Weird, because it's been awesome. Weather-wise we are talking about the July of the century, or some such cliché. Sun has been had. Pale Norwegians soaked up vitamin D's to last us into the next decade, and for once I actually have tan lines on my back. We're normally used to summers where any outdoors plan always need an indoors alternative, but this time no such modification was called for.

July was spectacular.

August is looking for payback.

Frequently, August has been the warm and sunny month here. Just in time for school to start, summer kicked in, like a wonderful irony of life. This year, however, since July took August's job, August, apparently, decided to take September's. Ever since the start of the month we've had rain, wind, the occasional bout of sunshine, but then with the obvious promise of "plan B kind of day - expect to have to go indoors any moment". The cloudless days of July are long gone.


In a way I appreciate it. There is no doubt that it's really fall, summer is over, vacation time done, work takes the front seat. The transition is made somewhat easier by nature's clear message.

But then again - a few more weeks of sunshine, with the possibility of enjoying after-work-afternoons in a park instead of having to tote an umbrella everywhere - sounds nicer. August isn't playing nice this year.

There is, of course, absolutely nothing I can do about this. I can recall the lovely July, and I can curse the erratic August. In reality it makes no difference what I do. Winter is coming.

On Denmark

I'm prone to speak of one of Norway's neighbours - Sweden. If you have been following this blog for a while, you know all about my love-hate relationship with Norway's "older brother". Or rather, how I pretend to hate Sweden, while in reality I love it (except when it comes to sports. That's the only arena where my Swedenmosity is genuine...).

Our other close "relative", however - Denmark - I haven't spoken much about. Denmark is a little further away. You actually have to cross an ocean (albeit a narrow one). Also, Norway and Norwegians are strangely concerned about Sweden, while Denmark occasionally falls out of our conscience.

Even if we write Danish.

Even if our flag is the Danish flag with a blue cross in it.

Even if we imported our royal family from Denmark.

Even if practically every flight anywhere in the world to/from Norway goes via Denmark.

Even if they ruled us for 400 hundred years.

We forgave that...

I know I've previously mentioned how strange it is that while our union with Denmark was four centuries of absolutist rule, Norwegians are only bitter about the less than a century with Sweden in a much looser constellation where we had our own constitution, Parliament and flag. We like to think of Denmark as our protector, somehow. Perhaps not a brother or sister - more like an uncle, perhaps? The uncle that always is a little tipsy and brings you presents from abroad. That's Denmark to Norway. Slightly less close than Sweden, but infinitely more appreciated. Poor Sweden.

I've grown to appreciate Denmark more recently, though. First of all, some of the very excellent people I met in Tokyo were Danish. I've had Danish friends before - the first one was on a vacation when I was five, and I didn't understand a word she said. Language is a problem with Danes, you see. Despite the fact that our written language (or one of them - yes, we have two. No, they are not all that different. No, don't tell my Neo-Norwegian patriot friends I said that...) basically is a Norwegianified Danish, oral Danish is quite difficult to understand. Norwegians commonly think Danish people sound like they speak with a potato in their throats. Some of my Danish friends agree... With some practice, though, I can usually understand Danish if. They. Speak. Slowly. Slooowly. It cuts through the potato, then.

Written Danish, on the other hand, is not problematic for a Norwegian to read. Thus, it poses no particular challenge when I in my current job have to read a lot of Danish newspapers. In fact, by now I think I prefer reading Danish - it sounds much more poetic and elegant than Norwegian does! Also, the Danish debate I am reading up on is much more "spicy" than anything you'll find in Norway. While we consider the Danes to be mellow people, they certainly have much more zing to their public commentary than what we have. It makes for more interesting reading material, for sure.

They may be bold in their debates, but the Danes are also surprisingly polite. For instance, I was surprised to find myself addressed with "De" and "Dem" in an email in reply to some inquiries I had. We have this polite version in Norwegian too - it compares to the German "Sie" or the French "Vous" - but we never, ever use it anymore (I don't anyone has since the 1960s). I commented on this to my Danish friend, and he replied that it is not very common in Denmark anymore either, but that is is used for "customers, elderly people and Norwegians". Obviously, the latter was a joke, but it says something about the relationship between our two countries. In many ways I think Danes think of Norway as the prodigal son - they fondly awaits that we will come back under their influence once we've tried all this "independence" nonsense... (I might also add that another Danish friend commented that had I been Swedish, I probably wouldn't have gotten a reply at all... That says something about the relationship between those two countries, I suppose...)

Oh, it's all fun and games, of course. Norway, Denmark and Sweden - Scandinavia (and if we include Iceland and Finland we've got the whole Nordic family) - we're good friends. We begrudgingly vote for each other in the Eurovision Song Contest. We occasionally cheer for each others' teams in sports competitions (perhaps that is why we like Denmark better, by the way? We generally don't do the same sports...). We cooperate in politics and economy, we read each others' literature and watch each others' movies. We have similar values and ideas and systems. We get along pretty well, despite our historical differences. And we looooove to make fun of each other. As evidenced below.

On land mines

Back in the day, when wars were considered something you could win, one of the techniques developed to maim as many as possible, and thus come closer to the goal - "winning" - was to dig a tunnel under your enemy's fortification and then release all hell by collapsing the tunnel. Mining. With time and technology these tunnels were collapsed by use of explosives, causing even more death and destruction. More "winning". The tactic of literally pulling the ground out from under an enemy's feet was dangerous, and efficient. For a hauntingly gruesome and beautiful description of the life of a World War One miner, I recommend Sebastian Faulks' Birdsong. It's a terrible and fantastic book, but not for the fainthearted.

Inspired by the above described techniques, another weapon was created. Land mines are explosive devices, usually triggered by weight. They are designed to damage a target, a target that doesn't necessarily have to be human, but it often is. Because, the real problem with land mines isn't the destruction they cause during wars - wars have so much destruction going on anyway, that whether you're killed by a gun, a bomb or a land mine doesn't make much of a difference. The problem with land mines is that they are often left behind long after the war ends. They can lie idle for years, completely or partially hidden, and still function as intended once that unfortunate someone steps on the trigger.

A left-behind land mine thus becomes what one fancily calls an "indiscriminate weapon" - lack of discrimination may sound nice - but when it means that it as readily kills a child as soldiers in an armed car, it is obviously not a good thing. Land mines can injure and kill civilians long after the conflict for which it was intended for ended. Around 2000 people, many of them children, are injured in land mine accidents every single month, many of them fatally.

The International Campaign to Ban Landmines (ICBL) is - as the name implies - working towards a ban of landmines. Since this coalition of non-governmental organisations (NGOs) was established in 1992, it has achieved incredible success, for instance by bringing about an international treaty (the Ottawa Treaty) to ban anti-personnel land mines - a treaty with 157 members as of today - for which the ICBL and its founder Jody Williams received the Nobel Peace Prize in 1997.

As mentioned, however, banning the current use of mines isn't sufficient. Old ones still cause destruction. Thus an important part of the work against land mines internationally is demining. One of the NGOs heavily involved in this is the Norwegian People's Aid.

Each year since 1974, the Norwegian Broadcasting Company (NRK) holds a fundraiser for a charity. It is said to be the world's largest fundraiser, in the number of participants (around 100 000 volunteer, and about half of the population contribute with money) , and in the per capita funds raised. This year, the charity of choice is the Norwegian People's Aid.

I often wish I was better at doing something for all the causes I think so much about, so this year I signed up as a volunteer. It's not much - I get to spend two hours of my life for a clearer conscience - but it is a start. In addition I'd like to take this opportunity to encourage all of you to do a little something too. If you're in Norway, it's simple. Every krone helps, so make sure to donate whatever you can spare when the doorbell rings later today. If you're not in Norway, though, there is still a lot you can do. Donations are of course also welcome from abroad, or to other charities supporting the same cause. But perhaps equally important is awareness. Is your country a party to the Ottawa Treaty? Find out - and if not - why not? Could you contact your authorities and ask? Encourage them, perhaps, to consider whether land mines is important enough in wars, to risk civilian lives for decades after peace is achieved? Sign a petition (there are plenty online)? Ask your friends to consider doing so as well? If sufficiently many of us start asking those kind of questions, there is a realistic opportunity that we can make a real difference.

It is, after all, not an unlikely possibility that by universializing the land mine ban and assuring effective demining, that we can rid the world of this atrocity altogether. This is a war we can win.

On fortresses

I grew up in a city that once was constructed around a fortress. The fortress was meant to defend the citizens of Kongsvinger - and more important, perhaps, the rest of the country by securing the border - from Sweden. Built in the 17th century, the fortress served its purpose (it was never captured by any Swedes), but almost four centuries later it has now become obsolete in its original task. There isn't even a military presence there anymore (but shhh - don't tell the Swedes). Instead, the proud attraction is being rebuilt into a hotel and conference center. It will always be a fortress in the collective mind of the people living here, though, and it will always be the origo around which our city was built.

There's a crane sticking out of our fortress! Is it the Swedes?

At least the flag is still Norwegian

Really old windows

Really old door

When I was a kid they used to tell us those hooks were for hanging naughty children.
I think they may have been for hanging non-naughty lamps, actually. 

The crane and a soon-to-be hotel

Looks like the upgrade is needed

This might not mean anything to you, but I know this spot is supposed to have a cannon.
Now how will we defend the fortress?

Crane of doom?

There's a cannon. I think it's hiding...

Not too clear from the pic, but even this grand, old tree looked worn and forlorn.

Perhaps a general upgrade* of the area is called for? It's still pretty, though, in its slow demise:

*And by "upgrade" I don't mean update. The history in the walls and moldings of these houses could never be replaced.

On proletarianization

I'm finally making some use of myself. My parents - who are being extraordinarily generous by housing, feeding and catering to my every need in a way only parents can do without it getting awkward - will occasionally ask me to do small favours in return for the hospitality they are showing me. Naturally, I do these things. Clean the bathroom, make dinner, go grocery shopping; it's the least I can do considering how kind they've been and are to me. Yet, I never feel that it's adequate - the favours they do me easily add up to much more than I can ever hope to repay them. So when they asked me to do a large-ish favour - help paint the house and garage - I was (if not thrilled...) happy to oblige.

Since I've been writing job applications lately, I've focused on stuff I'm good at. Like writing reports, or being a loyal employee and colleague, or being able to work both in teams and independently. I've been focusing very little on stuff I'm not good at. Like painting houses.

I felt terribly, terribly out of place. Like the stereotypical city girl, with her high heels and pink nails, trying to do good, old-fashioned manual labour. (I did not have high heels. I did, however, have pink nails...) I couldn't figure out how to secure the ladder. I didn't know how much soap to use for the water (like any good painter should do, I cleaned the wall first, of course). I showered myself in cold water in an attempt of getting the water pressure on the hose up to proper levels (I eventually managed. Okay. My dad eventually managed).

And yet, it felt pretty good. I was outdoors, working, being useful. Then it struck me, how interesting the experience actually was, from a historian's point of view.

The garage was originally built by my grandfather - who has been dead for eighteen years - some fifty, sixty years ago. He was a conductor in the national railway company, but he grew up on a small farm deep in the Norwegian forests. As the son of a farmer, he doubtlessly had to learn all sorts of manual labour - including building houses. So when he had gathered the means, he built one for himself, his wife, and two sons. My grandmother still lives in that house. We live next doors, on a lot bought by my grandfather with his eldest son - my father - in mind.

The garage was built a few years after the house. After all, they had to have a car first. And not just any car. I still remember the smell of my grandparent's Volvo Amazon. The shine of its bright red hue. The lack of nonsensical things such as seat-belts in the back seat. The ash tray, which was always filled with candy since neither of my grandparents smoked.

By the time I was old enough to pay attention, the Amazon lived in a new garage that had replaced the old one, and our house was built on the aforementioned neighbouring lot. The original garage, which now was closer to our house than our grandparents', was turned into a shed. My father - handy in many ways, but not build-your-own-house-handy - did lots of work on our house. But so did a team of 15 carpenters, plus my two grandfathers.

With time the old garage is not as impressive as it once was. Still. It impresses me to think that my grandfather actually did build it. He had those kind of skills. Half a century later, his granddaughter, pink nails and all, struggled to wash and paint the walls he once put up. I doubtlessly have skills he did not - I'm sure he'd be rubbish at writing reports, for instance - but it's a two-way street. It's humbling, really, to think of everything people used to take for granted, that now have become huge tasks because we've let go of the knowledge previously transmitted from generation to generation.

In the end I suspect it's fortunate for me that the times have changed. If I ever build a house, I probably will not even touch a hammer. I won't take much part in the construction process post-planning at all, and I wouldn't have the skills to do so even if I wanted to. On the other hand, I might be able to pay for that house because I got a good education and (hopefully) a job.

At least I've learned a thing or two about painting houses today, should I ever have one of my own. All thanks to my grandfather.

On... Love?

What is this - love - you're talking about? A grand word. Not often employed where I hail from. Many of us would consider it a floskel (google it). It's even grander, more unattainable in Norwegian: Kjærlighet. Å elske. I remember a song from when I was young(er): "It's easier to say 'I love you' in English," it said, in Norwegian. It's true. "Love ya!" Much more casual than "Jeg elsker deg" or even "Jeg er glad i deg".

Norwegians may be known for their naivety, innocence, peacefulness or good-natured pastorality (I like making up words that end with -ity. Deal with it). But also for a certain skepticism to new things. For being withdrawn, stiff, hard to get to know. Foreigners coming to Norway find themselves surprised at the empty streets after closing hours (and the fact that those closing hours are so darned early). "I'd forgotten that the whole country shuts down after 7pm," said a friend after an extended stay abroad. It's not far from the truth.

I think this is part of the reason that the last week have been particularly inspiring for many of us. Suddenly we're allowed to show your emotions in Norway. The Prime Minister, with tears in his eyes, admitting that he has cried over the recent tragedy. Grown men - tough, poker-faced men, normally - allowed themselves to be moved by the many ceremonies and memorials. Strangers hugging on the street. And all these words. Solidarity, community spirit, togetherness. Love. Even in Norwegian.

The world has been impressed, perhaps, with the Norwegian reaction to the atrocities. However, it is nothing compared to how impressed we are with ourselves. We had almost forgotten we had it in us. The quiet, everyday type of love that's been around the whole time, and the more "special occasion love" that only surfaces in weddings, birthdays and for those who celebrate Valentine's Day - it's all been spectacularly overshadowed by =LOVE=. #OsLove. Rose love. Love for each other, in large, shiny, glamorous letters in the sky.

Maybe these words are empty, floskler. Or maybe they are not. Maybe it doesn't even matter. It seems we needed them, now. I saw a tweet today, that made me nod: "This is the time to forgive benevolent floskler." (Pardon my French, er, English. Translations aren't my strong point, and I've grown fond of the word floskel today.)

I love that.

On the difference between a sealion

So, the thing about being a bureaucrat is that sometimes you are forced to work for the system even if you don't agree with it. Historically, the problem has been that the bureaucrats are too eager to please their political bosses. Would Nazi-Germany been able to function without the worker ants keeping the machinery gong? Not a chance. If enough of them had looked up from their papers, given it a second thought what it was they were taking part in, and drawn the conclusions history by now has drawn for them, there is a possibility the Holocaust would not have happened. Bureaucrats have power. They just don't use it very often.

My current assignment isn't quite as serious as that, and thus I'm not worried I am committing genocide by proxy. But I am in the capacity of my work defending a political position I disagree with personally. It certainly does nothing to help my motivation...

Maybe that is why I've been distracted all day? My research hasn't really brought me much that is useful for the job I have to do, but it brought me lots of random information I found much more interesting than what I was supposed to work on. Digressionism en diplomacy, I guess.




First of all, I've learned a lot about various species today. Extinct and otherwise. Did you know that the 18th century botanist, zoologist, physician and explorer, Georg Wilhelm Steller, had several species named after him - most of which are now either extinct or endangered? The Steller sea cow, for instance, disappeared only 25 years after he discovered it. The Steller sea lion is still around, but especially the western stock of this mammal is threatened, partly as a result of over-hunting in the past, and partly as a result of changes in their habitat (climatic and otherwise).

I have also learned a little something about different species of sea mammals: "There are sea lions on the ears, ear seals are just a hole." Or maybe the lesson learned there was that Google Translate cannot be trusted?

I have discovered the story about the adorable Tama-chan. This was a seal who for some time lived in a Tokyo river (or two, actually), and consequently it became a national celebrity in Japan. Because, you know, that's what happens in Japan when you're cute.

Tama-chan was also attempted seal-napped by a doomsday cult. Because, you know, that also happens in Japan... This cult believed that Tama-chan had been led astray by electromagnetic waves, and that returning him to the sea would save the world. They didn't succeed. This might explain the current state of the world...

And finally, if you're wondering about the title of this post? Another Google Translate glitch. It reminds me of a joke, though. I've modified it slightly to fit today's theme:

"What's the difference between a sealion?"
"It can neither ride a bike."

On Starbucks

Mmmmmm....

I don't care how commercialized, expensive-ized, sugarized, mass-produced-ized, non-eco-friendly-ized, not-as-good-coffee-as-non-chain-coffee-shops-ized Starbucks may be. There is still very few things that top lounging in a Starbucks a lazy Sunday afternoon, sipping coffee, listening to music, reading/writing/chatting, relaxing. And the best part - you can do this in any Starbucks, anywhere in the world. The beauty of mass production, I guess.

We don't have Starbucks in Norway. It's a hopeless market. Oslo already has a large number of coffee shops - many of them serving high quality coffee, for more affordable prices than what Starbucks would land on if the price regime follows that of other countries. Norwegians are used to paying much for their coffee, but then they are also used to getting quality coffee back. As it is, there is a question whether Starbucks is needed, wanted or even possible in Norway. We have long coffee traditions; we're used to thinking we do certain things best at home (or at least "in Europe"); and there is a latent skepticism towards consumerism(/Americanism?) that often surfaces in Norwegians when faced with the potential introduction of new products. We don't have KFC or Dunkin' Donuts either.

And yet. The fact that we have a lot of money and drink a lot of coffee in Norway, is bound to make us interesting for the American chain. Thus they are looking into the Norwegian market, aiming at establishing some customer recognition by selling their pre-produced iced lattes and such in stores and kiosks. Gradually, they are going to open stores, first at airports, and then eventually (possibly) in Oslo. Or so is the strategy as of today (as far as I know. I should probably mention that I don't have a direct line to the people in charge, and thus cannot say for sure whether this is the actual strategy. But this is the strategy our newspapers report, and that is good enough for me).

One major risk, in addition to the competition and the tough market, is that the Starbucks business model might be more difficult to promote in Norway than elsewhere. Because of the many established coffee houses in Norway, where the "sit-ins" are far more established, it is likely that Starbucks will have better chances of competing with the more recent take-away market (which today largely is handled by 7-11 and the likes of it, especially outside of the major cities). Usually Starbucks coffee shops have many employees, which allows for a speedy making of the coffee suitable for the take-away segment of the customers. In Norway, however, where salary costs are quite high, it is unlikely that Starbucks will be willing or able to have as many workers on the same shift. Thus, they risk slowing down the coffee making process, which in turn will make Starbucks a less attractive alternative for the take-awayers.

From one of the many Facebook groups...
(guess which side)

I don't envy whomever is in charge of the "Norway probe". It will be a tough job. They don't enter entirely unsupported, though. There are a large number of Facebook groups called "We want Starbucks in Norway" or something similar, the largest of which have more than 25,000 members. I am one of them. I am also a member of at least two groups against establishing Starbucks in Norway. This does not only reflect my confusions with regards to the chain; I think it reflects many Norwegians' opinion (then again - there are also a couple of "I really don't care if Starbucks establishes in Norway"-groups, which perhaps is the most accurate of all).

In the end, however, if and when Starbucks does open a store in Oslo, I think it most likely will be a success during its first week, and then it is completely in the blue. Will people stay true to their old habits and pick the coffee they think is the best when they have time (aka not Starbucks), and the coffee they think is the fastest when they don't (aka not Starbucks, again)? Or will they be willing to accept the Starbucks concept of vanilla/cinnamon/caramel/lazy-Sunday-heaven, occasionally transformed into semi-fast take-away (since there is only financial justification for one person at work per shift)?

Time will show. I have my doubts, though. I'm not convinced Starbucks will conquer Norway.

Thus, don't judge me. If I want to spend my non-Norway Sundays in Starbucks, I feel entitled to do so. Whether I'm in Japan, the United States, or any of the other 55 countries where the it's currently located. I might not feel the same way if and when I get the chance in Norway.



~~~~~~~~~~~~

And yes - I am aware of the irony of posting this on the same week as I spoke so grandly on fair-trade. That is another issue about coffee and/or Starbucks...

On bureaucracy and blessings

We are blessed with a great many things in Norway, one of them being excellent health service and a government issued health insurance that ensures that you can get affordable treatment regardless of your financial situation. This health insurance also extends to certain circumstances where treatment outside of Norway is necessary, for instance when the patient in question is working for a Norwegian government agency abroad (as I very soon will be).

That being said, we don’t necessarily ace in the bureaucratic process said insurance, especially the abroad version since this is not an automatic process like the regular, domestic health insurance is. You have to send an application – 8 weeks ahead of departure (or at least that is the time frame they provide for processing the application). This is not one but several forms, and they are, as forms tend to be, completely impossible to understand. I generally think of myself as a reasonably bright human being, but when it comes to filling out forms my stupid gene kicks in.

Once the forms are taken care of, you wait. And wait. And wait. And hope. In my case I had called ahead to confirm that my position indeed warranted a positive outcome of the application, so I was not too worried, but it certainly took a while to get the final confirmation.

Now, I’ve been through this process before. When I went to Japan in 2006 as a student, I also had to do the application dance. Back then I received not only the confirmation of the positive outcome of my application, but also a health insurance card of sorts. The kind that has words in English on it. You see, the confirmation letter I received this time is written in Norwegian. The problem is that if the chance arises for me to use my health insurance – say by exploring the inside of a Japanese hospital from a wheeled bed – the likelihood of anyone working at the hospital being able to read the confirmation letter in my native Norwegian is disturbingly slim.

Since I foresaw this complication I decided to give the Welfare State a call, to see if anyone there could tell me whether I’d need a insurance card, or if my assurances to the Japanese doctor that “the Norwegians will pay for it, really!” would do.

I phoned the assumed appropriate agency, and they put me in one of those endless phone queues. You know the kind:

“Thank you for calling Welfare State Health Insurance And Every Other Government Issued Benefit Agency (WSHIAEOGIBA). We are currently experiencing heavy traffic on our phone lines, but one of our operators will get to you as soon as possible. You may also contact us at 800-EXPENSIVEHOTLINE, or visit our web page, www.wshiaeogiba.no.”

Fine, I’ll hold. After about thirty seconds, you think the phone is being answered in the other line. But no…

“Thank you for calling WSHIAEOGIBA. We are currently experiencing heavy traffic on our phone lines, but one of our operators will get to you as soon as possible. You may also contact us at 800-EXPENSIVEHOTLINE, or visit our web page, www.wshiaeogiba.no.”

Yes. I heard you the first time. Thank you very much.

30 new seconds, and…

“Thank you for calling WSHIAEOGIBA. We don’t really care if you have heard this message before, so we will repeat it endlessly. One of our operators might get to you as soon as he is done checking his Facebook updates. You may also contact us at 800-EXPENSIVEHOTLINE, or visit our web page, www.wshiaeogiba.no.”

This cycle repeats itself quite a few times, until you swear the message you hear is something along these lines:

“Thank you for calling WSHIAEOGIBA. We are trying to make you go mad. This is the little voice in your head telling you that you probably should find another way to finance your costly health insurance abroad. If you are still with us after this lengthy wait, we might consider letting you into the exclusive club of people who survived waiting in this phone queue without smashing their phone into the wall, people who thus managed to get to the end of the phone queue to find out if they will get their required insurance. Have you smashed your phone yet? No? If not, press one. Just kidding. One of our operators will get to you soonish. After he is done checking his Facebook updates, of course. He might also check into Twitter while at it. You may also contact us at 800-EXPENSIVEHOTLINE, or visit our web page, www.wshiaeogiba.no.”

Once I finally reached an operator, she was friendly and efficient. I am completely satisfied with my operator-time, except for one small thing: She could not answer my question.

A small digression to explain: A few years ago, the various agencies handling unemployment benefits, pensions, and other social security systems in Norway were morphed into one big agency (the one which my WSHIAEOGIBA is modeled on). The idea was that one agency that covered all the departments would be easier for the users to access than the multitude of agencies of the past. The problem with this vision was that (it seems) no one thought of the fact that the separate agencies were specialized within the field they were handling. The morphed agency consisted of people having worked in the specialized departments, who were now required to know everything about not only their former department, but also about all the others.

Obviously, this was problematic, and the morphed agency (from now on it will again be known in this post as WSHIAEOGIBA) has been the target of many a jolly joke ever since.

Despite this, however, my discovery was that the generalized WSHIAEOGIBA handled the generalization by outsourcing specific issues to other, new, agencies… Thus, my operator informed me that I had to call the Never Heard About Health Something Economy Something (NHAHSES). She provided me with a phone number, and we hung up.

I called the NHAHSES, went through a similar phone line routine, and ended up with an operator telling me she could not answer my question. I had to call NHAHSES Abroad Section, naturally.

Naturally.

So I did. Imagine what happened. Phone line? Yup. Operator able to answer my question? Of course not.

At least this time I was told I was at the right place, but the person/people who could answer my question was in a meeting. Or checking his/her Facebook updates. At any rate, I was instructed to call back in half an hour. Which I did.

This time, I managed to get to an operator fairly quickly, but alas, it was one of the secretaries who only could try her best to transfer my call to the right person, but whose attempts did not lead anywhere. I don’t know if it was the phones (not mine) that failed, the secretary not doing it right or the person at the end of the line checking her Facebook updates, but either way it took three attempts – each time I had to go through the phone queue thing again, mind you – to finally reach the right person. Who managed to tell me that while I did have all the rights I thought I did, they did not have a health insurance card to prove I had such rights. She promised, however, to send a confirmation letter in English, so at least I will have that. And I imagine that working at the embassy will make it easier to contact the embassy in case of emergency.

The whole thing reminds me of the Norwegian folktale “Den syvende far i huset” – “The Seventh Father”, where a tired traveler has to ask each generation of a surprisingly large family for permission to spend the night. While I am all for preserving our folktale tradition, I am not convinced that the welfare system is the best place to do it…

On Halloween, sort of

Halloween is coming up. So what? I'm Norwegian, we don't really do Halloween here. Well, we have started to celebrate it the last few years, but when I was a kid, there was no such thing as trick or treat. The only I knew about Halloween, I got from American movies and the annual Halloween card sent to me from my American relatives.

Halloween is a commercial wet dream, though, so the retail business have done a considerable job of adopting it the last few years. We now have kids running from door to door (though nowhere near the amount they have in the US), we have Halloween parties, and the larger grocery stores even stock up on pumpkins for carving (a very un-Norwegian vegetable).

Personally, I like the idea of Halloween even if I think that the commercial aspect of it (especially here where we don't really have the tradition) is a bit silly. Though, it's not entirely true that we don't have the tradition - we do have the church holiday Allehelgensaften which originated (like Halloween, I believe) in the Catholic church, and somehow stuck as one of the minor celebrations in the Norwegian Lutheran church after Catholicism was abolished in the 16th century. Or something. My knowledge of the subject is limited, because even if this technically is a church celebration it isn't one of the big ones (and I'm not much of a church-person).

Anyway. Halloween is here to stay, apparently, and I think that in the future I'd like to celebrate it more. Dress-up, scary movies, pumpkin carving (and -cupcakes, or something pumkinish pastryish), lanterns, decorations - I'm all for it. Next year. This year, I probably won't even remember to celebrate my own birthday (which is on Allehelgensdag, the day after Halloween)... Instead, I intend to "celebrate" Halloween here on the blog. For the last week of NaBloWriMo (and probably the last week of everyday/regular blogging for me for a while), then, there will be a Halloween themed post up. Most of them will be just pictures (though funny pics, if I say so myself), some of them might contain more. We shall see...

On fluff, part two

Last time I wrote about snow, was in June. That was metaphorical snow. Summery snow. Candyfloss snow. Dandelion (or otherwise) seeds floating through the air like dust bunnies with parachutes.

Now it's the real thing.

I know it's only October. Not even late October (what do you mean it's late October? It's not! It's late-mid October, thankyouverymuch, and it is still AGES till my thesis deadline...). Even for Norway this is early. We generally can expect snow in October, but it never actually appears until November. And even then, it melts again, before proper winter sets in early December (or so). It's the law of first snow.

Thursday night, though, nature had forgotten about the law of first snow. October-schmoctober. It's snow time!

Early snow always causes problems. The subway was delayed. Cars that had not yet shifted to winter tires slid off the road like Disney on Ice. I was a popsicle in my tennis shoes and thin jacket.

And yet. There is nothing - nothing - as soothing as the first snow. It always fills me with a peace of mind unmatched by anything else I know. The fluff falling from the sky - quietly whirling through a dark, cold night, completely careless of the problems it may cause on ground - somehow manage to calm me down. There is nothing I can do about it. The snow will fall. It will cover everything in a layer of candyfloss that effectively dulls the sounds of the city, that softens every sharp edge, and hides the blemishes humans apply to our surroundings.

It is an inevitable sign that winter is impending. But it doesn't matter. The first snow always make me happy. However, I do hope it will be weeks before we have any more of it...

On Sweden

First things first. No, I am not Swedish. No, Norway is not the capital of Sweden. It’s not the capital of Copenhagen either. And no, it is not irrelevant whether you refer to any of the Scandinavian countries as Sweden, Denmark, Norwegia (it’s called Norway!), The Land of Snow and Ice, Mordor or Nordica. We are separate countries with separate cultures and very separate prides. So please try to remember which is which (for the record, I’m NORWEGIAN. Norwegian!).


A while back I had a comment from one of my lovely followers saying that she had Norwegian and Swedish ancestors, but that she wouldn’t speak with me about the Swedish ones, because she knew how Norwegians felt about Swedes. This struck me with a pang. Had we really become known as enemies, the Norwegians and the Swedes? This was a very foreign concept to me. Sure, I have been known to gloat when Norway beats Sweden in any kind of sport. And yes, now that you mention it I did announce loudly to anyone who'd listen that "I'm Swedish" at one occasion when I made a complete fool out of myself on the Parisian Metro... But this is all friendly banter. Norway and Sweden are like brothers – Sweden is the big brother, and Norway is the little one that wants to be just like his older sibling.

Let me explain it to you (prepare for a history lesson..) :

Norway and Sweden (and Denmark) have always had a lot of interaction. At one point we all had one king. At one point we all had one queen (which I believe is still the last reigning queen Norway has had). Then Norway and Denmark merged into a union (Denmark clearly ruled the party), while Sweden played superpower in the Baltic Sea. Norway was under Danish rule for about 400 years. Then came along a little fella named Napoleon. He caused a lot of havoc on the European continent (you may have heard about it). Unfortunately for poor, little Norway, the Danish king decided to side with Napoleon. If you know anything about ABBA, you know that Napoleon had to face his Waterloo (he couldn’t escape if he wanted to). Sweden, on the other hand, had picked the winning team. As a consequence, Denmark was sentenced (or blessed – depending on the point of view) to give up Norway in favour of Sweden.

Just like that – without anyone bothering to ask what the Norwegians thought – we were handed away like a gift basket you didn’t really want anyway.

At the time, this gift basket was a very poor, very rural, very “uncivilizised” country. But the winds that had been blowing on the continent (and in the US) for a while had reached Norway at last. Words like “freedom” and “democracy” were making you popular at parties. Because of these winds, the Norwegian people (or the social stratum that had money and education, but no noble blood) decided it was time to write our own constitution. They gathered at Eidsvoll in 1814, ate good food, drank wine, and in between wrote the document that ever since has been the guiding principle for legal matters in Norway.

Regardless of this, however, Norway was still forced to enter a new union with Sweden. Granted it was a relatively free union - we got to keep our Constitution, our newborn parliament (the Storting), and basically everything else we would have had as an independent state. Norway shared a king and foreign policy with Sweden, but that's about it. The union lasted for almost a century - in 1905 Norway finally gained its full independece.

We were in an absolutist union with Demark for 400 years. With Sweden we enjoyed much more freedom, and the arrangement lasted less than 100 years. And yet it is with Sweden we hold the grudge (we even picked a Danish prince to be the first king of the free Norway)...

Blame it on the relative recentness of the Swedo-Norwegian union. Blame it on Norwegian jealousness for Swedish (again, relative) success with music, industry, sports. Blame it on the fact that Norway always gives Sweden twelve points in the Eurovision Song Contest, while Sweden NEVER gives us more than eight... In the end it is impossible not to acknowledge that there is a certain something going on between Norway and Sweden. But I still maintain that it is of the friendly kind.

To underscore this, I will end this post with a list. A list about things I love about Sweden. It pains me to admit it, but there are certain things Sweden does better than Norway. Like potato chips. They have dill flavoured potato chips. That is almost impossible to get here. So, with no further ado:


Things I love about Sweden:

-Dill flavoured potato chips

-Music (ranging from my favourite band, kent, to ABBA, the Cardigans, Robyn, the Hives, Broder Daniel, Mando Diao and not to forget the immortal Cornelis Vreeswijk)

-Grocery shops

-Stockholm, which is a much more "continental" city than Oslo, and frankly, it's also a better place to go on vacation (I can't believe I just said that...)

Swedish: "house"; Norwegian: "palace"

-Their architecture. Sweden has a much larger tradition for nobility, and thus they have mansions and castles (but also charming, little cottages) everywhere. Is pretty. 

-Swedish. Their language just is prettier than ours. Norwegian and Swedish are closely related, so we can understand virtually everything Swedes say (but for some reason, they don’t understand Norwegian as well). Sweden used to be a big shot country in Europe, though, so their language is much more influenced by the language of the nobility, French. The boring Norwegian word for sidewalk/pavement – fortau, is more more exotic in Swedish: trottoir. Likewise our dull window (vindu) is fönster in Swedish. Also, I think Swedish sounds more lyrical than Norwegian. Ironically, the Swedes I’ve spoken to about this say that Norwegian sounds like we’re singing all the time…

-Swedish literature. One of my very favourite authors in the world is the Swedish children’s book author Astrid Lindgren. In addition to such memorable characters as Pippi Longstockings and Emil from Lönneberga, she’s written about Ronja Rövardotter (my favourite), The Children of Noisy Village, and many, many more. Both her books and the movies made from them (I highly recommend the English version of Mio in the Land of Faraway, with Christopher Lee and a young Christian Bale) have given me countless hours of entertainment. But Lindgren is hardly the only one. In addition to her, Sweden has fostered Nobel Laureate Selma Lagerlöf, and more recently several top crime novelists, such as Stieg Larsson.

Basically, I love Sweden.

There. I said it. I still reserve the right to be thrilled when Norway kicks Swedish butt in the next Winter Olympics, though. Tough love is the name of the game between siblings...

The border between Norway and Sweden. Extra points if you can tell me which is which (I have no idea).

On trolls

As you might recall, I've been away on vacation for a few days. I explained how I visited the Jotunheimen mountains. What I perhaps forgot to mention, was that this “family holiday” actually was an expedition to locate the remaining specimens of some of Norway’s most mythologized creatures: the trolls.

The main population of trolls today lives in the Northern parts of Europe, most notably in Norway. There are more than 2500 species of trolls in the Scandinavian countries, 2000 of which are native to Norway. Of these, the most prominent ones are the Common Norwegian Forest Troll, the Norwegian Forest Dwarf Troll, the Sea Troll (Draugen), the Bearded Bottleneck Troll and the Obnoxious Norwegian Mountain Troll.

Meeting trolls is never free of danger, but we had prepared well. We brought several mechanical toys, a whole set of flashlights with extra batteries, and a copy of The Da Vinci Code.

Trolls are extremely dangerous creatures. While they might be tricked by riddles, logical paradoxes and faulty prose, it is safest to rely on physical means of defense. Sunlight is, as should be common knowledge, lethal to trolls. Because of this they only venture outside their caves in darkness or during extremely rainy days. Should they be encountered under such circumstances, or even in one of their caves, it is useful to know that trolls are also easily blinded by artificial light (even a simple flashlight will do). Be aware that this will only cause temporary blindness, and as soon as the troll regains full usage of its eyes (or eye, as the case is with the One Eyed Rural Dwelling Troll and the Kykloptical Klutter Klinger Troll) it will chase the subject it most likely believed caused the blindness. Thus another trick is to bring decoys in the shape of model airplanes or other objects that can direct the attention away from yourself.

You should not, under any circumstance, attempt to outrun a troll; or (this should not even be in the book as it is self-evident) engage it in combat. You will lose. (With the possible exception of man-to-troll combats with the Procrastinating Fickle-Flogger Troll. Due to its size and extreme strength it would crush you in an instant, but it will most likely put it off until you can make your escape.)

As we approached the mountains, it was nerve-wracking to say the least to scout towards the skyline to try to make out if any of the mountains were moving. We never drove very close, as this is haphazard to say the least.

Since the Jotunheimen is one of the last natural habitats for the trolls, there are any number of regulations for how the area can be traversed. However, most of the regulations are intended to ensure human safety rather than the survival of the trolls. Caravans are mostly forbidden, since trolls occasionally mistake them for lunchboxes. Paragliding is discouraged, but not forbidden (it would only make it more attractive for the extremists), though tourists and locals alike should be aware of the dangers involved in flying around looking like troll-sized butterflies. Trolls do not like butterflies.

The best way to access a troll bound area is by foot, as this will allow the best possible escape. Humans are tiny compared to most types of trolls, while cars are easy to pick up. Finally, your attire can be what saves your life. Most trolls are trained to identify creatures that are meant to blend into the scenery (as they are highly efficient hunters for wild animals and the occasional sheep), while colours such as hot pink or bright green that isn’t part of the natural colour scheme of their habitat actually are more difficult for them to distinguish. In general, trolls often have relatively poor eyesight, but their sense of smell more than compensates for this. They can smell “Christian blood” (the preferred troll term for “human”) up to twenty miles away.

In the end, we never got to see any trolls. A pity, perhaps, but a part of me is relieved. After all, these are extremely dangerous creatures, and it really is quite foolish to try to seek them out. But, it’s a family tradition. Fortunately this time we came home safely – who knows if we will the next time?





All the excerpts in this text are from Professor Geirr Ådne Ørjesæther’s book, Trolls and their Relatives (not to be confused with the children’s book of the same title).

On mountaineering

I haven't been doing a whole lot of travelling this summer. It's got to do with several things, most notably time (in between the job and the studies, it didn't feel like I could take much time off), and money (no student loans during the summer always makes the budget a little tight, but this time it was worse than usual since I didn't work this spring). Thus it sounded like a great opportunity to get away for a while when my parents suggested that I came with them to visit some relatives of ours in the mountainous areas in the middle of Norway.

These relatives (it's actually my mother's cousin and her husband, but since my mom and her cousin are both only childs, they are more like siblings. So for the purpose of this post I will refer to them as my aunt and uncle) have a cabin up in the mountains. It used to be very simple, but with time they have installed power in the cabin, and these days they even have water (it's still outside the cabin, though directly outside it). However, it remains a simple life up there, and the area definitely offers space to let your mind wander.

I'll be away a few days. I have scheduled posts, but I won't be around to reply to comments or visit other blogs. In the meantime you can enjoy some pictures from my last visit:

This picture makes the weather look more dramatical than it actually was. But I couldn't bring myself to touch it up...

This is what all Norwegian homes look like. Well, no, it's not. This is taken at the "fine dining with authentic feel showroom" of the Norwegian master chef Arne Brimi (who is the closest neighbours of my relative's cabin).

The official name for this flower is Skogstorkenebb (which translates to forest stork beak, tee hee) or Geranium sylvaticum in Latin. In my family, however, it only goes by the name "Midsummer flower" due to a particular family story I might consider sharing someday...

This is water coming directly from the glaciers, so even if this picture was taken during summer, the water was ice cold. Makes it perfect for drinking, though.

That would be my dad and my uncle walking ahead. My uncle's family owns most of this valley.

We had been walking for a couple of hours or so when we reached this place, but we parked where the driveable road ended. Back when this place was a summer farm, they didn't even have cars! I'm guessing that the walk from the village took about a day (at least when they had cows with them).

I think this picture gives an idea how remote this place is. No wonders they believed in trolls!

The old weathered cabin, where my uncle spent all his childhood summers.

This ravine, known as Ridderspranget (The Knight's Leap), has a legend tied to it. According to the story, a young man kidnapped another man's bride and ran away with her. They were pursued until they reached the river Sjoa, where he managed to jump across and escape.

"You talkin' to moo?"

The long stretch of mountain in the middle of this picture is the popular tourist route "Besseggen", which is the closest I've ever been to any actual mountaineering. It's quite the hike, and there are parts of it that requires climbing of sorts, but despite that the title of this post is quite misleading...