Ha Det Bra Norge!

I do stuff like … conclude my five-month adventure in Norway.

With everything going on right now, being my last day here I figured I should write one last hooray blog, so here are a few things that have gone on in the last few weeks: I wrote two big papers and turned them in as exams for my education class, I took a six hour written exam over Language and Didactics in three hours, and I took a four hour written exam on American history and literature in an hour and a half and let’s all pray I passed. Their test taking protocol is insane; you have to look up your assigned room and testing number online before you go up to school. You have to arrive fifteen minutes early and once you check in you can’t leave for the first hour, after that you can take five-minute breaks with one of the proctors following you. You are not allowed to have your purse or bag next to you, it has to be against the wall in the front or back of the classroom, and lastly they explain all of the instructions in Norwegian and the proctors don’t speak English. Awesome.

Another crazy aspect of my last few days here has been the cleaning. In order to get signed out to leave we have to have the cleaning lady from SiA come and inspect our rooms. We were given a checklist of what is needed to be clean and were told when she would come check it out. If it is not clean enough we are charged 70 nok per square meter (almost $12) after we leave for her to clean it. This is no ordinary inspection either, she doesn’t just walk through and look around … oh nei… she has her special spray and a handful of ghostly white towels. She pulls out your stove and bed and sprays and wipes down the floor and walls in all the corners and looks at her rag to see if it is still white; if not looks like you have more work to do.

The hardest part for sure of this last week has been saying goodbye to everyone that I’ve met here and become close to. I’ve walked some of my friends downtown to the train station at all hours of the night and morning to say goodbye. Right now my roommate and I are the only American exchange students left here and are leaving tomorrow morning. Which reminds me I have laundry in the ridiculous excuse for a washing machine and I have more packing to do. Oh how I dread packing.

Thank you all for having gone through this experience with me by reading my blog and keeping up with where I am and what I’m doing. Sorry my writing has been so sporadic these last few weeks. I appreciate all the prayers and thoughts as I get on the plane tomorrow and fly 4,936 miles leaving my life here to start again back in the good ol’ USA. I hope to see you all soon, ha det bra!

dirty + washing = clean?

I do stuff like … laundry (klesvask). Except its not the kind of laundry you would think of at home. Usually when someone does laundry the equation is pretty simple… put in dirty clothes… add soap… and get clean clothes. However over here I can never seem to get the final sum correct. Of course there are variables that affect my results, for instance the ridiculously small washer, the cost of washing and drying (10 nok for wash and 10 for dry) ergo I don’t use the dryer I just hang everything around my room. I have to remind myself not to get excited about what should be the accurate outcome because I now realize that when I put in dirty clothing the result is equivalent, only now the clothes are not only dirty but also wet.

"Here's lookin' at you, kid"

I do stuff like... realize I'm not very cultured.

After talking with many people about cultures and society I realized that when it comes to films I am embarrassingly not familiar with many of the classics. In order to motivate myself to study efficiently for my Norwegian style exams coming up I have set myself an attainable goal. I will study for as long as I can and reward myself with taking time to watch a movie; not just any movie.

At 19 years old I have just come to the obvious conclusion that there are more than only funny love stories in the world of film. Like many women I inevitably love romantic comedies and until now I did not understand why anyone would watch something else. Then after viewing movies (many old ones) with genres such as action, drama, crime, and yes even thriller I am fully aware why people love so many different films. As a result of watching such classic movies I have already noticed allusions from my past that I never understood. For example in the show "The Modern Family", uncle Cameron references Casablanca which I never grasped (but laughed anyway). In my favorite movie The Holiday (predictably a love story) Miles quotes Casablanca which I never got the full effect of until now.

Seeing movies with a plot set in Europe has also changed my view of many situations such as World War II. For example seeing The Pianist and The Reader has given me a different perspective on the war than I've ever thought about. It also makes history become more realistic to me because I've now actually been to some of the places where these battles and catastrophes have taken place.

My current goal is to go through the Internet Movie Database and just go down the list of the top 250 movies of all time. Now obviously I will never have time to watch all of them and as expected I have heard of but never seen most of them. Going down the list I just have one exception, I will not watch a movie categorized as horror. Stepping outside of romantic comedy is like experiencing another whole part of the world. However I am not ready (nor do I see myself ever being ready) to experience the horror bit of it.

Living in Norway has challenged me to learn all that I can, experience all that I can, and be all that I can. Setting a goal to watch movies is a lame example but like Wesley Gibson asked in the final scene of Wanted ... "What have you done lately?"

(and ok if you've seen "Wanted" you know that he actually adds another word in there that I left out, but the question remains...)

Roligheden Barnehage

I do stuff like… go on an excursion to Roligheden Barnehage.

This morning we had our last excursion for our International and Comparative education class. We went to a kindergarten that was actually right across the street from my apartment. When we got there the supervisor had a PowerPoint explaining the history and main aims of the barnehage. We sat in little chairs and drank little cups of tea and coffee. After the presentation we had a little tour of the little school; she showed us where the students take naps … outside. There was a little room filled with strollers that opened up to the outside, this is where the students take their naps… year round.

Four days a week the nature groups go outside no matter what. Today we got to observe what they do when they are outside in the nature. I was quite surprised at the sight before me. There were two four-year-old boys sitting on a log carving wood with knives… sharp knives. Not only was I shocked that the boys were not really being supervised, I was also caught off guard by how well they handled the knives.

Right behind the carving boys I looked up to see three small girls easily climbing up and down the massive rocks. On the other side there was a boy climbing a tree and counting pinecones while under him was a game of impressively played soccer by the children.

Beyond the small soccer field was one of the helpers harnessing up a small girl who then scaled the miniature mountain and then repelled back down with her rope as if it were as simple as walking. She hurried over to join her two of her friends that were getting their little lunch packs out of their little hiking bags. It was then that I realized that these were the tiny skiers I had seen everywhere all winter.

I stood wide-eyed and just watched the children as they explored and had adventures that children in America would be never have. The supervisor said they hadn’t had any major accidents and that the children were always safe. It is no wonder why Norwegians love nature so much they eat, sleep, and are practically raised outside.

Excuse Me?

I do stuff like... attend a Norwegian rummage sale.

Friday night I got an email from a Norwegian friend asking if I wanted to join her and another friend at a rummage sale in the morning. Despite my obvious desire to sleep in on Saturday morning I cheerfully replied that I would love to. Which is true, I did love to. I walked over to her house in the morning and we drove about an hour to a school in Grimstad. As we pulled up, the parking lot and even the lawn in front of the school was polluted with vehicles. We got out and walked up the hill to see the front area flooded with furniture for sale; everything from tables to chairs to pianos.

We meandered our way around the crowds of people and stacked furnishings in order to make our way into the building. I took a deep sigh of relief when we entered, thinking we would avoid the majority of the populace. I realized how mistaken I was when I looked up into the hallway and rooms that were overflowing with people. From my personal perspective I wouldn’t say that Norwegians are purposefully rude by any means. However as far as I have been told, there is no Norwegian word for “excuse me”. So you can see how they would be labeled rude in a situation such as this.

As we set foot into the first room I was immediately shocked at how many people could voluntarily be in one small room at a time. A room that would normally have a twenty person max limit was surly violating the fire code while occupying fifty or sixty people all shuffling around trying to “shop”. I barely glanced at the tables overflowing with antique items displayed for sale. My eyes were glued on Miriam so that I wouldn’t get lost in the frenzy of purchases.

Imagine yourself in one of those big blow up obstacle courses… now think about how obnoxious it is to have to run between those towering pillars that just push you back and forth like a pinball. This, my friends, is how I felt for the next few hours. It was not even a slight nudge followed by an immediate apology. Full-grown adults would try to squeeze into spaces that not even my right leg alone would fit into. There were bodies smashed up against other bodies. I’m not even Closter phobic and I began to experience shortness of breath. Lets just say I made my wall to the hallway whenever it was plausible. I don’t mean to complain at all, it was rather comical to watch and be apart of such a Norwegian function.

Visit

I do stuff like… get visited in Norway by two ‘very special’ people!

The days had been counted down and I looked up at the big blue star drawn on my calendar. I was pacing around my small room, it was five hours before they were supposed to arrive and I had yet to get a confirmation email about our ride, I prayed and prayed I was just being overdramatic and that everything would work out perfectly as planned. (Which of course you’d think I know by now is never how it works). Anyway an hour before their plane came in I got an email saying, “See you soon”. My ride had been confirmed, more pointless worrying I had done and more answered prayer from the Lord.

The fifteen-minute car ride seemed like five seconds (due to engaging conversation) and when I looked up we were at the airport. I checked my watch and ran inside expecting them to be making their way out immediately. I went inside and leaned against a wall staring at the closed door that read “International Arrivals”. The doors would slide open and people would be reunited with friends and family that had been gone. I’m fairly certain they had to have been some of the last to come through the doors and when I saw them, two familiar comforting faces I couldn’t help but run to them. Three months for a baby girl not to see such influential people is a long time. My mom and sister had finally arrived in Norway! (I was of course immediately filled with sorrow that my whole family couldn’t have come however I was ecstatic to see Kat and Ken).

As you can imagine the next week accelerated by and I suddenly found myself curled up on my red futon wondering if the past few days had been real. They were in fact real; I sat and thought of memories from the time we had spent together and laughed to myself as I recalled the picnic we took on the mount and how scared Kathy was to get to the edges and how Kendra just ran around and sang and danced all over the cliff, and the random pictures that were snapped.

I thought back to our trip up to Oslo we had taken with a good Norwegian friend of mine here. How we had met new people (some not so friendly that I will leave nameless) and others very welcoming. I thought about the opportunity we had to walk on top of the new opera building in Oslo as well as visit a park that had hundreds of nude statues surrounding it. One of the highlights of the week had to have been the evening we had a lovely home cooked Norwegian meal of scaled fish and potatoes.

Recalling us lounging on the couch after dinner to unwind from the busy day and noticing something out of the corner of my eye, I remember glancing up to see a mouse, yes a real live mouse, crawling out of the ceiling, down the wall, and into an old guitar sitting on the ground. I somewhat urgently told mom to look and when she finally peeled her eyes off of her email she too saw the rodent and then Kendra; I laughed as I think back about how I made my way to the kitchen to let them know that they had a mouse in their guitar. I’m not sure how to relay that information calmly and politely. Anyway the elderly man grabbed a Kleenex and walked into the living room to get it. A Kleenex? What were you going to do with a Kleenex? Did I mention that it was alive and quickly moving? At this point I think we left and drove back in disbelief and laughter at the events of the evening. (I could recount some stories about the other house we stayed in but I’ll leave those out for now, I’m sure Kathy and Kendra would love to share them with you).

Back to now, as I remained wrapped in my comforter on my futon I glanced over at my calendar looking at the new month astonished that their visit was over. I can’t believe we’re already in April, before you know it I’ll be the one coming out the doors at the airport; however I don’t want to count down, I want to take hold of the remaining time I have here and be thankful for every moment I have left.

Dearest Neighbor...

I do stuff like write a sham letter to our upstairs neighbors:

Dear neighbors above us somewhere,

It has come to my attention that you insist on having a nocturnal sleeping schedule. I have nothing against your sleeping habits, besides the fact that they are completely different from that of a normal person. It is your decision whether you want to rearrange your furniture at three in the morning. I really am glad that you are into interior design and making the most of your accommodations here at Roligheden; I’m sure your room will be on the next cover of SiA “Home and Design”. Don’t get me wrong I’m sure its very cozy I’m all about a good candle, picture frame, even a plant or flower of some sort, but I think you might be taking it a bit too far.

I’m curious also, in between the pushing and pulling of your large furniture against the cement floor, how do you conserve enough energy to then vigorously dance around your newly designed room in what sounds like wooden clogs with music I can distinctly hear? Lady Gaga never needs to be that loud, ever. It sounds as if you have elephants tap dancing up there to “Poker Face” and are about to fall through the ceiling as the grand finale and land on my bunk bed. I don’t think I would have on my ‘poker face’ at this point. Since I can already hear your festivities I’d really love to see them as well. I can only imagine how comical it must be based on the roaring laughter that vibrates through the vent above my desk. I understand some things just are really funny. I’m sure you’ve heard me giggle once or twice, trust me I enjoy a good laugh; but perhaps you could keep the hearty laughter to an inside volume during the wee hours of the night? I am by no means asking you stop laughing, “for laughter is the spark of the soul”; but could you please keep this spark under control and not allow it to explode as loud as humanly possible at four AM?

I also understand you probably have a lot to talk about, that’s great there is a lot going on. However, could you just try not to yell your details into the vent? The vent essentially then acts as a microphone into my room. I can clearly hear you, so unless the person within the five-foot radius of your room has a hearing impairment (which I’m not making fun of, that is a serious issue) perhaps you could bring it down a few notches? I mean I’m sure its very interesting but if I understood your language I would know everything about your life because I can hear everything that goes on in your room, not purposely mind you, I try NOT to listen but its impossible.

On the other hand perhaps I should thank you, when I can’t sleep at night I attempt to guess what you are doing by the clamor I can make out. So in that case maybe your racket soothes me to sleep every night. If that is the case would you like me to play wall ball on my ceiling with a tennis ball? Or would you prefer that we just use the end of our squeegee handle and pound it up to the ceiling?

Despite all the commotion and suggestions I guess I have come to appreciate your neighborly noise. You are part of what makes my flat seem more like home; so please continue to tap dance, holler, sing, and rearrange your furniture as much as you’d like. I'll just be down here listening.

Yours truly,

The attentive neighbor below you.

Bon jour!

I do stuff like … venture down to Paris for a few days.

So there is no way I could ever justly explain Paris to you through words on a computer screen, therefore I will just go over a few of the highlights and chronological events of the few days I was in France.

The traveling of course took up the most time; to begin our departure we walked to the central bus station downtown and took a double decker bus from Kristiansand to Oslo. I think the bus ride was about three and a half, maybe four hours. The bus dropped us off at the Oslo Torp airport, which was very convenient, and we went inside and waited, five hours later we went through security and waited another two hours before our two-hour flight left from Oslo to Beauvaisis. Once we arrived in France we took a taxi to our hotel for the night. The next morning we awoke quite early, had a quick breakfast and headed out to find the bus to take us back to the airport where we waited for 45 minutes to take an hour and a half bus ride to Paris! Once in Paris we took the metro to our hostel, which we kind of had a hard time finding but after some prayer and venturing we discovered its location.

A few exciting events, first of all, our hostel (St. Christophers Hostel) was much more pleasant than the St. Christophers we stayed at in London. Since we had already stayed at one though we got a 10% discount on our beds, lovely. Our first order of business when we arrived (after the girls getting their French haircuts at a local salon) was to find the grocery store. This didn’t take very long, however inside the tiny French grocery store took awhile. When we walked in we got quite a few stares, which we have come accustomed to. After a few moments of walking through the store I noticed a man that was mysteriously at the end of every aisle that we walked down. I kept an eye on him and after a few more minutes I realized that I was not just being paranoid he was most definitely following us and intently watching us. I looked at him a few times and he saw me, but instead of nonchalantly looking away he continued to stare. Finally we gathered our last few items and waited in the excruciatingly lengthy line where an elderly man was whistling and speaking to us in French. I glanced around and noticed that the creeper was gone, taking a big sigh of relief I relaxed a little; until I got up to the counter and saw him walk back into the store. At this point the girls and I were a little shaky and concerned about the weird man who was not trying to make it a secret that he was watching us. We stayed calm however and bought our groceries; as we walked past him to leave the store he said something to Rachel in French (which we obviously don’t understand) so we just keep walking quite briskly until we make it back to the safety of our hostel room. Just a little scare to keep us more aware.

A great thing about our hostel is that they have a free walking tour everyday that starts at ten in the morning. So we went on the walking tour and took the metro in order to see a ton of Paris. The sights were incredible and like most amazing historical places I just stood there thinking about what it must have been like during the war when all of the fighting must have taken place. We also saw a building where part of the “Bourne Identity” was filmed, which I thought Darrin would think is pretty cool so I took a picture of it. Our tour guide pointed to the Eiffel Tower from the Cathedral and we could just see the top of it. So of course when the tour concluded we tipped and thanked our guide as we made our way over the tower. It was so unbelievable to be standing next to and under the actual Eiffel Tower (which is the second most recognized structure in the world). We took some pictures and just sat and stared at it for a while. During this whole time by the tower there was dozens of men following us around trying to sell us things that we obviously did not want, that is what NO means. At 19:00 the tower lights up for the evening, we were just sitting on a bench having our French granola fruit bars (not my favorite) when we suddenly noticed people sprinting, not just running, full on sprinting. We looked closer and saw that the men who were trying to sell us stuff were all bookin’ it in different directions and behind each of them was a French police officer. I was kind of scared but at the same time it was kind of funny, I didn’t really know what to do so I just sat back and watched. One of the men sprinted straight out into the busy street to lose the police officer, and another one hurdled some bushes and ran the other direction. I didn’t see any of them get caught but it was an intense free show we got to witness. Later at the hostel we asked a French guy that we had met, Alex, what was going on, he told us that the police always show up at seven because those people don’t have the right to be there selling things. Oh hmm, then why don’t they just leave before the police show up? Silly Frenchman.

That night we just hung out, played a few rounds of UNO with our new friend and packed up to prepare for our six AM departure the next morning. Overall Paris was amazing.

Rema 1000

I do stuff like… laugh every time I go to the Norwegian grocery store.

As you have heard previously most of the places I need to go are not close by my dorm. However there is fortunately a string of grocery stores right down the road from Roligheden (my building). The cheapest and closest one is Rema 1000, ergo the one I go to the most. So last night I was feeling pretty creative about dinner and looked in the fridge and saw lettuce and tomatoes, perfect all we need is bacon and I could make some delicious BLT’s. We venture out to Rema and as we expected it was rather difficult to find the bacon on the long wall of refrigerated meats (in a language we don’t read).

As we are searching for this cured pig meat the electricity in the store suddenly extinguishes. I stop what I’m doing and peer around me to see all these Norwegians continuing to gather their groceries as if it’s a reoccurring normal event. In my head I am guffawing at how ridiculous I probably look to them but how ridiculous they look to me is what causes me to giggle as I continue to stand in stupefaction. There are no lights and the fridge is not cooling the “must be refrigerated” items; yet they all just continue to shop as if they don’t notice. Uhm ok, in order to blend in I take back up my search but can’t see (hmm I wonder why) so I decide to move on and come back. Just as I’m gathering some crackers the lights come back on and I’m relieved as I head back to the meat determined to find bacon.

Mission accomplished, we found the bacon and our other necessary groceries (yes the ice cream was necessary) and headed to the check out. There are two lines at Rema so its not like you have a huge decision to make as to which line you are going to wait in. By the time I get to the cashier I say, “Hi, how are you?” It has become the norm for us to greet employees this way because then they know that we speak English. On the rare occasion that they do answer the question they continue to speak English until the end when they ask if we want a bag, in Norwegian. This is when I usually laugh in my head because we just had this whole conversation in English and then you ask me if I want a bag in Norwegian? I also find it ironic when people state that they don’t speak a language, in that language. Like “me no speaky English” or “no hablo espanol” or “jeg snakker ikke norsk”. Ok so they know you don’t speak that language (which you clearly do because you just spoke it) but that doesn’t tell them what language you do speak. I just find it more efficient to apologize and ask if they speak English; saves us both some time and confusion.

Anyway by the time they ask if you want a bag all of your groceries are banging into each other at the end of the continuous conveyer belt. (If you have glass jars put them at the end so they don’t shatter from being constantly pelted by your other food items). They usually only give you one bag, and by give you I actually mean throw down the belt. Now I’m not a professional grocery bagger nor have I ever worked in a produce store so I’m new with whole bagging of groceries process. I know that in the US there are regulations, like don’t put laundry soap and cleaner next to your yogurt and grapes. But since I only have one bag here it looks like that’s not going to be an option. Also you know when you are at the grocery store or any store for that matter and you feel rushed? Yeah that is how it is here too, I feel like it’s a race to bag my groceries because the split second after I pay, the cashier flips the divider to the belt and starts beep beep beep, scanning the items of the next customer. Finally I just grab what doesn’t fit in my one plastic bag and begin my short walk home. So long story short I made BLT’s on bagels (yes we found frozen bagels at the store) with cream cheese. (Like we use to make at Cherry Bean all the time Mary!)

Next time you go to the grocery store keep these things in mind and be thankful that you all are speaking the same language and that you can read the labels and that they give you more than one bag and even bag your items for you. It is a much less stressful event for me in the US but also a less humorous one.

Only One

I do stuff like… explore the Norwegian wilderness and think beyond my competence.

Those of you who know me well know that I usually make fun of the people who write about their feelings and post it on the World Wide Web for everyone to read; however I’m about to be one of those people, and I give you full permission to make fun of me. I’m going to attempt to tackle my thoughts and spill them out of my keyboard and onto your screen.

We went on a hike through the wilderness of Kristiansand, it was incredible to just sit down and look out into the sea with the islands and mountains and sunshine. I realized that after being away from my comfortable life for a little over two months I have become aware of certain situations that occur in the world that I have never taken the time to actually think about. People all over the world go through unimaginable circumstances and I rarely think outside of my hometown let alone outside of my state and country.

A good friend of mine here in Norway (probably the friendliest person you will ever meet) recently told me about a good friend of hers back home. She told me about how they had known each other for many years and how much he cared about her and about things they had gone through together. I sat and intently listened to her while we sat at a little table in the middle of the downtown mall eating my delicious Norwegian ice cream. I had heard her talk about him before so I was interested in this story she was sharing and had a huge smile on my face; that grin quickly dissolved when she began her conclusion. Her voice started to quaver a little bit and I looked up to see her eyes beginning to water. I figured it was just because she missed him and was thinking about him, but attempting to be optimistic I thought about how fun it was going to be when she got home and saw him again. Little did I know that this reuniting between two friends was never going to happen.

She raised her head up from the spec on the table she was staring at and looked me straight in the eyes and uttered words I was not prepared for: “he shot himself in the head and died”. My eyes immediately enlarged and glazed over while the rest of my body froze with me just staring at her. First of all I felt like a terrible friend because I had no idea what to say and second of all I felt so helpless, like there was nothing I could say or do to make it even the slightest bit more bearable. The one-year marking point of this tragedy is the day that she flies home. Even though this catastrophe happened months ago I could tell the agony was still fresh. It was like the pain was physically ripping her apart, suffocating her. I could look into her eyes and see the agonizing torture she has to deal with, alone. Just hearing her talk about it made me sick to my stomach; I haven’t the slightest idea to what extent she is suffering. I can’t even explain it.

***

The other day I was talking to an old teacher and coach from high school. I asked her how her semester was going and she just replied, “tough” which was strange to me because this is the coach that taught me to anticipate challenges and make the best of them. However no one could have anticipated this challenge; she went on to inform me that a student had recently hung himself in his closet and his girlfriend was in one of her classes. I can’t fathom the feelings she must be overwhelmed with, the burden of depression pulling her down and the torment of confusion. This young high school girl and the rest of the students’ family and friends are undoubtedly drowning in agony.

We all know there are uncountable instances such as these and I could never truly cover them with justice. These aren’t just good stories to tell and they aren’t just good information and facts to make the front-page news. These are peoples lives, the only life they have. I haven’t possessed even a glimpse of depression or anguish like these people have had to endure; the pain in my life I’m sure looks miniscule in comparison to theirs. I do not know how they feel but I do know that it doesn’t matter how young you are or how much life experience you do or do not have, either way the pain is real and brings along the horror of hopelessness.

The circumstance is irrelevant; there is certainly indescribable suffering for the people left behind. It’s not just suicide, it could be a car accident or a sickness or violence or just any random disaster. Visualize your teenager, husband, wife, child, mother, father, best friend, whoever disappearing in an instant without warning. The last thing you’ve said to them could be the last thing you ever say to them. Think about your life without that person. Imagine waking up every morning and having to carry the hurt of that loved one not being there anymore, you can’t see them, converse with them, or hug them. Maybe you just want to have one last conversation with them but you are oppressed to face the fact that it’s too late. There are people who lay awake at night and recite the words over and over that they long to express. You want to tell them one last thing that you never really found the time to bring up and say, they were right there and you just figured you’d tell them later. I can’t imagine living the rest of my life bearing that pain. What if there is no later?

I think the most commonly asked question is why? I can’t answer that question but I know the answer to how… trust the One who knows why. It is the truth that only God knows and maybe if he told us it would only bring more anguish, so he’s protecting us. I’ve noticed that the more comfortable I get, the more selfish I become. When I feel like I have control (which I never actually obtain) I tend to think one dimensionally about my own life. I’m so worried about things that have no meaning at all: what I’m going to wear, which book I should read first, what I should have for dinner, how many miles I ran today. Seriously? Those are aspects of everyday life but lets try to think outside of everyday life just for a second, about the things that are truly significant; I know it is easier said than done, I’ll be the first to admit I awful with this.

When we are forced to step outside of our comfort zone and rely on the only One who really has the answer, then I think our pain and anguish and confusion can begin to evaporate. Why do we live so selfishly when there are plenty of opportunities to encourage the people around us? (This is by no means a guilt trip; this is just what I’ve been thinking about lately.) Anyway it’s not in our own capability, we can’t do it by ourselves. His power is made perfect in our weakness and we can’t bear this fallen world alone, we need Him and we need each other. I know its so cliché but really, tell the people you love that you love them.

Seizing..

I do stuff like… seize my Norwegians days.

In case you are unaware my mother created a binder that is full letters and cards, (a surprising amount of gum), and advice from people back at home. All of these letters have helped me and I’m so thankful for every single one. Recently I read one that told me to go out and something I’ve been wanting to do but just haven’t gotten around to (I think you know who you are). So today I did. Rachel and I didn’t have class today so we went out into the rare bit of sunshine there was and found an adorable little Norwegian Café and had warm beverages and worked on some homework and had lunch. They really love cold sandwiches here, all on some kind of wheat bread with nuts and seeds. I did not recognize any of the pastries either but they did look scrumptious. The ladies in the café were very friendly and I think they rather enjoyed talking to us in English, we chatted about what were studying and about a salon that was downtown and I knew a girl there from one of my classes. It was quite an enjoyable afternoon and I’m looking forward to my boxing class tonight.

There have been instances here in Norway where I have realized how much I take for granted back at home. I know that is so cliché and obvious and there really is no way for me to clearly explain it to you. One example would be when I was walking home the other day, it had just been snowing consecutively for multiple days and was now sleeting. Due to the sleet some of the snow on the ground was getting slushy and forming large puddles (more like bodies of water) on the path where I walk. As I trudged through the ponds my feet were soaking wet and freezing cold. Not just wet like ‘oh my toes are damp’, wet like when I got home I wrung out my socks and dumped water out of my boots. But surprisingly as I was walking home I was just humming and looking around at the forests and buildings around me. I was content to be walking home with sopping feet. This made me realize that if I ever had to walk anywhere at home I would probably have a terrible attitude about it; let alone walking even with slightly drizzled feet. I’m thankful now that I have to walk here, it has taught me to be more appreciative of simple things at home like my vehicle and dry socks and a microwave and don’t even get me started about the laundry situation.

This is totally random but I also just want to throw in that the other morning I had just woken up and was having my morning tea and reading when of course when I am the most relaxed DDDDDDIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNGGGGGG, the joyous sound of the fire alarm once again. At this point I don’t even look out into the hall to see if anyone is evacuating I already know they’re not. I simply walk over to my big metal door and abruptly push it shut to muffle the false distress siren. They might as well just take the whole fire alarm system out because even if it was a legit fire I don’t think anyone would leave, I mean I certainly wouldn’t, because of how many times it has gone off for no tangible reason. But nevertheless, safety first.

A Car Hit Me

I do stuff like … get hit by a Norwegian vehicle.

My lovely American friend Rachel (from Idaho) and I were just walking home from our exceptional American Studies class (yes I’m taking American Studies in Norway); we are having a very deep intellectual discussion about Dark Romanticism and True National Literature (yeah right, we were probably talking about boys) but anyway we get to the road that doesn’t have a sidewalk so we stay to the very edge and just keep trekking. Now this is more difficult than one would think because of the massive snowdrifts the road is already very narrow and cars are zooming past going both directions. But we aren’t too worried about it, that is until we both heard a popping noise and I felt like I just got hit by a car. Oh that’s because I did. The cars usually get pretty close and apparently this driver had poor depth perception because they got a little too close. My water bottle (compliments of Shan) popped out of my bag, by the way the ones that say virtually unbreakable really are unbreakable. Thankfully the car just sideswiped me and I had on plenty of layers and my backpack took most of the impact. I would post a picture of my sweet bruise but its location is not exactly blog appropriate. I turned to Rachel and she asked if I was ok and then started laughing uncontrollably and I must have looked confused because she assured me between bouts of laughter, “you just got hit by a car”. We both spun around to see if the driver would stop but they were long gone. Due to my astonishment and disbelief I started laughing too as Rach and I continued our much more cautious walk home. As we approached our destination we must have asked each other a hundred times if that really just happened, sure enough it did. I got hit by a car.

The Trek

I do stuff like … go skiing in Norway.

But that’s not what I’m going to tell you about right now. This is going to be an attempt to give you a visual of what I experience on my walk to school. I’ve become fond of bundling up like a child going out to play in the snow; that is until I get into the snow. Scanning the parking lot from the front door in the morning after a night of endless snowfall is like looking out onto a white desert. Even with my spectacles on I can’t distinguish between drifts of snow or actual objects such as bikes and cars. I push the little green button and the door mechanically swings open. With my first step out my glasses are overcome with fog and I have to take them off to be able to see anything, the astronomical snowflakes hit my face and immediately melt causing my skin to be wet and therefore even more cold than it already is.

By the time I reach the corner I have already seen the “primary school” (that’s what Norwegians call Elementary) children making their way to class. By ‘making their way’ to class I don’t mean walking or running or getting off the bus. The children, all of the children regardless of age or size, are cross country skiing to school; hence the reason they don’t have snow days here. There is no need to cancel school due to snow because everyone can just clip on their skis, grab their poles and slide to school. Many of the Norwegians I have questioned about this have said they received their first set of skis when they were two and three years old. (A valid reason I decided why the ten year old that was skiing with me the other day was gliding circles around me as I attempted to climb up the hill with my skis on, but that is another story for another day.)

I get past the school and continue down a path towards the University, I have to stay to the right because on my left are mothers pulling their infants. I have seen strollers here, but they are like strollers with monster wheels, like I’m pretty sure the strollers have an option to flip on four-wheel drive. But most of the mothers I have seen pull their toddlers behind them on sleds. How is this possible on the sidewalk you ask? Great question. They don’t exactly shovel the sidewalk like we would expect in the States. They move some snow around and get quite close to the pavement but there remains a decent layer of snow and ice between your feet and the ground making it more of a glide than an actual walk.

After gigging to myself about the form of child transportation around here I glance up and peer out from under the brim of my frozen hat to see the school off in the distance. My icicle eyelashes become glued to each other every time I blink and the ends (split ends may I add, Haley I need a haircut!) that are sticking out from under my snow covered hat have become pin straight and iced over. At this point my thunder thighs are frosted and numb, that is my cue that I am almost there. When I finally reach my destination and remove a few layers I find that my skin feels like the inside wall of a freezer yet somehow at the same time its perspiring. I obviously have to make a trip to the “toilets” before scampering up to class and being filled with new knowledge. It is a refreshing start to a hectic day.

Holiday to London

I do stuff like… Take holiday to London for the weekend!

To preface this entry I would like to notify you that there is really no way for me to clearly explain what I have witnessed and experienced this past weekend, but nevertheless I’m going to try. I apologize now for how contorted this may come out I realize it may just be rubbish.

We left Thursday morning and walked down to the train station, which is coincidentally right next to the Central Bus Station. Walking past the area brought back a flood of memories of my first night here in Norway being stranded at the bus station in a strange country, at night, freezing; not that I’m bitter in any way it was quite the learning experience actually. Back to the point, this is the first time (correct me if I’m wrong Kathy) that I have been on an actual train. My expectations, like usual, were very far off. The trains we were on had cars in which the seats in one car would be facing one direction and the seats in the next car faced the opposite, ergo if you had to sit in the car facing backwards you were in for quite a ride of motion sickness traveling backwards for five hours. As you may have guessed I indeed had the privilege of experiencing this situation. We were fortunately able to move though and get seats all together; there weren’t a gaggle of people on our first train so we ended up sitting in the seats that faced each other, lovely. I won’t go on about the train other than to say that I think I like trains more than airplanes. Which brings us to the little Oslo Torp airport where we enjoyed the company of each other for the next six hours until our flight to England departed. A few random fun facts to point out: traveling lightly does not mean having outfits with options, it means taking your backpack with only what you will absolutely need; this makes for a less painful back ache, easier security passing, and less risk of being mugged while having carrying everything you brought with you everywhere you go.

To make an entirely too long story short I have come to the conclusion that most people working in airports, especially passport inspectors are often unable to smile and hate their lives, therefore they attempt to make everyone else hate their own lives by interrogating you with as many questions as possible and then doubting your honesty when you answer. This tactic however, did not work on me and I purposefully held my enthusiastic smile while thanking them and telling them to have a wonderful day. I was excited, probably over excited actually, to be able to read all of the signs and understand people around me in the England airport where everything was in the great English language! Cheers.

Lets skip ahead to after our incredibly late and loud plane ride, to the hotel which was actually just reserved for three adults so incidentally Rachel and Fana happened to be some ways behind us when we checked in. I now know why they have a three adult max rule, the room was quite small and having five of us in there made it all the more cozy (this was the beginning of the end of my personal bubble for the weekend). The highlight of the hotel stay was for sure the English breakfast in the morning (don’t get me wrong girls I enjoyed squeezing three of us onto that not so queen sized bed) but breakfast had fruit, yogurt, cheese, little pastry things that I can’t pronounce, cereal, toast and jam, an assortment of beverages from tea, to juice, coffee, hot chocolate, milk. Great way to start off the first day in the UK (haha that rhymed).

(Going to have to finish later I have to go further my education)

Kirke

I do stuff like… attend kirke (Norwegian for church).

I have been praying for quite some time that I would meet more people here, preferably that know of or even attend a decent church that I could check out. Its been challenging because the only thing I can really say in Norwegian is “jeg snakker ikke norsk” which means, I don’t speak Norwegian. You clearly see the problem. So I was really thinking about what I could do and praying really hard that somehow I would find someone or somewhere or something. The next morning I checked my email and had received a message on facebook from a girl in one of my classes, it said, "I looked at your profile, are you a Christian? I am too :) You must join me to Salem eg. on Sunday, are you interested? That's the church I go to, and its a meeting for young people every Sunday." Seriously? I was, and still am speechless when I think about how quickly the Lord answered me, He was not messin' around.

Of course I messaged her back quite excitedly and told her I would love to join her. We set up a time to meet at her house (which I had walked past once) on Sunday evening. The time came and after a long day I walked over to her apartment and was perplexed when I didn’t remember which one it was (it didn’t help that it was dark) so I just waited thinking she would come out soon; I was mistaken and looked down at my watch seeing that it was indeed 19.00 (7 PM), when the service started. Dang! I began to walk back to my apartment hoping and praying that I would be able to make it next week. Just as I turned the corner to walk up my steps I heard someone holler my name. I spun around to see Miriam standing on the corner waving at me. I ran over to her in amazement yet again of God’s expeditious response. We talked and walked to the church, which happens to be right down the road from my apartment. We were a little bit late so Miriam asked a tech guy if there was a translation to English that night, and there wasn’t. Which I was fine with because I am rather fond of trying to figure out what people are saying. During a whole church service however this task became exceedingly difficult. There were two songs they sung in English and I recognized both of them!

Other than those two songs however there was only one sentence during the service that was quoted in English. The speaker paused and gazed over the audience slowly uttering these words: “40,000 people die of starvation everyday and you people (the church) don’t give a damn. The worst part about it is that all of you are more concerned with me using the word damn than about the 40,000 people starving right now.” I probably looked shocked but found that to be very interesting. Not only because it was the only thing I understood, but also because as I heard it I was astonished to hear “damn” in the church, and then ashamed to be focusing on one word rather than thousands of peoples lives.

Day-"A Period of 24 Hours as a Unit of Time"

I do stuff like… not think of anything clever to write. So I will just give you a little synapse of some of the happenings that occur during my “ordinary” weekdays.

I usually wake up to a little tune from the alarm on my phone and dance around a little bit in my bed before springing down from my bunk bed feeling like a cheerful child throwing open my curtains (which resemble those of a hotels) to discover more snow and further murkiness. Oh well moving on, to fulfill the expectation of being an adult I then sing the old tune…“The best part of waking up is Folgers in your cuuuup” which honestly is a total lie and they don’t even have Folgers here but a fresh pot of Norwegian coffee works just as well. (Although the coffee is not exactly Cherry Bean caliber but it works with a little milk). Then I proceed to get ready for the day, I think you get the point so let us fast-forward to the oh so lovely excursion to la escuela (Spanish for school, thought I’d add a little more culture, met a girl from Spain the other day). J

The walk usually begins with the wind getting knocked out of me (the air is too cold to breath for a few seconds) as I skip down the front stairs into the parking lot; which would be the end of my walk… if I had a car. But considering my preferred form of transportation here is my lower limbs (legs) I trek through the parking lot and get on my way observing in much astonishment how much more snow has accumulated since yesterday. I have now been informed that there are four different routes one could take to end up at school, only two of which I can ever remember so I just stick with the good old hill. As I stroll through town I thoroughly enjoy the fresh air and observing the people and places around. There is a little bakery around the corner that always smells quite delectable but I know if I ever go in there alone I will never come back out.

After trudging through the snow, ice, rocks, and slush for (at a good pace) twenty-five minutes I pass the Spicheren (the exquisite gym) and end up at the University. As you probably already know the education system is MUCH different here, I happen to be taking a class on the Norwegian education system so I’ll let you know here in about four and half months what it actually entails. What I know thus far is that there is usually one or two assignments each “pupil” must complete and turn in by the specified date. If you complete the assignments on time and pass them you are allowed to “sit the exam” at the end of the semester. I would just like to emphasize that you don’t actually receive “marks” for these assignments they are just prerequisites qualifying you to be able to take the excruciating exam, oh why thank you so much. The exams I am potentially to take (considering I pass my “turn ins”) consist of a 30-minute oral presentation on (I have no idea), two four hour written exams, another presentation, and a paper I believe; all of which I am enthusiastically counting down the days to “sit” (take). SARCASM.

Preceding about five hours of class I usually am the first one out the door. I think it might be a European thing, but they usually have just closed their notebooks by the time I’m walking out the door. I don’t mean to rush but its like John Burroughs said, “I still find each day too short for all the thoughts I want to think, all the walks I want to take, all the books I want to read, and all the friends I want to see.” So in other words, I just like to move along with my day. Depending on the time, I usually scurry over to the gym to get in my daily 7.5k run, J and make it home in what should be the fully lit sunny afternoon, but in reality is quite gloomy and dark. I generally check my mailbox on the way to my lovely bungalow anticipating mail… that occasionally ends with me giggling like a little schoolgirl when I actually see a little surprise inside as I skip down the hall.

To sum up the evening, it usually incorporates a long warm shower, checking my email, dinner with Kayla, a lot of reading, drinking tea, an occasional movie (The Holiday is ALWAYS a big hit in my book), and sometimes a little writing. Now I clearly skipped and omitted portions of the day but I think you can perceive the major idea of my daily life here in Europe. J

Frequently Asked Questions...

I do stuff like… answer these few reoccurring questions:

· No I do not have an accent.

· Yes I am American.

· No I am not 21.

· Yes I am sure I am only 19.

· No I cannot legally drink at home.

· Yes I know the drinking age is only 18 here.

· No I am not graduating from college next year.

· Yes I am sure this is only my first year of college.

· No I did not cheat the system to get here.

· Yes I have enough credits to study abroad.

· No my birthday is not in the next five months.

· Yes I just turned 19 a month ago.

· No I do not speak Norwegian.

· Yes I know I look Norwegian but I am positive I do not understand you.

· No I do not live by the ocean (or any body of water for that matter and Linoma beach does not count)

· Yes it gets cold and snows where I am from.

· No I am not married.

· Yes I have had this ring since I was 13.

· No I do not need your help because I am young.

· Yes I am a big girl I’m sure I can figure it out myself.

· No I do not enjoy studying.

· Yes I want to be a mathematics educator.

· No I do not want to comment on my president.

· Yes I know who he is.

· No I have never been to New York or California.

· Yes I have gone skiing even though I’m from NE.

· No I am not scared to live alone.

· Yes I just moved out of my parent’s house a month ago.

· No I am not a twin.

· Yes I have a middle name.

· No I have never crashed my vehicle.

· Yes I can drive I got my license when I was 16.

· No I do not eat McDonalds every day.

· Yes I drink tea at home too.

· No I do not take the bus or walk in the States.

· Yes I have a car.

· No I have never had fresh salmon before this.

· Yes I love steak and corn.

· No I do not want to answer any more of your questions.

· Yes I am sure.