Scenen Bak (back stage) is an interesting place.
Between doing absolutely nothing, and a little something, generally, back stage is filled with looking through the cracks of the set, trying to determine the audience reaction, and dancing, miming, to stay awake.
Everyone is so talented and hard working. Some people get stressed and bent out of shape, but I find that the people that keep their calm and their cool are generally the people that are 1) easier to work with, 2) easier to work for, 3) easier to learn from, 4) easier to talk to.
People that like telling others how wrong they are tend to hold less charm for me. The negativity does nothing but prolong a problem. And so, I have adopted it as my professional duty to be upbeat and positive, even if I don't really like what's going on. It is better than complaining and making others feel badly because you may not be, personally, happy with the situation.
Basically, removing your ego and your personal self from the work around you makes things run more smoothly, rather than becoming upset over little things.
I mean, a lot of people get heated up and personal about theatre, but I find the more time I spend in a small little black space, in one building among hundreds in a small town, in a Northern country in the world, my humility grows. And, that's not a bad thing. I mean, really, how important are the little foibles that go on at work?
Not important at all. What's really important is the world outside and my connection with it. If I can bring the positive connections I have with the world into the theatre, the better. But, creating unneccessary drama based on mistakes that can't be reconciled is silly, a waste of energy.
And as my Dad (and Pavel) says, "Don't hate. It's a waste of energy. Anger and hatred is just a waste of energy."
Of course, I am learning more about myself. And especially how I have the tendency to be very negative towards myself. I never really ever thought it affected anyone but myself. But working closely with several other people (I've never worked this absolutely closely with people ever. I mean, we eat two or three meals together a DAY... I mean, minus my family, I never have spent this much solid time around the same people every day; not to mention traveling together), I have discovered that my mood greatly affects others, and their mood affects me as well.
So, since I am aware of the fact now, I can find ways to make the monotony and boredom pass more easily and gracefully.
It's especially easy to become negative when others are complaining, and when you are tired of being in the same 5 sq Meter space for over 6 hours a day (sometimes as much as 12 or 14), and even by just being negative, it breeds negativity.
One person I work with (not Seth: he is as bubbly as a soap bottle), is rather negative and while he's not difficult to work with, he's not fun to work with. Mostly because he is impatient and does things as quick fixes constantly, rather than sometimes taking care of the root of the problem. This goes against everything my dad ever taught me about, "Take your time and do it right the first time, so you don't have to do it again." That is not to say that I don't expect some things to fall apart, but I can't do anything about that, so I just have to deal with the crap as it comes at me. One thing at a time, as they say.
Anyway, I know he has more responsibility than me, and the company relies on him to have things together and coordinate the technical aspects of things...
But still, that's no reason to be so negative towards people that are 1) innocent 2) unknowing.
It's like in Emma by Jane Austen,
"She is simply ridiculous," says Emma
"Then that should secure your compassion for her!" Retorts Mr. Knightly.
And I feel that is the right course. Of course, this person, I'm sure, is in need of compassion himself. But, my point is, professionally speaking, there's got to be a better way of doing it.
I find that constructing boundaries for oneself is helpful. I know people are always going on about "being free", but sometimes, you have to have rules to help you see the things that you might miss otherwise. Besides, being "free" means you get to make the choices about who you want to be. I find that people that don't discipline themselves in any way whatsoever are lacking a kind of self-respect.
But, c'est la vie.
"You live and learn. Well, at least you live." -- Douglas Adams
Perhaps all these reflections are simply a waste of time. But, I've already had them, so there you go. My mind often wanders, and I find it difficult to not think about something. The more you try not to think about it, the more you think about it. So, often, it's helpful to just think it and get it over with. Dwelling on it is just silly. But it's best to let it flow in and out and let it go into the Universe with all the other really not-so-important crap in the world.
The only thing that matters is love, man.
Anyway,
Fast forward to Monday...
We gave two school performances, packed up the show, and flew to Bodo, where I am now in the lovely Skagen Hotel. They have a library, lounge, breakfast, lunch, and dinner (gratis for me, since NOSO is paying for me) :D
Monday and Tuesday were two of some of the longest working days I have ever had. Monday we spent nearly 13 hours at the theatre working.
Tuesday, yesterday, while not quite so long, was slightly stressful.
The Mouse Choir here in Bodo is AMAZING. The girls are terrific! They are sweet, respectful, quiet when they should be (backstage), intelligent, bubbly, and positive. Their presence has given everyone a nice positive boost for the performance. Which is what started me thinking about how attitude affects others one works with.
Anyway, regardless of how unhappy the tech director was about how things went on yesterday, everything has pretty much went off without a hitch. Nothing broke taht couldn't be fixed, and I think most of the irritation was caused by being tired, rather than any real problem. It's interesting how the symptom of something is often the only thing that is recognized, rather than the actual problem.
Someone says, "You're bleeding! Oh, my! I don't like the sight of blood!"
When really, blood is just a red liquid. What they probably really don't like is where the blood comes from-- an open wound or illness.
Hemophobia, though, is probably a poor example of what I am attempting to illustrate, but it's the best thing I can think of right now.
Anyway, recognizing the reason, rather than focusing on the symptom is a good way to get around a lot of stress.
Because, really, when one should probably be the most stressed is when adrenaline kicks in and the humanoid goes into total alert. But, you aren't actually thinking about the stress of survival, you're just trying to survive.
It's the "mode".
I've also been thinking about modus operandi. I've learned a lot about myself in Norway so far. I've calmed down a bit now that everything has been put together, and now it's just a matter of tear and repair, patching, fixing, and adjusting. I was pretty hell-bent on getting everything done on time. Not stressed, exactly, but just... in the mode, I guess.
My modus operandi, if I were to put it into words right now, at this time during my life would have to be described as "trying a little of everything."
Every meal I try to have something new, a new combination of things, new roads to take, no sights, new hobbies, interests, literature, things to learn.
I feel like this has always been my modus operandi.
And I realize that the time I have spent in the past trying to create a constructed routine or create a "life" for myself has just been a fool's attempt. Routine is what stagnates my mind and my will of life. I'm really not good with it. Maybe it's the way I grew up, maybe it's being homeschooled, or whatever, but it doesn't matter. I do what I do, and there will be a place for me in the world regardless of my modus operandi.
You don't discover life, life discovers you. Maybe that's an egocentric way to think of it, but when you place yourself in the center of all, you realize that you can control nothing but the self. Being in the center doesn't always mean you believe you're the most important. It just means you realize that the focus of life comes from the self, not from outward forces. It's just letting things happen and taking them as they are.
That got very philosophical, all of a sudden.
I guess, it's because I've been reading "The Idiot" by Dostoevsky. And basically, Dostoevsky explains madness, more or less, as the inability to accept life for what it is. There are characters that don't accept love, or forgiveness, or friendship, or money, or reason. The character that accepts everything, the "Idiot", is the blank slate by which all others are judged. It's a fascinating book. But Prince Mushkin places himself in the center of all his thoughts and reflections. He realizes he sees the world the way he sees it. And he knows nothing else but to honestly express this. It's simplicity is a relief and I find the reading extremely pleasurable.
IN any case,
"I'm afraid I've been thinking... a dangerous past time..." -- Beauty and the Beast
"We don't like what we don't understand, in fact it scares us..." -- Beauty and the Beast.
And so, I end this post. It is late, I am tired... and I'm rambling about "The Idiot" and a Disney cartoon...
A strange, and probably not completely good sign.
G'night
Hannah
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Gulrot!
Since the past week has been incredibly busy and hectic, I will be breaking this update down!
Get it? Up-date down?
I would laugh at my stupidity, but, I'm really tired. Exhaustedly so.
So, this particular update is about the professional aspect of things going on.
The show-- "Teskejkerringa" in case I haven't mentioned it before-- opened on Sunday, two days ago. The week leading up to the "World Premiere"--indeed, it is the first performance ever to be produced-- was filled with last minute changes, tweaks to the set, blocking, additions, cuts, and over-all wrenching of the production for it to be as tight as possible for Sunday.
The Saturday rehearsal, went terrible. Of course, it's natural for the final dress for things to go awry. In Norway they call it the "GB". I don't know what that stands for, but so they say it.
So, there was lost of "tui, tui, tui", which is what Norwegians say instead of "break a leg" or "good luck". And apparently, you say, "tui, tui" back. You do NOT say "takk". Again, I'm not sure why. I don't really want to bother them by asking them to explain the history of it in English. I still feel awkward about everyone speaking English... I feel like an intruder in a way, even thought they enjoy speaking English.
Speaking of which, the director of the show, Stein Winger (who is apparently a world famous Opera/theatre director) was trying to teach us the word for carrot one day. "Gulrot". Basically, it means "yellow root", if Norwegian is anything like English with the compound word system (which I have found is generally the case). For some reason, "gulrot" turns out to be an incredibly difficult word to say... especially for Seth.
It's the minor fluctuation of the Norwegian "o", the dilenation from the English "o" that is still, to me, problematic, and enigmatic. Regardless, Stein had great pleasure in shouting "GULROT!" at Seth and me whenever he passed us by.
The night that everything went wrong in rehearsal, Saturday, Pavel came back stage and asked, "Okay, who's fault was it?" Stein, happening to be walking by exclaimed, "Gulrot!" and continued on his way. We all laughed, but then I lamely admitted that I had forgotten to plug the lights in. Ooops.
On Sunday, the lights still didn't work, but this time, it was just the Universe up to the usual monkey business.
On Friday-- sorry this is so out of order, my mind is wandering a bit-- Pavel took Seth and me out for a drink (actually two [Norwegian beer is actually very good {apparently they import water and German brewers to attain the effect}]) at Kafferiet (one of the restuarants in Narvik we often dined at... and a very nice place, too.) We talked about grad school, design as a profession, and other things. He is very encouraging of grad school, directly after undergrad, and while he doesn't know much about USA grad schools, he highly recommends the University in Berlin and Prague (DAMU). He is most closely connected to DAMU, having studied and worked there, so naturally he knows more about it and can speak most on it's behalf. It would be interesting going to grad school in Europe, and I have often thought of it. If I had to pick a place to go, I would pick either a school in London, or Prague... Prague is definitely cheaper, and according to Pavel, more experience oriented, rather than research oriented... which, for a grad school, I feel is most important. Although, he did say that DAMU was very hard and demanded a lot of their students. Not just with expectations of results and products, but also mentally.
I like a good challenge.
Anyway, apparently, although it seems so odd to me, Pavel is famous. As is Stein. They don't seem famous. But they are. It's strange.
But I figure, while I know that if I go to DAMU, I won't be like Pavel, he himself credits all his learning, education, and thinking to DAMU, but most of all to Stein.
While it sounds rather, um, I forget the word... I really look up to Pavel, professionally and personally. He is a great teacher and a good friend. And I would take his recommendation, just it being his recommendation alone. Although I am very interested in Europe... I feel at home here, somehow. Plus, if that wasn't enough, Prague is very inexpensive, as is tuition. So, you get an equal, if not better education, for less debt.
Anyway,
Saturday, after the rehearsal Pavel arranged for Seth and me to meet Stein to talk to him.
Two of the most impressionable things he told us were these:
"You must be vulnerable."
and
"I just want the people on stage to wear clothes. Is that so hard? I mean, once you put them in period dress, or a fancy costume, it becomes about looking at the clothes, and it distances the audience from the characters. You must reach the audience." (in response to a question about Costume Design, from the director's perspective).
In any case, I have to finish this later, it is late... and I must have more sleep than I have been getting.
And so, I sign off.
Good night.
Hannah
Get it? Up-date down?
I would laugh at my stupidity, but, I'm really tired. Exhaustedly so.
So, this particular update is about the professional aspect of things going on.
The show-- "Teskejkerringa" in case I haven't mentioned it before-- opened on Sunday, two days ago. The week leading up to the "World Premiere"--indeed, it is the first performance ever to be produced-- was filled with last minute changes, tweaks to the set, blocking, additions, cuts, and over-all wrenching of the production for it to be as tight as possible for Sunday.
The Saturday rehearsal, went terrible. Of course, it's natural for the final dress for things to go awry. In Norway they call it the "GB". I don't know what that stands for, but so they say it.
So, there was lost of "tui, tui, tui", which is what Norwegians say instead of "break a leg" or "good luck". And apparently, you say, "tui, tui" back. You do NOT say "takk". Again, I'm not sure why. I don't really want to bother them by asking them to explain the history of it in English. I still feel awkward about everyone speaking English... I feel like an intruder in a way, even thought they enjoy speaking English.
Speaking of which, the director of the show, Stein Winger (who is apparently a world famous Opera/theatre director) was trying to teach us the word for carrot one day. "Gulrot". Basically, it means "yellow root", if Norwegian is anything like English with the compound word system (which I have found is generally the case). For some reason, "gulrot" turns out to be an incredibly difficult word to say... especially for Seth.
It's the minor fluctuation of the Norwegian "o", the dilenation from the English "o" that is still, to me, problematic, and enigmatic. Regardless, Stein had great pleasure in shouting "GULROT!" at Seth and me whenever he passed us by.
The night that everything went wrong in rehearsal, Saturday, Pavel came back stage and asked, "Okay, who's fault was it?" Stein, happening to be walking by exclaimed, "Gulrot!" and continued on his way. We all laughed, but then I lamely admitted that I had forgotten to plug the lights in. Ooops.
On Sunday, the lights still didn't work, but this time, it was just the Universe up to the usual monkey business.
On Friday-- sorry this is so out of order, my mind is wandering a bit-- Pavel took Seth and me out for a drink (actually two [Norwegian beer is actually very good {apparently they import water and German brewers to attain the effect}]) at Kafferiet (one of the restuarants in Narvik we often dined at... and a very nice place, too.) We talked about grad school, design as a profession, and other things. He is very encouraging of grad school, directly after undergrad, and while he doesn't know much about USA grad schools, he highly recommends the University in Berlin and Prague (DAMU). He is most closely connected to DAMU, having studied and worked there, so naturally he knows more about it and can speak most on it's behalf. It would be interesting going to grad school in Europe, and I have often thought of it. If I had to pick a place to go, I would pick either a school in London, or Prague... Prague is definitely cheaper, and according to Pavel, more experience oriented, rather than research oriented... which, for a grad school, I feel is most important. Although, he did say that DAMU was very hard and demanded a lot of their students. Not just with expectations of results and products, but also mentally.
I like a good challenge.
Anyway, apparently, although it seems so odd to me, Pavel is famous. As is Stein. They don't seem famous. But they are. It's strange.
But I figure, while I know that if I go to DAMU, I won't be like Pavel, he himself credits all his learning, education, and thinking to DAMU, but most of all to Stein.
While it sounds rather, um, I forget the word... I really look up to Pavel, professionally and personally. He is a great teacher and a good friend. And I would take his recommendation, just it being his recommendation alone. Although I am very interested in Europe... I feel at home here, somehow. Plus, if that wasn't enough, Prague is very inexpensive, as is tuition. So, you get an equal, if not better education, for less debt.
Anyway,
Saturday, after the rehearsal Pavel arranged for Seth and me to meet Stein to talk to him.
Two of the most impressionable things he told us were these:
"You must be vulnerable."
and
"I just want the people on stage to wear clothes. Is that so hard? I mean, once you put them in period dress, or a fancy costume, it becomes about looking at the clothes, and it distances the audience from the characters. You must reach the audience." (in response to a question about Costume Design, from the director's perspective).
In any case, I have to finish this later, it is late... and I must have more sleep than I have been getting.
And so, I sign off.
Good night.
Hannah
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Ibsen's rips busker og andre busker vekstre -- The Norwegian tongue twister
It means, "Ibsen's berry bushes and other bushes growth."
It's easier to say than most English tongue twisters. Probably because when I say it, I don't have any clue what I'm actually saying, I'm just regurgitating the vowels and consonants. Although, I have accidentally said, a couple of times, "Ibsen's pants bushes and other pants growth"... because "busker" is bushes, but "bukser" is pants
The work at the theatre has gone from decently busy, but structured, to practically nothing and random, to very busy again. We've been putting in a few 12 hour days here and there. Three weeks is really not a long time to be launching a new production. Although, a lot of everything was already built before we got there, perfecting the details takes a long time.
The lights went up at the end of last week, over the weekend, and they have been programming the board and constantly tweaking them over the past two days. Although, that has mostly been Pavel working on that.
We premiere on Sunday, and while most of the larger issues have been resolved, things keep getting added to the mix, like where to put props for actors, how to keep the kids from hurting themselves, and fixing/repairing broken things. Thank goodness, we're not expected to make war reparations for the furniture in the fight against humanity. Think you've got it bad? A chair only ever gets sat on, and shoved in a corner. Although, the arm-chair in this production is living the life of arm-chairs. It gets to be used as a prop on stage. The pinnacle of chair fame for the chair world. It has it's risks, but I'm sure if you asked the arm-chair, it would tell you it was worth the sweaty butts and that ugly cordoruy phase in the '70s to finally make it's debut on the stage. Maybe it got it's leg broken, but that's all part of the process, it would say.
It would start speaking on the behalf of downtrod arm-chairs everywhere...
Anyway, that had nothing to do with anything except that I am completely ridiculous.
Moving on...
So, it turns out Seth and I get to go to the Norwegian Academy of the Arts in Fredriksburg to attend a Scenography workshop for 11 days. I am so excited! We have to read a play, and I'm reading it now. I'm especially excited because it's based in the UK, and having been there, it inspires so many ideas for the design of the production. It's really exciting. Meeting all these new people, getting to talk about ideas and inspiration... and having enough time to write, and think about things. It's like creative camp, and I'm really digging it.
One thing I've discovered, or rather, uncovered with the help of Seth is puppetry. He is huge into it. And it could be his infectious enthusiasm for puppetry that has gotten me interested in it's workings and methods, or it just could be that puppetry really is cool. It makes me sad that there isn't a larger portioin of puppetry in my theatrical education. The U of I doesn't really cover it. It's understandable. I mean, it's difficult to cover even just the basics of theatre... but it's interesting, because puppetry incorporates all the disciplines of theatre, but in a more abstract, and sometimes, more concentrated form. I think it might be a good way to tap into the possibilities of a production.
I have a terrific tool for the auto-drama now, if I am ever again asked to create one. A puppet show! It's the perfect metaphor, and it's very easy to create layering metaphors on top of the simple metaphor that the human psyche, and physical being, is all an extensioin of some unseen director. Not necessarily a God... but, even if it's just the culmination of life events propelling one forward into the next step of life, there is something behind every person walking around in the world. No one is just floating in space, although sometimes it seems that way...
So, besides that simple metaphor, much more can be layered on top of it, based on the design of the puppets, the way they move, to what they are moving (text, music, etc.), a very interesting and entertaining piece can be created.
I keep discovering new things about theatre that I previously was unawares of. Because that's what discovering means. Sheesh. I'm redundant. Even by stating that, it makes me double redundant. Now I'm triple redundant... does it never end?!
Okay...
So, besides Seth educating me on all things puppetry, I've been talking to Pavel, Stein, and Helge, and Katharina, and Nils, and some of the other professionals that occasionally float in and out of the theatre on an irregular basis.
Basically, most of them didn't even study theatre. Some of them are, but the older folks haven't really studied it, necessarily. I mean, they studied it, but not in university. And in a non-negative way, I'm not poo-pooing the theatrical education in the United States, but I can understand why a lot of people who study theatre at an American University, don't normally take/get jobs in the professional theatrical world: they are completely different. In the professional world, there is no one pushing you to finish your projects on time. There are people that need things, sometimes instantly, sometimes not so instantly, but it's a constant process of give and take: something that University theatre tries to tell you, but doesn't quite succeed in demonstrating.
At least, it seems that way. Norwegian theatre is famous for it's big budgets (hence me being paid), so the give and take has a little more freedom, so far as the being able to supply things the director wants, even if it's not in the budget.
However, even if necessary, a university department could do something with cheap or recycled materials. Another thing Seth has sort of converted me to: recycled everything. Thrift store it is! And he's right, you can find all KINDS of wickedly useful stuff inside a Goodwill. I have a horrible tendency to collect odd objects and clothing for --sometimes-- my own personal use. Other times, I simply collect it because it gave me a glimpse of a story. I know that sounds ridiculous, but it's true. Some objects just have so much story behind them. A dent in a helmet, a pair of sunglasses you find in the coat pocket at the Salvation Army... I mean, how did that object get there? The thrift store is like the hub for lost and interesting objects. I've always had a fascination with lost objects, though. I once started a photo file of lost objects I had found. I stopped updating it, and now I can't remember where I put it. I should begin again. And at the end of the album would be a picture inside a thrift store.
Anyway... humans are all about the "things". They are powerful stuffs.
ANYWAY, before I get too much into my head about my theatrical projects and art process, I'm going to conclude my entry with my favorite English tongue twisters:
Black Rubber Baby Buggy Bumpers.
And: I'm a sheet slitter, I slit sheets. I'm the best sheet slitter that ever slit a sheet.
I must take a shower now and prepare for another day among the theatrically inclined.
It's really fun, needless to say. The only disadvantage is being indoors constantly. But otherwise, it's great.
End.
Hannah
Friday, March 18, 2011
Norwegian Water.
Spring hasn't exactly sprung in the Northerly part of Norway, but it has lightly hopped in on a beam of sunshine and under a blanket of warming clouds. Unfortunately (although even the unfortunate right now is a grand sort of good fortune), while the theatre work doesn't require our energy, exactly, it requires our time and our being at the theatre for between 6 and 10 hours a day (give or take a couple depending on the day). So, naturally, outdoor exploration has been kept rather at a minimum. This is alright, but it does seem to be a waste to be indoors when the weather is so fine. But, I digress...
Every Norwegian is different, like all people. They share common characteristics with other humans, but everyone has their own unique combinations of experiences and life events that create them into who they are. But, there is one unifying characteristic of Norwegians, which made a strong impression on me. Every single Norwegian we talked to, when they were explaining to us the best thing about Norway, praised the water. "The water is the best thing about Norway," I have heard multiple times since arriving. It's not the fjords, or the landscapes, although those are good as well. It's the water. That is the self-proclaimed best thing about Norway for the Norwegians.
They don't complain about the taxes. They don't really like them, but they have free health care, and they make decent wages, so they're pretty happy.
It's the water.
I keep thinking about it. And the more I get to know them, the better I like them as a people. Even the ones I don't really like that much, the ones that point the blame at other people, and lack discipline, or basic bodily hygiene, still help me reflect on the absolute simplicity of what life is. It's breathing, it's drinking water, and if it's clean that makes it even better.
Everyday I spend here, I realize again and again how fortunate I really am. The petty annoyances of the day, the kids running around, is nothing. And all the pain in life, in the past, it's gone. I mean, there's only now. And now, things are great.
One thing I've learned, professionally speaking, is that it's best to over-prepare initially. Being perfectionist constantly is crippling. Sometimes it's best to paint with a large brush, just to get it out, and breathe some life into the work.
I guess it's this person I work with. He's a perfectionist. He likes things perfect. He wants them PERFECTLY square, perfectly round, perfectly smooth, etc. And he's always saying, "Well, it's not perfect." That isn't to say he doesn't rejoice in our technical acheivement triumphs (like lighting the wagon with Christmas tree lights), but something is always waiting to be perfected. Which is just totally a gratification on his part. because, really, the audience doesn't see any of the perfect things we've done. It's just a way to deal with the boredom of not having much to do. Which is what we do a lot of: nothin'.
Still, especially when things get out of control, perfectionism is often more of a hinderance than a help. Especially when time gets close, and things get tight.
I am a perfectionist too, sometimes. But I must learn when to perfect, and when to accept.
I think I can accept that this production hasn't hurt anyone, and Seth and I are happy cutting, sewing, glueing, rehearsing, performing, organizing, painting, and everything else they ask us to do.
So, it's all good.
The water is good, so therefore, is life.
Every Norwegian is different, like all people. They share common characteristics with other humans, but everyone has their own unique combinations of experiences and life events that create them into who they are. But, there is one unifying characteristic of Norwegians, which made a strong impression on me. Every single Norwegian we talked to, when they were explaining to us the best thing about Norway, praised the water. "The water is the best thing about Norway," I have heard multiple times since arriving. It's not the fjords, or the landscapes, although those are good as well. It's the water. That is the self-proclaimed best thing about Norway for the Norwegians.
They don't complain about the taxes. They don't really like them, but they have free health care, and they make decent wages, so they're pretty happy.
It's the water.
I keep thinking about it. And the more I get to know them, the better I like them as a people. Even the ones I don't really like that much, the ones that point the blame at other people, and lack discipline, or basic bodily hygiene, still help me reflect on the absolute simplicity of what life is. It's breathing, it's drinking water, and if it's clean that makes it even better.
Everyday I spend here, I realize again and again how fortunate I really am. The petty annoyances of the day, the kids running around, is nothing. And all the pain in life, in the past, it's gone. I mean, there's only now. And now, things are great.
One thing I've learned, professionally speaking, is that it's best to over-prepare initially. Being perfectionist constantly is crippling. Sometimes it's best to paint with a large brush, just to get it out, and breathe some life into the work.
I guess it's this person I work with. He's a perfectionist. He likes things perfect. He wants them PERFECTLY square, perfectly round, perfectly smooth, etc. And he's always saying, "Well, it's not perfect." That isn't to say he doesn't rejoice in our technical acheivement triumphs (like lighting the wagon with Christmas tree lights), but something is always waiting to be perfected. Which is just totally a gratification on his part. because, really, the audience doesn't see any of the perfect things we've done. It's just a way to deal with the boredom of not having much to do. Which is what we do a lot of: nothin'.
Still, especially when things get out of control, perfectionism is often more of a hinderance than a help. Especially when time gets close, and things get tight.
I am a perfectionist too, sometimes. But I must learn when to perfect, and when to accept.
I think I can accept that this production hasn't hurt anyone, and Seth and I are happy cutting, sewing, glueing, rehearsing, performing, organizing, painting, and everything else they ask us to do.
So, it's all good.
The water is good, so therefore, is life.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
What Ice is For
It is Norway, therefore, there is ice.
The first day in Narvik, as Seth and I were walking up a street, we heard above us a sound not unlike the grumblings of car tires on the wrong side of the pavement. We froze, pardon the pun, and a huge chunk of ice crashed onto the pavement about a foot in front of us.
We avoided one hazard of the ice in Norway.
Being in another country is difficult sometimes. Especially because while you're at home, you have a set balance of things you do. You go to school during the morning, hang out with friends in the afternoon, have dinner and do homework at night, then sleep, etc. Not a routine, exactly, but a pattern, or a balance of what you need to do and what you want to do. Being in another country, the balance gets all out of sync and you feel off-balance. At least I do.
I have been pondering this.
Maybe it's because I am allowed very little range of motion at the theatre. We don't get to do a lot of physically demanding things. So, we just sit around a lot, and it's not boring, but not active. I've decided to start walking a circuit before work every morning, which should help. But when I feel off balance, I try, as hard as I can, to regain my balance.
I was walking around Narvik today after Lupper (Lunch/Supper). I walked up to the top of the point, by the high-school, which is above the air port. The view was spectacular. There are fjords as far as the eye can see. Anyway, near the school was a ruin of something, I imaging, that was bombed in WWII. Graffiti on some of it said, "MORD!", which is death, and several little faces of skeletons. I continued on my way. It is strange to think that almost all of Narvik, a town near the size of Moscow, Idaho, was nearly completely destroyed less than 70 years ago. Almost the ENTIRE town. Everything there now is from the 1950's onward. I mean, trying to imagine all of Moscow being wiped out is horrible. Reflecting on it is rather depressing, but at the same time comforting because the people there have the resilience of survivors. They didn't give up the city and abondon it's smoking remains. They stayed. And they have built it back up again.
On the walk back to the hostel, I fell on ice for the first time this Winter. And it wasn't even a hill. It was a flat driveway to the highschool. I did a classic "swooop" fall, the kind where both feet slip right from underneath you and you land on the softer part of your back side.
I laughed to myself.
And then I was reminded what balance is. Balance is not the tight-fisted grasp of control and poise. It is the slipping on ice, the falling down, and the getting up.
So, I got up, and I tried to surf the ice down a steep hill and promptly fell down again. It was too funny, so I laughed.
Crossing the bridge to the main street, a parade to support the victims of the Japan earthquake and tsunami passed by. I walked for them for a little bit.
I read on the BBC.com site that the leader of Japan said the disaster was the worst to hit Japan since World War II. We humans are always picking ourselves back up. It's nice when there are people who understand that.
The first day in Narvik, as Seth and I were walking up a street, we heard above us a sound not unlike the grumblings of car tires on the wrong side of the pavement. We froze, pardon the pun, and a huge chunk of ice crashed onto the pavement about a foot in front of us.
We avoided one hazard of the ice in Norway.
Being in another country is difficult sometimes. Especially because while you're at home, you have a set balance of things you do. You go to school during the morning, hang out with friends in the afternoon, have dinner and do homework at night, then sleep, etc. Not a routine, exactly, but a pattern, or a balance of what you need to do and what you want to do. Being in another country, the balance gets all out of sync and you feel off-balance. At least I do.
I have been pondering this.
Maybe it's because I am allowed very little range of motion at the theatre. We don't get to do a lot of physically demanding things. So, we just sit around a lot, and it's not boring, but not active. I've decided to start walking a circuit before work every morning, which should help. But when I feel off balance, I try, as hard as I can, to regain my balance.
I was walking around Narvik today after Lupper (Lunch/Supper). I walked up to the top of the point, by the high-school, which is above the air port. The view was spectacular. There are fjords as far as the eye can see. Anyway, near the school was a ruin of something, I imaging, that was bombed in WWII. Graffiti on some of it said, "MORD!", which is death, and several little faces of skeletons. I continued on my way. It is strange to think that almost all of Narvik, a town near the size of Moscow, Idaho, was nearly completely destroyed less than 70 years ago. Almost the ENTIRE town. Everything there now is from the 1950's onward. I mean, trying to imagine all of Moscow being wiped out is horrible. Reflecting on it is rather depressing, but at the same time comforting because the people there have the resilience of survivors. They didn't give up the city and abondon it's smoking remains. They stayed. And they have built it back up again.
On the walk back to the hostel, I fell on ice for the first time this Winter. And it wasn't even a hill. It was a flat driveway to the highschool. I did a classic "swooop" fall, the kind where both feet slip right from underneath you and you land on the softer part of your back side.
I laughed to myself.
And then I was reminded what balance is. Balance is not the tight-fisted grasp of control and poise. It is the slipping on ice, the falling down, and the getting up.
So, I got up, and I tried to surf the ice down a steep hill and promptly fell down again. It was too funny, so I laughed.
Crossing the bridge to the main street, a parade to support the victims of the Japan earthquake and tsunami passed by. I walked for them for a little bit.
I read on the BBC.com site that the leader of Japan said the disaster was the worst to hit Japan since World War II. We humans are always picking ourselves back up. It's nice when there are people who understand that.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Mouse Tails!
So, the first day of work for a professional theatrical company!!
Not only have they paid us (are paying us), they provide our lodging, AND our food. Seth and I did dances of joy. This is a college kids' dream. Well, okay, it's pretty much anyone's dream, in my book, and we are livin' it.
Monday consisted of helping Ellyn (the costumer) unpack all the boxes and begin to assemble the costumes. Seth started work on a special coat which is supposed to hold mouse traps, and I was working on finishing the mousetails for the children's choir of mice. Hot glue galore.
We met a couple of the singers, one from Sweden, the other from Norway, both very nice. I'm learning SOME Norwegian, although remembering it all is a bit difficult. I'm gradually picking up some phrases, though. The crew very kindly translate for us when it's important, although most of the time, everyone does converse in English.
Everything went very well. The first day was a hit.
On Tuesday morning, very early, something else hit: food poisoning or 24 hour flu, or something unpleasant. I tried going to work, but only lasted three hours, and then ended up puking as soon as Pavel told me to go home, as I was leaving the building. Gross. I slept for the rest of the day, and night, and I'll spare everyone the disgusting details, but needless to say, I was pretty useless from about 1pm onwards.
Today (Wednesday), I was feeling like a million bucks fresh out of the mint, so I went to work. Seth finished the coat, and Schteffi, and Xena (the two German girls volunteering for the show), and I practically finished the mouse tails (there are 2.5 left to go, as of this evening). The rest of the afternoon was spent watching the children's rehearsal and learning from Helge (the technical director), how the backstage scenery works. Seth, Schteffi, Xena, and I also formed our own "Techie mouse gang" and tied pink fabric to ourselves. It was Seth's idea. He is amazingly crazy. I really enjoy working with him, although he keeps saying "You're going to get sick of me."... I highly doubt it. I can't always keep up in conversation, though. But it's fun to listen to him talk.
The first, and only performance in Narvik, the "World Premiere", as they like to call it, happens March 27th.
We're supposed to learn choreography sometime in the coming week, since Seth and I are supposed to be break dancing mice. Or we might not. The dileneation for anything in this project approaches the term "fuzzy" with a determined streak of rebelliousness, and nothing is clear except the tasks given to us by Ellyn or Helge or Pavel at any given minute. In any case, I've got a pretty cool costume (the coolest part is the suspenders).
So far, it has been pretty relaxed. And once we learn the play and the cues, I think the back stage work will be comfortable and doable as well. The most difficult part will be taking down the set on the 16th in the early morning, and then reassembling it later that night (because there is another show playing on that one day).
Anyway, things continue to go swimmingly.
I would go into more detail, but my laundry is in the wash, and it needs to be put in the dryer... so, fare well.
Hannah
P.S. I LOVE NORWAY. I can already tell I'm going to miss it when I leave.
Not only have they paid us (are paying us), they provide our lodging, AND our food. Seth and I did dances of joy. This is a college kids' dream. Well, okay, it's pretty much anyone's dream, in my book, and we are livin' it.
Monday consisted of helping Ellyn (the costumer) unpack all the boxes and begin to assemble the costumes. Seth started work on a special coat which is supposed to hold mouse traps, and I was working on finishing the mousetails for the children's choir of mice. Hot glue galore.
We met a couple of the singers, one from Sweden, the other from Norway, both very nice. I'm learning SOME Norwegian, although remembering it all is a bit difficult. I'm gradually picking up some phrases, though. The crew very kindly translate for us when it's important, although most of the time, everyone does converse in English.
Everything went very well. The first day was a hit.
On Tuesday morning, very early, something else hit: food poisoning or 24 hour flu, or something unpleasant. I tried going to work, but only lasted three hours, and then ended up puking as soon as Pavel told me to go home, as I was leaving the building. Gross. I slept for the rest of the day, and night, and I'll spare everyone the disgusting details, but needless to say, I was pretty useless from about 1pm onwards.
Today (Wednesday), I was feeling like a million bucks fresh out of the mint, so I went to work. Seth finished the coat, and Schteffi, and Xena (the two German girls volunteering for the show), and I practically finished the mouse tails (there are 2.5 left to go, as of this evening). The rest of the afternoon was spent watching the children's rehearsal and learning from Helge (the technical director), how the backstage scenery works. Seth, Schteffi, Xena, and I also formed our own "Techie mouse gang" and tied pink fabric to ourselves. It was Seth's idea. He is amazingly crazy. I really enjoy working with him, although he keeps saying "You're going to get sick of me."... I highly doubt it. I can't always keep up in conversation, though. But it's fun to listen to him talk.
The first, and only performance in Narvik, the "World Premiere", as they like to call it, happens March 27th.
We're supposed to learn choreography sometime in the coming week, since Seth and I are supposed to be break dancing mice. Or we might not. The dileneation for anything in this project approaches the term "fuzzy" with a determined streak of rebelliousness, and nothing is clear except the tasks given to us by Ellyn or Helge or Pavel at any given minute. In any case, I've got a pretty cool costume (the coolest part is the suspenders).
So far, it has been pretty relaxed. And once we learn the play and the cues, I think the back stage work will be comfortable and doable as well. The most difficult part will be taking down the set on the 16th in the early morning, and then reassembling it later that night (because there is another show playing on that one day).
Anyway, things continue to go swimmingly.
I would go into more detail, but my laundry is in the wash, and it needs to be put in the dryer... so, fare well.
Hannah
P.S. I LOVE NORWAY. I can already tell I'm going to miss it when I leave.
Travelling to Narvik
Seth and I met in the lobby around 7:30am and took off to the train station and the airport.
It was all pretty uneventful. In fact, all the travel was relaxingly uneventful. Seth and I talked for a majority of the time, but I slept on the plane since the Italians had kept me awake all night.
I was a little cranky, I will admit.
But, everything went perfectly. They checked my large duffel for no charge, security was a breeze, and we simply waited in the terminal for a couple hours before our plane took off.
Once we landed in Narvik, we caught the bus to the actual town. On our way, I saw two moose, or Elk as they are called in Norway (I’m still confused about this). We drove around the fjords and finally arrived on the main street of Narvik. After about one minute of confusion, we found our way to our hotel where we waited for the others to arrive so we could check into our room/s.
We met the technical producer, the production manager, and my friend Pavel (the scenographer), in the lobby and then we changed before dinner. They gave us a free meal at the Italian restaurant. I had chopped steak (okay, so, it wasn’t very original… although the gravy sauce was delicious with the fries), and this drink called “Farris”, which is just club soda… apparently, it is very popular here. We met part of the cast and crew, all are delightful.
Anyway, we were both VERY excited, but we were both pretty tired, so we went to bed early.
End of day one in Narvik.
It was all pretty uneventful. In fact, all the travel was relaxingly uneventful. Seth and I talked for a majority of the time, but I slept on the plane since the Italians had kept me awake all night.
I was a little cranky, I will admit.
But, everything went perfectly. They checked my large duffel for no charge, security was a breeze, and we simply waited in the terminal for a couple hours before our plane took off.
Once we landed in Narvik, we caught the bus to the actual town. On our way, I saw two moose, or Elk as they are called in Norway (I’m still confused about this). We drove around the fjords and finally arrived on the main street of Narvik. After about one minute of confusion, we found our way to our hotel where we waited for the others to arrive so we could check into our room/s.
We met the technical producer, the production manager, and my friend Pavel (the scenographer), in the lobby and then we changed before dinner. They gave us a free meal at the Italian restaurant. I had chopped steak (okay, so, it wasn’t very original… although the gravy sauce was delicious with the fries), and this drink called “Farris”, which is just club soda… apparently, it is very popular here. We met part of the cast and crew, all are delightful.
Anyway, we were both VERY excited, but we were both pretty tired, so we went to bed early.
End of day one in Narvik.
Saturday in Oslo: Dreadlocks and Opera
Saturday morning was also sunny (in case you wanted a weather report).
I woke up a little earlier than my usual routine, which means I opened my eyes before 10:30am.
This means the drunk Italians were still around. They offered me some coffee au gratis, but I had hesitations accepting their offer. One of my social rules is: don’t accept coffee from people who put dental floss down the toilet.
‘Nough said.
Anyway, it was an even brighter and sunnier day in beautiful Norway, so I picked a new direction and walked. What I found was the Oslo equivalent of the Brighton Laines, which, for those of you that don’t know, is practically bohemian central. Second hand stores, gluten free bakeries, quirky cafés, and dreadlocks in concentrated numbers. It was very fun. While I was slouching at the entrance of a baby store, off to the side of the walk, surreptitiously eating my gluten free sjokolade muffin (chocolate) from a local bakery (which was SO delicious), two elderly ladies slowly making their way up the uneven path with their canes and long grey overcoats paused in front of me. They looked desperately at the road. Some people impatiently passed them. The two ladies breathed from their mouths and their eyes sort of bugged out in that way that people’s eyes do when they are in distress. One couple walking by them stopped and asked, what I could gather with my limited understanding of Norwegian, “Do you need help with something?”
The ladies replied, “We are trying to cross the road, but the ice is dangerous.”
The couple replied, “Let us help you.”
And they proceeded to help the ladies across the street. The elderly ladies faces lit up like the sky on the 4th of July and they looked so happy that someone had taken the time to help them.
It was just a nice gesture. And it made me happy to see it.
I popped into a second hand store and found a nice scarf that I liked. It has Egyptian hieroglyphics on it, and is a deep lapis blue. The lady who ran the shop was very kind.
So, after I walked around Hausmann’s Gate (where the Oslo Laines were), I took a tour near the station. When I was coming back through one of the squares off… I forget the name of the street, there were “FREE HUG” people standing by the fountain. How could I not?
I got a “FREE HUG”.
It was getting a little late, so I went by the shopping center and picked up a new suitcase and back pack to replace my awkward and somewhat dilapidated original luggage. At the luggage store I got through my first interaction sans English. I was somewhat proud of myself, but store settings aren’t terribly hard to understand anyway. “Do you want a bag?”; “It costs this much.”; “Do you need any help?”; etc. All requiring very little input from the other end of the conversation.
So, I took them back to the hostel and repacked my luggage. Then, I showered and got dressed for “Lulu” the Opera. I walked to the Operahus and found my ticket, and my seat. I sat next to a very kind, talkative older gentleman with whom I discussed theatre and art, Norwegian and English. After the first act we discussed how we didn’t like the Opera very much. And after the second act intermission, he started browsing the internet on his iPhone.
I can’t really blame him.
Technical-wise, it was a very beautiful Opera. The sets were lovely, the costumes were lovely and cohesive, and visually, everything worked like a diamond. Musically, it was not fun. Unless you simply like the tuneless cacophony of dissonance and discord. But personally, I enjoy a good melody, so the music was hard to enjoy, as much as I respected the technical difficulty I’m sure it took in order for the singers to perform it.
Story wise, it was terrible. It revolved around a fatherless and motherless girl, whose father it was assumed was the devil himself, and everyone that fell in love with her and married her (and all of them assumed marriage was the only answer?) either died, or she had them killed. I kept expecting there to be a story. There was no story, and I was reminded of the “Cruelty of Theatre” movement, and especially the exemplar play of the movement: “Spurt of Blood”, in which nothing makes sense and there is mindless violence, sex, blood, disturbing visuals, and whatever else is possible to barrage the senses with a relentless fist of the darker parts of the human mind. I call it the “Nasty Side of Surrealism”. To sum up.
It’s true I’ve never seen anything like it. And I wouldn’t mind seeing something else like it, because of the technical aspects, but I definitely never want to have to sit through listening to something like it again. A taste for modern music is not my forte. And I’m not the only one. Some people left after the first act. And several people left after the second act. Most people didn’t stick around to finish out the unenthusiastic applause. Although some people were very excited about the lead singer. She is a very famous opera singer, so it is understandable.
Anyway, the design was the strongest element of the entire production. And design, in Opera, is important, and the music, I’m sure, was difficult to memorize and sing. But I really didn’t care for it.
At the first act intermission, though, I walked to the top of the Operahus roof (it’s the only opera house in the world where you can do so), which was very cold, but beautiful. The stars were out, and the city was glowing.
After the Opera, I walked back to my hostel and met with Seth in the lobby. We talked for about an hour and then I went to bed to a different kind of cacophony: the snores of drunk Italians with a cough.
Overall, it was a good day.
I woke up a little earlier than my usual routine, which means I opened my eyes before 10:30am.
This means the drunk Italians were still around. They offered me some coffee au gratis, but I had hesitations accepting their offer. One of my social rules is: don’t accept coffee from people who put dental floss down the toilet.
‘Nough said.
Anyway, it was an even brighter and sunnier day in beautiful Norway, so I picked a new direction and walked. What I found was the Oslo equivalent of the Brighton Laines, which, for those of you that don’t know, is practically bohemian central. Second hand stores, gluten free bakeries, quirky cafés, and dreadlocks in concentrated numbers. It was very fun. While I was slouching at the entrance of a baby store, off to the side of the walk, surreptitiously eating my gluten free sjokolade muffin (chocolate) from a local bakery (which was SO delicious), two elderly ladies slowly making their way up the uneven path with their canes and long grey overcoats paused in front of me. They looked desperately at the road. Some people impatiently passed them. The two ladies breathed from their mouths and their eyes sort of bugged out in that way that people’s eyes do when they are in distress. One couple walking by them stopped and asked, what I could gather with my limited understanding of Norwegian, “Do you need help with something?”
The ladies replied, “We are trying to cross the road, but the ice is dangerous.”
The couple replied, “Let us help you.”
And they proceeded to help the ladies across the street. The elderly ladies faces lit up like the sky on the 4th of July and they looked so happy that someone had taken the time to help them.
It was just a nice gesture. And it made me happy to see it.
I popped into a second hand store and found a nice scarf that I liked. It has Egyptian hieroglyphics on it, and is a deep lapis blue. The lady who ran the shop was very kind.
So, after I walked around Hausmann’s Gate (where the Oslo Laines were), I took a tour near the station. When I was coming back through one of the squares off… I forget the name of the street, there were “FREE HUG” people standing by the fountain. How could I not?
I got a “FREE HUG”.
It was getting a little late, so I went by the shopping center and picked up a new suitcase and back pack to replace my awkward and somewhat dilapidated original luggage. At the luggage store I got through my first interaction sans English. I was somewhat proud of myself, but store settings aren’t terribly hard to understand anyway. “Do you want a bag?”; “It costs this much.”; “Do you need any help?”; etc. All requiring very little input from the other end of the conversation.
So, I took them back to the hostel and repacked my luggage. Then, I showered and got dressed for “Lulu” the Opera. I walked to the Operahus and found my ticket, and my seat. I sat next to a very kind, talkative older gentleman with whom I discussed theatre and art, Norwegian and English. After the first act we discussed how we didn’t like the Opera very much. And after the second act intermission, he started browsing the internet on his iPhone.
I can’t really blame him.
Technical-wise, it was a very beautiful Opera. The sets were lovely, the costumes were lovely and cohesive, and visually, everything worked like a diamond. Musically, it was not fun. Unless you simply like the tuneless cacophony of dissonance and discord. But personally, I enjoy a good melody, so the music was hard to enjoy, as much as I respected the technical difficulty I’m sure it took in order for the singers to perform it.
Story wise, it was terrible. It revolved around a fatherless and motherless girl, whose father it was assumed was the devil himself, and everyone that fell in love with her and married her (and all of them assumed marriage was the only answer?) either died, or she had them killed. I kept expecting there to be a story. There was no story, and I was reminded of the “Cruelty of Theatre” movement, and especially the exemplar play of the movement: “Spurt of Blood”, in which nothing makes sense and there is mindless violence, sex, blood, disturbing visuals, and whatever else is possible to barrage the senses with a relentless fist of the darker parts of the human mind. I call it the “Nasty Side of Surrealism”. To sum up.
It’s true I’ve never seen anything like it. And I wouldn’t mind seeing something else like it, because of the technical aspects, but I definitely never want to have to sit through listening to something like it again. A taste for modern music is not my forte. And I’m not the only one. Some people left after the first act. And several people left after the second act. Most people didn’t stick around to finish out the unenthusiastic applause. Although some people were very excited about the lead singer. She is a very famous opera singer, so it is understandable.
Anyway, the design was the strongest element of the entire production. And design, in Opera, is important, and the music, I’m sure, was difficult to memorize and sing. But I really didn’t care for it.
At the first act intermission, though, I walked to the top of the Operahus roof (it’s the only opera house in the world where you can do so), which was very cold, but beautiful. The stars were out, and the city was glowing.
After the Opera, I walked back to my hostel and met with Seth in the lobby. We talked for about an hour and then I went to bed to a different kind of cacophony: the snores of drunk Italians with a cough.
Overall, it was a good day.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
This is going to be a quicky
Okay, so, because yesterday, the internet decided to stop working after I had taken a shower, I am writing this in the morning: the first morning of sunshine we have had, so I will hit the highlights of yesterday (04.03.), and then bolt to the outdoors where, today, it is absolutely beautiful.
So, to start, I woke up incredibly late because I think I still have jet lag, or something. This means I didn't get out the door until about 1pm. I walked Enrico to the station and I had a little lunch there. Then I walked to catch a ferry on the wharf, or the docks... I don't know what to call them. But there were no ferries in sight. At least none I recognized. I can understand: the water was a sheet of ice. The wharf was uncannily quiet, as wharfs usually are. Something about the water either absorbs all the sound, or coaxes people to not make a sound, but everything seems more quiet by the water.
So, on the wharf there is the Akerhus Fortress. It is still used as a military base, at least part of it is, and I wanted to see the castle, but it was unfortunately closed. So, I made my way down Karl Johans Gate where I discovered where everyone was. They were at the Oslo 2011 World Ski Championships at city center. There was a man sculpting statues of the event winners in blocks of wood. And there were beautiful snow and ice sculptures, most, if not all of which were frozen recreations of Munch artwork. Then, I walked up to the Palace, but it did not seem open to tour. At least, I didn't see anyone going inside, or coming out. Outside it, in the park, there was a memorial statue to the Kronprinsesse Martha, and in set at the base of it, there were four tulips frozen in ice. It was lovely.
After I left that side of town, I decided to trek to "Ring 2" to find Vigeland park. I wandered around the highstreet a bit, and ended up walking much farther than I needed (I made a wrong turn). I eventually made it to the finely wrought gates of Vigeland park, where I did a quick turnabout in (it was getting dark). As I was leaving, it started to mist, and I walked back to city center. I walked past two interesting things: 1. Some little kid popping out from behind a man in a long coat to say "Hulloo!". And 2. With much less youthful joy: the American embassy. It kind of fits into the skyline. But it looks uncommonly clean, and clinical. And very dark. It's a little scary looking, to be perfectly honest. I mean, I guess they want it to look intimidating. Anyway, something was going on there, because there was a guard out front with an automatic rifle (at least I think it was). But she was bored, I could tell. She kept yawning.
But, enough of that. On to the Oslo 2011 hotspot (I had spied food there earlier and I was in search for some). I was going to go for a Weinerpols and a Vafle, but the line was taking an incredibly long time, and I spied traditional Norway food. There was a "Fiskeburger" on the sign, and I got curious. I went in, I paid for my fiskeburger- the most delicious sandwich I believe I have ever tasted. It's a patty made of ground fish, except it's boiled down (or something), to a scrambled egg consistency, with a sauce, combined with the lettuce, which tastes a lot like cole slaw, and raw salmon on top. It was so good, I almost went in and got another one, but it was also so big, I couldn't really eat it. But it was absolutely, by far, the best thing I have eaten in days. It was "barra barra", which means "very good". Kind of like in France, when the people tell you, "If you just say Bonne, all the time, no one will know you aren't French." or in Italy, it's "Bombe". Here it's "barra". And I don't know if that's the way it is spelled, but phonetically, in English, that's about the gist of it. The "rr" is rolled, like in Spanish.
Barra barra barra barra.
On my walk to the bus stop, I passed a cafe in Stortinsgata (one of the fancy streets), and peered inside the window. Up on the banister shelf, running along the restaurant were heads of mannequins and wig displays, dressed up like famous people. It was very striking, but very odd. But there were all kinds, staring down at and across the room of the people, drinking coffee and eating their food, with fixed facial expressions of nothing in particular. I got a little sensation of disturbance. But, it wasn't so bad. Just a bit odd.
Then I caught the bus the rest of the way back (they have very nice, clean buses, by the way), wrote postcards for hours, and decided what to do today. My plans may change, as it is sunny and beautiful, and I maybe should have done what is planned for today, yesterday, when the weather wasn't as good. Today is perfect walking weather, being so sunny. But we shall see. Just playing it purely by ear.
Oh, and on an off-note. The fashion of the men goes something like this: They are either A) Runners/athletes B)Lumberjack-like men, or C)Hipsters. I have seen so many coke bottle glasses, tight jeans, and Buddy Holly look-alikes with tweed jackets, completed by bohemian scarves, you'd think I was walking through an indie rock band album over. It's nice and tasteful, and so European, but I still can't take them seriously. Mostly because those tight trousers make them walk funny. But, also because I make fun of them so much. They take themselves so seriously, it's hard not to poke a little fun at them.
Today I am seeing the Opera "Lulu" at the Operahus. I am SO excited.
Seth and I leave tomorrow at around 8am (at the latest) to catch our flight to Narvik. Monday we start our job. I am aflutter with excitement.
That is all, the blue skies are a-calling to me.
Over and out.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Much Munch
So, the theme for the day is Munch. Edvard Munch.
Other than the amazing use of unlikely colors (such as a subtle green for a face, a purple for a brown, a yellow for a shadow), his expressionistic style pretty much sets the tone for the day. I started the day not really knowing where I was going. That is to say, I knew where I wanted to go, but I didn't actually know how to get there. This is pretty standard for me. So, I started with walking in a directioin. I walked until I decided I should change my direction.
These are the notes I took in my journal along the way:
I'm sitting in a cemetery in Slo right now. It is the first moments I have had alone for a couple of days now. It's about like Moscow (maybe a little warmer, or a little less wind). I'm perfectly fine in my wool pea coat and wool sweater.
In this cemetery are buried the first hostages killed in Norway under the Nazi occupation. Henrik Ibsen and Munch the artist are also buried here. Although, me having my wonderful luck with findind gravesites didn't actually find them. So, in my universe, they could have beeb buried in the Egyptian tombs for all I know. In any case, the sign said they were buried here, so buried there they probably are.
Seeing the people walk through the cemetery, I notice the Norwegians have a great dignity about them. Not pride or vanity, necessarily, but dignity. They are charming, and funny, good natured and, like I said, dignified. As a whole, I don't think I've met a happier-acting bunch. There was a girl playing fetch with her Boston Terrier (A very popular breed, by the way), in the cemetery and she didn't cease talking to her little dog. She talked and laughed at it, and it responded in it's playful puppy way by doing, apparently, exactly opposite of what she was telling it. I don't speak Norwegian. But I guessed. Still, this behavior just seemed to make her laugh more.
I can tell the days have just started getting warmer for the residents of Solo. The birds are flying about and the snow on the sidewalks and streets are just now melting a bit. There is yet to be pure water as yet, but the slipper sludge is just as good a sign of Spring as anything. And what should there be trudging the sludge but many parambulators pushed by energetic parents. On every street there were at least one or two black buggies to be seen. The outdoors is infused into every little infant at birth, it would seem. That entire passage was full of alliteration and rhyme, so I apologize.
The cemetery is just off St. Olave's street (or gate, as in Norwegian).
When I was younger, I imagined cemetaries to be frightening, spooky places. But since my travels have taken me to places beyond my family's final resting places, beyond the personal pain of loss, and because I am a bit older, cemetaries now seem to be a final refuge for the living, not the dead only. It's interesting because in the Norwegian cemetery, entire families are buried together. And there is a little star to the left of each date to symbolize when they are born, and a cross to the left of the date of decease.
I am happy to see rhodedendrons here. Some of the branches have buds. I always feel at home where there are rhodedendrons. In Arcata, California, there were huge, red rhodedendron trees blooming profusely already (that was two weeks ago).
There are a lot of black oblisks. In the snow, they look like nails in the Earth that have worked their way loose over years of movement, and might, if the Earth shook a little bit, fall out of their holes to be strewn on the ground. The peace that descends on graveyards is astounding.
Other things I am doing: Saturday night, the 5th, I am seeing the new Opera "Lulu" at the Norwegian Opera and ballet house. I bought the last, good view seat in the stalls they had. The Norwegians LOVE their theatre and art, and music.
Apparently 30% of the population has a higher education degree. This may be part of the reason why they like theatre so much. Not hat having a degree is necessary to appreciate the arts, but it does expose you to it more frequently. I'll be visiting the Munch Museum, too, and see the Royal Palace, I hope. I must find them first, though. The streets are rather confusing.
____
Like I said, I did visit the Munch museum, but found something a little nicer than the grand palace. I found the Botanical garden, which, as it's pretty obvious was snowed over. BUT, inside the botanical garden park, there is a little green house, and a big green house. I visited the little green house. Inside it was a pond full of the most beautiful water lillies I have ever seen. They are irredescently pink and green and sparkled in the artificial sun light. Swimming under them were guppies and a large boxer turtle. There was also a little room with epiphytes (plants that grow in trees, which I have decided are my favorite kinds of plants.) It was very lovely, and warm, which was a bonus for having been walking around in the cold for three hours (okay, minus half an hour break for lunch.)
On to the Munch musem.
It is artists like Munch, Matisse, Man Ray, Salvador Dali, and David Bowie who inspire me in my artistic endeavors. Yes, David Bowie is an artist. They inspire me because they aren't concerned about doing things the correct way, or the conventional way, and I guess it's the appeal that all true artists have. The appeal is they are not afraid to be themselves, or express their being in an unusual way. For so long, I have been afraid of my own expression, worried about whether it is "correct" or "incorrect", effective or ineffective, right or wrong, etc.
My favorite artists didn't give a damn. Or if they did, they surpassed their giving a damn by totally creating things subtle and beautiful. Things that I hope one day to create.
Oscar Wilde also did it with words, and his writing. He created a unique representation of himself, and as he said, "Every portrait is not one of the sitter, but one of the artist."
Too true, Mr. Wilde, too true.
Anyway, words can't express my happiness at seeing Munch's work (he is best known for "The Scream", but actually has a great deal of humor and lightness in his other works), so I will move on.
I ate a shrimp salad there. It was good. Standard European fare.
I walked "home" to the Anker hostel, took a shower, and when I got out, found a great conversation in fellow roomie Enrico from Italia.
We talked for about three hours, and to repeat everything would be too exhaustive and time consuming for even me. But, to sum up, interestingly, he studied scene design at a fine arts institute and now is making his way with his poster designs. It's been a good trip for him.
We talked a lot about art, and media, our generation, politics, the Norwegian language, education, etc.
But now it is quite late, and I must be off to write personal postcards to those lucky enough to earn one (just kidding about that... send me your address and I'll send you a post card).
All for now!
Ciao!
Hannah
Other than the amazing use of unlikely colors (such as a subtle green for a face, a purple for a brown, a yellow for a shadow), his expressionistic style pretty much sets the tone for the day. I started the day not really knowing where I was going. That is to say, I knew where I wanted to go, but I didn't actually know how to get there. This is pretty standard for me. So, I started with walking in a directioin. I walked until I decided I should change my direction.
These are the notes I took in my journal along the way:
I'm sitting in a cemetery in Slo right now. It is the first moments I have had alone for a couple of days now. It's about like Moscow (maybe a little warmer, or a little less wind). I'm perfectly fine in my wool pea coat and wool sweater.
In this cemetery are buried the first hostages killed in Norway under the Nazi occupation. Henrik Ibsen and Munch the artist are also buried here. Although, me having my wonderful luck with findind gravesites didn't actually find them. So, in my universe, they could have beeb buried in the Egyptian tombs for all I know. In any case, the sign said they were buried here, so buried there they probably are.
Seeing the people walk through the cemetery, I notice the Norwegians have a great dignity about them. Not pride or vanity, necessarily, but dignity. They are charming, and funny, good natured and, like I said, dignified. As a whole, I don't think I've met a happier-acting bunch. There was a girl playing fetch with her Boston Terrier (A very popular breed, by the way), in the cemetery and she didn't cease talking to her little dog. She talked and laughed at it, and it responded in it's playful puppy way by doing, apparently, exactly opposite of what she was telling it. I don't speak Norwegian. But I guessed. Still, this behavior just seemed to make her laugh more.
I can tell the days have just started getting warmer for the residents of Solo. The birds are flying about and the snow on the sidewalks and streets are just now melting a bit. There is yet to be pure water as yet, but the slipper sludge is just as good a sign of Spring as anything. And what should there be trudging the sludge but many parambulators pushed by energetic parents. On every street there were at least one or two black buggies to be seen. The outdoors is infused into every little infant at birth, it would seem. That entire passage was full of alliteration and rhyme, so I apologize.
The cemetery is just off St. Olave's street (or gate, as in Norwegian).
When I was younger, I imagined cemetaries to be frightening, spooky places. But since my travels have taken me to places beyond my family's final resting places, beyond the personal pain of loss, and because I am a bit older, cemetaries now seem to be a final refuge for the living, not the dead only. It's interesting because in the Norwegian cemetery, entire families are buried together. And there is a little star to the left of each date to symbolize when they are born, and a cross to the left of the date of decease.
I am happy to see rhodedendrons here. Some of the branches have buds. I always feel at home where there are rhodedendrons. In Arcata, California, there were huge, red rhodedendron trees blooming profusely already (that was two weeks ago).
There are a lot of black oblisks. In the snow, they look like nails in the Earth that have worked their way loose over years of movement, and might, if the Earth shook a little bit, fall out of their holes to be strewn on the ground. The peace that descends on graveyards is astounding.
Other things I am doing: Saturday night, the 5th, I am seeing the new Opera "Lulu" at the Norwegian Opera and ballet house. I bought the last, good view seat in the stalls they had. The Norwegians LOVE their theatre and art, and music.
Apparently 30% of the population has a higher education degree. This may be part of the reason why they like theatre so much. Not hat having a degree is necessary to appreciate the arts, but it does expose you to it more frequently. I'll be visiting the Munch Museum, too, and see the Royal Palace, I hope. I must find them first, though. The streets are rather confusing.
____
Like I said, I did visit the Munch museum, but found something a little nicer than the grand palace. I found the Botanical garden, which, as it's pretty obvious was snowed over. BUT, inside the botanical garden park, there is a little green house, and a big green house. I visited the little green house. Inside it was a pond full of the most beautiful water lillies I have ever seen. They are irredescently pink and green and sparkled in the artificial sun light. Swimming under them were guppies and a large boxer turtle. There was also a little room with epiphytes (plants that grow in trees, which I have decided are my favorite kinds of plants.) It was very lovely, and warm, which was a bonus for having been walking around in the cold for three hours (okay, minus half an hour break for lunch.)
On to the Munch musem.
It is artists like Munch, Matisse, Man Ray, Salvador Dali, and David Bowie who inspire me in my artistic endeavors. Yes, David Bowie is an artist. They inspire me because they aren't concerned about doing things the correct way, or the conventional way, and I guess it's the appeal that all true artists have. The appeal is they are not afraid to be themselves, or express their being in an unusual way. For so long, I have been afraid of my own expression, worried about whether it is "correct" or "incorrect", effective or ineffective, right or wrong, etc.
My favorite artists didn't give a damn. Or if they did, they surpassed their giving a damn by totally creating things subtle and beautiful. Things that I hope one day to create.
Oscar Wilde also did it with words, and his writing. He created a unique representation of himself, and as he said, "Every portrait is not one of the sitter, but one of the artist."
Too true, Mr. Wilde, too true.
Anyway, words can't express my happiness at seeing Munch's work (he is best known for "The Scream", but actually has a great deal of humor and lightness in his other works), so I will move on.
I ate a shrimp salad there. It was good. Standard European fare.
I walked "home" to the Anker hostel, took a shower, and when I got out, found a great conversation in fellow roomie Enrico from Italia.
We talked for about three hours, and to repeat everything would be too exhaustive and time consuming for even me. But, to sum up, interestingly, he studied scene design at a fine arts institute and now is making his way with his poster designs. It's been a good trip for him.
We talked a lot about art, and media, our generation, politics, the Norwegian language, education, etc.
But now it is quite late, and I must be off to write personal postcards to those lucky enough to earn one (just kidding about that... send me your address and I'll send you a post card).
All for now!
Ciao!
Hannah
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
There is a world of wonders inside a cow's head...as we say in Iceland
All along the walls in the KEF Reyjkavik airport, there are Iceland promotional posters of Icelandic sayings, "A man with no brother is naked on the back... As we say in Iceland."
My favorite by far, was, however, "There is a world of wonders inside a cow's head... As we say in Iceland." Maybe it was the picture of the cow sticking it's tongue up it's nose, but I found the ad to be endearing and thought provoking. And it made me feel less stupid. Which is always a plus.
Anyway, back to the point, if I had a point, which at this point I hardly need point out, it is rather pointless to get back to a point that one has forgotten about.
Moving on.
I am very tired. Of course. It's international travel. The nice thing is, while I am tired, I am not exhausted or addalpated with a headache, or confused, or anything. That year abroad in England has definitely made it easier, although it is still tiring. The most tiring part was I crocheted an enormous hat on the flight over, and only slept about three hours. So, it's lack of sleep, tired, not stressed out, unable to breathe because I'm too tense tired. Which, a year a go, had I decided to make such a quantam leap into the world of fate and destiny, would have left me crippled with the God-awful overwhelming changingness of it all.
But it is not so. I feel top-billing, to be perfectly honest, and my only wish is that I were starting work in two days instead of five, but... I can wait. I'm sure there's plenty to do in Oslo before I depart.
So, today I found out a couple of things about Norway.
#1. People are super nice. There's no way around it. They are charming and gracious across the board. Even the beggars are polite.
#2. The "anker" is the national symbol. One need not dig very far into Norwegian history to discover their amazing lineage of sailors and seamen. Norwegian seamen are famous all over the world for their grit, stamina, and skills. When I was in Cardiff last April, they had a Norwegian seamen monuments all over the city. A) they are awesome, and B) Roald Dahl's father was a Norwegian Seaman, and Roald Dahl is most beloved in Cardiff, Wales.
Anyway, so, the anker. Hence, "The Anker Blog", since it's a blog about Norway, might as well incorporate a little cultural reference.
#3. Although this little happenstance is common throughout Europe, I discovered it here, too. Roads are not clearly marked.
#4. I haven't tried them yet, but I have seen the pastries here, and I know I want to try them.
#5. They love their Nordic sports. The Nordic sports championships were going on today, and while I was waitint to check into the room, I watched some of the events with the locals. The one that looks the toughest is the uphill Nordic ski sprint. They sprint up a mountain on Nordic skis. Interestingly, although not surprisingly, the man with the lowest heart rate, and highest lung capacity is a Norwegian skier. I can't remember his name right now, though. Heavens to Bettsy!
That's all my brain can process about Norway for the moment. I had fun walking around the mall and admiring the shops (my love for clothes will never cease). I bought only practical things today, however. A Swatch watch, which is beautiful and was reasonably priced and I love it (I thought I should be able to tell the time), an outlet adapter, a hot dog, Coke, a Lebara SIM card (Lebara has got to be one of the best international pay-as-you-go SIM card suppliers), and a train ticket from the airport to the Oslo Sentralstasion (I think that's how it's spelled in Norwegian). Of course.
In other news, I didn't know this before, but Lybia used to be part of the Italian conglomerate pre-WWII. It wasn't until 1969 that Gadafi took over. For some reason, in my mind, he had been in power much longer. And also, the bombing of his palace the US did was news to me, too. It's amazing what one learns when one reads.
Oh, and also, I had a candy bar from Iceland called "Eitt Sett", which is a strip of liquorice upon a bar of sweet milk chocolate. Salty, interesting, and a little weird. Hopefully tomorrow I will learn the bus system and go somewhere fun to eat. I want to find something unusual and Nordsk and get off the beaten track a little. Although the beaten track is rather nice, here. It's not at all "touristy". I mean, a little, but they keep it under control, which is nice. The locals don't all avoid city centre like the plague, as they do in other European cities where the tacky "I was HERE" shirts flow in the wind like warning flags of grumpy people, on jet lag, with the constant confliction of wanting to buy things, but never wanting to spend any money.
So, yeah, Oslo is not like that. It's crisp, and clean (if it weren't for the slush in the streets, although it is COMPLETELY understandable, just traveling from that myself), and seems to be very well organized. I haven't met an impatient person yet, although many people are in a hurry, since it's a city.
That reminds me:
On the ride from Reyjkavik to Oslo, I watched "Eat. Pray. Love." with Julia Roberts. And yes, while it's not the most cohesive or interesting movie in the world, I very much enjoyed it. Maybe it's because of my recent fascination (okay, 8 year fascination) with Buddhism and meditation, and enlightenment, which interested me about the movie. Besides Julia Roberts, of course, whom, I don't care who disagrees with me or not, I think is wonderfully beautiful and a terrific actress. I know some people don't think she has the chops, but she is compelling and enjoyable to watch. And that, to me, is a great actress.
Anyway, you've probably seen it. But if you haven't, it's about a woman who goes on a journey to find herself. Her whole life is changing, and instead of caving into her pressure, she escapes. This is seen, by some of her acquaintances and friends, as being selfish...
Maybe it's my own personal journey (one that I tend not to reflect upon too heavily), or maybe it's the way the movie was made (purposefully reaching out to women who don't know what to do: which is practically all of us... men and women alike), but I found the movie comforting. Which I think is what it was supposed to be. Anyway, I really liked it.
It had many, many correlations to my own life. But like I said, it was made to be widely relatable. That doesn't diminish it's effectiveness, or it's message though, in any way. Sometimes predictability isn't all bad, however much I do loathe it some times.
Anyway, with coming to Norway and all, I feel as if I have changed in the past year. For the better, hopefully, but I have changed. And, I'm leaving everything I am close to, again, in search of a mysterious unknown. Sometimes I wonder what it is I'm actually searching for.
Eat. Pray. Love. was of the opinion that no matter where you go, or what you do, you are always searching for love. And you search until you find it. I guess they have a point. It seems that everyone wants, or has, an epic love story to tell, or to be discovered.
We all want to be loved, right?
Right.
The main character "Liz" and her fatal attraction to food was nothing shy of the mark with another personal correlation. But I find, when one is in another country, one doesn't get a seriously real experience until they've tried the food. Food is probably the MOST important element to a culture for three reasons, which are addressed in questions: A) WHERE does the food come from? B) WHAT foods are popular? and C) HOW is it prepared?
If you can trace the answers for these questions, as they pertain to their traditional or culturally influenced roots, you will discover more about a country than any other way. And also, WHY do the locals like that flavor, that texture, that taste? The answer to this is more nebulous, which, is like culture itself. Undefinable, in language, it is only seen, heard, and felt, not really linguistically explained. It's very difficult to conclude anything about a culture using just words alone. You need examples. Which is why, I think, while museums are great and everything, it's just not a cultural experience until you've eaten their food, and done something they take for granted.
After thinking a little bit though, I know what I'm in search of. An anker. Be that a person, a place, a home, a face, a laugh, a word, a whatever. I'm searching for an anker. Like that Supertramp song, "Will I be dreaming forever? Oh, I need find and anchor for my soul." I guess he was talking about love, too. Whether I find it in Norway, or elsewhere, or nowhere, or everywhere, ten years from now, whenever, I'm still discovering where it might be. Although every day I feel like I'm getting closer. Like that Buddy Holly song, "Everyday". Hell, I'm just in search of love, okay?!
That was the only way I could get out of that extremely sentimental thought. Swearing.
I have rambled on long enough, I think.
Tomorrow I am sleeping until I wake up. And then, in search of something delicious and lovely. It's been a fabulous journey so far. I hope it continues.
Over and out.
Hannah
My favorite by far, was, however, "There is a world of wonders inside a cow's head... As we say in Iceland." Maybe it was the picture of the cow sticking it's tongue up it's nose, but I found the ad to be endearing and thought provoking. And it made me feel less stupid. Which is always a plus.
Anyway, back to the point, if I had a point, which at this point I hardly need point out, it is rather pointless to get back to a point that one has forgotten about.
Moving on.
I am very tired. Of course. It's international travel. The nice thing is, while I am tired, I am not exhausted or addalpated with a headache, or confused, or anything. That year abroad in England has definitely made it easier, although it is still tiring. The most tiring part was I crocheted an enormous hat on the flight over, and only slept about three hours. So, it's lack of sleep, tired, not stressed out, unable to breathe because I'm too tense tired. Which, a year a go, had I decided to make such a quantam leap into the world of fate and destiny, would have left me crippled with the God-awful overwhelming changingness of it all.
But it is not so. I feel top-billing, to be perfectly honest, and my only wish is that I were starting work in two days instead of five, but... I can wait. I'm sure there's plenty to do in Oslo before I depart.
So, today I found out a couple of things about Norway.
#1. People are super nice. There's no way around it. They are charming and gracious across the board. Even the beggars are polite.
#2. The "anker" is the national symbol. One need not dig very far into Norwegian history to discover their amazing lineage of sailors and seamen. Norwegian seamen are famous all over the world for their grit, stamina, and skills. When I was in Cardiff last April, they had a Norwegian seamen monuments all over the city. A) they are awesome, and B) Roald Dahl's father was a Norwegian Seaman, and Roald Dahl is most beloved in Cardiff, Wales.
Anyway, so, the anker. Hence, "The Anker Blog", since it's a blog about Norway, might as well incorporate a little cultural reference.
#3. Although this little happenstance is common throughout Europe, I discovered it here, too. Roads are not clearly marked.
#4. I haven't tried them yet, but I have seen the pastries here, and I know I want to try them.
#5. They love their Nordic sports. The Nordic sports championships were going on today, and while I was waitint to check into the room, I watched some of the events with the locals. The one that looks the toughest is the uphill Nordic ski sprint. They sprint up a mountain on Nordic skis. Interestingly, although not surprisingly, the man with the lowest heart rate, and highest lung capacity is a Norwegian skier. I can't remember his name right now, though. Heavens to Bettsy!
That's all my brain can process about Norway for the moment. I had fun walking around the mall and admiring the shops (my love for clothes will never cease). I bought only practical things today, however. A Swatch watch, which is beautiful and was reasonably priced and I love it (I thought I should be able to tell the time), an outlet adapter, a hot dog, Coke, a Lebara SIM card (Lebara has got to be one of the best international pay-as-you-go SIM card suppliers), and a train ticket from the airport to the Oslo Sentralstasion (I think that's how it's spelled in Norwegian). Of course.
In other news, I didn't know this before, but Lybia used to be part of the Italian conglomerate pre-WWII. It wasn't until 1969 that Gadafi took over. For some reason, in my mind, he had been in power much longer. And also, the bombing of his palace the US did was news to me, too. It's amazing what one learns when one reads.
Oh, and also, I had a candy bar from Iceland called "Eitt Sett", which is a strip of liquorice upon a bar of sweet milk chocolate. Salty, interesting, and a little weird. Hopefully tomorrow I will learn the bus system and go somewhere fun to eat. I want to find something unusual and Nordsk and get off the beaten track a little. Although the beaten track is rather nice, here. It's not at all "touristy". I mean, a little, but they keep it under control, which is nice. The locals don't all avoid city centre like the plague, as they do in other European cities where the tacky "I was HERE" shirts flow in the wind like warning flags of grumpy people, on jet lag, with the constant confliction of wanting to buy things, but never wanting to spend any money.
So, yeah, Oslo is not like that. It's crisp, and clean (if it weren't for the slush in the streets, although it is COMPLETELY understandable, just traveling from that myself), and seems to be very well organized. I haven't met an impatient person yet, although many people are in a hurry, since it's a city.
That reminds me:
On the ride from Reyjkavik to Oslo, I watched "Eat. Pray. Love." with Julia Roberts. And yes, while it's not the most cohesive or interesting movie in the world, I very much enjoyed it. Maybe it's because of my recent fascination (okay, 8 year fascination) with Buddhism and meditation, and enlightenment, which interested me about the movie. Besides Julia Roberts, of course, whom, I don't care who disagrees with me or not, I think is wonderfully beautiful and a terrific actress. I know some people don't think she has the chops, but she is compelling and enjoyable to watch. And that, to me, is a great actress.
Anyway, you've probably seen it. But if you haven't, it's about a woman who goes on a journey to find herself. Her whole life is changing, and instead of caving into her pressure, she escapes. This is seen, by some of her acquaintances and friends, as being selfish...
Maybe it's my own personal journey (one that I tend not to reflect upon too heavily), or maybe it's the way the movie was made (purposefully reaching out to women who don't know what to do: which is practically all of us... men and women alike), but I found the movie comforting. Which I think is what it was supposed to be. Anyway, I really liked it.
It had many, many correlations to my own life. But like I said, it was made to be widely relatable. That doesn't diminish it's effectiveness, or it's message though, in any way. Sometimes predictability isn't all bad, however much I do loathe it some times.
Anyway, with coming to Norway and all, I feel as if I have changed in the past year. For the better, hopefully, but I have changed. And, I'm leaving everything I am close to, again, in search of a mysterious unknown. Sometimes I wonder what it is I'm actually searching for.
Eat. Pray. Love. was of the opinion that no matter where you go, or what you do, you are always searching for love. And you search until you find it. I guess they have a point. It seems that everyone wants, or has, an epic love story to tell, or to be discovered.
We all want to be loved, right?
Right.
The main character "Liz" and her fatal attraction to food was nothing shy of the mark with another personal correlation. But I find, when one is in another country, one doesn't get a seriously real experience until they've tried the food. Food is probably the MOST important element to a culture for three reasons, which are addressed in questions: A) WHERE does the food come from? B) WHAT foods are popular? and C) HOW is it prepared?
If you can trace the answers for these questions, as they pertain to their traditional or culturally influenced roots, you will discover more about a country than any other way. And also, WHY do the locals like that flavor, that texture, that taste? The answer to this is more nebulous, which, is like culture itself. Undefinable, in language, it is only seen, heard, and felt, not really linguistically explained. It's very difficult to conclude anything about a culture using just words alone. You need examples. Which is why, I think, while museums are great and everything, it's just not a cultural experience until you've eaten their food, and done something they take for granted.
After thinking a little bit though, I know what I'm in search of. An anker. Be that a person, a place, a home, a face, a laugh, a word, a whatever. I'm searching for an anker. Like that Supertramp song, "Will I be dreaming forever? Oh, I need find and anchor for my soul." I guess he was talking about love, too. Whether I find it in Norway, or elsewhere, or nowhere, or everywhere, ten years from now, whenever, I'm still discovering where it might be. Although every day I feel like I'm getting closer. Like that Buddy Holly song, "Everyday". Hell, I'm just in search of love, okay?!
That was the only way I could get out of that extremely sentimental thought. Swearing.
I have rambled on long enough, I think.
Tomorrow I am sleeping until I wake up. And then, in search of something delicious and lovely. It's been a fabulous journey so far. I hope it continues.
Over and out.
Hannah
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