trondheim

Well, the traveling is over for a while, so it's back to the same old blog entries. That means you can stop reading again...

At any rate, I'm in Trondheim right now for a workshop for newcomers to my research facility. It's corny and kind of a waste of time. The people are interesting, though: genius scientists and engineers who have lived and studied all over the world. They (I'm sure) and I are both wondering what I'm doing among them.

One of the people is a Finn who has been living in Canada the past six years. He brought his wife and two kids (a 3-year-old and 6-year-old) here with him in January, and the wife and kids hate it. The wife is unable to work, because she has to take care of the kids, who would otherwise be in school, during the day. So, I guess coming here with family/loved ones has pros and cons, just like coming alone. Freedom and independence vs. increased social isolation.

I think Tronheimians gasp as a form of verbal cue. The speaker this morning, instead of giving a normal "mm hmm" or something to indicate that she was listening as a member of the group spoke, gasped. A short intake of breath, almost like she was getting ready to say something. My guess had been that she'd trained herself in people skills, and she originally starting gasping in response to comments to indicate sudden enlightment achieved as a result of what had just been said -- thus giving the speaker cause to feel good about him- or herself. Over time, though, she may have starting gasping in response to simple sentence fragments that warranted at most a nod or mm-hm. Either that, or she has asthma.

Both theories were ruined, though, when the other session speaker, a Frenchman living here in Trondheim, displayed the same behavior. He didn't do it nearly as often, but it was more disconcerting coming from him, either because he was a guy or because he was French.

I thought he might have developed the habit from working for a long time with the original speaker. However, this afternoon, the CEO of the cmpany gave a short talk, and SHE did it, too. Not much -- about as often as Frenchie -- but it was there.

The only conclusion I can make is that it's a Trondheim thing.

The only other thing to note here is that near the computers that the hotel has set up for guests, there's a freezer containing all kinds of ice cream treats. I have idea whether it's free for guests to pillage or not, but it's sitting RIGHT THERE, so I don't know what other message to take away.

what the hell?

I had to walk through a freakin' hailstorm in Amsterdam today. Hail. They were small pellets, so I wasn't hurt, but birds and small animals probably got pelted to death.

trivia

For some reason, in Belgium, "Calvin & Hobbes" is called "Casper & Hobbes"...

adventures in antwerp

I traveled to Antwerp this afternoon. It's an hour's train ride North of Brussels. I'm the guest of a girl who was part of the symposium I went to in Vienna a couple of weeks ago. She and her roommate/girlfriend took me to q restaurqnt. We all had stew with a cone of french fries. Trivia: The Belgians qre fond of French fries. They just call them "fries", though, because apparently they invented them; the French just got the credit.

Afterward, not feeling up for much, we watched Fargo.

Tonight, I'm staying at her parents' house. I'm in their living room right now, using their computer as they watch Belgian football behind me. Keep in mind that I've met this girl only once, and I met her parents for the first time tonight. Yet, they took me in and gave me the run of their house. I can't imagine the same thing happening in the States.

These people are incredibly nice, too, and their house is huge. They live in an expensive pqrt of town, but they got their house long ago when things were cheqp; it's probably worth a fortune now. Anyway, it stands flush against the buildings on either side of it, which has led to an odd layout. Imagine a decent-sized studio apartment -- basically, a small living room and a kitchen. Add four stories to that studio, and you have their house. They have two sets of stairs, too. The place is huge, at least by city standards.

Tomorrow, I'm going to be shown around the town, before heqding back to Amsterdam.

adventures in brussels, pqrt 3

I went down restaurant row again today qnd confirmed the similqrity of the menus. I had lunch qt one on the corner, choosing it becquse there was no barker outside. I ordered spaghetti bolognaise. Either the Belgians reqlly love spaghetti bolognaise, or that's the only dish they know, because every restaurant serves it.

At any rqte, I sat outside under a heater. Because I had a pen in hand and a notebook in my lap, I felt somewhqt like qn aspiring novelist sitting at a sidewalk cafe in Paris, writing about the passersby.

Oh, for dessert, I went to a kiosk and got a Belgian waffle with bananas, whip cream, and Belgian chocolate sauce. I ate the whole thing, but the richness made me a little queasy.

adventures in brussels, pqrt 2

Qside from the keyboards, I like Brussels q lot better than Amsterdqm. The old pqrt of town here is much more picture-worthy than Amster's.

Despite a near blizzqrd, I wqndered qround the old part of Brussels. Here you hqve ancient stone buildings stqnding shoulder to shoulder, their lower quarters dominqted by gift shops and restqurqnts lining the streets qnd alleys. I can qctuqlly see this part of Brussels becoming q lot like the area qround Bourbon Street eventually -- nothing but a string of tourist shops selling identicql merchqndise. This plqce still has some old-aorld chqrm, though.

The most interesting street, I think, is a 2-block alley lined by restqurants on both sides. The restqurqnts qre side by side qnd fqcing qn identicql set of shops 10 feet away qcross the cobbled street. They qll look the sqme, each with q red awning thqt nearly touches thqt of the shop opposite it.

Qs far as I cqn tell, the resqurants qll hqve different names but serve exqctly the same fare -- qnd I'm guessing at the same prices, too. I would imqgine they qll had q price war long qgo, each shop trying to undercut the other in order to draw in bid'ness. Too much supply. However, given the proximity of the shops to each other, the prices probably soon reqched an equilibrium at a high-enough level thqt everyone could still make a small profit, but low enough that nobody had much room to undercut. Either thqt or, as is wont to happen in q free market, they all colluded and begqn price-fixing.

Either way, the shops have little to distinguish themselves. Sqme prices, same location, a fluctuating tourist bqse that prevents the development of regular customers. Any otherzise qttention-getting chqgnes to q shop's facade just get lost in the visual complexity of the scene. For exqmple, someone apparently thought to get more business by putting up a large placard, eye-cqtching and readable at a distqnce, describing the menu. It must've worked, becquse now every shop has multiple plqcards filling any available nook, and they've now become just noise.

Hence, to get customers, shop staff members stand outside qnd try to charm people into eating there. They have a lot to leqrn from carnival barkers and the guys who stand outside Vegqs casinos, though, because these people are actually q pleqsant bunch. They don't hqssle you unless you meet their gaze qnd look either lost or hungry. Many of them, in fqct, just stand there qnd talk with their friends at the identical shop across the street.

I hqd q drink qt a bar that serves 200 different beers. Or 2000. I forget. Either way, 25 of them are Belgiqn. I hqd a strawberry beer thqt tasted just like q refreshing strawberry sodq.

adventures in brussels

I'm in Brussels now. Just got here, so I hqven't seen much. And it's rqiny, so I doubt thqt I'll do much exploring.

Why the "q" typos qbove, you qsk? Because the Belgian keyboqrd is retqrded. It's arranged totqlly wrong. The Q is where the A should be. The M hqs jumped up to the second row, qnd the W to the third, with the A occupying W's former position. And even though I'm loooking qt the keyboard qs I type, I still hit the arong letters, so I just sqid screa it.

The greqtest atrocity, though, is thqt the Belgians have tqken some of the most commonly used alphqnumerics qnd mqde them accessible only viq the Shift key. Most notqble is the period. You hqve to hit SHIFT qnd then the "." in order to get it. Probqbly the most frequently used symbol, qnd it takes two keys to produce it. In its place is the semicolon - a single tap, qnd you've got one.

Possibly worse is thqt the numbers all require the SHIFT key, too. You knoa the row of numbers above the letter keys, which in combinqtion with SHIFT will produce virous puncuqtion marks? Well, thqt's reversed in Belgium. The punctuqtion mqrks hold the primqry position, with the numbers being downgrqded to second clqss. Perhqps it makes more sense that way, if the puncqtion is used more frequently. But it's just wrong.

adventures in amsterdam, vol. 1

So, I arrived in Amsterdam yesterday. I'm staying near the Red Light district, which is right by the train station, and it's the first thing you see when you step into the city. I wasn't terribly impressed with it at first, and I'm still not.

After wandering the streets a bit, I decided to try people-watching at one of Amsterdam's "coffeeshops". I found one called the Hill Street Blues, and it looked nice enough, so I went in. It turned out to be a two-level pub/cafe/marijuana den, with a first floor and then a basement that had been converted. I walked down the steps to basement, and I saw that one half of it was filled with mostly grungy people, all fairly quiet. None of them made any sudden movements, but they did all look in my direction as I came down the steps -- prompting me to stop at the bottom, pretend to look for my friends, and, not finding them, precede back up the stairs.

On the first floor, I headed to the back, which had several plush leather couches covered with graffiti. They were arranged in 2 sets of 4, each set grouped around a coffee table. I sat in a free couch and pulled out a book. The people in the neighboring couches included two guys on one couch playing gameboys or something. They weren't together, they just happened to be doing the same thing. Across from me was a guy with a girl I think he had just met; he had a drum with him. To the left of me was a guy lounging back in the couch, half-closed eyes, breathing but not moving. He stayed in the same position for maybe half an hour, but didn't seem to be sleeping. Eventually I followed his gaze and determined that he was watching the Discovery Channel ("Dirty Jobs") on the TV in the corner. A few minutes later, he came alive, lit his joint, and returned to his watching position.

Stoners are not an active people. The more you know (NBC).

This next part contains some filth, so if you are easily offended, a prude, or are my parents, you can stop reading this entry and go on to the next one. Seriously.
.
.
.
Ok, so I decided to see one of the Live Sex Shows dotting the Red Light District. I figured it was going to be some trick, a glorified striptease, and that the audience would leave disappointed. That's how it would be in America. The Dutch, however, seem to be an honest folk.

There was an opener to the whole affair, involving a dancer and 4 audience members, and eventually a guy in a gorilla suit. It was bizarre, a lot like a Japanese Gameshow that went horribly, horribly wrong.

Then the curtains closed, opening again a few minutes later to show a man and woman. They got together and did stuff on a rotating bed. Serious stuff. They didn't look all that into it.

Another curtain close, opening again a few minutes later. This time, a lady in a red Moulin Rouge outfit came out and "danced". I use the quote marks there because this was the most mechanical, uninspired dance I had ever seen. She moved almost as if she was following a dance footprint pattern on the stage. She seemed like a not-so-graceful stripper who had memorized, but not learned, a few dances. It turns out that's really what she was, because a little into the second song, she started taking her clothes off. All in all, the act was pretty tame. Then, it veered in an awful and astounding direction as she produced a cigar from out of nowhere, lit it, and did something that, for lack of a better term, was exceptional, producing a collective gasp from the audience.

For good or bad, she was finished and off the stage a minute later, to be replaced in a few minutes by another dancer, this one with a latin flair. Things went pretty much the same: tame, tame, nudity, tame, tame, holy christ. At the end, she suddenly produces a dry-erase marker and proceedes to do the most amazing thing with it.

Then she's gone, to be replaced a few minutes later by another couple. This one was a little more lively, with the guy performing some gymnastic/callesthenic routine.

Afterward, the third dancer of the night appeared, establishing the pattern. By this time, I realized that the women had all been hired because they have a singular talent in something uncommon, and that the dancing had just been tacked on to their act to stretch it from about 60 sections to about 3 songs. After realizing that, there was a palpable anticipation as to what prop the dancer was going to produce for the finale -- and then when it appeared, the collective, unspoken question: "Gosh. What's she going to do with THAT?"

Most of the finales were just variants of the "Where can Jenny hide things?" game, but others were wondrous.

It wasn't at all "hot", though.

After, I got some quick food at a chain of french fry kiosks out here. You get a bagful of fat fries with 1 of 20 available sauces, from ketchup to curry. I got mayonnaise.

travels

Norway takes a week off around Easter time, which means I get a break, as well. I'll be going to Amsterdam on Wednesday for several days, then, because I've wanted to see it for a long time. I'm going to take a side trip to Belgium while I'm there.

Sadly, because I stupidly packed both my SLR and my compact cameras in boxes of stuff that I'm having shipped to me, I have no way to take pics of either location, which is upsetting. The best I'll be able to do is a single-use camera, if I can find any.

first aid

I experienced the Norwegian emergency room setup today. I had some allergy thing going on with my eye, and all the doctor's offices are closed on Sunday, so I just went there. It wasn't so bad. There are three stages to it. First, you take a number and wait to see one of the administrators sitting at a computer terminal. When that's done, you find your way to the waiting room. The average wait, at least on Sunday, seems to be 30 minutes. Finally, your name is called along with a couple of others, and then you and those people are seated in a few chairs outside of the examination room in which you'll be treated. Whomever's name was called first is the first one to see the doctor. I was last, and it was maybe another 15-20 minutes waiting.

I have to say, I haven't been impressed with the medical facilities in Oslo. I've seen two offices now, and neither inspired the sort of antiseptic confidence you (usually) get in an American hospital or office. The rooms weren't dirty or anything, they just didn't scream out "state of the art", and the walls weren't an intimidating white or green. Instead, the room today was a dull orange, and the floors were a mottled grey linoleum. It had all the ambiance of a middle school that hasn't been renovated since the 70s.

Oh, and it wasn't free. The visit cost about $50, which is probably more out-of-pocket than I'd pay via insurance in the States. However, I did have the ease-of-mind of knowing that, if the doctor discovered I had eye cancer or something, I wouldn't be financially ruined.

Norwegian names

My Norwegian instructor's last name is Aune. He told us that it means "desolate farm", or something like that. It's a common name and can be traced back to the Black Plague. The plague wiped out half of Europe, and Norway was apparently hit pretty hard. The Norwegians apparently either died or retreated to the hills. Either way, they left their farms behind.

After the Plague was through ravaging Europe and the population started to rise again, the Norwegians eventually came back down from the hills. The cities and surrounding farms were still standing, so families would just find a property and take over it. No one could remember the names of the people who had originally owned the land, though, so they just started calling the places "deserted farms", or Aune. And because the Norwegians generally took as their surname the name of where they happened to live, Aune became a common last name.

On another note, prior to the Viking days, Norwegians didn't have family names. They eventually adopted the practice of using the name of their current home as their last name. However, names were not a permanent thing for them, it seems, because if they happened to move somewhere else, they would change their name to the name of their new home. So if a farm worker, for example, worked at several different farms over the years, he would generally adopt the name of the family or place at which he was working at a given time.

Or something like that.

bush

I saw a Norwegian commercial in which a Bush impersonator is sitting at the Oval Office desk and addressing the Norwegian nation. He tells people to go see a certain movie that's coming, or else he'll invade their country. Kind of funny.

boobs

I just saw my first instance of nudity on Scandinavian broadcast TV. It was a woman playing a half-dressed library clerk on a hidden-camera-type show. Bit of a shock, actually.

haircut

Well, my first haircut in Norway came out to the equivalent of $68.04, plus tip. I believe that's on the lower end of the price range. My cutter was a Swedish lass of around 23 or so. She moved to Oslo because the Norwegian Kroner is worth a lot more than the Swedish Kroner, so she can make a lot more money.

The good Norwegian

On the tram this morning, a Norwegian (I think) left a backpack behind. I saw him leave -- he had been leaning against his backpack in the seat, so it would be hard to forget. Naturally, I assumed it was a bomb, so I sat a few seats back to provide me some cover in case it went off. I considered saying something, but I'd rather be blown up than create a ruckus, so I let it go. Another passenger, though, looked at it, thought for a couple of minutes, looked around, then picked it up and took it to the driver. He probably saved the lives of everyone on the tram.

On another note, desperate for interaction, I took part in a badminton club after work today. There were just 5 people, but it was ok. Badminton's harder than it looks, so I got some needed exercise, at least. Of note is that it took place in a newly constructed high school whose facilities could put many colleges to shame. It's got a huge exercise room, 12 badminton courts, and its own climbing wall.

nails

I came across what I think is the second instance of a Norwegian clipping fingernails in public. This was a cute, 20-something blonde girl on the tram. They're apparently not self-conscious about that kind of activity.

An earlier instance involved a guy in a second story window, clipping his toenails so that they flew outside. I don't think he was a Norwegian, but rather an immigrant or student.

sammiches

Norwegians don't eat normal sandwiches. Rather, they take a loaf of bread, saw off a thick slice, put some meat or cheese or something else on top of it, and then eat. Many also put some sort of meat spread on the bread. I'm not sure what kind of meat, but it comes in a squeeze tube, and some of the tubes have pictures of shrimp or pigs or fish on them. I thought at first that the Norwegians were somehow turning meat into a paste and putting it in a tube with the appropriate pic. However, I came across some tubes with pictures of Gerber babies on them, so I'm hoping that's not the case.

I met a brit

I had a drink with a British ex-pat tonight after work. He's maybe in his early 40s, divorced, been out here since October. Nice guy. He said a normal haircut out here can cost upwards of $130. I'll need one soon.

second day

Had my second day of Norwegian class today. All the Europeans speak it much better than I do, but I was the one asking all the good questions.

I rode with three 23-year-old Filipinas from the class on the train back. They were child-size, not unlike pixies or some other forest-dwelling sprite.

public transit

The Norwegians seem to have smaller personal bubbles than Americans do when it comes to public transportation. With Americans, at least in my experience, if you're sitting next to a stranger on a crowded train, either you or the stranger are expected to move to an empty row as soon as one opens up (or possibly when a certain number of empty rows open up). That way, as vacancies increase and personal bubbles expand, neither of you has to intrude into the other's personal space.

With Norwegians, though, the etiquette seems to be that you stay in your seat. Even if empty rows of seats open up all around you and the stranger beside you, I believe you're expected to stay put. Perhaps it's considered rude to do otherwise.

dammit

When I got to the airport, I realized that I forgot my passport. So, no trip to Slovenia for me.

sundays

On Sunday, when everything is closed, Norwegians apparently all go out for walks. The sidewalks are full of twosomes and foursomes as people take a walk with their partner. Single individuals are uncommon. And about 1 in 5 groups has a baby carriage.

Regarding baby carriages, crime is so nonexistent here that people are OK parking a carriage in front of, say, a cafe and going in for a bite to eat -- leaving the baby in the carriage.

food

Aside from 7-11, I haven't eaten out here yet. Just too expensive. My dinners tend to be fairly simple fare, then, because I don't really care to cook, and because all I have at my disposal right now is a stove and oven. No microwave. Tonight, for example, I tried to cook hot dogs (of some sort) on the stove top. They turned out OK, but like most of the food I'm able to get my hands on, they're full of fat and not very healthy.

I also bought a can of some sort of meatballs. I don't know what kind of meat. And I don't know if they need to be cooked or not. However, I had them in a frozen dinner out here, and they tasted good. They might be Swedish meatballs.

culture shock

Yesterday, I experienced my first bout of culture shock. It had been growing slowly all week, and then hit me suddenly on Friday. Basically, the distance and differences instantly became too much for me. I talked with some other ex-pats, and apparently that's common.

containers

Maybe it's the low-end stores I'm patronizing, but the Norwegian grocery stores don't bag your purchases for you. Rather, they ask if you want a bag, and then give you one. You then hurriedly pack your groceries while the clerks start scanning the items of the next customer and sliding them into the bagging area. If you need another bag, you have to ask for one.

Also, the Norwegians don't seem to have anything resembling tupperware or any other storage container. I wonder if those are an American thing, reflecting our tendency and ability to make more food than we can eat.

chanting

Although the wall between my apartment and the one next door is mostly cement, there's an air vent that seems to connect the two, the result being that I can clearly hear what goes on over there. And chanting seems to be what's going on. Every Friday night, and then scattered throughout the weekend, it sounds like of group of several guys over there chanting loundly. It's not a Gregorian-type chant, but rather a fast-paced one with not a lot of rhythm, or perhaps a fairly complex one. I can't tell what language it is, but it sounds like Arabic, African, or possibly even Hebrew.