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Despite being spread out across England, Spain, and two states in America, my family and I managed to meet in the Oslo airport on Saturday about a month ago. Once everyone was gathered, though, we were immediately lost. I’m usually the navigator, but I wasn’t really feeling cognizant since Norway is six hours ahead of NYC (I effectively pulled an all nighter by not catching any sleep on the plane).

But it turned out fine. We pulled into the town that we share our surname with around 6 pm or so. Yet, it’s hard to call where we stayed a town so much as a set of three farms on a fjord. As far as we could tell, it’s not even really part of the two towns that bookended the fjord. It seems like all that matters is the name of your county and they’ll figure out how to get there from that. No one ever really explained that.

Our hosts were a man name Lars and his wife, Gurid  (pronounced goo-rid). I actually asked my dad a couple times during the trip how to say her name out loud (when she wasn’t around) and he mostly ended with something kind of like “girding.” They explained how theirs is the only one of the three still in operation, though all three had been in operation (and profitable) up until the mid-nineties or so. They also mentioned that it’d be hard to find any cops unless you’re in the city, but every inch of Norway is covered by helicopter for medical emergencies.

They seemed absolutely delighted by this, and when we had a late-evening tea with them the night before I had to depart, the shared the same pride in their healthcare system. Lars mentioned how his son had been sick as a child and Norwegian doctors couldn’t figure out what the problem was. They were told to see specialists in either Sweden or England. They chose England, where their son was cured, and didn’t pay a cent. Their taxes are extremely high, but they’re more than willing to pay knowing full well that it’s saved their son and will save someone else. Pretty great.

As long as we’re talking politics, they were a little shocked by the Tea Party. We all expressed our mutual confusion since you can’t elect people into the government who don’t want government. Why would you want to get rid of “Obamacare” but want more Medicaid? But I mentioned that sometimes generations are remembered for the loudest groups, even though they’re the smallest. The stereotype is that everyone in the sixties was a hippie. Everyone in the seventies loved disco. But talk to people who lived through it, and it’s just another one of many, many things that happened, but not everyone signed on.

So maybe we assuaged their fears that America is gorging itself on hot dogs, praying in schools all day, and playing baseball in meth labs or something. Which brings up another shocking point: Norwegian food has been shockingly Americanized. We had an incredibly difficult time finding a restaurant with a menu replete with Norwegian specialties. Sure, some places had salmon plates or elk burgers, but everything else was pizza and hamburgers. I mean, right across the street from Oslo City Hall had tourist places, pubs (pub food), fancy restaurants (Italian, Indian, and Chinese), and a 7-Eleven with bacon-wrapped hot dogs for 20 Kronor.

Which is pretty much the cheapest thing I saw the entire time. There might’ve been a candy bar that topped out at 15 Kronor, but I probably didn’t see anything under 30 Kronor until my fourth day there–that’s $5. For something like gum or soda. Apparently, minimum wage is $20/hour there, so that kind of makes a little more sense, but it still felt like gut punches every time a bill came.

In fact, we bought two Oslo City Passes thinking we’d save money and have guaranteed parking. It turned out that parking was only in certain areas and we couldn’t find any of the areas, despite asking twice and being given a map. Also, there don’t seem to be any parking spaces available in downtown Oslo unless they’re inside parking garages. Which are also roughly $90 per day; more expensive than New York City parking and O-Town’s probably half the size. But the passes proved a wise investment in the long run. On the first day we rode the museum ferry for free and visited three museums. The next day was a marathon with four museum visits on their Culture Night, when some museums are open as late as midnight. The passes even covered our ride to and from Lars’ driveway outside Oslo (where he let us park our car) that day.

Kind of an amazing feat, considering how most cultural highlights seem to shut down by six. Malls and eateries seem to stay open until about ten, but forget Sunday. When we mentioned that even the beggars weren’t on the streets on Sunday, Lars joked, “Even beggars need rest!”

Don’t get me wrong, Lars has clearly done well for himself, what with his house in Oslo and farm out in the countryside, but this reminds me of a story of Norwegian work ethic my dad told me. The entire Oslo office in his company seems to lose its staff about every three years because they all quit. Now, they have an American manager who will sometimes ask for extra effort or for people to stay late. Something like, maybe an extra hour the night before a huge pitch to ensure nothing goes wrong the day of. People say no to him all the time. Everyone’s in at 9:30, takes an hour-long lunch break, and is out at 4:30 on the dot. They have supposedly incredibly powerful laws that say that’s exactly what they’re entitled to for a full-time salary. I think it’s probably because I worked in retail where staying late meant more pay and that projects weren’t always finished unless I stayed late, but I still stay late pretty regularly in spite of my salary. I just have work to do, so I stay until it’s done. My dad said the same thing about his job and it’s obviously the same case with the American manager. My only conclusion is that even if minimum wage takes care of everyone, Americans have to work their asses off to earn their salary. Or that’s just what I tell myself to keep pretending we can be the greatest country in the world forever. If that’s still our thing.

But speaking of country, I should detail this place a little for you. Oslo’s the biggest city in Norway. Something like 5 million people or so live and work there six days a week and then don’t leave their house on Sunday. Maybe for church. Drive for an hour and you’ve been in the countryside for 45 minutes. Depending upon your direction, you’ll also be at the place where we stayed. On the other hand, drive for an hour from downtown Houston and you’ll be in the suburbs. Take a train from Grand Central for an hour (not including the time it takes to get to Grand Central) and maybe you’ll be somewhere just outside of Brooklyn or in the Suburbs. Jesus, drive from the Financial District to Central Park, and depending upon your route, you might not make it in an hour. At any rate, it’s three farms, two of which have only a barn and a house. The main one had a barn, a main house, and two guest houses. We stayed in one of the guest houses and met the family who rents the other guest house. Everyone said people had been living in the area since the 1100s (Viking time), but the barn’s foundation was the oldest at somewhere around early 1800. All of the houses have windows facing the fjord, and walking down to it is maybe a five-minute walk. We took a rowboat out to fish in it, but didn’t catch anything. People we talked to also sadly mentioned that Utoya Island, of the 2011 slaughter by some deranged asshole, is almost directly across the fjord. We spent most breakfast time not facing that window.

We spent most of our time in the area looking for family members’ graves. We were a little shocked to discover that the government removes tombstones after 60 years. Sure, maybe everyone’s stopped mourning, and the families and churches have maintained records…but no one told us what happens to the bodies. We told Lars and Gurid that some cemeteries in America are as old as America. They also didn’t tell us why the government didn’t just clear more land and bury bodies there. Seriously, the only thing bordering the two churches we visited were lots and lots of trees. One was kind of close to a ski jump, so maybe they’re trying to prevent zombie-related jumping deaths. Nope, that can’t be it.

Speaking of which, Norway really seems to love the great outdoors. I can only imagine that’s one of the reasons the labor laws are so protective. You can legally walk through any forest you like, but are banned from passing through fields (probably to keep people from stealing crops, ruining crops, being mistaken for deer and shot). Skiing is huge and, from what I could gather, ski jumping seems to have been perfected there. But that confuses me quite a bit. My mom asked me if I thought people were more overweight there than in New York and I wasn’t sure. I honestly feel like the ratio of obese people to skinny people was pretty much the same, and probably because everyone there seems to eat nothing but the aforementioned burgers and pizza.

Mom also asked me another question that really stood out for me. After visiting my sister while she studied in Copenhagen, I’d come to assume that Norwegians were just as Amazonian and ridiculously attractive. Yet when my mom asked me if Norwegian women were attractive, I told her they were probably about average, though when those stereotypically Scandinavian women with blonde hair did show their face, it was stunning. A rare occasion, though.

All told, as many expectations were met as broken, though. Everyone we talked to was nice, helpful, and probably as excited by Vikings as we are. Our hosts even went out of their way to look up some of our family history for us, which might not have helped too much considering how there’s a very good chance that some of the people living on the farms ended up just taking the name of the farm. But even if we didn’t get all the things we were looking for, we still had too much fun. Dad said on the first day, “We can do whatever you want; it’s vacation.” So for my sister that mostly meant having at least one ice cream per day, despite temperatures of roughly 60 and below. All told, it was an eye-opening trip full of incredible highlights, and it’s always a joy to be around my family when we do amazing things like that.

Itinerary Summary, in brief:

  • Saturday: Landings, waiting, long drive out to the countryside because of untranslatable Google Maps directions to actual signs, long talk while settling in (when I should have napped), expensive dinner (mom got an elk burger!)
  • Sunday: Slept in pretty late, guided tour of one of the other houses on the farm before the renters went back to Oslo, drive down to the largest ski jump in the world, drive in to Oslo, walk on the top of opera, walk to and around fort, heartbreaking realization that nearly everything is closed on Sunday, settling for dinner at a (delicious) pizza place called Mamma Rosa’s
  • Monday: Country drive searching for family gravestones including a Viking ruin, drive up the hill behind the farms to fossil town
  • Tuesday: Cobalt processing plant, Hedeland Glass Factory vist (which was mostly closing for the day, but still neat), picked up and read about 90% of The Hunger Games
  • Wednesday: Finished The Hunger Games and sister started it, train into Oslo after parking in Lars’ driveway, City Hall tour (absolutely incredible; home of the Nobel Prize ceremony), Resistance Museum, coffee and brownie at Akers Brygge (the mall), walk into town, rain, bookstore, terrible search for a dinner place until we found an American-style pub called Gatsby’s
  • Thursday: Terrible parking attempt and surrender to the same parking garage we used on Sunday; museum boat to Viking house, Folk Museum, Kon-Tiki Museum, and back; dinner at Deli de Luca where I decided to try their iskaffe only to find out it’s pretty much the most delicious coffee milkshake (is=ice cream kaffe=coffee) ever invented; Operahusset (the national opera house) mistake where we found out the lady sold us tickets for the show a week from that Thursday; sister finishes The Hunger Games
  • Friday: Park at Lars’, train in, bonus iskaffe while browsing for Norwegian gifts my girlfriend would like, Internet connection again at Operahusset (the only place I could find free Wi-Fi) while my sister took a tour of the dye shop with people who seemed to kind of wanted to hire her if she lived there, Catching Fire purchase, four museums
  • Saturday: Fishing attempt, waffles–oh my god, the waffles in this country–with Lars and Gurid, Catching Fire completion
  • Sunday: House prep and drive out to the airport for me, driving off to Western Norway for the family

Most Attractive Women:
1. Copenhagen
2. Brussels
3. Lisbon *Surprise Entry*
4. Amsterdam

Danish women are…statuesque, amazonian, blonde, gorgeous. On a scale from one to supermodel, everyone is either an 11 or just not on the scale. And the scale leans heavily towards those elevens. My sister’s studying there and she said one of the most intimidating things she’s experienced was going to Sweden; no one was less than 6 feet tall and all the girls were blonde, blue-eyed and mythically yet undeniably gorgeous. Thus, I obviously wish to go to Norway, Finland and Sweden for my next vacation. Eg elskar deg.

The surprise entry is only on there because, out of all the women I saw working for TAP Airlines, there was only one that wasn’t attractive. It was like a .950 batting record and these women had the sexiest accent. Imagine a French-Spanish accent (that’s what Portuguese sounds like to me, apparently) on “Would you like milk with your coffee?” Obviously a terrible description of what it sounds like or why it was so alluring, but I was really only in Lisbon for like an hour and I spent all of that time in one of the most confusing airports I’ve ever been in–two heartbeats away from a panic attack–and the only thing that kept me from freaking out was beautiful women with lovely accents and easy-to-understand directions.

I would consider moving to:
1. Brussels
2. Copenhagen
3. Amsterdam

Beer and Chocolate comes before girls. But I’m also in love with a couple of girls I saw in Brussels, so it’s not like it’s the worst compromise ever. One of them was a bartender who had milk chocolate skin, soooo….already bought the ring.

Best Airline:
1. Lufthansa
2. TAP
3. SAS

Thankgsiving Dinner on the Sunday before Thanksgiving. Bailey’s or Cognac after dinner. Touchscreens for everyone. Lovely German announcements. Uber German Industrial Frankfurt Airport (stainless steel everywhere, efficiency merged with visual appeal, etc). These are just some of the things that made Lufthansa great.

TAP had awesome flight attendants. Also, they wore very nice clothing. In-flight entertainment was pretty lame and the plane was cramped (screw you, not attractive Portuguese women in front of me who kept reclining their seats!) but everyone except the Americans clapped when we landed. Kinda cool even though I was more focused on how the plane had hopped back up in the air to slam back down again…

SAS was sparse and the flight attendant was a dick. Me: “Can I just have a glass of water?” Him: “I have bottles of water for sale.” Me: “Uh, okay. I guess I’m good, then.” Thinking: “Well, now I don’t even want to buy a glass of water from you. You probably dirtied it because you’re obviously an asshole. I’m not immune to that kind of bacteria.”

Most Gypsies:
1. Brussels
2. Amsterdam
3. Copenhagen

Brussels’ gypsies have kids. It’s not just that they have them but that they cradle them while they stare at you with the obvious expectation that you’ll put money in their cup. Made me super uncomfortable. One of them even went out her way to touch me after I bought a train ticket. I didn’t know French or Dutch to tell her, “I need this money just as bad as you do and I’m not even trying to raise a kid. I can’t take care of myself, never mind you and your child” or just “No.”

Amsterdam isn’t really full of gypsies so much as transients. No one seems to be a local. That’s also what made it so hard to rate the attractiveness of their women. The ones who seemed to be local seemed to be fairly attractive, but there were also a lot of touristy women who weren’t super attractive. So the moral of this story is, Amsterdam is the Adult Disney World–you can get anything you want there and people flock there just for that. Accordingly, no one seems to actually live there except some of the people you see in their houseboats while on the canal tour.

Denmark is a socialist country. Hobos are liars; even my sister is covered under their healthcare and she’s only taking classes there for another three weeks.

Most Awkward City to Visit with Your Sister:
1. Amsterdam

Drugs are legal. Looking for Absinthe with a Canadian you met the day before. The Red Light District is where they keep prostitutes…in red-lit windows where they wave at you while you walk by. Sex Museums. Sex Shops. Burlesque Shows. Banana Shows. The list goes on.

Loves Art Most:
1. Copenhagen
2. Brussels
3. Amsterdam

The Royal Danish Theatre (N.B. the Skuespilhuset) and Opera House are fucking huge. Like, they built an island just so they could put the Opera House on it…and it has 14 stories. Architects are household names. Their Top 40 radio is American Indie music. They speak Danish but they never overdub English movies, they just learn the language. They fucking invented Legos.

I was only in Brussels for a day, but their architecture was amazing. Public areas were lovely and it seemed like there were a ton of museums I would have loved to see. I only spent 45 minutes inside the Rene Magritte Museum, but I loved it. The Palace and the King’s Garden, although we only saw them in darkness and rain, were sublime (the kind of sublime that put history into perspective. So much for what seems so little today, etc).

I really enjoyed the Van Gogh Museum (and that one cute girl I had an ogling competition with), but I was thoroughly let down by the Rijksmuseum. There was so much hype and the place looks so big from the outside that I’m somewhat suspicious they had closed off most of the museum. It was pretty much two floors with about four rooms each. MOMA is easily twice as large and only covers the last hundred years or so. But don’t get me wrong, what they did have was fairly excellent. That Rembrandt character seems to have a bit of talent. Time will tell.

All told, Europe definitely has some cool shit and I want to go back and see more of it.

P.S. All of the museum shops in Europe suck for some reason. I don’t have an explanation, it’s just…weird.

P.P.S. European conversation, unlike American conversation, seems revolve around letting everyone get their point on the table. When there’s a tangent, there’s always an effort to get back to where the conversation started instead of just letting the conversation develop however it may.

Last Friday the 13th might have been the only Friday the 13th that I didn’t spend in fear or mostly indoors. My friend was in town and that day we went to the American Museum of Natural History, walked through Central Park and stopped at the Belvedere Castle and visited the Metropolitan Museum of Art. At the later place, we spent roughly four hours on four exhibits. That place is definitely way too big. After that we went down the the Crocodile Lounge, had beers and pizzas and then went around the corner to see Watchmen. That was like a 14 hour day, most of which was spent on foot or the subway. And somehow I managed not to trip or get immensely delayed. In fact, I genuiniely had an awesome time. The next day seemed oddly inactive in comparsion with a 4 plus hour visit to MoMA, a walking tour around St. Patrick’s Cathedral and dinner and beers with a friend from high school.

Then I went to work. Not worth the story–blah, blah, panties, blah, inventory, bras, blah, blah. The usual.

Then I finally got to see NYC’s St. Patrick’s Day Parade. I think I want to learn to play bagpipes. Also, I was a little sad that the cops on top of the Met wouldn’t wave back to everyone, but the rest of the day definitely made up for it.

We went to a bar where a bunch of firefighters from Queens were extremely drunk and, well, taller than everyone else in sight. There was one firefighter who was my height but his chest was probably twice the size of the tallest guy there. Also, they were all kind of meatheads–they would barely talk to me but they loved my roommate’s girlfriend. I think it’s because she kept stealing their hats and because I wanted to know how they studied and prepared for the written and physical tests. While they were trying to get drunk and hit on girls. The advice for the physical test was definitely highly metaphysical and ran the gamut from “run” and “run up stairs.” They also told me that I should just go by my local fire department and ask for a tour.

The guys at my local fire department who are roughly my height could not be any more top-heavy. I mean, on a scale of one to Manly Men, all of these guys were probably Elevens. It probably makes sense that about half of them used to be cops, too. The Chief was probably 6’6″ and had a handlebar moustache the size of my hand. Just about everyone’s advice was “take the test” as if that had been the secret to getting the job instead of the requirement. The only person who revealed his test scores told me he got a 98 on the written and a 100 on the physical. He also thinks he waited around 2.5 years before he got into the fire academy because of those two missing points.

Of course, out of the men I polled, there was a 1000% job satisfaction rating. So now I have a pull-up bar and I started running again. Hopefully I can keep both up. Also, it looks like, since only like 5% of the job is actually putting out fires, that it’d be in my best interest to become and EMT, but maybe not for another year or so because I don’t really want to do that for the rest of my life. EMT work is really only a means to an end.

And then in my free time I guess I could edit the shit out of manuscripts and stuff. Saving lives and liturature for the rest of my life? Awesome.