31/10 – Stavanger Sunshine and Halifax Holiday?

A couple of weeks ago, during one of the first nightshifts at work, a colleague and I somehow came to talk about Canada, and Nova Scotia in particular. He’d spent some days in Halifax at some stage and had apparently quite enjoyed it. Once he got started, my colleague wouldn’t stop talking about the daily lobster dishes, the good beer and music at the bars and nightclubs and the friendly Canadians there.

A while later, seafood crazy me was all hooked by the idea of getting fresh cooked lobster straight from the fishermen in the harbour to make your own lobster lunch sandwich right there on the dock. And for prices you would only dream about in Scandinavia. Some surfing later, Halifax turned into a possible destination for a couple of winter weeks at some stage in the beginning of the New Year. Just need to sort out minor details such as time off from work and if I’ll be able to get fresh lobster there in February for sure, 100% or I’m not going.

However, before Halifax, Stavanger was on the itinerary. Oilrig – Esbjerg – Billund – Amsterdam – Stavanger, quickest routing there was. Guess a kayak or optimist dingy straight from the rig to Stavanger would have been just as speedy.

So, what would Stavanger have to offer? I arrived with a totally blank sheet and no expectations, had a look at the map and headed for the old town, a safe bet in most cities. Cosy indeed and worth a stroll. Then I went along the pubs and restaurants at the waterfront and across to the small cobblestone shopping streets. Cosy again and here I found a new potential favourite, and strong competitor to both Icebreaker and Bintang for the top of my list – Moods of Norway. Good start of the day in Stavanger, and it was going to get better.

As I was walking along one of the main streets, enjoying the sunny autumn day with my mind on Halifax, I came down to the water again, and suddenly there was no need for Canada anymore. Along the dock, three fishing boats had just come in and were about to line up the white Styrofoam boxes and their home made signs and banners. And what were they selling? Lobster of course! Fresh and cooked ones, massive shrimps, nice crabs and even more lobster. The only thing missing was the Canadian price. Think Denmark will feel like a cheap place to buy food for the first time ever when I make it back there after the Norway stop.

Once I’d passed the fishing boats, I couldn’t help to get a bit tempted to visit the Norsk Oljemuseum – The Norwegian Petroleum Museum – when walking past. But since I was supposed to have a couple of days off, and think as little as possible about work, I left it for another time. The museum is in a quite modern building at the waterfront, with Christmas trees and hole opener assemblies decorating the place together with platform caissons and pipelines. The oilfield part of me thinks it looks kind of neat, other parts of me think it’s sad to disturb the view with old industrial leftovers. Anyways, the playground is pretty clever though and the bouncing area made from buoys is one of the more inventive recycling ideas I’ve ever seen. Just wish I was young enough to join the kids for a bounce, perhaps I could have sneaked past after the pub later on?

The conclusion after a couple of days in Stavanger was easy, I definitely want to come back. Like that is a rare conclusion for a place I’ve been visiting…not really. Perhaps, I could come back for a week of kayaking in the fjords, hiking in the mountains and other outdoor activities, followed by a weekend of beer drinking and partying. Or a month or so of just hanging out, enjoying the scenery and atmosphere and eventually get around to have that lobster sandwich. It’s a nice town, this Norwegian oilfield Mecca, and it feels like I would fit in here. Even my GoreTex shoes, hoodie and new Haglöfs jacket fit here. Feels a bit like Luleå actually, and will for sure be added to the places, which makes me wonder what I’m doing in Copenhagen. I’m sure I’ll have the answer to that question in a few hours when I’m back home though. If not, I’ll deal with that then.

Oh, almost forgot, if you ever fly in to Stavanger, make sure not to jump straight into the taxi or bus when leaving the terminal building. Take a right and walk towards the white walls surrounding the small grass hills (I know, it sounds strange, but you’ll know what I mean when you see it). Then, take a look at the brilliant aviation “picture” in one of the white walls. Sometimes I’m very easy to impress. 

26/10 – Rome Reflections – finally.

I have a vague memory of writing that there was more Rome to come at some stage. Feels like centuries ago, but here we go. Let’s see if I can remember what Mr Nomad and myself were up to that weekend in May. Finally. 

The start of the city getaway was full on right away. During the first two hours in the Italian capital we managed to tick off one bottle of wine, pasta, cheese, ice cream and the must-see Fontana di Trevi. However, the first restaurant didn’t really live up to the high expectations we arrived with. The staff all seemed like they’d skipped their classes at the local high school for the day and had their first day at work that particular Friday. But the Carbonara went down ok, and so did the elderberry flower like wine – easy drinking and good for soothing the slightly dented culinary expectations. In other words, an ok start of the Italian experience. And the restaurants did get better, luckily. And better, and better, and better. Pasta, pizza, bread, wine, olives, more pasta, more wine, I can’t complain at all.

It was just one thing we didn’t manage to grasp when it came to food. Somehow, we were of the impression that the whole point with restaurants having a menu, was to communicate what they would have available for serving. I’m not sure all Italian restaurants would agree on that. Three out of twenty dishes or so was a common average of available courses when trying to order something. To compensate for this, it wasn’t uncommon that they would throw in an additional dish or two instead, preferably instead of the one you had just ordered and most of the times without telling you. But hey, when in Rome… And what’s the big deal really? Lasagna or spinach cannelloni? Scallops or veal? Red or white wine? You would hardly notice the difference, would you? Oh, ok…it would matter, scusi very much…

Except for eating and drinking, the main aims with the trip were to stay city chic all weekend (no GoreTex shoes or sporty rucksacks allowed) and to see all these things all the fuss is about. The old, big and presumably boring sites which you’re supposed to see when in Rome. And since we had decided to be proper tourists for once, we bought it all – the open bus tour, the boat tour, the guided tour, you name it. Only thing we didn’t fall for was the caricature portrait on Piazza Navona. Next time perhaps.

Normally, I’m very moderately impressed by city culture and anything related to historical sites. The yawning muscles start to twitch and my mind drifts away after a few minutes of attempting to show interest. But after the days in Rome, I’m suspecting that it’s all about size after all. I just need it to be big enough for my interest cells to switch on. Remember, we’re talking history and ruins here, nothing else.

The guided tour of Colosseum, Palatine Hill and Forum Romanum was worth every cent. Not only to skip the lines, but instead of seeing piles of bricks and enormous pillars, suspiciously looking to be made of foam and flown in for a Hollywood setting, we saw the banquet halls with the Romans’ gluttony and the private arena with lions for when Colosseum was too far away for entertainment.

The charismatic and bilingual David gave us about the level of historical details I could handle. With the British cynicism and accent from his mother and self-confidence, gestures and attitude from his Italian father, he took us through the endless ruins without loosing a second of my attention. Impressive. For the Romans 'forever' meant forever, not 'forever' as in 40 years like today. As said, impressive.

Of course, the city chic objective had its price, especially since I happen to be a woman. Some twelve kilometres in high-heels is not top of the pops really. Luckily, it’s not every day my poor feet get that challenge. But a weekend in Rome requires high-heels – no compromises possible. And as long as you stick to the quick stop at the Trastevere flat, to change to another pair of high-heels, before going out for aperitivos and dinner, you’ll be all right. It’s all about distributing the blisters and pain you see.

To finish off the Italian weekend on Monday morning, we stopped by a small deli to pick up some fresh juice and salami sandwiches. Then went across the street to sit on the stairs leading down to the arena of Circus Maximus to enjoy our breakfast. Again, an impressive site that made our minds drift away to imagine what it would have looked like thousands of years ago. When getting back to reality I didn’t see the horse carriages charging past though. The only running around going on at the circus was made by slightly overweight locals and their dogs. Time to go home. And time to put some flat shoes on.

More Rome photos here. 

20/10 – Airports…

Sometimes, airports make me want to crack out in uncontrolled laughter and sometimes they just make me feel like sitting down and cry. Or more specifically, it’s not the airports as such, but the atmosphere in there, the different feelings reflected in people’s eyes and the physical behaviour and body language of my fellow travellers. I can spend hours observing them at the gates or after walking through the terminal doors with my over loaded baggage trolley.

A while back, I arrived at Kastrup airport, after a few days in Sweden I think it was. Probably one of those trips, where I rushed around according to a minute schedule and tried to catch up with as much family and friends as possible. Normally, the set-up would have a pattern like Arlanda, Stockholm, Norrtälje, Alsike, Uppsala, Flogsta, Uppsala, Uppsala, Sunnersta, Bergsbrunna, Arlanda. Arrival, friends, grandmother, brother, parents, another friend, one last friend, Bibbi, some friend’s parents or sister as a bonus, breakfast with parents, departure. Should probably not even try to count the number of cups of coffee and sweet bread which pass through my system per day during those trips. But no doubt about it, it’s worth every second and every cinnamon bun. 

 Anyway, I was back at Kastrup again and making my way from the arrival gate, through to the baggage claim and to the metro, which was going to bring me close enough to home.

While I was walking the B-gate corridor with my normal high pace and heavy, decisive steps I realised that I was about to pass Mr and Mrs Grandparent. Nothing strange with that, if it wasn’t for their dear plant, neatly planted in a white plastic cup with a plastic bag around it for the occasion. Arriving from who-knows-where, walking hand in hand, slowly and carefully watching every step. The Mrs G with her handbag in a secure grip and her husband with a firm hand around the tiny trunk of their pristine plant. Of course, the plant should come along, why haven’t I ever thought of that? I should have brought my old companion High Chaparral when I left for Holland in 2003 and he might have been around still.

Or perhaps it was just a goof to spread some joy and make people smile? Or candid camera? It’s not very often I’ve seen something causing so many busy people fighting massive outbursts of laughter. Myself included.

On the contrary, you have those other moments, which make me want to walk towards the trains as quickly as possible and just get out of that horrible place. That’s when I see the eyes of someone waiting, with flowers bought at the kiosk by the exit, not really sure of what the reaction of the person, who will walk through the frosted sliding doors, will be. So much hope, so much anxiety, so much happiness, so much sadness. At the very same arrival as when I saw the old folks with the tree, the two eyes I met on the other side of the fence made my heart hurt all the way through. I just wanted to walk up to him and tell him it would all be all right – she’ll be thrilled to see you again. But something deep down in his eyes told me that I would probably have been lying if I did.

13/10 – Didn’t know lighters were outdated.

It used to be a sea of lighters. Now all I could see when looking out over the crowd, when Flea & Co. got going with Under the Bridge in The Globe Arena on Tuesday, was a sea of smart phone screens. Not quite the same.

Since on the subject; if you haven’t read the Anthony Kiedis biography Scar Tissue yet, make sure to get around and do it. Even if only half of it would be true, it’s still amazing that the guy is still alive. Not to mention that the almost 50-year-old man is still flying around as a teenager on stage. If he’d just get that horrible moustache off his face, I’m sure he’ll be as hot as ever.

Autumn 2011 Photos

Edinburgh November 2011

Airports

Stavanger October 2011