Places we go for love

Norway has been tracked down (I only arrived by train from Sweden this morning). My roundabout travels to Norway began with a flight out of Philadelphia with a skull-scratchingly cheap stand-by ticket from a good neighbor/ pilot extraudinaire in New Jersey, General Larry Thomas. Thanks so much, Larry!! The flight took me to Stockholm, Sweden.

I met a nice man on the plane named Charles. He was an ex-republican turned "Omnivore's Dilemma" recommender and Obama supporter. This is reassuring. He knew a lot about Chemistry and Economics and must have overestimated how well I could keep up with his discourses. It was pleasant to converse with someone possessing so well-developed specific and general assessment abilities. Learning unintentionally is always a thrill.

Too much on that, anyway. I carefully (and painfully-with a smorgasboard of cumbrous carry-on) selected a bottle of Scotch for the man lending me a bass in Bergen while at the duty-free in Philly. Prices on booze in Norway are sinful. I managed to get the paper bag to the baggage claim in Stockholm, only to forget it on the floor after I ran to get my suitcase. Someone should be feeling fairly lucky (and toasted) right about now. However, it irks me that someone must have seen me walking airily away from the lone satchel. Why did no one grab my arm or whistle and point me back? Luck-grubbers!

Stockholm was much too big to cover in an afternoon. I had from 9:00 to 16:00 before I would be boarding my first train for Bergen. I stored my things in a locker. The "Old City" of Stockholm reminded me of Quebec City. It has similar touristic art galleries and souvenir shops lining the narrow cobbled lanes. I find that the cobbled alleys in Bergen are just as enchanting-with less schmultz to historically distance them.
Walked through a church cemetery and felt extremely conflicted upon seeing a man with a very nasty gash on his forehead and fresh-looking rivulets of blood flowing down his face. He was sitting quite placidly on a bench. I did not go up to him to help in some way because I would have been the ideal victim for any desperate attempt to rob or somehow malign. That is rubbish in my opinion, but I would have hated to prove right the many forewarners of my life by putting myself in harm's way. I hate doubting people as a general rule, though. His head was messed up, and I wasn't scared of him-so why the heck not be a "good samaritan". Damn, I only just saw that connection. Maybe we should never second-guess our sympathies unless we wish to dwell in fear and distrust (and hipocracy) our whole lives.
I bought some beautiful old posters of Swedish Wildflower educational tools. They will look beautiful all over a bedroom and on the ceiling. I won't be able not to learn something if it is repeatedly the first thing I see every morning. And what a lovely subject to think of first in the morning.

The train from Stockholm to Oslo was the best experience I've ever had on a railway. The cars were from the sixties, but renovated to work and look like new. The interior was paneled completely with pretty wood. The windows opened (which anyone who knows me can appreciate on my behalf-I hate getting hot). There were private compartments like on the Orient or Hogwarts Express, except not one other person occupied the same train car with me. The whole train seemed completely empty. It was high-speed and made no noise. Even when I opened the window the only sound was a whoosh of air and leaves being swept aside. No clickety-clack. No chugging. The arms of the seats folded back to create as much space as needed, and the bathrooms weren't odorous. There was no obnoxious loud speaker. It was punctual. I bought my student-rate ticket on board from the conductor with a card.
Please, understand that I have ridden more trains than anyone else you or I know. I only just learned to drive. But there has never been a comparison to that train. How can I go back to NJtransit without wincing, and how are there not more trains like that one!!?? This was not a sponsored blog or anything. I really fell in love with that train!! (unionsexpressen.com). Of course, the scenery was also superb.

I arrived at the Oslo train station at 22:00 to wait for my next train departing an hour+ later. There seemed to be an abundance of pickpockets there. While trying to print my reserved train ticket at a machine, it suddenly happened that three foreign men were all busily occupied in overly dramatic cell phone conversations just two feet away. Their number mysteriously increased as they closed in on me in the near-empty arena of a train station. There were other people about, but the size of the station made the men's proximity all too suspicious (and annoying). I conspicuously gripped the mouth of my purse with a muscled jaw and fury radiating peripherally from my eyes, hoping to express "Get lost, vile larceners!" with every part of my body. I was about to kick all of their asses (or get totally burglarized) when they dispersed. What can I say (you don't want to meet me in a dark alley)? I have overly developed jaw-muscles from too much tension while playing bass? My haircut makes me look tough? It's all true!
But I really don't like sneaky, greasy thugs. Who wouldn't appreciate the opportunity to step heavily on their feet?

Otherwise, people in Scandinavia were the exact opposite-most courteous and helpful. Once I got my mouth to start articulating a question, they responded immediately with whatever answer or assistance they could muster. When I asked a train conductor if there was any drinking water on the train, he said "come with me" and lead me through four cars of sleeping people to the conductor's car where he opened an "employees only" door and gave me a bottle from a case obviously meant for "employees". That was so amazing to me. Does anyone know another conductor/ railway employee who wouldn't just answer "nope"?
I only received poor directions once, and I should have known better because she "didn't understand maps" and told me to "just go that way"-which of course was the completely wrong way to go.

It was seven hours and forty-six minutes before Nicholai's kiss, a glass of water, a shower, a cup of coffee, a change of clothes, and another kiss when I wrote most of this on the midnight train to Bergen. Now I have had all that and more. I'll be going to buy some tacks for these posters now. Don't worry, there are wide framing margins. Take care, everyone and thanks for giving me a reason to get all this in writing.
xoxoxo