Over the fjords and through the tunnels...(part 2)

Gro with Huldra, Bjørn with Shaka

"Gro?", I whimpered from my place on the couch, notebook in hand, fingers barely able to hold my pen, legs not able to move without my exhausted arms to help them, "...Can you teach me how to say the parts of the body in Norwegian?  I think now would be the perfect time, since every single part is an aching mess.  Surely, I'll be able to remember the words better that way...."  It truly was ingenious on my part.  That scene from "Raiders of the Lost Arc", after one of Harrison Ford's particularly lengthy and involved get-aways, comes to mind; the one where he is laying there telling Karen Allen each and every part of him that hurts....even his øyebryn (eyebrow) hurt....and his panne, hode, bein, kne, legg, laar, rygg, skulder, albue, tommel, .....his whole fyes hurt!  Well, suffice it to say that I had to ask for the word for hair (haar) because even THAT hurt.  This is not because I'm in Norway.  It's because I have not cross-country skied in years.  And, I might add, there is a fair amount of coordination involved when skiing with dogs, even if you are using them as engines for awhile.

Day 1 of my stay proved to be the better day for snow conditions, even if it was lightly raining by the time we were heading home.  As is normal since I have been in Norway, getting out of the house after 11 a.m. is par.  I recently came up with a variation of a rhyme when telling Gro's English class how Americans are taught the wisdom of Ben Franklin:  "Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise."  Of course, they just had all kinds of antonyms for the word "wisdom".  And judging by the looks on their faces, my mind immediately came up with "Early to bed, early to rise, makes you appear crazy in a Norwegian's eyes."  And that pretty much sums it up.  There is never a reason to get up early here.  In the summer, it stays light practically all night long, so why bother worrying about getting something done before it gets dark?  In the winter, it is basically dark the entire time, so why bother worrying about getting anything done at all?  Have I said yet how mellow Norwegians are compared to Americans?     


We head for the hills across the highway, where there are kilometers and kilometers of groomed trails.  Because of the soft snow conditions, this is a better bet for the dogs, so they don't spend their entire time snorkeling.  I am thrilled to be outside, breathing this incredibly clean air, and because of the less than stellar conditions, there is hardly anyone else out.  Thank goodness, since I'm only just learning how to ski with a dog attached to me at the waist.  Everyone has these belts, like backpacking belts, with a metal hook in the front for attaching a 20-30 ft. leash.  Now, dogs should come with the same markings for trail difficulty.  A "green" dog is one that walks beside you, not really interested in running, maybe one you even have to tug along....like our dog, Rosceaux. 

Rosceaux - Not into running

 A "blue" dog would be one that trots out in front, but not too fast....just a relatively, calm, steady pace, much like Huldra. 





Here she is now, just waiting calmly for her treat, and instructions on how to dial for help on our cellphone.






A "black" (or "red", here in Norway) dog would be like Shaka.  This dog will give you that Iditarod feeling, that "Here we go, off the cliff!" sensation just before you land smack HARD on your rumpe eller rygg and you smash your tommel onto that burm you were trying to avoid.

Shaka (Norwegian for "crazy")

As I was saying, though, the snow was grand, the weather was by Norwegian standards completely okay, and we had a very nice 2 hour tour....a 2 hour tour.  Or was it 3?  Along the way back home, in the small, sparsely forested area between the highway and the cabin, there was a family along the trail, hanging out, sawing branches from trees and having a nice little fire.  I thought that was interesting really, much like the Mexican folk who come up to Mt. Charleston just outside of Vegas and picnic in the parking lot, or along the road in the drainage ditches.  National forest as far as the eye can see, and you're picnicking here?  Granted, this was a father and 2 small children, but aren't children born on skis here and shouldn't they at least go out of sight from the neighboring cabins before feeling the need to build a fire?  And hack away at trees?  I am jolted by the instant-karma of Huldra yanking me forward and I practically face-plant right in front of the aforementioned family, who has now become an audience.  That'll teach me to be judgemental of the natives!

Off to the right, and down around the corner,
one will find a Norwegian family, sawing on trees, building a fire,
having a good time, and being entertained
by sub-par skiers being dragged by dogs

Back at the cabin, we proceed with all of the activities involved with creating my all-time favorite Norwegian word:  Koselig.  Koselig (pronounced, if you're from Bergen, something like koosehlee) means cozy, nice, comfy, and all those other words you can think of that are synonyms.  I mentioned in another post about how Norwegians love candles.  They love ambience, actually, and perhaps other European countries pay more attention to ambience as well.  Perhaps it's that the climate here just lends itself more to that feeling, since I think you need to have dark and cold in order to have koselig.  You need the yin with the yang; the miserable rain with the warm, dry indoors; the cold, dank, nightime outdoors with the koselig, cushions next to the fireplace;  the snowy ski conditions with the Kari Traa woolen long underwear (winterwear "for nuns and knockouts").   The dogs calm down and eat their dinner, the cabin fills with the fragrance of our own dinner as Gro prepares our meal to the sound of Johnny Adams on the stereo.  

Gro, making dinner.  There IS electricity.  I just
didn't want to ruin the ambience with my flash

As we enjoy our meal, watch the dogs sleeping, look outside at the candles on the snowbank, think back on our day, discuss the weather tomorrow (this is a constant conversation topic in Norway.  My link to the weather shows that you can find out pretty much in 3 or 6 hour increments what the temp will be, how much rain is expected to fall, etc.), and what our ski options will be, a nice warm feeling comes over me.  Koselig.  Like a salve for my pulled muscles that perhaps haven't gotten the memo yet that they will be asked to do even more tomorrow.

From outside, on the deck

Ambience is an outside job as well

35 candles in all, tonight.  There are lights on as well.

Bjørn, lighting the chandelier

The next day blooms bright with a clear blue sky, crystalline snow, and much cooler temps.  It is without a doubt the finest day I've experienced since touching down in Norway 39 days ago.  

HellOOOOOOOO , Norway!

How lucky for me to be experiencing this while up in the mountains!!!  Par for the course, however, we must wait until the snow softens up a little before heading out, so we linger over our breakfast. 

Bjørn has a penchant for pickled herring in mustard
sauce for a jumpstart on his day.  

 We are on track-skis, basically, with no metal edges (could be dangerous for the dogs), so in icy conditions, you could say we are basically sledding around on modified toothpicks.  This is the day after which I asked Gro for the Norwegian anatomy lesson.  This is the day that I kept wondering why I didn't suit up in hockey gear instead of ski gear?  After all, I'm cruising around on ice, falling a lot, getting into fights with my ski-poles, and saying "Fi faen"  while picnicking skiers are cheering on the sidelines.


The dogs help with my lack of the Norwegian-fitness-gene, but often, I choose a heavier workout over a new bruise from being tethered to a runaway dog.  Because of the stellar day, there were many people out and about on the trails, many of them having the same problems as we were having.  Some even choosing to walk down the slopes (as we did in the end...I now know exactly how long I can hold a snowplow position on an icy slope with cross-country skis with no edges wearing 3-pin boots that are slightly too big for me).  


As we skied along, I thought to myself, "I could be anywhere doing this, really...what about this experience is different?  What makes it a Norwegian day of skiing?"  No sooner had the thought crossed my mind than we finally catch up with 2 elderly women, tooling along with ease, and Gro recognizes one of them and strikes up a conversation.  I find out the woman is 85 years old, and of course, I ask to take her photo (bloody American, what does she think I am, some kind of freak show?  Well....).

You know you're skiing in Norway when
you are only barely faster than the 85 year old
woman.  And I'm not in THAT bad of shape!

After the brief stop, we continue along, Bjørn and I taking turns being pulled by Shaka.  Huldra wasn't feeling all that well this day.  Perhaps Bjørn snuck her a bit of that pickled herring in mustard sauce?  I know that would slow me down.  At least enough to heave my breakfast off the trail...Our destination was an overlook from where we could see Odda in the fjord below as well as the Folge Fonnd Glacier to the west.

Odda is down at the bottom of the fjord.  The Folge Fonnd glacier is that whispy, cloud-like formation at the top
of the mountains on the horizon to the left.

I was truly in heaven, and for a moment, all my aches and pains were gone.  What can be more pleasing than being out in the open, clean, air, surrounded by friends, kissed by dogs, and knowing that I have used this body to get to this place?  Let's just say that I'm a cheap date, ok?  Well, ok, you'll have to provide the hot black-currant juice and Kvik Lunsj (chocolate)....

It is from here, that we must abandon the idea of skiing back to where the trail is softer.  That is, if we want to arrive back at the cabin without first making a detour to experience Norway's healthcare system.  I mean, not that it isn't something I may want to do sometime in the future, but not at this juncture.  I have also given up completely with being attached to a crazy dog to pull me along.  Truly, the work-out is much more pleasurable than the alternative, and if I stop now, that lump on rumpen min may actually not be visible through my skin-tight jeans I will go back to wearing in the city.

With the clear sky lasting all day and into the evening, it warms my heart to know that my last evening up in the hills will be spent again, enjoying the koselig, fur-draped lounge chairs around the fire, and then moving inside to a candle-lit cabin, a hot shower, and a hot meal, with jazz or blues on the stereo, and 2 dogs on the couches to keep me company.  

My feeble attempt to make this look
like a Corona ad.  It's a Hansa ad, I guess....

Bjørn and I, enjoying the "blue hour" before moving
inside for dinner

It's odd how, when I know that an experience is drawing to a close, time seems to accelerate.  Hm, I think this seems true of  many things, actually.  Money, when it is almost gone, seems to go through my fingers even faster.  The beer I'm drinking seems to become empty, plutselig (suddenly).  Beloved pets seem to decline suddenly before they take their last breath.  The sun and moon move more quickly when they are setting.  Of course, all of these things are illusions, but nevertheless, they carry with them a gamut of emotions from which we may choose.  Sadness.  Fulfillment. Satisfaction. Disappointment. Love. Joy.  Fear. 

The notion of really living in each moment is becoming more of a necessity for me, now.  I've written about how my monkey brain was making mincemeat out of my attempt to just "be" here, and finally, after a little over a month, I am starting to take in this culture, this geography, this food, this life, and just be with it.  Just experience it and not try to make it work how I think it must work in order for me to be how I was before I came here. 

When contemplating spending years in another culture, I think we generally start by experiencing everything through our filters.  It's all we are capable of really.  Perhaps that's what being acculturated means:  Filters.  Yes, it is a process of acquiring a culture from infancy, but it is also a process of acquiring the filters through which you must process all other cultures.  Is this why acquiring multiple languages is so stinkin' easy for wee children?  Because they do not have such fine filters?  Theirs is more like a collander.  Whereas, everytime I try to put together a sentence in Norwegian, I'm having to sift it through a .2 micron element filter of English, that is also trying to filter out the 6 years of French I had, and the recent Polish I have had to learn over the past several years.

I only bring this up, because just when I start to feel comfortable with how I feel here,  I'm jolted back to the reality that I'm giving the bus driver a complete blank stare as he's telling me, in Norwegian, that I don't have to show my transfer ticket receipt, that all I need to do is scan my card again...because it knows I have only been off the bus for 20 minutes;  my mind is searching.....searching.....searching....searching....file found!  "Jeg forstaar ikke.....", to which he responds in perfect English all that I needed to hear to proceed.

I sit in my seat, disappointed in myself that for a brief moment, I couldn't even say something I learned how to say before I left Las Vegas.  And like a person who can think of everything they wanted to say after the argument is over, I snuggle into my coat,  speak Norwegian in my mind, putting all kinds of appropriate sentences together.

Koselig.