Hei Hei fra Norge!
Happy Thanksgiving!
Katherine and I celebrated over-seas by hosting Takk-giving (Takk=Thanks) for 16 exchange students from around the world. Feeling obligated to educate, we introduced hand-turkeys (yes, the ones from kindergarten), encouraged “typical American” apparel, enlightened them on the joys of sweet potato (and pumpkin, and apple, and pecan) pie, then ripped off the tablecloths for a post-dessert game of beer pong. Katherine’s mom sent us an email reminding us that we have a lot to be grateful for this year. She is right, and as the days get shorter, so does our time here in Oslo…we find ourselves savoring every last minute of both. We try to get outside sometime between 9:00 and 14:30 when the sun is still in the sky, but with 5 hour long finals, review sessions and sleep I am thankful that I am a night person.
Norway is about the same size as Michigan with less than half the population, so I find flying out of the domestic terminal is a little humorous. A couple weeks ago I visited my friend Henrik (who I had met in Aspen) at his home in Tonsburg, an hour south of Oslo. Established in AD 871 it is the oldest city in Norway and home to the castle Castrum Tunsbergis intact with distinguishable wall, turrets, and one hell of a view of the fjord. Katherine and I also had a chance to head to Stavenger, Norway’s oil capitol. A little Norwegian History: Norway used to rely heavily on the sardine packing industry and thus (as you can imagine) was dirt poor until the 1970’s when (surprise!) they found an oil field off the coast and consequently, Norway’s “Average Jonas” became a very wealthy man. Other than petrol, Stavenger also has a quaint downtown, great beaches and some friends of my roommate’s who hosted our stay and taught us how to make traditional Pepperkaker cookies (think gingerbread and white icing). Their beautiful traditional wooden cottage complete with crackling fireplace was a harsh contradiction from our apartment’s minimalist motif somewhat-less-complete with Ikea candle. We exploited the opportunity to relax.
The last of my traveling included a rendezvous with my mom and three of my aunts (post Paris girls weekend) in green, green Ireland. Within an hour of meeting them at Dublin Airport we were quite literally having a blast (no comment). After a stimulating drive on the “wrong” side of the road through a scattered matrix of stone-fenced fields of multi-colored (tagged) sheep we arrived in Galway at the Sea Breeze Lodge B&B. The next morning I woke up early, pumped up the “St. Patrick’s Day” mix on my iPod and hit the road along The Atlantic watching the sun rise over the bluffs. Running in countries like Ireland and Germany where so many people have ran before is an indescribable means of Ironman motivation.
After a hot plate of grilled tomatoes and white pudding we jumped on a bus to explore the lakes, harbors, fields and mountains of Connemara, one of the few traditional and galic speaking regions of the country. The tour stopped at the Kylemore Abbey, a former private residence built by textile merchant and politician Mitchell Henry in 1863 (later sold to and currently run by the Benedictine Nuns). My favorite part was the gardens that were nestled between mountains and surrounded by a tall brick wall. Still somewhat in shambles, it was like a secret garden, filled with everything from exotic plants to pumpkins. The next day, after a bit of shopping in Galway, we hopped back in the car and returned to Dublin to hit the town. Although we had a lovely time in the Temple Bar district enjoying our freshly brewed Guiness and Bulmers Cider, we were pointed in the direction of a dirtier, grungier, livelier and far superior locals pub that had a great jam session going on that evening (with a very cute fiddle player). I want to go back with my father and my hammered dulcimer.
In the morning, with the help of the nicest taxi driver I have ever met, we succeeded in finding the small cottage overlooking the mountains where my great grandmother left her family100 years ago. It was hard to imagine how desperate times had been for her to walk out that front door alone at 16, en route to a country thousands of times farther than she had ever dreamed. I really cherished sharing that moment with my aunts. Traveling Europe with a small group of 50 year old women is a very different than with a large group of college students but I thoroughly enjoyed getting spoiled by my Aunt Patty and Aunt Susie, discovering that my Aunt Joanie and I have exceptionally similar taste, and using a fake ID to get into a bar with my mom.
Speaking of spoiling…If you are ever wondering what to get me for my birthday, Christmas (or holidays in general), any large life event like graduation or a wedding, there is now an answer: Puccini Chocolate (www.puccinibomboni.com). Upon tasting it on that corner of Staalstraat in Amsterdam, a feeling of completion inundated me completely as I realized that I have tasted the most amazing thing in the world and can now die happy.
Perhaps it has something to do with the chocolate, my triathlon-driven love of bicycles, or the way the lights sparkle on the canals at night, but Amsterdam surpassed Prague as my favorite city in Europe. Feeling adventurous on our bikes, we made our way outside the city and to the small village of Ransdorp. It was everything that you could ever want in a small Dutch village; tiny cottages on the water, cute old Dutch people watching us (clearly NOT locals) from behind lace curtains, and a man driving a front loader down the main drag with a dead goat. Our trip had good timing and we were in the city for MuseumN8, a yearly museum bar crawl that included everything from DJ’s to light shows. Like Marijuana until the 1970s, for two centuries Catholicism was illegal in Amsterdam beginning in 1575 after the Protestant Reformation, so Catholics in hiding worshiped at the “Our Lord in the Attic” church disguised as a canal house in the Red Light District where, while waiting in line on MuseumN8, I was struck by the mirror of a small truck. Why that is relevant to this letter home… I was hit by a truck while waiting in line for church in Amsterdam’s Red Light District. Now that’s a story to tell your mother.
Life in Oslo by comparison is incredibly less exciting, although with guests in town we have managed to see it in a new light. My exploration got me in trouble when I found myself INSIDE of one of Norway’s most famous tourist attractions at Frogner park and consequently also found myself to be the laughing stock of a swarm of Japanese tourists who thought my predicament was photo-worthy.
Finals continue through December 19th and then it is time to say goodbye to Oslo and my adopted family of friends here. As unusual as it will be to take weekend trips to Plymouth instead of Prague and to be to young to go to the bar I am looking forward to most things American. I suppose I could always go to Windsor if I miss that oh-so-pleasant customs experience. My family will be in Norway to celebrate Christmas and then I fly home to kick off the New Year with the first real swim of Ironman training on January 1st.
I hope all is well at home, wherever home may be!
Alexandra
