tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23246855003778725842024-02-20T13:39:28.760-08:00Intentionally LostBy Boot, Rail, Road, Sea, and SkyBossihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15032063076539453859noreply@blogger.comBlogger172125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2324685500377872584.post-35577178147936106352012-11-05T16:48:00.000-08:002012-11-05T17:28:17.180-08:00A Metro Ride With Bieber Fans<br />
So apparently Justin Bieber is playing in DC tonight. This of course resulted in my getting on Metro, sitting down in my usual center-car spot, and almost immediately being inundated with shrieking teenage girls both in front and behind me.<br />
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It took me a moment to realise they were giggling at me, the half-dozen in front of me trying to get my attention; the half-dozen behind me trying to get my attention.<br />
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Mentally acknowledging I am twice their age, I did what any man would do in his attempt to avoid the judgement of the few older passengers on the train were I to offer any sort of attention toward a bunch of adolescents: pull out my phone and stare at Twitter, doing my best to ignore the girls. If I had a phone back in elementary school: I would have used this exact same defense tactic.<br />
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However, this was made particularly difficult when one of the chaperones -- best I could guess: one of their moms -- moved to sit directly across from me and said "They think you're cute."<br />
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"mmhmm." I said with only a brief glance of recognition away from my phone.<br />
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"...and so do I."<br />
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"Cool." -- not looking up -- and immediately cozying into the corner with my phone.<br />
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I only get one really awkward moment every 2-3 years, if even that frequent... this would count as one of those moments.<br />
Bossihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15032063076539453859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2324685500377872584.post-49852267590064693202012-10-15T16:19:00.001-07:002012-10-15T16:45:20.058-07:00Space Is Big<br />
Imagine yourself sitting by one of those globes from school showing a scaled-down Earth -- they're usually about 12" to 18" in diameter. Now answer these two questions by imagining yourself waving your hand near the globe to indicate how far away you think is correct:<br />
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- Where does space begin?<br />
- How far away is the Moon?<br />
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Where does space begin? I'd guess that you're probably going to wave your hand somewhere around 1 or 2 ft away from the little planet. But for what we popularly consider to be "space": if you smacked your hand right onto the globe you'd have been closer.<br />
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Compared to a 12" globe: Sunday's (amazing) skydive began 0.04" above the surface. That's about half of a ruler's little tick-mark. The International Space Station is 0.10", which is just one tick-mark. Most satellites are put into Low Earth Orbit, which maxes out at just under 2 inches away. The upper limit of Medium Earth Orbit -- which is home mostly to fancier & more expensive satellites -- goes up to only about 3 ft away.<br />
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How far away is the Moon? You probably waved your hand in the range of 3-5 ft distant from the globe, which is convenient since in your mental image of sitting/standing by this globe that's well-within an easy reach. Well... the Moon would actually be 30 feet away. Next time you're asked this question: leave the room and go next door.<br />
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The Sun? That's more than 2 miles away. Our nearest stellar neighbor, Alpha Centauri? By the scale of that 12" classroom globe, Alpha Centauri is well over twice the *actual* distance between Earth and the Moon. But since we already can't fathom that distance correctly in the first place- it's best to just call it a day at that.<br />
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Space is big. Our planet is small and we're even smaller.Bossihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15032063076539453859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2324685500377872584.post-82198885172989664102012-09-22T20:55:00.000-07:002012-09-23T08:10:06.372-07:00Philadelphia<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Bossi's Day Off:</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">- Ate a freshly-made soda from legit soda jerks at Franklin Fountain. Didn't know what to expect; it was quite good! But too pricey and the flavor gave way to mere seltzer too soon. Friendly service, though. Ice cream looked amazing but didn't get any (I wanted to eat a real lunch first).</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">- Discovered Philly has an underground city. Well, formally underground concourse... </span><br />
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but still never knew that was there. But unlike Montreal: it's less city and more urine. So much wasted space; would be perfect for arts or retail.<br /><br />- Saw an 18th century rowhome just by Independence Hall that looked exquisite -- just like a home straight out of Georgetown. It was running for cheaper than places I'm looking at in DC.<br /><br />- I love Philly's use of sidewalk space. DC needs to emulate this.<br /><br />- Last time I was in Condom Kingdom was at their old location and I was with my grandmother.<br /><br />- The lines for Jim's, Pat's, and Geno's are entirely too long. Especially Geno's. I mean, I'll forgive Pat's and Jim's, but really... PEOPLE: PAT'S IS ACROSS THE STREET FROM GENOS. It may only be marginally better, but at least it's legit.<br /><br />- Italian Market is like DC's Chinatown: its eponymous ethnicity has left for the suburbs.<br /><br />- I love working class cities. They may be intimidating at night, but by day everyone is so phenomenally friendly- people readily engage in conversation. In DC people just look confused or ignore you completely if you say "hi".<br /><br />- I was taking photos of graffiti and was approached by a guy who used to be a graffiti artist way back in the day. Later on I met a few current artists and was introduced to the Philly scene; brought around to a few great spots. Lots of time deriding taggers. Philly's got some great talent; but not quite enough of it.<br /><br />- A scofflaw bicyclists ran into me. He was about four years old. His bike helmet crashed into my rear-end at about 1 mph. He bounced away more than I did.<br /><br />- Rittenhouse Square is pretty phenomenal. I can't recall EVER seeing a park so diverse and friendly, with so many people doing so many different things... together; across racial lines.<br /><br />- As always, I completed my pilgrimage to my great-grandfather's plane in front of the Franklin Institute.<br /><br />- Spent an evening with two Amy's (ha ha- like the pizza!) -- a pair of lovely ladies to spend an evening with taking photos!<br /><br />- In the drizzling walk back to my hotel, went to go check out the underground concourse again- came upon a homeless camp at the closed entry. Initially rebuffed, within another minute I was invited to sit down and share dinner with them. I'd just eaten and I didn't eat much, but I couldn't turn down such generosity.<br /><br />And that's pretty much everything up til now.<br /><br />Thanks, Philly!</div>
Bossihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15032063076539453859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2324685500377872584.post-39206802214179226762012-08-11T20:55:00.000-07:002013-04-05T15:43:36.986-07:00SlutWalk DC 2012<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This year went far more smoothly and comfortably than my experiences <a href="http://intentionallylost.blogspot.com/2011/08/slutwalk-dc-2011.html">last year</a>, when I'd battled camera issues and dashed through less-than-pleasant weather to try and get there. Furthermore, I felt a bit more relaxed and sociable this time around.<br />
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<a href="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7274/7792979198_d89c5b7fee_b_d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7274/7792979198_d89c5b7fee_b_d.jpg" width="320" /></a>When I arrived at Lafayette Square I still lingered hesitantly about, focusing more on group shots and photos of people a bit more conservatively covered. As I said in last year's post: I was raised in a rather puritan area and feel a bit awkward photographing people who are not fully clothed unless I ask for permission, and it seems strange to ask for permission to photograph a woman's scantily-clad body when you're at an event that is protesting objectification of women.<br />
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<a href="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8302/7786300118_03f93355ae_b_d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8302/7786300118_03f93355ae_b_d.jpg" width="320" /></a>I have to remind myself that I am there to document an event and help get its message across. This can help motivate me to photograph things I may be a bit more hesitant about, but can also help keep my mind on a straight course if I <i>do </i>become... um... distracted... which is to say: I <i>am </i>a heterosexual male and there's no denying that there were some attractive women present; but that would be exactly the wrong reason to be there. My photos are not for me; they are for the group of people in front of the lens.<br />
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Fortunately, there were a number of creative signs and fashions which kept me occupied for that initial period of time at Lafayette. And there were a few loquacious ladies showing a bit more skin who were delightedly posing for photographers, helping break my initial timidness. So to that I especially want to thank Elly (in the photo at right: blue top and pink bottom), who was my first of that variety & was fun to chat with for that brief duration.<br />
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By the time we'd left Lafayette I'd started getting into the swing of photographing everyone & also striking up conversation. I especially like that last point... makes me feel less like one of the creeper dudes who wears a large-brimmed hat, has a bushy mustache, and is quietly taking pictures from the perimeter. Later on I'd take off my shirt, completing a transition into someone who could be misconstrued as a participant.<br />
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<a href="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8429/7785978332_d01709a603_b_d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8429/7785978332_d01709a603_b_d.jpg" width="320" /></a>Not to say I necessarily <i>wasn't</i> a supporter; I just try and stay vehemently neutral whenever I'm doing photos. Listening in on the speakers this year I felt it was more strongly focused on personal anecdotes, whereas last year seemed a bit more focused on calls-to-action amid the stories. Last year I'd felt there were a number of things I'd disagreed with, but this year it seemed I had a bit more shared sentiment.<br />
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<a href="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8446/7762565502_5d90b3b9b8_b_d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8446/7762565502_5d90b3b9b8_b_d.jpg" width="320" /></a>During the march from Lafayette Square to the National Mall, I dashed back and forth along the length of the march trying to snap photos of just about everyone in the group. It was interesting to see how people would react, with some ignoring the photographers, some intentionally staying straight-laced and serious, and some putting on a massive smile or -- in one case -- a delightfully goofy face (one of my favorite photos from the whole event). I also loved the passion held by Catherine as she snapped photos along the march, putting on a picture-perfect pose that I only wish she'd held a bit longer so I could get a better-composed shot.<br />
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By the time we arrived at the Sylvan Theatre I was leaving a trail of sweat behind me, taking on a body odor where "horrendous" would only begin to describe a room filled with roses and lavender. While the brutal heat wave of the summer had broken in the sense that were were finally not hitting triple-digits anymore, it was still hitting about 90°... which <i>felt </i>cool for most purposes but was pretty rough when repeatedly running to catch up to the front of the group again. Plus the humidity... oh my, the humidity. That's DC, alright. It wasn't too long after arriving at the Mall's Sylvan Theatre when I'd stripped off my shirt and continued on my rounds of photographing everybody.<br />
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<a href="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8293/7785716400_4ce5da6d42_b_d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8293/7785716400_4ce5da6d42_b_d.jpg" width="212" /></a>I'm pretty sure I managed to get photos of just about everyone there. Not a single person denied a photo and most struck a great smile, with the day's excitement giving them great poise -- I don't think I had a single subject which didn't turn out a good photo. While editing my photos later on I'd come to find I'd captured some people several times without realising it, including Jessica, who I'd completely missed at the event itself but afterward came to discover that she's been to a number of events I've personally had a hand in running -- DC's No Pants Metro Ride, Pillowfight, Survive DC, etc... it was a bit surreal to get to chatting with someone over Twitter despite having been within arms reach of her on at least a half-dozen occasions & probably having photographs of her over the course of several years.<br />
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At one point I recall heading to grab a swig of water and one of the ladies at the table raising awareness for National Go-Topless Day called for me to come over. I'd uttered an exasperated "one moment" as I dove for the water fountain, next turning my attention to her and learning about National Go-Topless Day coming up on August 26th. She invited me to come photograph the event and assured me that I've been a good fit as a photographer (yay! Confirmation I'm not a creeper!).<br />
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Of course, that coincides with the weekend my friend Andrea is visiting... I'm not entirely sure if I can sell it to her given these intricacies of: (1) It's a rally in DC instead of usual tourist fare, (2) I don't know her opinions on the subject, (3) I don't know if she'd be bored as I was taking photos, (4) I don't know if she'd be weirded out <i>because </i>I'm taking photos, (5) I don't know if she'd want to join in or not & it'd be kind of awkward to proposition that to her, and (6) if she did... do I photograph her? It's simply easier taking photos of strangers... or at least folk that you meet <i>at </i>such an event since that sort-of sets those foundations of what is and is-not taboo.<br />
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<a href="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8426/7786295170_bd939e19f4_b_d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8426/7786295170_bd939e19f4_b_d.jpg" width="213" /></a>Fun tidbit, by the way: it's <a href="https://go.mpdconline.com/GO/CIR_11_01.pdf">legal to be topless in DC</a>. Actually, as long as it's not sexualised: you're allowed to go all-out naked in DC. I actually learned this while chatting with some Metro Transit Police officers during the last No Pants Metro Ride, where they cautioned that if anyone decides to go down to more than their skivvies (which isn't something we suggest, but <i>just in case</i>) they should make sure not to ride across into Virginia or Maryland, where neither state permits such degrees of nudity. But really, I'd think that if someone felt up to it: one could force a case through either state that it is discriminatory to allow men to be topless but not women; which is much of the driving force behind National Go-Topless Day.<br />
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<a href="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8284/7799239166_f7654398ba_b_d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8284/7799239166_f7654398ba_b_d.jpg" width="320" /></a>It was while I was here where I'd met the guy in a badger costume, which seemed a little strange... also that he was quite adamant for me to take his picture with the topless woman. But I didn't want to pry in to that. I'm of the nature that if you're going to do something, attend something, say something, whatever-something that's controversial: own up to it; make it your own. If you can't accept the consequences: you aren't committed to your opinions. And if you try and hide from public view while being in public... well, either you're on the internet or you're being a bit of an oddity.<br />
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<a href="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8295/7771576048_49909c5a1f_b_d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="281" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8295/7771576048_49909c5a1f_b_d.jpg" width="320" /></a>Anyways, a photo of the badger guy with the topless woman is <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thisisbossi/7792468942/in/set-72157631024781940/">here</a> (NSFW), which I don't show here only because I don't feel like marking this blog post as moderate (even though really there shouldn't be any difference than if it were a man... <i>again </i>the whole point behind Go-Topless Day).<br />
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Also at this tent was when a woman, Mindi, walked up to me to exchange contact info. I remembered photographing her before and striking up conversation- particularly in that not only was she cute and I'd gotten a great photo of her sign back at Lafayette, but she was carrying the exact same model of camera as I was carrying. And I can't turn down a chat with a woman carrying an SLR... it's become a weakness of mine.<br />
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<a href="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7272/7762579004_770cb23cfe_b_d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7272/7762579004_770cb23cfe_b_d.jpg" width="320" /></a>But I was definitely taken aback slightly in that my overwhelming stench didn't keep her at bay... that's what was running through my head, and in my head it seemed so funny that I'd nearly broken out laughing for what would have appeared to have been no apparent reason. Prompting the "I'm not demented!" defense, even though on some occasions I question whether that's a true statement. I did get a great testimonial from Mindi later that week, however, which I plan to post any time I ever need a testimonial: "You're not a weirdo!"<br />
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<a href="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8443/7762574208_f6ab41dd48_b_d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8443/7762574208_f6ab41dd48_b_d.jpg" width="320" /></a>Sorry if most of this post is about me feeling like I'm a creeper... but seriously, that's what's running through my head half the time. I have to admit that we both do the same things: take photos of people. If we do it from a distance: a photographer just calls them "candids". Granted, a pricier camera helps set me apart... but really the only difference is that bit I said about how our mind processes the event: I'm here not for me; but to document & help share the message.<br />
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<a href="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8288/7778922612_3e9b23c3d2_b_d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8288/7778922612_3e9b23c3d2_b_d.jpg" width="320" /></a>There were some great presenters on stage. The opening band was decent and brought a great energy to kick things off. Each of its band members was also quite photogenic, and I especially loved the colors and facial expressions I got of their lead singer.<br />
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<a href="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8444/7779034128_9c5269e9e4_b_d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8444/7779034128_9c5269e9e4_b_d.jpg" width="320" /></a>I especially liked <a href="http://runningwarriorusmc.blogspot.com/">Maureen</a>, a marine who had a story about another marine -- a man much like a brother to her -- who assaulted her for several hours but escaped without due punishment. I'd gotten a number of photos of her as she'd marched from Lafayette as she put on such a strong look -- her face exemplified what a marine looks like: strong, determined, and with a fierce will. It was a stark contrast to listen to her story and see her expression change as she became less a soldier and more a human. But even as a shimmer of tears came to her eyes, her gaze still kept that show of strength.<br />
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<a href="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8295/7779001394_09df106d46_b_d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8295/7779001394_09df106d46_b_d.jpg" width="320" /></a>I did not catch the name of another presenter -- a thin red-haired woman who shared a background as a soldier. She was among my favorite subjects to photograph that day but also one of the only people who didn't crack a smile the entire time -- keeping a serious expression the full duration of the event. She'd stood at the corner of the stage as other presenters shared their stories, holding her sign above her head and showing an endurance that I surely could not match. Not only was she downright beautiful to photograph, but her anger showed through very well into so many of my photos. It was when she took to the microphone when her hardened military exterior melted away and she, as with Maureen before her, became a <i>person</i>.<br />
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<a href="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8286/7778935538_e62a792760_b_d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8286/7778935538_e62a792760_b_d.jpg" width="320" /></a>I made sure to snap photos of some of the volunteers and support staff -- particularly those handing out water (THANKS!!!) as well as the sign language interpreters. One of the interpreters was downright striking -- oh, what I would give to photograph her eyes.<br />
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One of the last people I'd photographed was a woman holding a sign that read "I'm not here for your viewing pleasure." I couldn't help but remark at the irony of this as she posed for my photo.<br />
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<a href="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8288/7799231480_2e9610d749_b_d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8288/7799231480_2e9610d749_b_d.jpg" width="320" /></a>I'd started processing all the photos with great zeal, but I can see a remarkable difference between photos I'd worked on initially and those I'm working on later on... namely: I've gotten far lazier with my efforts to properly adjust colors. You can spot my later uploads by the strong yellow/green hues...<br />
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And with that I've somewhat run out of words but still have a bunch of photos I want to showcase... so below I just present a bunch of center-aligned photos for your perusal. Enjoy!<br />
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<br />Bossihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15032063076539453859noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2324685500377872584.post-30950727674915195082012-06-09T10:07:00.004-07:002012-08-19T08:20:56.460-07:00Size of the Sun<br />
Someone asked me about this photo:<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">(via <a href="http://apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap120609.html">NASA</a>)</span></i></div>
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The question was: would the Sun really appear so large if you were standing on Venus? I knew the answer to that is no, but I <i>have </i>been guilty of wondering if it would appear that large if you were standing on Mercury. But again: the answer is no. So how big <i>would </i>the Sun be if you were on either planet? Below are some photos showing how the Sun would look from each one:<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thisisbossi/5091972577/">From Earth</a></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thisisbossi/7169444377/">From Venus</a></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thisisbossi/7354656134/">From Mercury (furthest; aphelion)</a></i></span></div>
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<i style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thisisbossi/7169444317/">From Mercury (nearest; perihelion)</a></i>
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From Venus, the Sun would be a third larger (which really isn't that big a difference). Mercury follows are relatively more elliptical orbit, with the Sun appearing twice as big at its furthest and three times as big at its nearest. From Mercury the Sun is certainly much larger in the sky, but probably not nearly as big as you might have thought it would be.<br />
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So just how is it that the Sun is so big on those photos? I mean, the camera can't be really close to the Sun... because otherwise it wouldn't be able to also have Venus in that picture at the top of this post. So what if I was standing on a spaceship positioned at exactly where that photo was taken, in orbit above Venus looking toward the Sun? Why wouldn't the Sun appear exactly as big as it looks in that image?<br />
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And to that I answer: the Dolly Zoom- <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dolly_zoom">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dolly_zoom</a><br />
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The short of it is that as you zoom in on something: further objects grow larger at a faster rate than nearer objects, distorting the perspective. As you zoom in: your near object (Venus) only gets a little bigger, but your far object (the Sun) gets immensely bigger.<br />
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You've probably seen this before in the movies. One of the most prominent uses of the Dolly Zoom is in Hitchcock's <i>Vertigo</i>, but more recently there's a memorable effect in the first <i>Lord of the Rings</i>, where Frodo senses the Ringwraiths approaching along the forest path.<br />
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Since telescopes are just massive zoom lenses: the ever-distant sun can appear to loom massively about the planet. If you were to physically<i> </i>travel from Earth to Venus: you'd see Venus growing ever larger as you get close to it, but the Sun would pretty much stay the same size.Bossihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15032063076539453859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2324685500377872584.post-55741486018307546782012-02-04T21:25:00.000-08:002012-08-19T12:01:09.753-07:00Occupy DCThe following is intended to be written from as neutral a perspective as I can offer. While I do not affiliate with the Occupy movement I do support their right to assemble in protest, even if I may not necessarily share many of their ideals. I have some police background and similarly try to appreciate their situation, as well.<br />
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I arrived to a bit of commotion as protesters smacked sticks upon the pavement and police rushed out of their lines with shields up...<br />
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The US Park Police arrived to enforce the No Camping regulation as they had been directed by a Congressional hearing to begin more stringent enforcement. After an initial check days earlier, their arrival today reportedly caught many protesters off-guard.<br />
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Police searched each tent for sleeping paraphernalia (I'm quite proud of this term) as well as equipment related to cooking (including opened food). If any such objects were found: the entire tent and all its contents were confiscated as evidence. Clean tents were left standing.<br />
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<a href="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7028/6820755199_038009fd66_b_d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7028/6820755199_038009fd66_b_d.jpg" width="320" /></a>The searches commenced part-by-part in each of the segments of McPherson Square, with protesters scrambling about the open sections cleaning out things... though some proudly displayed their prohibited wares, including one tent with an admittedly comfortable bed inside.<br />
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As police closed a new section the protesters moved to an adjacent section. In general there had been little confrontation between either side, other than a few instigators calling out some more pointed remarks & a generally high degree of profanity being tossed toward the police.<br />
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Most tents were pretty typical of any encampment, but I recall one tent in particular... it had been constructed with a tarp over cardboard & plywood walls, with cardboard laid down upon pallets to form the flooring. Within those pallets, however, were dozens of rats... a sheltered home, warmed by bodies above, with plenty of food around: not exactly a surprise; but it sent both cleaning crews and nearby observers scattering as each darted about. <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/rwitte42/status/165887630008008705" rel="nofollow">One tweeter</a> opted to point out highly-personal bodily truths in response to his disagreement with my rat observation. I'm not sure how one could doubt the presence of rats... I mean, firstly: it's a city; we have those. Second: it had a downright perfect new home.<br />
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One other tent -- one of the first ones to be cleaned out -- included a gallon jug of urine and a vomit-soaked washcloth. I was fortunate enough to be downwind... oof.<br />
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<a href="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7001/6825724699_891379e8cd_b_d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7001/6825724699_891379e8cd_b_d.jpg" width="320" /></a>But both of those incidents were admittedly in the minority, as even tents that were cleaned out didn't appear to be any more dirtier than what I'd accrue if spending a weekend in the mountains. And considering many of these had been in place for months: I don't intend my "dirty jibes" as any insult; overall most of the encampment has been rather well-kept, all things considered.<br />
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<a href="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7141/6821327207_23f452a1b3_b_d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="U-Stream" border="0" height="213" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7141/6821327207_23f452a1b3_b_d.jpg" title="" width="320" /></a>To the credit of police, there were quite a number of occasions where they returned property from across the barriers. There was a large painted plywood sign, a guitar, a briefcase, and some tentpoles- and that was only what I witnessed. From chatting with many of the officers most of this time: most were in good spirits and very pleasant to talk to. They also let in Occupy DC's livestreamer as well as the closest thing I'd say they have to a leader, both granted seemingly unrestricted (or at least greatly flexible) access behind police lines.<br />
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I tried to take some time to humanise both the protesters...<br />
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...as well as the police, which I felt even more important to capture. I'm not without my critiques of their overall response this evening & with the actions of a couple select officers, but it's also important to remember that as individuals: these men and women are people who would drop everything and give themselves to rush to your defense, assistance, and rescue regardless of who you are or in what circumstances you would find yourself in. And these are people with families, just earning paychecks, who faced this day not knowing what course it may take.<br />
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...Even the staff cleaning out the tents, who had perhaps the least-inspiring job of all:<br />
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<a href="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7001/6820781675_1d13778f3a_b_d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7001/6820781675_1d13778f3a_b_d.jpg" width="320" /></a>The big standoff came when the Park Police moved to close the last section at the northwest of the park. This is home to the previously-closed food tent, medical tent, and -- most dear to the protesters -- their main library. I am not 100% sure how it all began nor would I trust any account from either side, but somehow tensions flared, people got thrown down, riot shields moved in, clubs out, and basically all those sort of fun things...<br />
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The only thing I could hear over the pandemonium was a young girl screaming at the top of her lungs. All other sounds faded into a constant din of background noise. My hearing is not the best, so with my eyes planted into my camera lens: I hadn't taken heed of the police officers surrounding me. When I pulled my head back momentarily to look at the last photo I'd just taken, out of the corner of my eye I recognised the light blue of police helmets on all sides; and a split-second later the world took a dizzying tumble about me.<br />
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<a href="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7035/6827492097_906188ff75_b_d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7035/6827492097_906188ff75_b_d.jpg" width="320" /></a>I had been standing on a bench, and moments later I was behind the bench... a police officer pushed me over the back of it; I'm not entirely sure in what direction I landed other than that my brain took a moment to collect itself and come to terms with my newfound respect for the force of gravity.<br />
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<a href="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7020/6827498723_6270711f8e_b_d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7020/6827498723_6270711f8e_b_d.jpg" width="320" /></a>As I joined into the crowd being slowly pushed back: flare-ups grew all about as protesters and police clashed; the group in general being pushed ever-gradually backwards toward the exit, though for many it wasn't entirely clear where the exit was: police and barricades seemed to be in all directions.<br />
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At the exit some protesters made their final stand, including taking down a barrier that I just happened to be standing by. I'm pretty sure I let loose a rather loud profanity in the video I was shooting at the time, as the attaching part of the fence went straight into my leg. This gave me a rather nice hobble the rest of the evening. As the battle ensued about this barrier I took an unexpected club to the chest -- yet again I suppose I hadn't heard a police order directing to me to move.<br />
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Things quieted down for awhile after that...<br />
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<a href="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7173/6828053523_e060754fc3_b_d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7173/6828053523_e060754fc3_b_d.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7030/6828144151_ab0d5e6d36_b_d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Cordial chatting, seconds before things flared" border="0" height="213" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7030/6828144151_ab0d5e6d36_b_d.jpg" title="" width="320" /></a>At one point I moved in closer to where several protesters were chatting with some police officers. The conversation seemed relatively cordial, but I must have missed something that was said which, I suspect, led to something being thrown, as in a split-second the relative calm erupted into shields moving on all sides of me and horses surrounding my position -- police moved in on one of those protesters for reasons I had not been able to discern. [I've since gathered that this may have been the alleged brick-throwing incident]<br />
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<a href="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7161/6828150591_58d4dcace3_b_d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7161/6828150591_58d4dcace3_b_d.jpg" width="320" /></a>Once again my limited hearing got the best of me, as all the sounds merged into one and my attention fixated on my camera & getting good photos. But just as well, as with the immediate appearance of mounted officers on all sides of me: I decided it best to stay in place and let officers personally direct me out of there.<br />
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<a href="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7166/6828137405_b23d406ce9_b_d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7166/6828137405_b23d406ce9_b_d.jpg" width="320" /></a>At once I had an officer on my left come to escort me away from my position, pushing me rightward; and at the same time as an officer to my right was escorting someone the exact opposite direction -- causing us both to lightly collide... I quickly stated that I'm being sent right and left simultaneously, and the officers quickly sent us both to the right... and thankfully the officer with me immediately listened when I was visibly jumping on one leg and announced "I'm slow". He heeded this and slowed down his escort of me to the other side of the police line.<br />
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After that, things quieted down right up until I departed. I took some time to capture the sense of the shield wall, capturing both its physical presence as well as the emotions of those holding it together:<br />
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Some time later the protesters organised into a general assembly, to which I eventually decided that things were unlikely to flare up to such a degree again; so I took my leave and went home to begin tending to photos and video. It was only after I sat that I came to find tally nice bruises on my left leg and right shoulder (I have no idea where the shoulder one came from... I guess when I went over the bench). My right leg hurts, too, but that's solely a result of putting all my weight on it for several hours. All-in-all an interesting night.<br />
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<br />Bossihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15032063076539453859noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2324685500377872584.post-435881817413511602011-11-04T21:17:00.001-07:002011-11-04T21:18:59.801-07:00Occupy DC<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;">Just got back from an Occupy DC march which surrounded the American Dream Summit (by and large a conservative gathering which included several (?) Republican presidential candidates) at the Convention Center... here are my observations, much of which appears to be getting misunderstood by the news already. For what it's worth, I'll clarify that I do not count myself among Occupy DC's ranks but nor do I affiliate myself with those against them. I just think both sides have fair points.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; text-align: left;">- I saw two fist fights. Both were between rival gangs from the area; did not </span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; text-align: left;">involve protesters or anyone from the American Dream Summit.<br />
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- I can confirm one person & her dog were hit by a car which then left the scene. Protesters chased the car and surrounded it. Police did *not* let the driver go; they escorted it away from the protesters to investigate. Councilmember Wells confirms the driver was arrested. I hear (but did not witness) that two others have also been struck. This all occurred *after* I witnessed an American Dream Summit organiser asking police if he can run over protesters.<br />
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- Most protesters were friendly and let spokespeople with the American Dream Summit speak freely as well as let people pass through, though I did see several who were less ideal. In particular, the group on the west side tended to be more vocal at overwhelming the American Dream Summit's spokesperson and I also observed them blocking women with strollers and people in wheelchairs from exiting the American Dream Summit. The east side appeared more cordial, letting the spokesperson speak (who was very well-spoken, did not raise his voice, and overall a pleasant demeanor) and making way for people to pass.<br />
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- Every single police officer I saw acted responsibly and with excellent regard for their duties, laws, and with respect to both the protesters as well as attendees of the American Dream Summit.</span>Bossihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15032063076539453859noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2324685500377872584.post-15184438772719191812011-10-18T22:49:00.000-07:002011-10-18T22:49:40.900-07:00Costs/DayJust updated my spreadsheet to include costs/day for my trips, though I'm still missing my 2005 trek...<br />
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$175/day - Austria<br />
$90/day - Britain<br />
$125/day - Canada<br />
$345/day - Denmark<br />
$410/day - Iceland/Greenland<br />
$140/day - Ireland<br />
$360/day - Germany<br />
$535/day - Liechtenstein<br />
$275/day - New Zealand<br />
$565/day - Norway<br />
$225/day - Switzerland<br />
$165/day - Russia<br />
$265/day - Sweden<br />
$80/day - Ukraine<br />
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Costs include transport, lodging, food, touristy stuff, and anything else that arose... such as my hospital visit in Sweden or my impromptu changes in plan so evident in my 2005 journey. Hostels & wonderful friends who let me mooch off them helped keep food/lodging costs lower in many cases. Transport was easily the single biggest item, supporting my rationale behind one really long trip instead of a several smaller trips.<br />
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This was reversed in Sweden & Denmark- where ground transport was cheap(ish), but food & lodging was downright brutal. Norway was likewise, except you need so <i>much </i>transport that it added up fast.<br />
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Britain is only low because I did it on a tour & mooched off family along the way. The real winner is Ukraine- awesome country & a downright bargain. Oh, how I want to return to there...Bossihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15032063076539453859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2324685500377872584.post-71502742508884876622011-08-23T14:44:00.001-07:002011-08-24T07:48:18.259-07:00DC - Earthquake<div class="MsoNormal">I was in the best seat one could have; the kind where it’s good to be when fear and chaos strike all at once.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">What at first I thought was an odd rush of dizziness soon turned to thinking the crews remodeling the adjacent offices were rather loud... then I started wondering what the construction crews across the street had done... those thoughts flashed through my head in under a second. But another second later the walls of the bathroom stall began to dance. As the metal panels swayed back and forth it occurred to me that this was beyond the reach of anything the construction crews could’ve done.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This is DC. With every passing electrical impulse coursing through my brain, my mind alternated between “earthquake” and “bomb”; and the screams coming from outside the bathroom were not soothing in the slightest.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So I hurried up with my dealings at that moment and emerged back into our building’s atrium to see most of the office building's tenants evacuating themselves. (<i><b>edit</b>: that is, an exodus out of the building... a friend pointed out that "evacuating themselves" is poor phrasing considering my initial setting</i>)<br />
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Returning back to my office, however, I found a room full of engineers, not one making even the slightest motion toward the doors. Opting to stay in place, they instead put on hardhats. This is why I love being an engineer.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<div class="bbpBox106061837216391168"><div class="bbpTweet">Whoa, pretty good-sized <a class="tweet-url hashtag" href="http://twitter.com/search?q=%23earthquake" rel="nofollow" title="#earthquake">#earthquake</a> just hit in <a class="tweet-url hashtag" href="http://twitter.com/search?q=%23Fairfax" rel="nofollow" title="#Fairfax">#Fairfax</a><span class="timestamp"><a href="http://twitter.com/#!/thisisbossi/status/106061837216391168" title="Tue Aug 23 17:54:47 +0000 2011">less than a minute ago</a> via web <a href="http://twitter.com/intent/favorite?tweet_id=106061837216391168"><img src="http://si0.twimg.com/images/dev/cms/intents/icons/favorite.png" /> Favorite</a> <a href="http://twitter.com/intent/retweet?tweet_id=106061837216391168"><img src="http://si0.twimg.com/images/dev/cms/intents/icons/retweet.png" /> Retweet</a> <a href="http://twitter.com/intent/tweet?in_reply_to=106061837216391168"><img src="http://si0.twimg.com/images/dev/cms/intents/icons/reply.png" /> Reply</a></span><span class="metadata"><span class="author"><a href="http://twitter.com/thisisbossi"><img src="http://a1.twimg.com/profile_images/1196156815/35779_10100380421843464_9304715_71943919_5732785_n_normal.jpg" /></a><strong><a href="http://twitter.com/thisisbossi">Andrew Bossi</a></strong><br />
thisisbossi</span></span></div></div><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Beating even the fastest news outlet: Twitter was awash with activity as soon as my fingers touched the keyboard, and soon enough the suspicions were unanimous: an earthquake had struck DC. I was glad to see countless people tweeting from downtown DC, helping to ensure it wasn’t a bomb. However, I was amused that my brain's first concern, if it was a bomb, was hoping my computer was alright… the masses & denizens of DC were second to pop into my head. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I was surprised to see feedback from friends in New York City and Boston sharing that they’d also felt the earthquake. Within the next minute I’d come to find that friends in Canada and Wisconsin had even felt it, but it was missed down in Georgia and by anyone who happened to be driving at the moment. Good reason not to drive; you miss out on the fun! In fact, people in those further reaches read about the earthquake <i>before it even struck</i>. So yeah: <a href="http://xkcd.com/723/">xkcd gets it right again</a>!<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Many of us returned to working until one of our engineers – one with a stronger structural background – pointed out something that we all should’ve known. Our offices are located above a cantilevered section of the building… that is: exactly the kind of overhanging building bit that is most likely to fall down in an earthquake. Within five minutes I’d come to learn that we were hit by a 5.9 earthquake with an epicenter just to the southwest & only within the top kilometer from the surface, and already aftershocks were giving that dizzying sensation that I’d felt in that first split-second.<o:p></o:p><br />
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(<b>edit: </b><a href="http://earthquake.usgs.gov/earthquakes/recenteqsww/Quakes/se082311a.html">USGS </a>later revised back down to a 5.8, depth about 6 km)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Much of our staff had already departed by the time I wrapped up what I was doing, only ten minutes or so later. To my amusement the guy sitting next to me was on a conference call with staff in our Baltimore office… an office who’d likewise felt the earthquake seemingly just as much as us. Clearly those guys are quite dedicated.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The walk to the Metro station proceeded normally, albeit passing by evacuees from our office building as well as the apartments next door. I looked over at the construction site and was glad to see it seemed OK – including the delicate 3 stories of timbers and massive 10 story-ish free-standing concrete elevator shaft. I’d have been quite curious to have been watching that job site when the earthquake struck.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6183/6074562979_edcb93031c_z_d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="210" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6183/6074562979_edcb93031c_z_d.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I arrived at the Metro station already armed with the knowledge that trains were running at 15 MPH. I became aware that there wasn’t a single train headed back into the city on the boards… so I certainly had a decent wait ahead of me. Entering the Dunn Loring / Merrifield Metro Station, passing through the pedestrian bridge over I-66, I passed by some fallen ceiling tiles that the station manager had already coned off. The rest of the station appeared intact.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So the wait began. And it continued. It went on for 30 minutes, which on a weekend wouldn’t seem too out-of-place; but 3pm was the earliest stretches of the evening peak period… normally I’d wait 1-2 minutes; perhaps 5 minutes max. Good thing it was a delightful day for a disaster, with the weather beautifully sunny and just a touch on the warmish side. I-66, the interstate running along both sides of the station’s platforms, was rolling quite smoothly by this point; but it’d start to congest by the time my train crawled by East Falls Church.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Considering it was still pretty early, I was far out on the system, and headed in on a reverse commute – the platforms and train were certainly busier than they would normally be... but not jam-packed. It was only at Foggy Bottom and Farragut West where my train car turned into a cattlecar. It was really a rather pleasant ride, though the train car was a touch on the warm side… it made me all the more glad that the temperatures weren’t what they were like over the past several weeks.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6194/6075066616_d1275215ff_z_d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6194/6075066616_d1275215ff_z_d.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">At some point we'd picked up a police officer who passed through our car, walking between the cars while we were crawling along… I’m unsure of his precise role, other than perhaps to make sure people weren’t freaking out. They weren’t. While two cute Russian girls behind me – who’d boarded at Vienna – were clearly exasperated from the length of their trip; by and large most people were in normal or good spirits.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Many people read books and fiddled with their phones (as usual), though some were also exchanging stories & remaining cheerful through the whole ordeal. Not one person ever derided the transit service: everyone was well aware that these were rather unique circumstances; I think we were all really just glad to have a way home at all – regardless of how slow it might be. The train ride took a total 65 minutes, compared to the usual 20 on any other day.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Reading Twitter as the ride carried on was entertaining… most were light-hearted about the whole ordeal, but a few were still panicked and terrified. Count me among the former, though some childhood memories came flooding back as soon as the train entered the subway tunnels – immediately reminding me of the <i>Earthquake</i> ride at Universal Studios that I’d both feared and loved as a kid. Rumors were aflutter, with someone starting that the Washington Monument was leaning (it wasn’t) or that there was some significant damage to the spires at the National Cathedral (true). I opted to send out a horrible tweet:<o:p></o:p><br />
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<div class="bbpBox106082500207575041"><div class="bbpTweet">Lincoln Memorial is leaning ... leaning back in his comfy chair! HA ha ha ha! ...sorry. <a class="tweet-url hashtag" href="http://twitter.com/search?q=%23earthquake" rel="nofollow" title="#earthquake">#earthquake</a> <a class="tweet-url hashtag" href="http://twitter.com/search?q=%23dcquake" rel="nofollow" title="#dcquake">#dcquake</a><span class="timestamp"><a href="http://twitter.com/#!/thisisbossi/status/106082500207575041" title="Tue Aug 23 19:16:53 +0000 2011">less than a minute ago</a> via <a href="http://twitter.com/download/android" rel="nofollow">Twitter for Android</a> <a href="http://twitter.com/intent/favorite?tweet_id=106082500207575041"><img src="http://si0.twimg.com/images/dev/cms/intents/icons/favorite.png" /> Favorite</a> <a href="http://twitter.com/intent/retweet?tweet_id=106082500207575041"><img src="http://si0.twimg.com/images/dev/cms/intents/icons/retweet.png" /> Retweet</a> <a href="http://twitter.com/intent/tweet?in_reply_to=106082500207575041"><img src="http://si0.twimg.com/images/dev/cms/intents/icons/reply.png" /> Reply</a></span><span class="metadata"><span class="author"><a href="http://twitter.com/thisisbossi"><img src="http://a1.twimg.com/profile_images/1196156815/35779_10100380421843464_9304715_71943919_5732785_n_normal.jpg" /></a><strong><a href="http://twitter.com/thisisbossi">Andrew Bossi</a></strong><br />
thisisbossi</span></span></div></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6197/6075063426_bc6f1c8896_z_d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6197/6075063426_bc6f1c8896_z_d.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The only stations that were jam-packed were downtown, with the newcomers at Foggy Bottom & Farragut West immediately engaging others in conversation... and I managed to pretty easily slip through the door crowds when it soon came time for me to disembark at McPherson. I chatted with the McPherson station manager briefly – she also seemed rather excited by the events' break in the daily monotony: she appeared to be doing patrols between the station manager's hut & the railing overlooking the platform, I assume partly to ensure that everything was still orderly down there (it was). To think that only three hours prior I'd been in a course on pedestrian crowding, replete with multiple examples of disaster congestion. It seemed fitting.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So began my usual walk back to Logan Circle, routing myself along K Street to witness the traffic chaos. The streets were alive with the sound of sirens... and some horns for good measure. Pretty much every road was backed up in all directions, largely with folk heading home early but also not helped in the slightest by numerous signals being out. It was a good time to be a pedestrian.<o:p></o:p><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6208/6075240790_5e07386ac9_z_d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6208/6075240790_5e07386ac9_z_d.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Passing by some apartments at the corner of 10<sup>th</sup> and N Street NW I came upon a police unit in the process of taping off an alleyway… I soon spotted the load of debris scattered about, freshly fallen from the highest heights of the apartment’s structure. This building is home to a number of low-income families -- I immediately shared news with my councilmember to make him aware, as these families face a very real possibility that they may not be allowed to return tonight. It helped put into perspective that the “fun” of the day is only that way for those who don’t lose anything… but there are certainly some who may face some difficulties as the evening nears. It also made me glad not to be a parent who had to worry about where my kids are and how they’re doing!<br />
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I returned to find that nothing had budged in my apartment. Nothing; even the slightest bit. I have some items sitting on slippy surfaces which were encircled by the dust as when I left, and the objects precariously hanging upon the walls -- which fall often enough even when the ground is stationary -- were still comfortably in place. It was a nice contrast to the apartment building at 10th and N St or to my other friends whose breakable & expensive objects did not fare as kindly.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
Sure, this pales in comparison to what California faces pretty much every day... and while eyeing up the fallen ceiling tiles at Dunn Loring / Merrifield I was chatting with a Japanese woman who was also no stranger to earthquakes. But keep in mind: it's not just that the East Coast is full of softened hipsters (the West Coast has those, too); our buildings and infrastructure simply are not designed for earthquakes of this magnitude. So what would be a ho-hum day along the San Andreas turns out to be a pretty big thing for folk in DC.</div>Bossihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15032063076539453859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2324685500377872584.post-82413369801327420332011-08-13T20:55:00.000-07:002012-08-19T08:55:10.451-07:00SlutWalk DC 2011<br />
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The journey to the event began well before the march took its first step. I had a maddening effort that morning at getting my cameras back. The cameras had been in for repair, which particularly bothered me in that one of those cameras was only 2 months old & was already damaged; and even then: Canon wouldn't honor their warranty.<br />
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And also: for several days I'd been trying to work with FedEx to receive the cameras back... and to put a long story short: they'd been behaving very much like UPS usually does. It was a pain trying to either get the packages delivered while I was home or to get them delivered to the local FedEx branch. I ended up physically chasing down their delivery truck -- on the phone with the driver -- as it made its runs along Mass Ave.<br />
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To think that only a month ago I'd had such a high opinion of both Canon and FedEx.<br />
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<a href="http://farm7.staticflickr.com/6135/6044527108_929193092e_b_d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://farm7.staticflickr.com/6135/6044527108_929193092e_b_d.jpg" width="320" /></a>I arrived out of breath after chasing down the FedEx truck and then dashing almost nonstop to Lafayette Square. Finding the group had already moved on, I began a jog south across the Mall -- losing a couple pounds of sweat in the process. The day was comparatively cool, but the humidity was of no assistance. Intermittent rain did help, but drenched some wonderful signs, makeup, and only made it feel a bit more brutal when the atmospheric spigot turned off again.<br />
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This was a bit of a tricky event to photograph, as having grown up among the rather puritanical Amish of Pennsylvania: my mind was jousting with itself between the thoughts of "I shouldn't hesitate to photograph these ladies because they're here to show their pride & I can help to showcase it" versus "I should not photograph these ladies <i>especially </i>at an event like this; I don't want to look like a creeper and I don't want my photos to end up being salivating fodder for every horny man on the internet".<br />
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<a href="http://farm7.staticflickr.com/6142/6044541402_b4fd237ec1_b_d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://farm7.staticflickr.com/6142/6044541402_b4fd237ec1_b_d.jpg" width="320" /></a>This subsequently resulted in me being rather timid the whole time... particularly in that I actually asked many of the women for permission. Usually I prefer more candid shots as it gives a more authentic look, but I felt a bit too off-kilter to do as much of that this time around; hence the asking for permission.<br />
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I also only took a few photos of those wearing the least, as I just felt too uncomfortable standing there with a camera focused on their body when I'm at an event all about deobjectifying the female form. Though at one point I did laugh with a participant when I asked if I could take a photo of her chest... one of the few times I could do that without getting slapped.<br />
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<a href="http://farm7.staticflickr.com/6090/6044357911_9234f0654e_b_d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://farm7.staticflickr.com/6090/6044357911_9234f0654e_b_d.jpg" width="320" /></a>(to be fair: there were also plenty of men in attendance & participating; but I didn't feel nearly as reserved photographing them... in general, men simply don't carry as many sexual connotations)<br />
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There were some powerful stories shared on the stage spanning quite the gambit of scenarios. While I didn't agree 100% with everything (then again: I *never* agree 100% with *anything*), it was nonetheless a great event and it was nice to see the comradery between stage & audience. The early rain may have drenched makeup and soaked the ink on signs, but it certainly didn't dampen their spirit.Bossihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15032063076539453859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2324685500377872584.post-3704608678485936482011-07-02T23:55:00.000-07:002011-07-04T17:35:17.298-07:00NO - Bergen<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>July 2<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Sunday<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Norway<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Bergen<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span><o:p></o:p></u></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">The sun is up!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A great day for glaciers and fjords!<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I picked up a glacier tour at the museum, standing on the rooftop and using my camera to spy on it as it sat at the docks in town before driving over to the museum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While the six other people in the group wandered about the museum, I returned to its café to get me some breakfast… except the same fare was on offer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So since I’d asked the server yesterday whether I should do a hamburger or hotdog, I figured this time around I’d go for the option not yet chosen: hotdog.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">From the get-go I could tell it was not this girl’s morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a different girl than yesterday evening, though <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that </i>girl was also there working the entry’s desk instead of the café.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But with the café girl this time around: first she set her coffee in front of the cash register.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So when the till snapped open: over went the coffee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then she gave me the hotdog and I immediately realized it was ice cold… she forgot to flip on the water heater when she arrived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>About 10 minutes later I received a freshly brewed hot dog … still cold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ketchup & mustard cover that up nicely.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">The white pants girl from the previous evening inquired which I liked better: her burger or her coworker’s hot dog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here was a moment I could’ve been suave and offered a classy answer that clearly praised her cheeseburger in some manner, but at this time of morning I do not have such capabilities (nor do I often have them even at the best of times).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just answered her burger & said the hotdog was cold in the too matter-of-factly engineering manner so stereotypical of my profession.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Doh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did get to thinking, though… she <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>reminded me of someone; I just couldn’t think of who.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something about her face & personality seemed so incredibly familiar.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">The six people in my glacier tour included an older American couple from Staten Island, a 30-something couple from Mumbai, a 30-something Asian woman from Australia, and one other older dude I didn’t get a chance to talk to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh: the dude from Staten Island totally had a handlebar mustache.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">We visited two glaciers: Supphellebreen then Bøyabreen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the history of what I’ve seen in the Alps, Iceland, or Greenland: these were downers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Neither was too endearing… I mean, I love glaciers & these were nice, but the glacier itself was high up and didn’t show much to the layperson at ground level.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the glaciers advanced, gravity caused them to tumble down the cliffs into a large pile at the bottom… not really a glacier in the same sense, anymore, and not quite the impact I get from visiting glaciers more befitting the stereotypical look.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I returned and made my way to the bus stop on the other side of the museum, making myself comfy and soaking up some rays as I waited for my bus south toward Begen. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got to thinking… transportation in Scandinavia has really not been to European standards: it’s inefficient, slow, expensive, and serves only limited destinations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Norway, in particular, really hits those marks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Passenger rail is only marginally better than the USA.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While the bus system is better than the USA, it’s still missing some pretty major direct connections… but on the plus side: they do a stellar job at coordinating bus transfers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve rarely had to wait more than 10 minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But through it all: it got me to wondering if Fjærland’s apparent lack of business wasn’t in some part to its lack of a rail connection… buses and ferries just tend to be a bit more hidden and confusing to the casual tourist not affiliated with a tour group.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">The bus dropped me off in Habakken (which sounds a lot like, and may be etymologically related to, Hoboken in New Jersey).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My next bus took me directly to Bergen, immediately entering into the world’s longest road tunnel after departing Habakken.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now the problem with riding through tunnels breaking the distance record is that the kitsch is fun for the first 30 seconds, but then you have many minutes of boredom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With each subsequent tunnel: the clouds grew and grew, also sinking lower and lower… soon enough we had arrived in Bergen to a rather dreary day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But on its suburban outskirts we did pass by one highlight: a construction site… not just any construction site; I was witness to a baby Ikea being born.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was beautiful; the miracle of furniture.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Sick of eating burgers, hotdogs, and takeaway pizzas: I yearned for something different & something with flavor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Indian to the rescue!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The samosas were quite tasty, the lassi OK, and the main course good… but I probably shouldn’t have ordered it hot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While it was still plenty edible, it was at the point where the temperature of the spice detracted from its overall flavor & appreciation.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">My hostel was a pretty large dormitory, but I ended up getting some great uninterrupted sleep despite the crowd.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of 16 beds: two stayed empty, a 30-something Italian couple occupied another bunk pair, two English guys in another bunk (one of which was originally from Indiana but moved at a young age; both from Birmingham but without as bad an accent as Ozzy Osborne!), a 20-something American girl (I think the first American of my trip?), a 20-something Japanese guy (from Tokyo; in the bunk above me), a 30-something woman I didn’t get a chance to chat with, and some other folk I also missed.<o:p></o:p></div>Bossihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15032063076539453859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2324685500377872584.post-5410775068847856702011-07-01T23:55:00.000-07:002011-07-04T17:34:33.740-07:00NO - Fjærland<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>July 1<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Sunday<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Norway<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Fjærland<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></u></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">It was drizzling when I awoke, which was moments before my alarm… I’m never sure whether I should be relieved to dodge that hateful noise or annoyed that I missed out on precious minutes of sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure, a couple more minutes probably wouldn’t have made any real difference; but it’s how it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">feels</i> when you feel like you’ve been robbed of sleep time.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I tossed together an open-faced sandwich of veggies & cold cuts for breakfast, briefly attempting a bowl of muesli with milk that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">smelled </i>fine but poured like yogurt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>WHY, SCANDINAVIA, WHY??<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">The Chinese were first to depart, filling a bus and suddenly leaving the hostel quite blissfully calm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I boarded the second bus with the Ukrainians & Dominique for the ride south to Geiranger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We stopped in town to pickup a couple folk from the train station, one of which was an older woman – but I say “older” lightly – who sat in the other front-row seat across from me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From the wrinkles in her face I’d hazard a guess that she was in her late-30’s or perhaps early-40’s, but holy cow had she aged well… perfectly fit and looking like a slightly older Kristin Kreuk (a longtime celebrity crush of mine ever since the first season of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Smallville</i>).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Named Linda, she’s an Australian (from Brisbane, if I recall) who works with weddings on cruise ships & had just finished a job in Italy when she came to Norway for vacation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was quite bummed when we she alighted in a town just before we ferried across one of the fjords.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">The bus ride took us through Trollstigen, which includes some sheer towering cliffs above the road & also a very dramatic series of switchbacks as the road climbs one of the slopes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once again: one of those things I’d love to see in clear weather, but I made the best of the gloom as I could.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Our arrival into Geiranger was quite dramatic, with stellar fjord views along the whole descent into town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From there we all switched to a ferry to Hellesylt – often credited as among the best ferry trips in all of Norway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was certainly with its charm, but again: the low-hanging clouds surely limited the views of the mountainsides.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It did kind of feel like I was entering Jurassic Park, though… a recurring issue with a couple more fjord cruises being that the Jurassic Park theme song gets stuck in my head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I love that piece; so it’s OK.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">As our ferry passed by the Hurtigruten ferry: ours took the lead in a brief foghorn duel, causing everyone on the top deck to leap with surprise at the first sound.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Once in Hellesylt we all switched back to a bus, where we’d soon be parting ways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While waiting, however, I finally struck up conversation with the Ukrainians.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was one woman clearly enthused to have the opportunity to practice her English, though her English was only marginally better than my Russian… and I was equally excited to throw out a couple Russian phrases.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The two young girls with the group (I’m guessing the woman I was talking to was their mother?) were especially excited, and clearly they’d had some English courses in school.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">The youngest was likely in elementary or possibly middle school… definitely around the 10-12 mark.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sister (or I assume sister) looked to be about 17-18 and downright cute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It may have been lost in translation, but I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">think</i> she is either entering into her final year of high school or just graduated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She seemed shy at first, but once she got to talking she became downright garrulous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even then, however, it was clear that English wasn’t her strongest point… but she was certainly the best English speaker of the group & quickly became my translator.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I posed for a photo with the smallest one as we each read our Norwegian guidebooks – one in Russian; the other in English – and I gave my card to the woman and asked if I could get a copy of the photo, but I feared the request was lost in translation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hopefully she’d just give my card to the older girl, who’d well enough know to send an email & I could follow up from there. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">The Ukrainians disembarked in Olden and I ultimately left Dominique in Skei.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I gave due farewells to the Ukrainians, I felt like I hadn’t properly thanked the tour guide for his help; and even in Skei I had totally forgotten to say anything to Dominique as I’d been fixated on trying to figure out my next transfer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt kind of bad about that…<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">My final destination was only about 30 minutes past Skei: a tiny town called Fjærland.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well I wasn’t even <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">in </i>the town… that was still about 3 kilometers from the bus stop, but fortunately my campsite was right at the bus stop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The two teenaged girls at reception were exceptionally helpful at helping me plan out the next day, providing me with bus schedules and ferry scheduled for whichever mode I should choose.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Dinner was at the Glacier Museum immediately next door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the only option… open for another hour; whereas everything in the slightly-distant town had just closed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The café certainly didn’t serve world-class fare, but in my famished state: the cheeseburger served well enough. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took heed of the server’s white pants… not specifically out of ogling her or anything; but just that a lot of Scandinavian women wear white pants; and what more: they wear it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">well</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>White pants are hard for a lot of women to pull off.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I settled in for the evening in the attic dormitory, ultimately having the entire room all to myself… turns out tiny Fjærland wasn’t quite the tourist haven at this point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At about 11pm I took heed that the skylight was sunny… the sun!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sunset!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yay!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a very pretty sunset, and with a 24/7 rooftop plaza on the museum next door: I had a great vantage point to capture the surrounding landscape of the tip of the fjord.<o:p></o:p></div>Bossihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15032063076539453859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2324685500377872584.post-55469275501449445152011-06-30T23:55:00.000-07:002011-07-04T17:33:55.031-07:00NO - Åndalsnes<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>June 30<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Thursday<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Norway<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Åndalsnes<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></u></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">I woke up with the Donkey Kong Country song stuck in my head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s the song that kind of sounds almost like a musical box at first, with the jungle drums kicking in a few measures later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know why it was in my head, but I was singing it as I woke up.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">It was a dreary day & at long last it stuck, with the cycling weather pattern I’d noted yesterday now transforming into a consistently gray day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of all days, it was when I supposed to take a spectacularly scenic journey… bah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But as I’d noted before: it’s best to try and reframe such weather as just another photographic tool.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The clouds are a diffuser; and their low altitude would help to frame things into a gloomy state… and considering the troll theme of much of the geology I’d pass through: perhaps this would even be appropriate.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">I left my baggage at the desk to explore the town a bit before catching my train that afternoon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just revisited many of the same sites I’d already taken, but tried to vary my route a bit to take in different streets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the time I caught my train I felt that I’d taken pretty much every single street in the entire city center, including along both sides of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bryggen</i>.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">My train took me first to Dombås before changing into the Rauma Railway (Raumabanen) as it travels to Åndalsnes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first leg of the train ride was rather uneventful, with the highlight being my eating of breakfast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The panini (if that’s what they want to call it) was quite lacking, though the cookie was tasty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Amusing part was that the train’s café was actually rather reasonably priced… at the least on-par with any stationary convenience mart.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">The Rauma Railway was definitely a delight, but again I’d love to see it in better weather… but I tried my best to use the gloom to my advantage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The railway is famous for its civil engineering marvels as it tackles some pretty major grades, at one point bridging back and forth over streams to try and make the grade before eventually going into a tunnel that spirals & double-backs over itself – opening directly onto a pretty phenomenal bridge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was definitely worth the trip.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">Upon arrival in Åndalsnes I decided to give myself a quick tour of the town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite the backpacks & knowledge that I had a decent walk to my hostel, I also knew that this was my only chance to really see the town; and I knew it’d be a small enough town that it would only take a couple minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And sure enough: I was soon on my journey out to the hostel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d checked out the town on Google Maps the night before, which was all it took for me to get to my hostel flawlessly. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank you, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lonely Planet</i>, for not giving me a map… no map is better than a bad map; it forces me to pay more attention & learn the layout of towns rather than think I can use the map as a crutch.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">Along the way I’d kept pace with a guy who was clearly having some trouble with his rolling suitcase, but he kept up his speed just enough – and I’d slowed just enough with my frequent photos – that I’d never caught up with him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the hostel, however, while chatting with my new roommates he came in several minutes later and immediately recognized me as the guy who had been behind him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His name was Dominique, hailing from the south of France, & he’d come to be a recurring presence in my trip.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">Similarly, another recurring presence would be a tour group whose guide I got to chatting with – an older English guy who’d been living in Norway for years & ran tours catering to Ukrainians.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So sure enough: the tour group was formed of Russian-speaking Ukrainians from a town between Kyiv and Bila Tserkva… there’s a good chance I’d gone right by their hometown during my trip in 2008.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I came to love the Russian language during that trip & really like the Ukrainian people, so I was excited to have such a group around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But even better: the tour guide helped me plan my route to Bergen… he had time tables of buses & knew their routes, which was fortunate considering that my initial plan followed paths which didn’t have any bus routes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Surprising considering how direct they seemed & how large the towns were… who’d have thought Lom would be so underserved by buses?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His group was headed in much the same direction as me, so we’d be tagging along together the next day.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">I’d arrived into the hostel just seconds before two full tour buses pulled in, turning the quiet farmstead into a wildhouse of folk… one bus contained the Ukrainians & the other bus had a Chinese tour group.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was quite relieved to have arrived just in time to check-in before that cacophony struck the reception desk.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">In addition to Dominique, my roommates consisted of two German guys – one about my age (bunked below me) and another seeming in his late-30’s or early-40’s; I couldn’t tell if he was a friend, coworker, or even father to the guy my age.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were two other French guys who I chatted with briefly & I’m drawing a blank on who occupied the other bed; I don’t think I got to talking with him at all.<o:p></o:p></div>Bossihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15032063076539453859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2324685500377872584.post-62897858982272350992011-06-29T23:55:00.000-07:002011-07-04T17:32:58.416-07:00NO - Trondheim<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>June 29<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Wednesday<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Norway<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Trondheim<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span><o:p></o:p></u></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Rejoice- the sun has returned!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’d been such a dreary span of days that you could tell Trondheim was excited to revel in the warmth and light.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The street market was jam-packed; as were the tourist sites.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My first stop was the Nidaros Cathedral, which unfortunately prohibited all photography on account of when they allowed no-flash photos… people kept using flash.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bah… I hate when people who don’t know how to work their crappy point & shoots ruin it for people who actually know how to use a camera.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">As I waited to ascend the tower I took a moment to write out a prayer… well, not really a prayer so much as just a muse I figured someone out there might enjoy: “Evil is necessary for Good to find meaning.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I kind of wondered if they’d read that aloud; I wondered if someone might find some meaning; if I might spark some great reformation which would only know to attribute it to some anonymous signatory “Bossi”; and I’d be thinking in total modesty… that’s me!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I started the reformation!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>…Or they might just toss it out since it’s not a prayer request.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh well.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Within the same wait I took to looking at some of the stained glass windows near the tower entrance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The one immediately right of the entrance, at the top of the window, totally has a Wookiee in it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure, the girl managing the tower tour assured me that it’s Jesus; but I still assert that it’s a Wookiee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jesus wasn’t that hairy, even with the most hippie-esque of mangy beards.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Up the tower I snapped some photos, and soon I was being advised it was time to descent… too short a time to appreciate the view, but at least I got pretty much all the photos I wanted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But my favorite part was probably the journey itself: first you ascend stairs at one of the church corners, then you cross over to another stairwell nearer to the center of the church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That crossover is along the wall overlooking the cathedral’s open interior: answering my question as to whether those were passages or just aesthetic openings as I looked upon them from ground level.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While they are indeed passages: they sure placed a definite size limit on would-be visitors to the tower… while I have some bulk to me, I’d certainly not consider myself fat… but here I could just barely fit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Granted, my backpack had some part in that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We lost a few folk who had to turn away on account of being unable to clear this corridor.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">From the cathedral I moved next door to the Erkebispegården, or the Archbishop’s Palace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There really wasn’t much of interest… ruins and statues, for those who are enamored with such.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By this point I’ve seen so many ruins, statues, and museums that I think I just had a tough time appreciating even more of them.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">That said: what do I do next?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Go to another palace, of course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But while the Archbishop’s Palace was definitely more museum in nature; the Stiftsgården (Royal Palace) was more palace-like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Granted, it still plays its intended role on rare occasion that the royal family makes a visit to the city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our tour guide wasn’t the most sociable or able to engage the crowd, but he certainly offered some interesting information.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Such as why there were two small bedrooms on each side of the main party hall: for those who pass out to recover.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Firstly there was the general drinking at a royal party, but that included a Norwegian custom to toast to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">every single person</i> at the table individually.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s a lot of sips even before the party starts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Add in the heat of the heavy layers of noble clothing, the oxygen depleting corsets on the women, and some other things I surely forget… and yeah: rooms for relocating those who pass out.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">Tangent time… I write this now really just because I took a photo of it to help jog my memory; and that photo just syncs in at this point in the narrative.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Opening plastic bottles in Norway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m quite convinced it’s impossible to properly open them… the bottlecap never fully separates from the little plastic strip that’s usually left on the bottle. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The perforated edge seems to fail each time… and it’s not just me; I’ve seen discarded bottles all over the place with the perforated strip still dangling from the bottle cap.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">Also, while I’m on tangents… Scandinavians rarely walk on escalators, cross on Don’t Walk, nor even speed despite oppressively slow speed limits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just like the Germans: their patience is phenomenal.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">I sauntered around the city a bit more, at one point passing by a fitness club whose doors was propped open by a lone shoe; an alarm faintly sounding at this long-term opening of the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That single shoe (I caught myself: I nearly said sole shoe… HA HA GET IT??) got me thinking about the Rapture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know; a perfectly natural thing for one’s mind to wonder to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If everyone’s Raptured & they leave their clothes behind, I can only assume that they’re arriving in Heaven naked?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So if I were to end up there, too, and be delighted to find that my heavenly reward consists of lots of naked women; do I run the risk of getting kicked out on account of the sin of lust?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>See now this testosterone-influenced tangent comes with greater theological meaning, as my wandering mind is wont to do: can one truly indulge in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">any </i>of their promised heavenly rewards without committing a sin and getting themself booted right out?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This reinforces my belief that we’re all going to Hell; everyone’s gotta go at least once; so we might as well look forward to the trip.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Trondheim has an extensive bike-sharing system.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, so did Stockholm, Copenhagen, and Oslo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stockholm had lots and lots of bikes all over, but I rarely saw any actual stations for them; and when I did see a station they were almost inevitably empty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Copenhagen had a decent mix of usually having bikes & empty spots at each station, but I didn’t come around many stations where I’d have expected them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The station placement seemed a bit more suited to the locals in-the-know rather than tourists trying to hop from sight to sight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oslo had a phenomenal amount of stations (or at least they sure do in the downtown reaches) and they were almost consistently a mix of bikes & empty spots… perfect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Trondheim doesn’t have as many stations, but still a good coverage & good mix of bikes and empty spots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So basically… good job, Norway!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Except their bike infrastructure is otherwise eons behind the Danes and Swedes.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Still on tangents: I’ve come to find that Scandinavians seem to have a fondness for either really small dogs (as is common or urbanites on account of limited living space) but also really HUGE dogs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There have been several St. Bernards and quite a number of dogs that look very similar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While there are some medium and other large dogs here and there, it’s not nearly of the same caliber as in the Germanic areas… but, of course, German Shepherds clearly have a bit of a presence in those areas. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I absolutely love the clouds over Norway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While today was overall sunny, it did partly follow a trend that’s been around for several days… basically the weather changes every 10-15 minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s sunny, then cloudy, the raining, then sunny again, and repeat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes the rain and sun even overlap, with the tiniest of clouds actually being small rain showers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With the mashing ocean currents to the west, interplay of seas to the south, colliding air masses of the temperate & Arctic, and the mountains jamming it all upward: the clouds over Norway end up being unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Basically it’s a huge scattering of clouds which at sunset really lights up almost like a decorated Christmas tree.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Dinner was at a kebab shop just a couple doors down from the hotel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was tasty, quick, and freed me to enjoy my comfy room more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By this point I’d hit everything I wanted to see in Trondheim and felt like I’d covered everything I needed to cover.<o:p></o:p></div>Bossihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15032063076539453859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2324685500377872584.post-88808141368217968752011-06-28T23:55:00.000-07:002011-07-04T17:32:23.379-07:00NO - Trondheim<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>June 28<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Tuesday<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>Norway<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Trondheim<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span><o:p></o:p></u></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">The bus from Røros to Trondheim was rather noneventful… the day was dreary and I slept through large portions of the drive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The landscape this far east of the mountains was rather bland: rolling hills at best.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did appreciate the farmhomes, though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d come to find that many of the farm structures throughout Norway are painted in a dark red – I believe traditionally it was ox blood, but I’d wager they use more modern paints these days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alongside the barns are often rather modern but still traditionally-styled farmhouses; they were quite beautiful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The rest of the developed areas, however, are rarely too endearing… the small towns are often conglomerations of modern buildings; the large towns are often larger conglomerations of modern buildings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The exceptions are the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bryggen</i> areas; the historic working-class wooden buildings preserved in a couple cities.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">I was staying in the P-Hotel, and I was quite fortunate in that the bus just happened to have a bus stop only a block away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Granted, the hotel’s location is excellent considering that even without that bus stop: the train/bus station is only a couple more blocks away; and the hotel is right within the city center.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not just that, but as far as hotels go: it’s comparatively cheap… and the room I got was large <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and </i>gave me a queen bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Add in that you get breakfast hung on your door knob the following morning – great considering I’m rarely awake for the official breakfast time at other places – and I was dearly impressed by the quality & price of the P-Hotel chain.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">The reception suggested I grab food at a place called Graffi.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got a garlic burger and was quite surprised… it was actually an American-style burger with an <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">amazing </i>garlic sauce.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fries weren’t too shabby, either.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">Walking up through the pedestrian area, I came upon a group of buskers in Native American garb performing traditional tunes. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It always cracks me up to see them in Europe – in this trip I’d come to see them in Copenhagen, Trondheim, and Bergen – and yet I can’t recall <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ever </i>seeing them back in North America.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You know; where they come from.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This only reinforces my general theory that they’re not entirely genuine… first, beneath the costumes & makeup they more often-than-not look far more Asian to me than Native American.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While both tend to have high cheekbones and share Mongolian roots, Native Americans tend to have a squarer face; whereas Asians tend to be rounder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Next: I highly highly doubt they are actually playing the music… this was especially reinforced by my experience a couple days from now, in Bergen, where the group wasn’t even playing half the time you heard the instrument… and when they started playing: you didn’t hear anything change in the sound.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also half the time their apparent drumming was off-beat from the music.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So yeah: I think these groups are usually just rip-offs… good for only some relaxing New Age tunes if you want to sit nearby and eat. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">There was some street market going on, and from some posters and handouts I’d gathered it was a multi-day affair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of the stalls were tourist trinkets, t-shirts, and sausages, but I did happen across a stand of armaments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I saw a coat of chain mail and expected the worst: masses of replicas and fake crap intended to rob clueless tourists of their money.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What I found was actually the opposite: about half were medieval replicas, but the weapons were <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mostly </i>full-tare… that is: real weapons that you could use to hack somebody apart, if you so desired.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even the modern guns I’d thought were just airsoft until I picked one up and found it was actually a fully functional firearm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then a couple 20<sup>th</sup> century blades caught my eye… an SS ceremonial sword, an SS dagger, an SA dagger, and a Chinese bayonet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now I have a small obsession with both hand-to-hand combat weapons and also World War II… I bought up all but the SS dagger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I figured the sword served that niche well enough & the SA dagger was still related and also in better condition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Plus the SA dagger carried a more legible manufacturer’s mark & date (1938).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, this now meant I had to carry these through the rest of my trip & then figure out how to get them back across the ocean…<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">Going back to my earlier mention of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bryggen</i>: thanks to Trondheim for finally making Norway feel like Norway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is: the Norway I’d always envisioned… colorful wooden buildings right up along the shoreline.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure enough, Trondheim’s riverfront features rows of exactly that on each side: precisely the photogenic stretch I’d been pining for after my let-downs in the pair of small towns from the last couple days & even Oslo, the latter quite lacking in buildings that really define Norway.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">Oh, a side-note… for some reason I’ve had Disney songs stuck in my head as I walk around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Except every single song keeps turning into “Prince Ali” from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Aladdin</i>.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">On the other side of the river is the Trampe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s not some half-hearted attempt to be more classy about deriding a woman; it’s a bicycle lift for ascending a steep hill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took lots and lots of photos and then some more… but not one person used it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lots of people huffed directly up the hill under their own power; most taking a break at the top and possibly wondering why they didn’t try the lift or perhaps absorbing their pride in conquering a hill without need of the lift.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">At the summit of the hill is Kristiansten Fort, offering great views over the city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The main building didn’t seem to be open at this point nor on my visit two days from now, so I’m guessing it’s not accessible to tourists.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the rest of the fortress was free for roaming about the walls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only open building was a café.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I smiled at the sight of the cutesy ice cream ad standing immediately in front of a row of artillery… it was a great contrast.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">One nook has a memorial to resistance fighters who were executed against the wall… it was eerie to turn with your back toward the wall, looking at the very last sight of those who died there; or heading up the slope to look back at the wall as one of those who took those lives.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">It was about this time when I had to rush back to my hotel to tend to laundry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The lack of clothes had been a growing issue, with me now rewearing shirts for a third time (I’m OK with rewearing a 2<sup>nd</sup> time when backpacking; but 3 times crosses over the stench line).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The deal was that the laundry room – conveniently located just steps from my hotel room – closes at 8pm, so I was aiming to be back at 6pm to make sure I could wash and dry in time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I made it back at 6:30, but that didn’t matter as an exasperated receptionist shared that she’d been trying to find the key, but was coming up empty-handed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We went up to the laundry room and noticed that it sounded like something was running in there… but we never did sort out who was running the machines or where the key was.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">She ended up letting me use a washer down in their basement, but I had to hang everything to dry up in my room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had just enough hangable space to store all my clothes, so it actually worked out quite well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This laundering would also be enough to carry me through the rest of the trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, I wanted to get the most out of a laundry load as I could: so as I followed her down to the basement I was clad only in my pajama pants and my jacket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sole button on my pajama pants’ fly is not a perfect device, as I took heed of whilst quickly descending the stairs… I slowed my pace the rest of that descent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I shared that I’d be in for the night on account of no clothes & unzipped my jacket a bit as testament… I never saw a woman’s face become so visibly enamored before; so that was… interesting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Except despite being the sole two folk in the basement & my being a click away from nudity: my mind was on my rather unsanitary condition & need of clean clothes; not on trying to seduce a hotel staffmember à la some late-night Cinemax flick.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">So my lack of clothes kept me in for the night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Combined with no need to get up early & a dearth of planning to do for the next few days: I was up quite late into the evening… late enough to watch as the bars closed & some dude decided to pee right outside my window.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was raised several stories up and had a lovely view as he stood in the middle of an empty parking space & let loose, except he wasn’t close to any of the adjacent cars… he was just sort of right in the middle & slightly oriented toward the sidewalk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So when a pair of women passed by one of the adjacent cars: they were greeted with fat guy dong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was a fun shriek, immediately followed by a pair of giggling female voices… except in the guy’s inebriated state he seemed totally indifferent; just wobbling about as much as he did before the flashing surprise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like any good person: I snapped a couple photos… even used the flash a few times just to see if he’d react.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nope.<o:p></o:p></div>Bossihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15032063076539453859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2324685500377872584.post-18708281410454241222011-06-27T23:55:00.000-07:002011-06-29T17:28:08.180-07:00NO - Røros<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>June 27<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Monday<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>Norway<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Røros<span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span><o:p></o:p></u></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">Catching a train is easy when you can roll out of bed and be halfway there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today’s destination was Røros, to which I probably could’ve taken a bus for a much faster, direct, and cheaper route… but the thought crossed my mind about 5 seconds <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">after </i>buying the train ticket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh well… another slow but relaxing ride later I’d arrived in Røros – the gem of Norway, or so I’d gathered from my guidebook.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">At my transfer in Hamar, I seated myself within the quiet car… the silence broken by a woman on her mobile phone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Go figure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was especially ironic considering the Scandinavians really aren’t major mobile phone users… especially compared to the rest of Europe or even America.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I rarely see anyone talking or even texting.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">I made my way around Røros’ train station and down toward my hotel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lonely Planet</i> had my hotel – the Idrettsparken Hotell – placed on the wrong end of the street – a 5 minute walk off – signposts fortunately guided me the rest of the way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, I soon learned that it wasn’t the most convenient location thanks to the train station itself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The train station <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">only </i>accesses to/from the north, so if you want to get to the south side: a 15 second direct walk becomes a 10 minute meander around the end of the station and back again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It made me really miss the former Soviet Bloc, where there wouldn’t be any walls, fences, or any other type of barrier… if you get hit or electrocuted: you probably should’ve paid more attention.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">The town has one major pedestrianized street and another somewhat major parallel street that’s open to traffic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then there’s a perpendicular road following the railroad tracks which serve as the main route through town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The two parallel streets were rather pretty, but absolutely not what I was hoping for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ended up getting more joy out of its root cause for existence: the remains of the mining town’s smelting operations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Large mounds of rock made for a some very quick and easy hikes with some decent views over town, but the rooftops weren’t nearly as endearing as many other villages I’ve been to.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">I grabbed lunch at the Kaffestugu Cafeteria.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My burger had an oddly shaped beef patty… shaped a bit more like a pancake than your standard burger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Its beef was apparently some local breed of cattle, contributing to a rather unique taste… with a slightly crispy edge, it was actually rather tasty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though its bun kept up something I’d noticed in Norway & would continue to have issues with: their bread crumbles very easily.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fortunately the cupcake I got for dessert – cherry-flavored – was quite tasty and had a great texture.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">With plenty of energy in reserve, I walked northwest out to the Kvitsanden: mounds of sand deposited by glaciers in eons past.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d thought I’d made it to them when I turned back, but on my bus ride out of town the next day: I’d spot a small mountain of sand just over the crest of a hill where I’d thought I’d made it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was exactly the sort of mound I’d have quite liked to scale… oh well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The walk itself was nice.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">On my way back I took a path which wrapped around a small lake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A footbridge crossed above a gravel path which continued out toward the air strip and I paused briefly to watch a plane take off in the distance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two girls were fiddling about to my left, and from the looks of it I gathered there were gearing up for an amateur photo shoot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No diffusers or reflective discs, but they definitely had a couple changes of clothes and a rather large blanket which they certainly weren’t rushing about to set on the ground for a picnic… besides, apart from right on the bridge, there weren’t any grand vistas to be had for a picnic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They also didn’t have any food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I knew something was up… especially because just as I walked off, they dashed a couple meters into the trees; I heard giggling emanating from behind me as I continued my walk.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">When I found that the path didn’t seem to be taking me where I wanted to go, I turned back to the bridge, where I could make my way down and follow the other trail back to the road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure enough: I was right on the whole amateur photography session.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, ideas that were floating about in my head suddenly manifested themselves into reality as I came across one girl with a camera and one flesh-toned girl posing beside a tree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I type this, I feel like I’m writing a letter to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Penthouse</i>...<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">They clearly hadn’t heard me returning, as the girl’s face flushed with color immediately; but she followed with embarrassed giggling rather than a shriek of terror… so that’s good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At least they knew the risk of their location choice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So now it was a matter of how to treat the situation… walk off and leave them embarrassed?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Start chatting and risk being really sleazy and keeping the embarrassment going?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or option 3… I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">am </i>carrying a decent-sized camera and just happen to have a full lens kit with me.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">I said don’t worry: holding up my camera I said “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Noticing that the one girl had a low-end SLR and a basic kit lens: I pulled my f/1.4 out of my pocket and offered if she’d like to use it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were also shooting at an odd angle to the trees and light… while it was cloudy, the nature of the trees still created some degree of lighting differential.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So for the next several minutes I lent my lens and helped coach on some good shots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d hazard a guess that the girls were born after 1990… I’d guess legal, but I didn’t want to risk photographing anything illegal nor did I want to overstep the delicate social line that had already been laid out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Plus thanks to the internet: who needs photos of random girls, anyway?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They did a wardrobe change and within perhaps 10 minutes or so I was on my way again. At least by the time I left she felt much more comfortable… so I guess I ultimately handled it well enough.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">And that pretty much wrapped up the night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d felt I’d done Røros in its entirety and there was still plenty of daylight out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spent the rest of the night battling internet in my hotel room… throughout all of Scandinavia: internet has been an issue at pretty much every place of lodging.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These countries need a serious influx of techies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Granted, in this particular case it didn’t help that the couple running reception didn’t seem to have much interest in service.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not that they were rude or anything; they just simply seemed highly distracted… like their mind wasn’t on helping their customers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They seemed confused by the whole check-in process, confused when I wanted to buy an ice cream bar (my first one of the trip!), and confused when I tried to explain that they needed to reset their router.<o:p></o:p></div>Bossihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15032063076539453859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2324685500377872584.post-5716003329346759862011-06-26T23:55:00.000-07:002011-06-29T16:28:14.837-07:00NO - Lillehammer<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>June 26<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Sunday<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Norway<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Lillehammer<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span><o:p></o:p></u></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">My departure from Oslo went more smoothly than my arrival, with my knowledge of the city now letting me forego my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lonely Planet</i> map and get to the train station in one smooth motion… though I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">was </i>a bit dismayed that my local Bagels & Juice was closed along with pretty much everything else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Scandinavia totally shuts down on Sundays.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">I watched the world go by a little bit at the train station whilst I waited for my ride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My eyes generally focused on the line for the rail company’s information desk, which was a bit bustling considering the severely cut rail services starting today (I’d noted yesterday that track work prompted the closure of almost all rail service for the summer, starting today).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I watched the desk it made me recall how between Sweden and Norway (and I think Denmark, too): Scandinavians really don’t have much concept of queuing, in sharp contrast to England.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They instead grab a number slip & wait around until their number is called.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This can be problematic if you don’t realize this or if you can’t find the machine… the latter of which can often be the case when someone decides to stand right in front of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course one perk is that you can roam about a little bit & there’s not much need for managing where the lines form & wrap about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It does feel like it moves a bit faster if you have other things to occupy yourself with, but if you don’t: it can feel a little like waiting at the DMV.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">While toying around in a convenience mart getting breakfast (a mini-pizza; breakfast of champions!), it also occurred to me that cherry cola has been absolutely lacking in Scandinavia… but then again, I can’t recall how frequently I’ve seen it in the rest of Europe, either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But one thing that’s definitely lacking in Scandinavia is water with gas… that is: seltzer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This contrasts with Europe as well as my own tastes, as I’m really quite fond of it, but it’s tough to find as so many stores are predominantly loaded with still water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This means I keep finding myself with, essentially, flat water.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">I also got to watching the low-wage workers in each of the shops.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can tell a lot about a society by who works those jobs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Scandinavia it’s been about ¾ young white folk, but about ¼ old Asian folk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve found the latter form a surprising population of the homeless, too, or at least the folk who roam about in the trash bins… I guess I can’t say for sure whether they’re homeless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems odd that Asians would come so far to live such a life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Especially with the stereotypes we have back in the USA of them starting out with restaurants & drycleaners and raising genius children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the Chinese restaurants here are mostly high-class affairs (or at least they seem so) and clothing-cleaning businesses of any variety are remarkably rare.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So really I’m still intrigued by it all.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">It was only 10 minutes or so of waiting about before I figured I’d check into how I’m supposed to catch a bus outta town from the train station, as it occurred to me that the bus station was another several minutes away if I needed to go there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I figured they’d either direct me to the bus station or perhaps to some side of the building, so it I was a bit intrigued when they sent me to Track 19.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hazarded a guess that it was along the side, and sure enough it was the last track… but heading down to it I still didn’t see any side where buses could pull up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Guides kept directing me down the track, and sure enough near its end the right side gave way to a street… a street with a bus that I could board right away!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Woo hoo!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Off to Lillestrom I went.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">Of course, the early bus ride meant I just had more time to wait at Lillestrom for my train… I suppose it was a good thing to make the first leg early just in case something would’ve gone wrong had I waited in Oslo, but the problem with Lillestrom was a dearth of seating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fortunately backpacks make great backrests and a hiker isn’t too concerned with dirtying his pants from sitting on the ground.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">The train ride went smoothly enough, though it was at a slow pace… Scandinavia really kind of sucks at transit between cities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d dare say it’s only marginally better than in the USA; I only take trains because I dearly love trains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In practice it’s seemed that buses tend to be better in so many cases… they go more places, travel more frequently, are cheaper, and sometimes even get there faster.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But hey: trains are comfy… want to get up and wander around?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure, knock yourself out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Want to feel like you’re not crammed into a vehicle like cattle?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Trains are plenty roomy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But this ride was so slowww…<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">The destination was Lillehammer, host of the 1994 Winter Olympics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I really like its name… lilies just sound so peaceful & pretty; and hammers make me think of Thor and Vikings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a fun contrast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure, neither of those has anything whatsoever to do with the town’s actual etymology, but nuts to that.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">I made great progress upon arrival in Lillehammer, especially because my hostel’s reception was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">in the train station</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What more, I was sleeping in the building immediately adjacent to the train station, bordered by the rail platforms on one side and the bus station on the other side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Most convenient hostel ever</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It even gave free linen and had a bath within the room of two beds… really it was more a budget hotel room that I might share with a stranger; not shabby at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I enjoyed hearing the bus & train announcements while awake but worried they might be bothersome overnight, but with the windows closed: the soundproofing was phenomenal.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">My first destination was the ski jump.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Indeed, here in Lillehammer, that’s pretty much the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">only </i>destination.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Plus I thought I didn’t have too much time left before they started closing things down, but in yet another testament to Norway: I’d later discover they extended their hours in the summertime, yet again another indication that Norway is one of the few Nordic countries to have a decent share of places operating with a bit more regard for the amount of sunlight.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">On my way… heading uphill from the hostel, passing by some of the roads running along the hill, feeling like I’m on track, and then… the road ends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>OK, there should be another road just over here… nope; that’s a driveway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Check just to make sure… yep, just a driveway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Effing <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lonely Planet</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a town this size: how can they screw up the map?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously, how do you get it wrong when there are only a dozen roads??<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">Thankfully I backtracked a bit nearer to the tourist track and soon spotted a sign which, while in Norwegian, clearly directed to the Olympic Park.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew that had to be the best option at this point: trust the town; not the book.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That worked out great… it was a quick & easy hike up to the ski jump, though the warm weather wasn’t the most helpful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I point to the warm weather as my scapegoat for taking the lift up rather than the stairs, but really it’s just that I was feeling lazy at that point… I totally could have made it up if I really had the will.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">Speaking of things I could do if I had the will… the ski jump wasn’t nearly as steep as I’d thought it would be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Back in the Mid-Atlantic, its slope would just be a single black diamond… in a region with some real ski slopes it’d just be intermediate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could totally do that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only caveat is the “jump” part, where I’d do fine with the gravity-assisted take-off but would likely have issues with the gravity-assisted landing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But a small part of me wanted to try it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fortunately there was a simulator included with my ticket…<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">I descended down the steps and hopped into the simulator.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It showed a downhill slalom and a bobsled run… no ski jump; I was kind of bummed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also I’m pretty sure it was running off a VHS.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The video quality was horrendous, with the slalom being especially jerky… I can (and have) recorded better videos of my own skiing, including my 20-second dash straight down Tussey’s Utah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hey it’s not the most dazzling of mountains, but it was a solid video.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bobsled was a bit more watchable, but even then I can’t say I’d really recommend the simulator… its lacking video quality really detracted from the rest of the experience.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">Downtown Lillehammer was cute, but like I said: it’s a small town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There really wasn’t much to it, and I found myself a bit bored pretty quickly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Granted, with it being Sunday much of the downtown was shut down, anyway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But overall I’d suggest that unless you’re an Olympic or skiing guru: it’s a town that can absolutely be passed over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not bad on the eyes, but it’s not the prettiest town by any means.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">As I chatted with people along its pedestrianized street: was amused at how many people thought I was Swedish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I always like to try and blend in with the culture that I’m in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Within a couple days I like to be good enough with the basics to fool people into thinking I’m a local; or at least until they realize that I can’t hold a conversation any longer than two sentences.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I’ve at least gotten people in Norway to think I’m Swedish… so I think that’s a start.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But one problem is that I when Norwegians are talking: I can’t quite tell it’s not English until they finish talking, and I look back and realize that I have no idea what they just said.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">I ate dinner at Blåmann, located in a very scenic spot above the stream.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While it’s location was the best in town, its food was decidedly less so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ordered fajitas and certainly received fajita-inspired food, but it was a good lesson in trusting a British guidebook’s definition of what good Mexican food is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The salsa had as much flavor as water, the beef was a bit chewy, the chicken felt like it was relying on its inherent chicken flavor rather than any spice or marinade, there were no tomatoes, and worst of all: I’m pretty sure the lettuce had been pickled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t even sizzling when it came out… seriously, that’s a staple of fajitas: it’s still cooking when it arrives to your table.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But at least I choked it down to the tune of a babbling brook.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">It was a bit odd to return to my room to find a key in the outside of the door… and entering I found an old guy in his skivvies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was an odd first meeting & I’d thought I was spending the night with a crazy dude for a roommate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fortunately, as we talked I actually came to find he was a pretty cool guy… in his 60’s or possibly 70’s and hailing from a small town in Bavaria near to the Austrian border: he was a retired police detective traveling on his BMW motorbike up and around Scandinavia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Starting a week after I began my own trip, he first went through Poland and the Baltic States, continuing up along the Arctic Ocean from Finland into Norway, now headed from Trondheim down to Oslo, onto Copenhagen, and back home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Given his profession, I suggested he stop by Christiana while in Copenhagen… figured he’d have an amusing take on that community.<o:p></o:p></div>Bossihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15032063076539453859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2324685500377872584.post-81344159645727559432011-06-25T23:55:00.000-07:002011-07-04T17:31:16.477-07:00NO - Oslo<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>June 25 Saturday Norway Oslo <o:p></o:p></u></i></b></div><div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: right;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">The day began with an alarm, despite not <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">having </i>to be up early… but I really wanted to see as much of Oslo as I could within a single day. Of course, since the Scandinavian tourism industry doesn’t seem to start prior to 10am, I still got to sleep through a decent share of the morning. Breakfast was at Bagels & Juice, once again grabbing a tasty smoothie as well as a multigrain bagel with MIGHTY PHILADELPHIA CREAM CHEESE. Oh how I’d been craving it ever since seeing it in my roommate’s cache back in Göteborg.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">From there I returned to the Akershus Festning (Akershus Fortress) to get a glimpse of its interior and also to get some shots of the lovely scattered clouds across the otherwise blue sky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Overall, the interior of the castle really wasn’t too spectacular… but the audio guide did offer some neat tidbits of information, so I’d still say it’s a worthwhile stop on a tour of Oslo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But really the winner was the Resistance Museum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This tiny building packs in a phenomenal amount of information that’s very well presented, even moving one woman to wailing tears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I didn’t feel any of it was necessarily depressing in the sense of Schindler’s List, I suppose it can still spark memories in feelings in some people who were far more affected by the war than I. <o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Following much the same track as the previous day, I swung around the fjord to the harbor area by the Rådhus (city hall) and this time found the gay pride festivities to be in full swing, with folk dressed up in fancy costumes & cross-dressers aplenty. There was a big showing of punk girls, though a noted absence of punk guys. The beats from Oslo Live were quiet when I’d initially passed by en route to the fortress, with sound checks occasionally sending a few words or booms across the harbor; but now things were in full swing… with Kaskade currently taking stage & sending a steady flow of great beats through the air. Giving how amazing the day was, I couldn’t help but lose myself for a few minutes and break out in dance, joined by quite a number of others outside the gates who were doing the same. It’s amazing how easily you can meet European girls if you just move your body a little bit… but it’s something I don’t do often; the combination of a beautiful day, contentedness with the city, love of the music, and a touch of exhaustion from several weeks of traveling… it all combined to get me to move in such a way as I haven’t done since college.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I toured the Nobel Peace Museum, originally not among my top destinations but it seemed like something I should do considering I was already right next to it. Basically: it wasn’t too spectacular… I think it’s quite a bit more kid-friendly than adult-friendly. There were some neat technological gizmos and a nice photography exhibit, but by and large I cruised through the museum pretty quickly.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Moving onto the Rådhus: it felt very much like Stockholm’s city hall in the layout and feel of most of the rooms, though it certainly lacked some of the flair that Stockholm had in rooms like its Golden Hall. Considering I could tour it at my own leisure, however, and I’d say I liked this one a touch better. While Stockholm bestowed upon us a great tour guide; your typical tour group really just isn’t my style.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Hunger informed me that perhaps it was time for lunch, and upon exiting the Rådhus there just happened to be a Burger King. Once per trip I like to give in to a standard fling with Americana just to see how it compares with back home. Usually it’s McDonald’s… mostly because foreign McDonald’s actually tend to be half-decent, in sharp contrast to the inedible fare in the USA. But I was actually kind of craving BK… perhaps because the Scandinavian take on burgers – while not necessarily <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bad</i> – wasn’t quite the American way. Not to say Burger King is a huge improvement, but at least I know I can eat them back home, so I should be OK here.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Ultimately: the food was the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">exact</i> same. Except I got it in perhaps the worst BK I have ever been to in my entire life. While the server missed entering in my onion rings, I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt & say that it was lost in translation. But the rest of the place had no excuse… the straw box was empty, with people grabbing straws out of a plastic bag haphazardly placed on the counter. The counters themselves were filthy, smothered in ketchup, mustard, and a mix of sodas; and the stairs to the next floor up were covered in similar goo. Queues formed all over the place, with most not realizing that you had to queue to order then queue <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">again </i>to pick up your food… causing too many queues all over the place & too many people having to shuffle about when they missed the second queue (which I almost did, too). No ropes, signs, nor other guides to inform people of this (lack of) order. Even my tray was sticky… and when I decided to forego the tiny ketchup cups & just pour it onto my paper mat: I decided to slosh a bit more onto the sides of the tray just to try and ensure that they’ll actually clean the thing before putting it back out again.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Now one might concede that the place was busy… it certainly was, and yes: they seemed to be dearly understaffed. But that’s not an excuse: that means they need more staff. I’ve been to places far busier than that who’ve managed to keep things quite tidy. Heck, McDonald’s in Russia is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the </i>place to be in every city, with each one packed & flowing out the doors… yet they were still surprisingly tidy. Granted, I’d hazard a guess that wagers in Russia are quite a bit lower than Norway… hence it’s easy to hire more staff… but still, that doesn’t change the fact that this place was falling apart.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I stopped by the city’s art museum… while I knew it’d be a bit lacking in Danish art given that the nature of Norsk-Dane relations was a bit more favorable to the Danes, the museum nonetheless had some nice pieces; but really it was Norway’s more modern artists which were what people wanted to see. Munch, much maligned by the hipster critics of America, is actually an artist I’m OK with. While there are some pieces I’m not fond of, there are others – such as his self-portrait and his <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Scream</i> which graces so many college dorms – which I actually quite like. Yes, even <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Scream</i> … it always reminds me of Home Alone.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">There was a painting by Christian Krohg of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Leif Erikson Discovering America</i> which I was amused by. It showed Leif himself pointing excitedly from the deck toward a small glimpse of land on the horizon, as if he’s screaming “Look! There it is! Over there! I found it! Me! I saw it first over there!” … whereas surely his deckhands up along the mast – whose job it is to keep a lookout for things on the horizon <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and </i>have the altitude advantage – would have seen it first… I think <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">they </i>would have been the ones so excited, with Leif hopefully being a bit more nonchalant about it all. Or at least I’d dearly <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hope</i> that my Captain wouldn’t get so worked up about hearing such information… that’d raise some serious concerns about his capabilities to keep a clear head when time demands.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Next up was the Vår Frelsers Gravlund, a cemetery north of the city center. I was hoping for something either fantastically unkempt like in Lviv’s Lychakiv Cemetery or something with pristine order such as Arlington back in DC (don’t bother telling me how it’s not technically in DC… I know this). What I got was a bit more Arlington-like… but not nearly on the same scale. It was a pretty wander, but it didn’t offer nearly the photo opportunities that I’d hoped for, keeping my stroll comparatively short. It was among the peace and tranquility of this graveyard where I first took heed of a police helicopter hovering overhead… I’d later come to discover why.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">As I explored the graveyard I got to thinking, as I am wont to do in such situations… that is, any sort of relaxing and tranquil place; but then again my mind already wanders enough as it is when I’m ambling about busy city streets. I figured that when I die, in the usual manner of my family I’d expect to be cremated and strewn out at sea… but I still want a large sculpture of myself planted into a cemetery somewhere. It’d be a life-sized Greco-Roman masterpiece, replete with idealized ripping muscles and tight curly hair. An epitaph would read “I am not here: feel free to cheer; but don’t dance upon the sea, lest you might join me.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Examining the tombstones I thought back to how many cemeteries I’ve visited which include side-by-side graves of husbands and wives. Except they apparently miss the “until death do you part” bit of their vows… when one of them dies: that’s it; they’re not married anymore. So really they’re just friends at that point… and it’s a little weird to bury yourself so close to your friends. There needs to be some buffer space.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I departed the cemetery and made my way toward the botanical gardens. En route I passed by Damstredet, a small cobblestone street upon a hill. It was certainly a pretty highlight of Oslo, even if it took only a minute to travel along. At the Botanical Gardens (Botanisk Hage), it was once again more of a pleasant stroll than an endearing journey through a world of color. The greenhouses had closed by this point, but looking through the windows it didn’t seem like there was much which I hadn’t already recently seen at past gardens. The park did have a nice assortment of plants from throughout the world, located alongside a stream… but even that was only slightly interesting. I did notice that the helicopter was pretty much directly overhead & still hovering about.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Swinging by the train station, I’d hoped to nab a few photos of trains as well as get a better feel for the area while I wasn’t burdened with backpacks. My previous venture through here – upon my initial arrival to Oslo – did not go so well thanks to my rather lacking <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lonely Planet</i> map. Now I finally knew where things were & how it fit in with the rest of the city. Except I also learned that Oslo is closing their train station starting tomorrow in order to do some major track work.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">How does a European capital close their train station? I mean, how could there not be other options for trains? How could there seriously be only a single track available, especially on the line linking to the airport? And how are they closing it for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the entire summer</i>?? Seriously, if this happened in the rest of continental Europe… geez, if this happened in Italy you’d have a revolution. I’m pretty sure closing a capital’s train service is unheard of in Europe, barring the occasional outbreak of a world war. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">Replacing the trains out of the city were buses out to the end of the track work, where people would then transfer onto trains. I was dubious, but it ended up being my best option for the next day’s trip to Lillehammer.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">I swung back to my hotel and got some info on Indian food. I’d passed by a place between the cemetery & botanical gardens which got the cuisine stuck in my mind… and sure enough reception recommended a place just about where I’d gotten the craving. I’d wondered if it was the exact same restaurant, but it ended up not being the case. So I started my trek to the restaurant, but it only took about two blocks before my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lonely Planet</i> guide had me lost. I decided to just go with it… I wasn’t immensely hungry yet & frankly: I enjoyed wandering the city.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">Along the way I met a punk girl who had been at the gay pride festival down at the waterfront. She offered me some white pills and felt dearly embarrassed when I declined, insisting that they’re just mints from the festival and not drugs. I simplify things as I write here, but I really did believe her that they were just mints; I just simply didn’t want any. But just as we were starting to chat a bit: we turned a corner and she exclaimed “Oh my God, the police!” and went dashing ahead. I’d soon discover why she seemed to be concerned rather than curious, and I’d also find out why the helicopter had been overhead all day.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">As I approached I found a row of police vehicles blocking a street, with another row on the other end of the block. There was a crowd of punks – various ages between teens & 30’s – within the adjacent plaza as well as a small group within the police barricade. Tempers were flaring, with those within the barricade visibly angry but just yelling, and those within the plaza testing the police presence… some dashing forward; most yelling. My first guess was that it was your standard European anarchist movement, but apart from a black flag carried by one of the folks within the barricade: they definitely looked more punk than anarchist… yes, to the layperson it can be tough to tell, but if there’s a subculture I affiliate with best: it’s punk. While most anarchists come from punk roots; not all punks are necessarily full-fledged anarchists. It’s sort of that square / rectangle dealie. But my anarchist theory did get some boost considering that this was all happening right in front of a police station.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">I snapped away with my camera from right in the middle of the action, shoulder to shoulder with mostly other tourists or local bystanders. I watched as the police would periodically march forward, dispersing the punks, but the folk would move right back in as soon as the police retreated back to the barricade. One officer, in particular, was with a K-9 and seemed to be a bit of an instigator… while the dog seemed to think it was all dear fun, it was clearly visible what the dog’s role was whenever he got close enough to one of the punks. Several surely had some teeth marks to tend to by the end of that day. The officer himself shoved the punks on several occasions, almost each time being met with loud screaming & several other punks rushing forward in defense… and ending with 1 or 2 being arrested each time. The police were quick to use their batons, and even after things would calm down again: police asserted their presence by slamming their batons on the ground to retract them – making a loud clapping sound. If this were America: a lot of those actions would result in a lawsuit, costing the police quite a sum of money.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">It was somewhat surreal being able to be right in the middle of it and be left along. Dressed I was, I clearly wasn’t one of the people the police were interested in; and likewise punk culture – as scary as they may seem to the average person – really isn’t about picking fights with strangers. They look tough; but they’re not going to bother you as long as you don’t harass them to begin with.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">A couple girls hopped up beside me, with the cutest one grabbing onto me for support. I got to chatting with one of them and, given my extra foot of height, fed her information on the status of people being detained within the barricade. I discovered that one of the girls – a girl in purple – was her sister; she was clearly concerned for her. Through this girl I got some of the history of what was going on, confirming it’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not </i>an anarchist movement. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">So there’s an abandoned building next door to the police station, and I really do mean next door. There are two buildings on that side of the block: the police station and the abandoned building; that’s it. So it was a short trip for all involved. Apparently most of these punks had been squatting in the building for some time, but the police arrived last Monday to evict them from the building. The group obtained a permit for a party today – which I’d later come to believe had been permitted to occur in another nearby plaza on the other side of the block – but apparently they violated their permit and spilled into the streets, reoccupying the abandoned building about 30 minutes prior to my arrival. So the police responded to kick them out of the building again & shut down the party for violating the permit.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">As soon as two officers arrived on horseback: things moved into motion… the police lined up and began marching down the street, sending a couple officers down one parallel street & the horses along another parallel street. All I could think of was how it’s the classic pincer move: send your cavalry out along the side to flank your enemy… a thought echoed by some of the other folk watching it all unfold with me. As the officers advanced, completely ignoring the crowd just watching, I wondered about what’s so different with those of us observers… if I was wearing black, studded leather, or patches: would I be chased away despite having no relation with the events at hand? Just because I’m wearing a bright red t-shirt, does that make me seem harmless? Like I said, I actually affiliate quite considerably with much of the punk ideology… were it possible for me to get passionate about things, I could quite possibly see myself right there with them with my fist in the air. But I was left alone; and so were the lot of us standing around taking pictures.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">We followed in behind the officers’ advance up the street Torggata, civilians in a war between our guardians and our counterparts; two sides we see as our kind. It was at the road Hausmannsgate where the advance halted, with police stationed on one side of the street & the youths milling about on the other side of the street. After some more photos I eventually gave in that not much more was likely going to happen, returning to my initial task of finding the Indian restaurant. Fortunately, the police advance put my only a block away from it.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">I ate at Delhi Tandoori – a place I’d certainly recommend. As my hotels’ receptionist put it: everytime he ate there he ate too much. That sounded perfect to me! And sure enough, I lived up to that claim... the samosa was OK (could’ve used some more spice), but the naan was quite tasty as was the meal itself (I forget what exactly I ordered, but it was per the recommendation of my server and he chose well). The mango lassi helped keep the meal’s heat quenched, though that didn’t stop me from downing almost a full pitcher of water. I was absolutely stuffed by the end, with my stomach feeling overloaded right up until I fell asleep. The service was also quite pleasant, with the two guys running it both quite enthusiastic about ensuring I was pleased with everything.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">I returned outside just in time to see groups of the punk folk turning around the corner – including the girl I’d been chatting with earlier. I had wanted to give her my card in case they had any interest in the photos & videos I’d taken, but she disappeared into a building just moments before I was within range to get her attention. There were two buildings they had been heading into – one just beside my restaurant and the other just across the street. Both were absolutely covered in graffiti and were tough to discern whether they were abandoned or not. The one across the street appeared to be a disused theater, and a few minutes later I overhead a passing couple remark – in English – that the girl had once seen a play there. I caught up with a guy covered in studded leather and asked if he knew whether they’d be interested in getting copies of my photos/videos, but he suggested I just not make a big issue out of it. Fair enough; I didn’t inquire any further.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">When I say that the buildings were covered in graffiti, I actually mean that as a good thing… this was some really cool graffiti; the type I actually <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">appreciate</i> rather than the petty tags that I loathe. There were so many neat designs & messages, all of which helped shape the identity of what the local punk movement represented. I’d basically say that like their counterparts in other cities and countries: they were pro-drug, pro-love, anti-war, but not pacifists… willing to stand up and fight when so provoked. They were also pro-bike. Very pro-bike. A large portion of the graffiti was actually pro-bike and anti-car. Awesome. Now <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that’s</i> something I haven’t noticed among punk movements before...<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">I returned to the scene of the chaos to find a pair of officers still parked in front of the abandoned building. I approached them and found myself chatting with perhaps the two nicest police officers I have ever spoken with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ever</i>. They affirmed the exact same information I’d gotten from the girl earlier: they were just enforcing the party’s permit violation. I did learn that the street where their advance had stopped was actually defined in the permit as how far they had to go in case they were dispersed by the police. I learned that the actions of the K-9 officer were perfectly legal within Norway’s police system, though they did seem to get my hint that it likely further provoked the situation rather than help resolve it.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">From there I pretty much made my way straight back to my room… while I had the energy to explore the city well into its evening, the healing process from my surgery back in Stockholm meant that things were itchy. Incredibly itchy. I remember this from my splenectomy 20 years ago: of my three biggest memories of that period, I remember playing Ms. Pac-Man, eating all the ice cream I wanted, and I remember the wretchedly itchy healing scar. And given the location of the itching at the present: it was something best addressed in the privacy of my hotel room rather than indulging myself with nice deep scratches right there on a public street.<o:p></o:p></div>Bossihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15032063076539453859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2324685500377872584.post-41955996700685091942011-06-24T23:55:00.000-07:002012-07-04T21:24:42.795-07:00NO - Oslo<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>June 24 Friday Norway Oslo <o:p></o:p></u></i></b></div>
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It was a pretty easy journey to the train station: walk toward the river, hop on the tram, and hop off pretty much right at the station’s entry. Fortunately the train station and bus station where in a single continuous building, making it easy to work out an Oslo trip whether it be by bus or by rail.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I was a little surprised to learn that rail wasn’t going to be an option… apparently there was track work en route to Oslo, requiring that rail transfer to a bus midway through the journey. So while it was technically an option, Swebus offered a bus which was cheaper, faster, and I could stay in the same seat the whole way. So that won out, letting me immediately hop right onto the bus as soon as I’d bought my ticket. Very little waiting required.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Overall Göteborg had shown itself a bit better than my initial impression, but I was leaving a day sooner than I’d originally guessed I might spend here… it just wasn’t the most endearing of cities; I’d say Stockholm was certainly the better. While Göteborg certainly isn’t pretentious in the slightest (whereas Stockholm kind of is), its working class roots were still a bit strong in that it just wasn’t a city that geared itself toward tourists too well.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Oslo was different. I got to take a bit of a tour after leaving the bus station because I went the wrong way… and then after backtracking from my initial northern trajectory I ended up going southwest… so I had to correct myself again to get further north. All I wanted to go was go due northwest, but my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lonely Planet</i> map was so incredibly inaccurate that this proved to be quite difficult. Fortunately, despite the burden of carrying my full kit: Oslo’s pretty streets kept it rather bearable.<o:p></o:p></div>
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My lodging was at the Hotel Bondeheimen. For the price I was paying: the room wasn’t nearly as luxurious as I’d hoped it would be… it was really just a room and naught much more; but it was very central. Exceedingly central. Really its location was pretty tough to beat. So I tried to put the price of the rooms behind me and just accept it for what I now had.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I unloaded my gear and immediately went in search of dinner. This ended up being Italian at the Trattoria Cappuccino located just behind the cathedral. It was a linguine dish consisting of very thin homemade linguine & exquisitely tasty, but the serving was a bit on the small side. While I usually do just fine with the smaller portions common in Europe (indeed, I actually appreciate it), this was a bit small even by European standards. I suppose it was just incentive to indulge in dessert; a thought which I hadn’t considered until I’d already left. I’d have actually rather liked to try their tiramisu.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The reason I’d completely forgotten about dessert was that I got to chatting with my waitress: a very beautiful girl who seemed to be quite interested in conversation. She had remarked on my saying that I’m from America, noting something that’s always bothered me… I’m from America just as much as Canadians are & anyone from anywhere south of the border. Of course, few Canadians will call themselves American simply because of the connotations that would bring… we kind of joked about that, but it was a Segway into learning that she’s originally from Costa Rica, hence her American remark. She’s technically American, too. I inquired as to how she ended up here & learned that she has Swedish parents (I may have misheard; she may have said Norwegian; clearly Swedish parents still wouldn’t completely explain being in Oslo). She was also heading to Rome soon as a volunteer with the UN. Here’s a girl with a strong international background, an ethic toward helping people, great at conversation, about to go to one of my favorite cities in a country that I hold dear, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and</i> she’s stunningly gorgeous… not even going the bottle blonde route like so many others in Scandinavia. It wasn’t my favorite of moments when she was called away & we had to cut the conversation short so I could vacate and she could return to work.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I next made my way southward toward the Akershus Festning (Akershus Fortress), but not before first stopping at a place called Bagel & Juice just around the corner from the hotel to grab a rather tasty strawberry & mango smoothie. At the fortress I did a quick tour of the Norwegian Armed Forces Museum. I had 15 minutes to tour the museum and did it in 10… it had some interesting stuff, but overall it really wasn’t something that needed an immense amount of time.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Crossing through the gate and past the walls, I’d followed just in the footsteps of a guard only a few paces ahead of me. As she returned to her post from her brief patrol across the bridge, I couldn’t help but be amused at her faint smile upon her realization that I was snapping several photos of her. She had this look on her face that was clearly the desire to want to smile and pose for a photo; but unable to given her duty to remain stoic, composed, and alert.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The tourism information building was originally just going to be a brief pause for me to ask about the Oslo Card (which wasn’t available there), but I ended up spending considerably more time there after a passing glimpse at one of its informational signs turned into a full-fledged reading of every single one. There were some amazing stories of convicts who had ended up at the prison for one reason or another, including a few who kept coming back after each time making an escape. I suppose it doesn’t matter if you’re not very good at evading capture if you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">are </i>good at getting back out again. I was just approaching the last sign when I caught a figure out of the corner of my eye oriented directly toward me… the poor girl manning the desk was patiently waiting for me to finish. While she insisted I keep reading, with the time at 17:05 and on a Friday evening: I dearly didn’t want to keep this young 20-something waiting; but I really was grateful and amazed at her patience in this tourist who insists on coming in right at closing time & then lingering about reading <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">everything</i>. I was the kind of person that every employee despises :)<o:p></o:p></div>
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The fortress’ interior had closed, but I was still free to roam about its outside. The winner here was the great views over the city, where despite the light drizzle the clouds were quite amazing above the city. I’d come to love the clouds over Norway, where the effects of mixing ocean streams, rising mountains, and the clash of temperate and Arctic air all combine to create some amazing cloud formations; the like I’ve never seen. Just beside the fortress was a massive cruise ship at dock. I couldn’t help but smile at the cannons pointed directly at it, with the cruise ship’s multitude of openings upon its side seeming almost as if a massive battery of armaments aimed directly back.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I exited the castle and crossed along the harbor toward Aker Brygge, a pretty new waterfront neighborhood that I’ll come back to in just a second. Along the way, in the harbor area by the Rådhus (city hall), were two concert areas… one I’d come to learn was for a gay rights celebration the next day; and the other was for Oslo Live, a concert series in its 2<sup>nd</sup> to last day. From the flyers I came to realize it was drawing some pretty huge acts. The beats from the Oslo Live venue could be heard all the way into the center, and as I walked alongside its northeastern fringe the bass felt like it was moving blood through my body with more energy than my own heart. It was some good dance beats, but I didn’t recognize them nor the artist… but it did cause me to slow my pace down a bit to appreciate the tunes.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Continuing on into Aker Brygge I reminisced upon all the waterfronts I’d seen thus far…<o:p></o:p></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>Reykjavik’s isn’t really built up much, but for what there is I’d say it’s mostly industrial.</li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>Stockholm’s had a continuous tourist presence through most of it, but a lot of it was fronted by boats and such… while there were some plazas, I didn’t really feel that it actively engaged <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">with </i>the water so much as just look upon it; the private boat-bars more detracting from the public appreciation of it (although the boats tended to be rather vintage, so I’m not necessarily complaining; vintage boats can make for lovely photos regardless of function).</li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>Kalmar embraced the water a bit more, with Kalmar’s Castle and adjacent park providing a nice waterside view and a pretty harbor; but like Stockholm not really working <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">with</i> the water rather than just looking upon it.</li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>Karlskrona definitely used its resources, with several public plazas and parks offering plenty of opportunity to relax & appreciate the water; but not many businesses which actively engaged with the water.</li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>Århus had a totally industrial waterfront.</li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>Copenhagen kind of ignores the water, not really having many buildings of interest fronting the water with the exception of a few spots along the canals, except even then the focus tends to be more on the parallel walkways and not as much on the canals… not too many benches & too many boats (but again: in some cases the boats made for great photos).</li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>Göteborg takes bottom rankings: pretty much covering its entire riverfront with nothing but industry. I’d have expected more out of Sweden’s second city.</li>
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But then there’s Oslo. It has its industrial fringes along the fjord (though I seem to recall reading that this bit technically isn’t a fjord), leaving its waterfront near the city center open for the tourism industry. Of the three sides bound by land, there’s the castle/fortress on one side, the Aker Brygge neighborhood on the opposite side, and the harbor in the middle. The harbor just serves bar-boats; none of which seemed to stay docked too long… they were bars that actually cruised around; not just sit there at the docks like in so many other cities. This freed up the view from the promenade to look down the fjord, and the nature of the promenade offered plenty of room to avoid feeling crowded & also a number of spots to sit down. The fortress likewise gave a great elevated view, really sparking one’s appreciation of the sea.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Now for Aker Brygge. This is a mixed use development which replaced a bunch of warehousing and industry (which still remains just beyond the couple blocks of development). With mid-rise buildings (about 6-10 stories) and ground level retail & restaurants, it definitely served as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the </i>place to be both by day and by night. The restaurants tended to be a bit higher-end, but this was definitely where both the casual & fine dining seemed to be for most folk. There were plenty of benches about and a number of water features in addition to the fjord and a canal, of which the canal was home to a line of boats on one side and the fjord-front hosted larger yachts geared toward fjord tours; but even then the view toward the fortress was still unimpeded from most points.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Even away from the docks, the interior of the neighborhood had a pedestrianized area… and I specifically enjoyed the architecture of the buildings themselves. First, the were visibly modern but had a hint of traditional Nordic touch. You could see the modern Scandinavian designs in the very geometric shapes, but somehow there just seemed to be a bit of classic influence in there… I’m not an architect so I can’t pinpoint it much better than that.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I especially liked the balconies, a component which I feel American design woefully misses in so many developments. The balconies were varied, helping to keep the upward views from being monotonous; and the balconies also provided enough room for the residents to actually <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">use </i>them. That might sound a bit trivial, but there’s a trend among architects in America to add balconies that are only 1-2 ft wide… they’re really just large windows at that point. You can’t walk out on them; you can’t look down; you can’t appreciate or engage with what’s outdoors in the way you could if you could put out some chairs and a table. With great views from each of these balconies, they all helped offer an “eyes on the street” that can not only make it more engaging from a civic perspective; but also help deter crime by making any would-be perpetrators feel that they’d be more likely to be seen. And there’s the monotony element – something architects are guilty of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">worldwide</i> whereby they just copy the same exterior over and over again. With the varied shapes of the buildings, my eyes were continuously drawn upward just as much as the ground also engaged my senses.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So basically… I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really </i>liked Aker Brygge. The only thing that seemed to be missing were some good cultural venues… but it could just be that I didn’t spot them. A local theater space, perhaps. Or even a school; but I also don’t know the Norwegian word for school… so maybe I just didn’t see that, either. There were a couple statues & other art pieces which were pretty neat, including a rather odd piece that contorted the landscape at one of the central plazas. Within the same plaza was also a statue of a relaxing nude woman… I wasn’t sure if it was vandalized or if was an approved art piece, but it’d been painted over with colored shoes, lipstick, and… pubic hair. Without that latter coloring I probably wouldn’t have thought much of the differential between each of the legs, but with the coloring it suddenly became quite pornographic to view the statue from a certain angle.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Now back to those bar-boats in the harbor at the center of the fjord. Just a slight interjection before I continue on with my day. As I walked along one of the piers I couldn’t help but notice something peculiar about the crowds on each boat. Every single woman… I mean right down to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">every single one</i>… that is: 100% … so all of the women on each of three boats along the pier was a bottle blonde. Not one brunette among them; not even someone who may have been a natural blonde. Bah… not that I’m inherently <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">against </i>bottle blondes; but I just see people who have to change themselves so thoroughly as being people with some self-identity, esteem, and confidence issues… and more often than not I tend to be right; and more often than not they tend to be heinously annoying. Now there are exceptions; and I’m good friends with some of those exceptions; but none of these women looked or sounded like the type to prove me wrong. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So in general, Scandinavian women have been at their prime in their 30’s. Granted, by the time they hit 40: they start to look like your standard over-the-hill Cali-Mom: great body but a mummified face. In their teens and 20’s, they just come off as too ditzy/trashy-looking; whereas they eventually become a bit more dignified, classy, and respectable… but these lasses on the boat – largely in their 20’s and 30’s – didn’t give much credence to my little theory. The guys weren’t much better. In line with what I said a few days ago, the guys on these boats just looked like a bunch of fratboys. Though fortunately, the guys <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">off</i> the boats have tended to seem a bit more normal; not quite the Danish thugs or as much like the Swedish fratboys. Bummer… I’m such a fan of Swedish backpackers; I just can’t stand its urbanites.<o:p></o:p></div>
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While I’m nitpicking over these things: I’ll also take a stab at the Norwegian’s sunglasses. So aviator-style sunglasses are huge here, apparently. I’m mixed on aviators… I love their look on, you know, aviators and other enforcement-type folk; but on your general layman they reinforce that whole fratboy persona. So I’m ultimately not a huge fan. But what bothers me here isn’t my inherent aversion to them so much as they the sunglasses they’re wearing are about 50% larger than they should be. It makes it seem like they have very small heads; it’s an illusion that really bugs me. And running with that: I’d still say it’s better than Americans’ current sunglasses obsession of wearing these huge round things that make them look like bugs… seriously, Americans have no fashion sense.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So I’m on a roll here, I’ll keep this rant going. Fashion sense. So back to women: if I had to pick a single physical trait that best defines Scandinavian women – yeah, I’m being a male pig here, I know – it’d absolutely be their legs. Now normally I’m an arm guy… not because I’m sexually aroused by arms (that seems kind of weird), but because I find arms to be such a great signifier of the rest of the body. You can tell if a woman is too heavy, too thin, if she’s very lean and toned, or if she’s just a good size. It’s always been a consistently good indicator. But here… Scandinavians have been quite thoroughly turning me into a leg man… partly because they show so much of them; partly because they’re all quite well toned; and partly because they somehow make them seem so incredibly smooth and long. It all seems weird as I write it but makes perfect sense in my head.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And top it off with the jeans… firstly, European women know how to wear jeans. Heck I’ll also credit European <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">men </i>with pulling off jeans. Americans of both genders fail at both, and I take no shame in saying that I’m among them. Not only do we wear jeans which don’t look nice to begin with – what’s this crap with pre-faded, pre-holed, pre-whatever – but our flabby excesses just roll on out with the ever-endearing term “muffin-tops”. You flat-out don’t see those in Europe. Every time I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">have </i>seen them, 95% of the time they’ve ended up being American and 4% of the time Canadian; with the remaining 1% being the folk among the various European sub-cultures who could care less or even <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">embrace</i> bad fashion (this is pretty much where I’d count myself).<o:p></o:p></div>
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Basically: Europeans are much more fit to begin with, but even those who are a bit heavier wear jeans cut to hide it a bit better… in many cases they wrap along the waist higher, which with the right top makes it seem just fine. Of course, with the wrong top you look like you’re stuck in the 80’s and have a massive rear-end… I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">have </i>seen this on many occasions in Europe, where there’s definitely a larger proportion of people stuck in the 80’s (or at least early 90’s) than we have in America.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But no more ranting; back to the city! I continued northward into a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really </i>pretty neighborhood. This was the highlight of Oslo, but really in general: Oslo has been the first city that has really had the European joy of just wandering and getting yourself lost, with each street having a unique character. Granted, this particular area was the home of embassies… so clearly it was a bit better off than the rest. Among them was Fortress America: the mighty walls and fencing standing out among the quaint historic buildings in a manner that only America and Russia could do so well. Nothing rouses feelings of patriotism quite like seeing your home embassy feel cold and forbidding even to you, its own offspring and kin. I wouldn’t even know how to enter into an American embassy if I ever needed to… I feel like I’d end up in a tiny cold room with an uncomfortable seat and a single bright light whilst they attempted to find out why I was there, and after three hours of interrogation I’d have probably forgotten why I was there to begin with… making me only more suspicious before next thing I know I’ve scored a free trip to our little base in Cuba.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So instead I just take pictures. Lots and lots of pictures. I love putting our guys at unease. That’s one of the great things about living in DC: you get to have fun with our safety paranoia and security theatre on a daily basis. Because every terrorist will surely use a large expensive SLR… clearly they won’t use a point & shoot or a mobile phone… or just look up photos on the internet. So yeah.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I ate dinner at a place called Rust. From the name I knew it wasn’t a place for me… only hipster places have names like that; I’m not pretentious enough to dine at such places. I actually ended up eating a quite tasty burger, but of course its presentation was in the true essence of a hipster sort of place… something so simple had to be presented like it came from a top-tier restaurant.<o:p></o:p></div>
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My return journey took me through the palace gardens. Yet another strike against <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lonely Planet</i> is their complete absence of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">any </i>reference whatsoever to the royal palace. Even if there aren’t any tours, I’d have at least expected them to say so. I really have no idea if there are or not. And considering this is a European capital and seat of an existing monarchy, I feel like that’s kind of a big deal… even if it is a pretty young monarchy & capital (by European standards, at least).<o:p></o:p></div>
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I saw a woman pushing a baby stroller while on her mobile phone. While she was dialing, she rolled right on through a pile of horse manure & also over a plastic bag with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">something </i>in it. I’m not sure what was actually <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">in </i>the bag, but I feel like you wouldn’t want to push your baby through it. As she transfers to chatting, she starts meandering left and right before eventually crashing into the side of a park bench. So… these people drive.<o:p></o:p></div>
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A fun result of all the recent rain: the dirt plaza in front of the palace had channels that grew ever wider as you moved downhill toward the city center. And where the dirt came to an end: the dirt continued, regardless, into the forked street – covering it in bright red-orange gravel. I wondered at what their maintenance regimen is after such periods of rain… I assume they bring in more gravel to fill in the channels, rake it flat, and somehow flush the sewers. Ahh, the thoughts of an engineer…<o:p></o:p></div>
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Moving into the central park I stopped at one of the theaters and watched a busker swirl about, forming massive bubbles. I wouldn’t have given it too much heed if it weren’t for the couple of small children running about with pure joy on their faces. I figured it’d be good photo fodder, and after about 20 minutes I finally moved on; but not before offering him a few coins of my own. The guy had a hat quite full as it was, what-with parents supplying the wee ones with gifts; but I really felt the guy had a good performance persona… I quite like buskers who contribute to the community in such a way.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Other buskers in the area included your usual fare of musicians and fake statues. I’ll sometimes give coins to the musicians, but they have to be <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">good</i>. I’ve seen some stellar ones only in Rome, Salzburg, and Edinburgh… that’s been it. They need to play original music; it needs to be captivating; it needs to show talent and skill; and it needs to either be a true community asset or it needs to be so skillful that I feel the musician is underappreciated. And I’m not against handing out paper to those who are <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really </i>good.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Fake statues aren’t among them. Now I kind of like them… and standing very still does take some talent… and I’ve seen a couple which have a bit more fun with it; but the statues here in Oslo were just statue-ing; not hopping off to haunt people or anything mime-ish. At least mimes & miming requires some animation; it’s entertaining. But Treebeard would call them “tree-ish”.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Similarly the musicians weren’t very good, either. But Oslo took claim of the worst busker I’ve ever seen: people just sitting around in a goofy costume. One example: Mickey Mouse. He was just sitting there with a hat out for coins. No talent required. It’s like the Mr. Plow of busking: I could hear the guy’s argument with his girlfriend (or parents)… “Sure the huge costume is expensive, but it’ll <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">make </i>money!” I’m sure that’s worked out well.<o:p></o:p></div>
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My night in my excessively-expensive hotel room drew to a close. Oh, how I wish lodging was cheaper in Scandinavia… or really if <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">anything </i>was cheaper. While Britain may still rank highest on account of conversions, these Nordic countries are quite simply obscenely expensive. A dorm bed at a hostel costs as much as a typical hotel room in the USA… a dorm bed in the rest of Europe is half or even a quarter the price. I’m going to grimace when I see the credit card statements upon my return home.<o:p></o:p></div>Bossihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15032063076539453859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2324685500377872584.post-81403731434227706492011-06-23T23:55:00.000-07:002016-04-28T19:00:37.007-07:00SE - Göteborg<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>June 23 Thursday Sweden Göteborg <o:p></o:p></u></i></b></div>
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OK, Göteborg: show me your good side. The sun was up, the air was warm, and I got a particularly good night’s sleep. After grabbing some pizza, I made my way into the city’s center to take in its sights. There weren’t too many things I’d marked as must-see; mostly just tall places where I could try and get some shots of the city. So sure enough, I worked my way directly to the waterfront… well, the tourist-oriented waterfront; or what little there is of it. The vast majority of Göteborg’s riverfront is given over to industry, leaving just a small sliver as a harbor featuring a couple boat-bars, cafés, and souvenir shops.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But there was also a tall red and white-striped office tower right by the river, including an elevator up to the top for the tourists (named Göteborgs-Utkiken). This was another one of those cases where you had to show up on the hour to go, but the receptionist let me up despite being 10 minutes into the hour… when I reached the top I came to guess that it was because things were a bit quiet. There were two other people up there: a mother and a 30-something daughter (or so I assumed it was a mother/daughter relation). So that pretty much gave me free reign over circulating about the windows endlessly, nabbing photo after photo of everything I could set my lens upon.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Once I grew weary of that I made my way to a nearby Ferris wheel to do it all over again: rise up, photograph, circulate around… albeit circulating a bit more vertically rather than horizontally upon a level platform, as in the office tower. En route to the Ferris wheel I passed by a trio of Italians, letting me get to use a bit of my Italian skills… which haven’t returned nearly with the pizzazz that my German skills have returned these past few weeks. But with two of the three being absolutely phenomenal-looking women in their young or mid-20’s (and I’ll be first to say that I really don’t fine Italian women, on average, to be that attractive), I didn’t hesitate in the slightest when they asked for a photo and I got a chance to strike up conversation. When their battery died just as I was taking their photo: I think my heart skipped a couple beats when one of the girls came up to swap them out. Of course, with them both traveling with a guy who could easily grace the cover of any European fashion magazine: I knew it wasn’t worth my time stopping to chat any more than necessary.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I boarded the Ferris wheel with only one other group: a team of Bulgarian athletes who took up two other cars. While I’d been in the office tower the weather had started to cloud up considerably, and it was while I was hovering about in the Ferris wheel that the rain started up with abundance. Fortunately I got some great photos before the rain & then used the rain to get some photos of a bit different variety… and I was very dry; that was good, too. The rain quit just as I alighted and returned to the streets.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The Stadsmuseum (Göteborg Museum) was my next stop, really just because I wanted to see their Viking exhibit. I’d been in Scandinavia for nearly a month and really haven’t seen anything Viking-related; I figure that might be a sin or something… but really, Norway is the center of the Vikings: so I haven’t forsaken it yet. But I appeased the Viking heritage by finally getting my first taste of their culture, seeing the remains of a longboat and some neat statues of the various Norse deities. The statues were really cool: almost cartoonish but exquisitely crafted… I was forced to wonder if they were actually more modern constructions; they seemed in far too good of condition. Indeed, I’d put my money on that they <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">are </i>pretty new; but the longboat sure wasn’t. The boats remains were laid out & left it very easy to visualize its shape and look. I’ve always loved the longboats, and seeing one firsthand granted me a renewed appreciation for their ingenious structure.<o:p></o:p></div>
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My next stop was the Trägårdsföreningen, a botanic garden in the city center. This was a lovely stroll and with the recent rain: it offered some great opportunities for photos. The clouds were blocking the sun, but sometimes it’s worth thinking of the clouds not as an impediment but a very large diffuser… it helps reframe the situation when you’re trying to take photos.<o:p></o:p></div>
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After that I kept heading southeast toward the Universeum, a science museum specializing mostly in the earth sciences. Along the way, however, I passed by some film crews in front of the city’s university. Curious, I hovered about a bit and attempted to stay out of the way of the camera, which seemed to be focused on a vehicle parked on the sidewalk. I started walking up the stairs to take a look and get a good shot of the action, as the stairs seemed to be out of the shot & there seemed to be a crowd of other onlookers. But just as I’d ascended a couple stairs, one of the crew assistants stole my attention and asked me to hold on… and seconds later the scene started & all those folk along the stairs suddenly set in motion. They were all extras.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I ended up getting to be an extra in that scene. From speaking with the staffmember I learned that they were filming the next Johan Falk movie, a Swedish crime drama or something like that. Apparently it’s quite popular; unless that was just her attempt to make her job feel valid… I really have no idea if it’s popular or not, but Wikipedia’s mention that the last couple movies have gone straight to video has me a bit concerned; or it could be that Swedes watch a lot of videos & “straight to video” isn’t such a bad thing? <o:p></o:p></div>
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At the Universeum: there was a great exhibit on water, focusing a bit more on its interrelationship with the Arctic regions. Another exhibit was a large indoor rainforest, replete with free-roaming monkeys, birds, and other critters. I watched as a monkey hopped onto a railing – inches away – and nabbed at a rather large insect which I hadn’t noticed right beside me… it made for fun photos as he consumed his dinner. The water-oriented stuff was interesting, with one contraption showing a bunch of different hydraulic engineering concepts in a very hands-on manner, including locks, hydraulic jumps, and even Archimedes’ screw. Seriously, every civil engineering lab should have one of these: what a great way to show the stuff I’ve spent 6 years of my life studying in classrooms. Sure it was for kids, but what’s a college student (or even an adult) but a child at heart?<o:p></o:p></div>
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The aquarium was your pretty typical aquarium; not too much of interest considering I’ve been to some pretty phenomenal aquariums in my lifetime. But one thing they did have going for themselves was a huge swordfish which seemed to enjoy coming right up to the windows. There was also an underwater tunnel… always a win for an aquarium. <o:p></o:p></div>
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One of the museum’s rooms was clearly intended to make science fun for children, but I’d wager its designers knew full well that the parents would likewise have a blast. There was a huge variety of interactive exhibits, including a bunch which used various lights and sounds to assault your senses, gauging your body’s reaction in various ways. I was a bit surprised at how much warm colors increased my heart rate and how cooler colors really soothe me… but the musical aspect was more interesting: I was in motion along with the beats the whole time, but the rock & roll caused my heart rate to surge whereas the downtempo music caused me to become so calm that some doctors might have considered me legally dead. The rock + warm colors combination contrasted immensely with the downtempo + cool colors bit… it was like comparing the Himalayas to Kansas.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Within that same room was a game where there were a bunch of large red buttons scattered about a board that I’d say was about 1.5 meters tall and 2.5 meters wide. You had to press the one that lit up, and keep going for 30 seconds to see how many you could press. It was basically a game of Whack-a-Mole. There was a definite limit on how fast you could go based on the delay between hitting the button & the next one lighting up, but with my score of 44 almost doubling the best of everyone else who’d tried: I deemed myself to have done quite well at it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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There was one more room which was dedicated to forensic science. I’d wager this would have been immensely more interesting had the translations worked… both English and German seemed to not work. While the translations didn’t work in the previous room, either, at least the previous room was rather self-explanatory; this one had a bit more info on the science which I wasn’t able to understand. But there were still some activities that I could figure out well enough… from fingerprinting to tracking footprints to DNA sampling to facial recognition… lots of fun stuff. But my favorite was the laser room.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So in this darkened black box were a whole bunch of lasers going from wall to wall, leaving but the faintest red beam across the way. Of course, as anyone who watched Mythbusters knows: real security lasers use invisible infrared; not visible red beams… so unless the dude who installed security decided to be a cheapskate: you’re not going to be able to see the beams in a real-life break-in situation. But here: I didn’t care… this was my chance to be a thief; a criminal; to reenact <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Entrapment</i> in all its Catherine Zeta-Jones’ rear-end’s glory. And that I did.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I left my backpack and camera at the entry so that I could artfully maneuver up, over, and around each of the criss-crossing beams, with great deft making it to the very last trio of beams all crossing over one another. I contorted my body and readied myself to pass through, when all of a sudden my thievery was foiled by a small child bursting in and dashing gleefully through the beams. Alarms sounded, ruining all I had worked toward… but fortunately the otherwise pitch black room bored the child, and when no guards carrying AK’s showed up: I continued with my break-in and finished the room. Alas, the exit just took me to the same room as the entry… no industrial secrets or extravagant wealth to be had for the taking. So at the point I nonchalantly walked around to the entry to grab my gear and depart.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It was at a place called Smaka where I grabbed my dinner, and for once <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lonely Planet</i> served me quite well. I got the standard Ikea meal: meatballs, mashed potatoes, and lingonberries. The berries were actually berries, though, not the jelly-like paste of Ikea which I am personally not a fan of. The actual berries tasted much the same (perhaps even a touch better), but had the berry texture that I love so dearly. The meatballs and mashed potatoes weren’t Ikea, but they were still quite tasty… far better than the meal I’d had back in Stockholm.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Back at my hostel I tried to plan the next day, with much of the work consisting of trying to secure transport up to Oslo & then a room for me to stay in. Once again, however, Oslo seemed to be booked solid… much like Stockholm had been. Saturday night was easy to find a room for, but tomorrow night – Friday night – was considerably more difficult. I ended up paying about $250 for a room on Friday night and about $100 for the same room on Saturday night… ouch.<o:p></o:p></div>
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This was all complicated by the rather lacking internet at my hostel, the Masthuggsterrassens Vandrarheim. While they had wifi, there seemed to be some issue with their ISP in that I had to log into the ISP in order to activate my computer on it. Since I didn’t have their username and password for the ISP (they’d be pretty dumb to give <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that</i> out!), that meant that some pages redirected me to the ISP’s login page… but oddly some other pages didn’t. This was a problem that everybody was having, but fortunately I seemed to be less affected by it than others… plus I learned how to cache pages & work around the redirect somewhat, but that didn’t work when I had to submit forms to book transit tickets or reserve rooms.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I ended up having to use the sole public-use computer to look up info & then use my email to book reservations, hoping they’d act upon my email just as readily as the online booking system. Fortunately this worked for my hotel reservation, but left me open on the whole travel part… I figured I’d just show up at the station and catch the next ride to Oslo, whatever and whenever that might be.<o:p></o:p></div>
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While waiting for the public-use computer, I got to talking to a German guy, a man in his 40’s or so who worked as a pharmacist for Bayer. Apparently he was gearing up to do some work in Sweden and wanted to learn some Swedish in preparation for that, but we both commiserated over the difficulties in learning technical language when classes & daily use only teach more casual conversation. I’ve been wanting to learn German for some time now in hopes of opening myself up to potential job opportunities through a large chunk of Europe, where I think my profession is a bit more progressive than in America; but learning my profession’s technical language isn’t the kind of thing that’s easy to do until you’re on the job.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The bed above me – occupied by the German girl the previous night – remained empty this time around, with only the French couple being my roommates over the night. Once again the guy came back and still smelled horrendous, but once again I was able to tune it out. Phew. <o:p></o:p></div>
Bossihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15032063076539453859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2324685500377872584.post-71830777765113153402011-06-22T23:55:00.000-07:002012-07-04T21:15:46.672-07:00SE - Göteborg<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>June 22 Wednesday Sweden Göteborg <o:p></o:p></u></i></b></div>
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Ug… my worst sleep of the trip. The door had just enough slack that the pressure gradient caused it to keep knocking back and forth, exacerbated once folk started waking up (first at about 5:30am) and left the door open just a touch. While everyone was personally quiet as they went about their business: that door soon became my nemesis. In my highly intermittent sleep for the next three hours: I came to hate that door; to despise it; I wish ill upon it; I tried to lull myself back to sleep by thinking of the things I would like to do to that door… an axe; a chainsaw; a flamethrower!<o:p></o:p></div>
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I ultimately rose with a pounding headache, but of course I had no idea where I’d packed the painkillers that I’d been given at the hospital. I hadn’t used any during my time there, so I knew I had some stowed away <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">somewhere</i>, but it hurt to think… so I tried not to. It was like being on the Vogon homeworld. Fortunately reception would come through on that end: sweet nourishing drugs! My headache gone about 30 minutes later & the action of the day helping to keep it away.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The first step was a train north to Frederickshavn, a small industrial town at the northerneastern reaches of Jutland. I slept a good deal of the train ride, albeit slightly distracted by <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">another</i> twin of my friend Svitlana sitting across the aisle from me. I saw a twin back in Stockholm, and here was another; albeit with a tiny nose ring. I mentally kicked myself for sitting across from her – at a table with some old woman stuck on her mobile – instead of with this cute girl… but it also gave me due excuse to concentrate on recouping sleep rather than attempting conversation.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Arriving in Frederickshavn I did a pretty good job at picking the correct street & walking a direct course to the ferry terminal. With 30 minutes of available time, it took me 10 minutes to reach the walkway, 5 minutes to traverse the lengthy elevated walkway through the port, 5 minutes to check-in and board, and enough time to make it to the top deck & watch us depart. Win!<o:p></o:p></div>
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The ferry is littered with slot machines, with queues of people taking full advantage of them. I can get the desire to spend the last of your coins as you transition out of a country, but I’m pretty sure a good share of people had expended their spare coins already but were still there. Ahh gambling: a tax on stupidity. At least give us something more engaging than slots! I’m more than willing to part with my money if I can at least have some fun doing it... slots just don’t cut it for me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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After watching us push away from Denmark I found a spot at the front of the boat down in one of the restaurants, sitting there tapping away on my laptop while the muzak alternated between piped-in tunes (mostly jazz) and a live band (folk music). The girl in the band looks like a young version of the wife/mom from the National Lampoon’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Vacation</i> movies; a rather cute blonde that looks to be in her young to mid 20’s… pretty voice, but I’ve discovered that the local folk music isn’t my particular interest.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Our arrival into Göteborg was gradual, as would be the case with a very large massive ferry that looks the city’s tallest buildings eye-to-eye… clearly not the sort of thing that should be moving fast up an urban river. The effects of being up so high also made it all seem slower. When we docked I came to realize that people were all carrying – and I mean <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">all </i>carrying – massive amounts of beer. Seriously… two to three cases each; just what a single person could carry. There were a pair of customs officers on the other end but neither seemed to care; I wager they were more interested in if anyone rolled off the boat with a pallet of booze. The “red line” for customs – for those with something to claim – consisted simply of a telephone and a sign indicating to dial a number if you wanted to claim anything. So yeah: Denmark is expensive; but I did learn that its price savings compared to Sweden is apparently enough to make it worth the trip when it comes to beer… or at least good enough to stock up if you just happen to be making the trip for one reason or another.<o:p></o:p></div>
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As I disembarked I found myself in a pretty run-down area… certainly not the city’s best point. Fortunately, my hostel wasn’t far off, keeping the hike easy; but unfortunately that meant I was staying in this less-inspiring area. It wasn’t the best first impression of the city. My impressions were only reinforced by my evening walk to find some dinner. The places my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lonely Planet </i>guide suggested weren’t nearly as appetizing-looking upon arrival and there was a dearth of much else which didn’t cost an arm & a leg. I ended up at a place which marketed pizza, pasta, salad, and kebabs. As is true in America: places that try and hit multiple ethnic foods often falter at the other one… it’s best to stick with their native dish. Hence my passing over Italian and option for the kebab: the backup food of choice in Europe. It was a downright tasty kebab, so I’d say it was a perfect decision.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I wandered a little bit but ultimately made my way back to my room for an early evening. I had a full room of four beds, with the first to return being a young French couple in their early 20’s. They both seemed really nice & I talked to the girl quite a bit, but the dude had a downright toxic scent of body odor. Even immediately after he showered: he returned and once again reeked of BO. Now, I’ve grown up among the Amish and have smelled many an unbathed on a warm sunny Saturday during the planting or harvesting seasons, and I’d say this guy was worse… but fortunately my Lancaster County upbringing enabled me to tune it out after a few minutes. Sometimes it’s a good thing that I can smell cow or horse manure and think it smells wonderful; it smells like home.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The last roommate to return was a German girl from near the border with Denmark – I’m drawing a blank on the name of the town. I was a bit confused at first when I couldn’t place her accent; it was a German accent I’d never heard before, but then again most Germans I know come from quite a bit more southward. I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really </i>wish I’d taken some more time to chat with her… especially because she had a carton of Philadelphia Cream Cheese -- easy initial conversation material. Seriously: Philadelphia Cream Cheese is its own food group and anyone who would carry it along as a backpacker is clearly a zealous devotee. Plus she looked to be in her mid-20’s, downright cute, and clearly had an interest in chatting with me… but my brain just didn’t seem to pickup on that; and when I woke up the next morning she was gone. I’ve noticed that I seem to have a thing for German girls, but I’m pretty sure I’ve noticed (and probably said) that before.<o:p></o:p></div>Bossihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15032063076539453859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2324685500377872584.post-27351769033776351872011-06-21T23:55:00.000-07:002011-06-29T16:31:45.468-07:00DK - Århus<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>June 21 Tuesday Denmark Århus <o:p></o:p></u></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I had to wake slightly early to make sure I showered & recombobulated myself after having settled in for a couple days. My original plan upon arrival in Copenhagen had been to stick around another day and then catch a train back into Sweden and up to Göteborg, but I felt I’d seen enough of Copenhagen & decided it’d be a good chance to see a bit more of Denmark. So I booked a train west and then north to Århus, Denmark’s second city.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Upon arrival I found myself in a bit of a dirty stretch by the train station, but a block later I was in the pedestrianized area and found it to be a rather pretty little city. I actually enjoyed traveling around the streets, whereas in Copenhagen they felt just like a monotonous chore. Århus ultimately felt sort of like DC: sure it’s technically a city, but it really preserves a small town feel within it. It was far more walkable than Copenhagen, in part owing to its smaller size but also a greater balance toward pedestrians; whereas I’d previously noted that Copenhagen was definitely more bike-friendly at the cost of being ped-friendly. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Arriving at my hostel at 15:00, I knew I was strapped for time to see the city… so I immediately dropped off my bags in a storage room (checkout didn’t open for another hour) then went outside to see as much as I could. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With the two main churches first to close: those were my first target.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Domkirke had some restored frescoes (whitewashed back in the day on account of seeming “too Catholic”) and a tower right on the central square.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">The church’s staffmember was kind enough to chase down the key for me, letting me scale the tower in my lonesome with 30 minutes until closing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was fun having the whole tower to myself, arriving at the top & climbing about the bells’ structure to get at the windows; but fencing on the windows had too tight of a grid for me to get many good photos from.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a bit amusing as a live band in the plaza outside broke into Rage Against the Machine’s “Bulls On Parade”, adding a marked contrast to my present location within a church tower.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even the staffmember laughed the moment I mentioned it; she was thinking the exact same thing.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">The nearby Vor Frue Kirke had a crypt was which was partially lit with some candles, so that was nice; but otherwise I was in and out in 5 minutes and still managed to feel like I saw everything there was to see.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A large portion of it was under maintenance work & closed and it was otherwise pretty unadorned… of interest more to those with a huge interested in churches; not so much to those more interested in the neat & fancy.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Next was the ARoS Aarhus Kunstmuseum, the city’s major art museum. I’d initially thought I only had an hour to explore it before it closed at 17:00, but when the clock struck 5pm just as I was finishing up my last stop: I’d taken note that no one else seemed to be making their way for the exit. Turns out the museum was staying open late on account of it being summer… the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">first </i>place in all of Scandinavia with a significant change in hours! YES!!! So I returned to the exhibits and took a bit more time to appreciate (or at least examine) all of their exhibits.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">There was a section on Denmark’s golden age of art, which I’d noted on a previous day that I’m rather fond of. Danes really did a great job creating photo-quality works, capturing landscapes and body expressions absolutely perfectly. However, the lion’s share of the museum deals with modern art… which is a form that I just don’t get. It’s such a contrast to see it go from these ornate and lovely paintings to a sculpture of two figures that have been injured and disfigured in dozens of different ways, leaving limbs and debris behind them. Or a canvas that’s orange. Just orange. Or a photo some girl took of her behind, with pants pull down but panties still on & the wire of the camera’s remote running back to the camera. Why? Is this supposed to be a statement about pornography? Is it supposed to be a statement about narcissism? Am I just supposed to admire her ass, which was only OK? If I took a photo of my own rear end: could I get it into a museum? Yeah, I didn’t get that room… although I did like the photo of the little girl holding a chainsaw; that amused me.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">The first floor has a large life-like sculpture of a boy… it was pretty neat, I suppose, but I didn’t really get how it was the major draw of the museum up until the completion of their most recent bit… which actually ended up being my first stop but I’ll get into that last. Below the Boy, in the basement, was a series of exhibits themed around Dante’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Inferno</i>. Well, loosely themed… I was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really </i>hoping for a greater tie-in, as I’m a huge fan of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Divine Comedy</i>. Each room had some sort of visual twist:<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 22.5pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>A large living head trapped underwater, formed by a projection on a huge egg-shaped object in a water tank. It felt like a character in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Myst</i>.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 22.5pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>A room of mirrors creating infinity all around<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 22.5pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>A film projection onto a sheet draping over E.T. That is, a sculpture of E.T., replete with Reeses Pieces at his feet, and draped over him was a white sheet… that was the canvas that some uninteresting film was being projected upon.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 22.5pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Another projection room was decorated as if someone’s living room. A film projection portrayed a person’s 24-hr day in 8 minutes, with the lighting in the room changing accordingly from twilight to dawn to midday to sunset to night. From the video, I can only assume the person – clearly a woman – must’ve had a rather bad day… her morning consisted of her crawling naked along her lawn.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 22.5pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>There was a large rounded monolithic object in a room which was pulsing bursts of light, as if souls were trapped within. I didn’t think too much of it until I read that it was tied in with the University of Tokyo’s astronomy folk… every time a star was recorded as going nova it triggered a pulse of light; its location (I think) upon the monolith being derived from the stars’ location within the universe. So the exhibit itself was dull but I liked the tie in with the real physical universe.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 22.5pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>A room had a glowing red wall with a green line… I didn’t get that one.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 22.5pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>The first room you pass by had several projections, which I eventually realized were all slow-motion videos of someone jumping into the water, albeit played backward. I liked how it was set up, though: a very large open dark room. It was quite relaxing.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 22.5pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>And two more rooms I can’t recall…<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 2.25pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 2.25pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">Another floor had an exhibit on colors of light. This one was actually kind of entertaining... one room included a fine mist being sprayed in front of a spotlight, with the droplets refracting a rainbow if you stood at the correct angle. It was also fun watching people flail about in the otherwise pitch black room, with the spotlight making it difficult for people’s eyes to adjust to the room’s layout. It was just a flat open room, but it felt like there would be a drop-off or objects or something; some barrier to prohibit you from getting into the mist. But the whole point was to let you roam free & see it from all angles, even within it if you so desired.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 2.25pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 2.25pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">Another room, part of that same light exhibit, consisted of a very dense fog illuminated with color, forming a color wheel room. Different segments had red, blue, yellow, and green lights & you could walk through the color combinations… with absolutely nothing in front of you to help gauge distance or place; letting you become fully enveloped by the color. Only a few support poles & silhouettes of other people let you focus on anything; unless you opted to look up at the light racks or down at your feet… both pretty much at the limits of visibility.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 2.25pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 2.25pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">Running with that color theme was the latest permanent installation: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Your Rainbow Panorama</i>. Complementing a roof deck with good views over the city, another level up was this large circular walkway with windows of a massive color wheel. The entry was in deep blue & you could walk around through the colors and back to deep blue. I didn’t get why people kept taking pictures through the glass… all did was color the city; you could get a clear & more interesting view from the roof deck. The color didn’t do anything interesting to the city worth of a photo. To me, the real interest was in looking <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">along</i> the corridor (a few tourists did grasp this), taking in the color gradient and appreciating how the reflections in the glass created these neat visual effects. My camera was always pointed along the hallway; if I want a colored photo of the city I’ll just add a filter. I also liked capturing photos from outside the walkway, snapping images of peoples’ silhouettes within the colored glass.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 2.25pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 2.25pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">For chow I stopped by Karl’s Sandwich Bar, toward the north end of the downtown area. For once <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lonely Planet</i> succeeded: not only did I find it easily, but holy cow did they offer a good burger (specifically what my guide recommended). It was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">huge</i> and quite tasty, served alongside a box full of fries. Like Five Guys, they actually provided more fries than I could even eat. All for 60 DKK, which at about $12 is actually a pretty good deal for a meal in Denmark. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">I swung through the downtown again and past the Domkirke, beside which were some festivities for some sort of youth soccer something or other. I didn’t quite get what exactly it was for, but when I heard swing I knew it was something I had to swing by… er… yeah, pun not initially intended. Some more jazzy/swingy tunes were played, including Duke Ellington and Van Morrison. But eventually I had to get moving to plan the next day, which would involve a bit of complexity as I traveled by rail and sea.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">As I sat and listened to the music, however, I dwelt a bit more upon the people of these two countries: Sweden and Denmark. Between the two: Stockholm definitely has more hot women. But Denmark succeeds at pretty, beautiful, ad cute. Stockholm has bottle blondes who look like they could never hold a conversation; the Danes look very real, as if you could really engage with their minds. So I’d say Denmark might actually be ahead in that regard, despite not necessarily claiming the greater world renown which Sweden enjoys. And as for the guys? To put it simply: in Denmark they’re thuggish; in Sweden they’re a bunch of fratboys; and in both there’s a good-sized subculture of both skaters and punks… both of which I’m rather OK with; but the thugs and fratboys just annoyed me as much as they do back home.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">One of my roommates was already in the room of the Århus City Sleep-In when I walked in: a London guy whom I’d peg as being in his 40’s; a freelance journalist there to cover whatever that youth soccer thing was. I later met another dude originally from northeastern China but now working at a hotel in England. There was another Asian guy but he didn’t talk at all; either he simply wasn’t talkative or he didn’t even understand what “Hi” meant. I’m guessing a mix… not talkative but probably because of a language barrier; but I’d be hard-pressed to believe he didn’t recognize a greetings when he heard one. Just before midnight we picked up another roommate, a guy who appeared to be of Middle-Eastern descent (slightly tanned skin but definitely Mediterranean features) and was of about 50-60 yrs or so… English definitely wasn’t his strong point, leading me to guess he’s likely from one of the former French colonies. Algerian, perhaps? All in all we ended up with 5 out of 6 beds occupied; the bed above me remaining open.<o:p></o:p></div>Bossihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15032063076539453859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2324685500377872584.post-55554794770047558992011-06-20T23:55:00.000-07:002012-04-19T20:34:35.541-07:00DK - Copenhagen<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
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Another strange dream. I was at my Dad’s place on the Jersey shore and he had two places… although the street grid was a bit different in that the town’s sole diagonal street – Broadway (not the same one as in NYC) – extended down to about 11<sup>th</sup> or 12<sup>th</sup> Street. So we had houses in our current place & also on the east side of 10<sup>th</sup> St. Except our current house was a big 4 story boat… that seemed to simultaneously be at its current land-based location as well as on the water. And it was a restaurant on the 2<sup>nd</sup> and 3<sup>rd</sup> floors… portions of the 3<sup>rd</sup> and 4<sup>th</sup> floors were the living areas and the 1<sup>st</sup> floor was an office that also inexplicably had a Dominos facing the driveway (that was the land-based part).<o:p></o:p></div>
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My dream was all about me trying to figure out who left the “OPEN” sign turned on, causing all the customers to start showing up and dining… I was also trying to figure out who was serving them, as it seemed a full legion of employees had also turned up. All because the open sign was on. I seemed to be under the impression it wasn’t supposed to be open, but now that I think about it: perhaps it was and I’d misheard whatever it was I was supposed to do while I was staying there. Whatever it was: I’m sure taking that massive house/boat out for a joyride probably wasn’t one of them… which I did and did poorly, but I somewhat relished in the glee of causing havoc within the restaurant below the pilot’s seat.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I brought back the boat then began getting myself wrapped up in local small-town gossip… apparently I was with my cousins Chris and Manima (the doesn’t-exist-in-real-life little sister – about 8 yrs old – of my other cousin Rachel, who was around but not there) and Manima had unfurled a property map of the town… going house by house talking about each one, but at some point Rachel showed up and it started ranting about high school boys (despite now being a college grad; it doesn’t help that I’ve barely talked to Rachel in a decade… hence she’s many years younger in my head than she actually is).<o:p></o:p></div>
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Then there was this girl my age who looked a lot like a young Cate Blanchett; she was daughter of the town’s Mormon preacher (I don’t think there is such a thing in the real-life version of our town). I was chatting with her dad – who looked like the mayor from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Spin City </i>– and was getting on good terms with him… but unfortunately there isn’t much more to add to that one because the cleaning crews ARE ONCE AGAIN TREMENDOUSLY LOUD AT 10 AM. So I woke up.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It was another day for exploration. My route took me again past the east side of Tivoli, where I stood in wonderment at the construction of a new parking garage for the park; or at least I assumed it was for the park; it’s possibly it may be for the town hall or the downtown in general. If it<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> is </i>for Tivoli, however, then it’d actually be a strike against the Danes’ amazing implementation of transit-oriented development considering that the amusement park has an entrance directly across the street from the central train station.<o:p></o:p></div>
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While on the subject of transportation: Denmark is yet another example of being bike-friendly but not particularly pedestrian-friendly. While it’s easy walking in the immediate downtown & on the major shopping streets, in most cases there really isn’t any more sidewalk for pedestrians than you’d see in America. Actually, in measuring pavement dedicated to pedestrians, there’s probably <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">less </i>than most American cities would provide… and even then: large portions of that are occupied by parked bikes. I found myself walking in the bike lanes quite often to get around bikes & other people. Signals also aren’t timed to be too pedestrian friendly… while I was fine as an able-bodied person, I saw many people run out of time to cross… the lack of the “flashing don’t walk” &/or countdowns at most crossings left many people unable to cross in time. And the Danes stringently adhere to the red man: they <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">do not</i> cross unless it’s green. I did; I jaywalked all the time. My work as a traffic engineer has made me the worst pedestrian. But one word of praise: the Swedes and Danes make adamant effort to maintain ped/bike access through or alongside the construction site; I don’t recall seeing a single closed pathway yet.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Now if you’re on a bike (or even rollerblades have been quite popular in these Nordic countries), then you’re in luck… you have some splendid infrastructure and plenty of companionship, with bikes seeming to be as plentiful as cars (if not moreso). One caveat is parking: good luck finding an open bike rack space. Fortunately there are plenty of walls to tie up to or just rest it against… while I understand that’s technically illegal: there’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">zero</i> enforcement. At worst: a bike advocacy group just recently started moving illegally parked bikes to the racks, where they’d inflate tires & do some other nice things. Seems like more encouragement to park illegally, in my opinion, but I appreciate the intent. But the problem is simply that there aren’t enough bike racks, despite there being a large bike rack at nearly <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">every single intersection </i>in the entire city.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Also- most bikes weren’t even locked… or at most they were locked in a manner that it seemed it was just to help keep them upright. I thought back to America, where bike locking is both an art and science, often involving multiple locks to accommodate both wheels and the frame, and even then riders tend to take a wheel & a seat with them. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I made my way to the Vor Frue Kirke. The interior isn’t anything too grand, but I definitely appreciated the sculptures lining its sides… it felt as much a museum as a church. The sculptures, by Bertel Thorvaldsen, were quite exquisite in their depictions of the disciples; and an English handout helped to describe the symbolism within each statue. At the front was the big man himself… well, the little man working for the big man: the statue of Jesus with open arms; an inspiration for the image of a loving Jesus copied by numerous other renditions around the world. ...And then <i>those </i>copies went on to inspire Buddy Christ. Evolution.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Just beyond the church was the Rundetårn (Round Tower), an aptly named classical observatory which is still in use today by amateur astronomers, making it the oldest continuously-used observatory in the world. But mostly its height & up/down journey are the draw by day… it’s very very round; hence the name. While most towers have spiral staircases, this tower is unique in that it’s a continuous ramp. I opted for the inner track, hugging tight to the core and taking on the steeper ascent, flying by all those folk hurled outward by the centripetal force of their travel. Well, OK maybe not quite to that extent… but most people didn’t seem as keen on the steeper climb as I was.<o:p></o:p></div>
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At the top a cloud had moved in and begun to drizzle, but the slight breeze was all it took to create a dry spot on one side of the tower. While the tourists quickly disappeared into their descent, I stayed outside and parked myself on a bench: sheltered from the drizzle and able to appreciate the tranquility of a light rain from the peace of being high above the rest of the city. It took just a few minutes for the rain to pass by before the sun was back out, illuminating the view of the urban landscape & low clouds with a lovely light.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Continuing northward I next reached Kongens Have, yet another palace set beside what is still a functioning military installation. The surrounding gardens were pretty, but mostly grass & trees – not too many flowers; or at least certainly not on the scale of many other European cities. The palace, itself, however, was a particularly pleasant experience. It seemed so tiny from the outside but really opened up within. The darker décor of the interior made it feel a bit more like a home to me and less that of a state building as yesterday’s palace tour had been. It was inundated with artwork: many rooms absolutely covered with a variety of different art pieces, from paintings to engravings to tapestries to sculptures to exquisite wares to ornate clocks. Even the loos were nice; the kind of place I wouldn’t mind dropping my pants for if I were king. Heck, even if I weren’t king. I was amused by the Mirror Room, which felt like something straight out of the 1980’s except for the obvious age of the mirrors & décor which was a bit more ornate than what you’d see in a typical 80’s home.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Beneath the palace was a legitimate treasury – indeed, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the </i>Danish treasury. While I’ve still seen more grand elsewhere, this was a respectable trove that certainly beat Sweden’s presentation. Among the first exhibits were a slew of small gold figurines which immediately prompted Aladdin’s “Prince Ali” to get stuck in my head. There was a room of alabaster and amber & then on into the vault: home of the crown jewels. I overheard a guide mention that the Danish royalty periodically pops in to grab some items for special occasions.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The next destination were the botanical gardens… the outdoors part was OK, but I’d missed the peak bloom of the roses and seemed to be a bit early for the peak bloom of other plants. The indoors areas were all closed for renovations, so that was a bummer. The grounds really look nice; had the greenhouses been open & the flowers been in full bloom: I’d say it could really be a lovely place. I did spot some edelweiss. I couldn't help but smile at thinking back to my time in Switzerland, where throngs of tourists crowded around each edelweiss flower and mobbed about for photos. Here, however, I was the sole person anywhere around.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I decided to try out the city’s Metro system for a hop over the Christianshavn. Having finished yesterday’s tower climb too late in the day to see the church, I’d hoped to make it over there in time to see the interior. Alas, I didn’t make it… but really it was just an excuse to try out the Metro. It’s driverless: that is, the trains are automated. Trains were coming every couple of minutes… pretty much as soon one left; another was just about to arrive. This contrasted with the S-Bahn headways of about 15-30 minutes, and also with Sweden’s peak period 2-minute headways and off-peak 12-minute headways (if I recall correctly).<o:p></o:p></div>
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Having missed the church, I hopped on Metro again for a one-stop ride into the center. It was time for some more falafel at RizRaz. This wasn’t really a dinner; more of a late lunch… even though dinner really didn’t seem that far off considering that I pretty much sat on my butt the rest of the evening. Well actually I just took a really slow pace through the shopping streets again, this time meandering into a Lego store to marvel at some of their constructs. I was also impressed by a video screen which would read whatever box you were holding on front of the scanner & then project a 3D image of its completed contents right there on top of the box you were holding… you could spin & rotate it, and at the same time the 3D imagery was animated: little guys would run out of a terminal, board a plane, and it’d take off! Here I am, having grown up in the world of 8 bits… and now I understand how my parents and grandparents felt having grown up in a world of even fewer bits than that, watching as I moved mish-mash of colors meant to represent an Italian plumber as he crushed all his goombas. Why an Italian would want to hurt his goombah, I do not know.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I finally met my friend for dinner… a dinner which was surely an interesting affair. So her job, to put it bluntly, is prostitution. More formally she has worked as an escort, which has enabled her to charge higher rates. We met by sheer happenstance when I was studying in Budapest and just bumbling about the city as a tourist. We got to talking and have been friends ever since. To this day I’m the only person she’s ever told of her line of work at the first meeting, so I can't help but feel a little proud of that. She actually doesn't really see many clients anymore: instead she now <i>runs </i>an escort business. Most of the clients prefer women in their young 20's, so as she nears 30 it was a better career move for her to move into management.<br />
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Through her I’ve actually become friends with a couple other girls who work or have worked all around the world; some still in the business and some now out of it. It became a fascinating subject to me, as I’m always interested in anything that happens out of sight of society… it’s why I work in infrastructure, professionally, and even when I'm relaxing by playing video games: I'm playing infrastructure-related games or if I'm doing a first-person shooter or RPG I'm almost always a support class.<br />
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Now for those curious: no, like most good friendships one doesn't mix business & friendship together… so it’s been a strictly friendly relationship; but one which has really developed my interest in the legal aspects & women’s rights issues relating to her industry.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Ultimately: I support prostitution as long as it is properly regulated, empowering the women to be their own business rather than forcing them into it. At the very least, I certainly support decriminalizing it as an offense that the woman commits (as many countries have done); but personally I don’t see why it can’t be permitted to some extent as is the case in Denmark, Netherlands, New Zealand, and a number of other European countries. Now, New Zealand takes it a bit far in that they legalize street walkers… I can see how that’d quickly sour public support for prostitution in that it’s more difficult to establish the bureaucracy to properly regulate it when you may not have a street address to work with; but I’m certainly intrigued by how central Europe has approached the issue in that they permit regulated brothels.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Now there are really two main issues to prostitution: women’s rights/safety and public health. To address the former: from what I understand, the regulated businesses of central Europe <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">empower</i> the women. Most are not forced into it; by and large it’s a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">choice</i> as a means to an end. That’s the important part: enabling women to make the choice. When they don’t have a choice; I absolutely agree that it’s a form of sexual abuse tantamount to rape. The same correlation can be made to any typical sexual encounter: if those involved don’t consent it’s rape; if they consent to it then it’s A-OK. So as far as I see it: if we prohibit consensual prostitution where the woman is there of her own free will… we might as well take the next small step and prohibit consensual sex of all forms while we’re at it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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To oppose prostitution solely on the grounds of it seeming immoral is something best left to a theocratic society… if we were a theocracy then fine; but we’re not. Even if we were a theocracy and fearing fire & brimstone wrath: what do you care, or ye without sin? No one is forcing you into it; you still have full right to be as pious as you can be – let God be the judge of us all; not you. Besides, the Bible is rife with prostitution… and there’s actually quite a bit of good to be said of it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So casting aside the moral argument, there’s certainly a valid public health element. Clearly, sex workers are at a higher risk of STDs and such, which plays in with the regulation aspect. I’m unfamiliar with each and every country, but my understanding is that many of the countries permitting regulated prostitution also require that the women submit to regular health screenings -- in some cases STD testing each week. Should they fail: they must be successfully treated in order to be permitted to return to work. Now that’s not the way in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">every </i>country… and even when it <i>is </i>that way there is still a risk; but the risks are mitigated to a great extent. My friend actually referenced a report published by Danish authorities which found that AIDS infection among Danish prostitutes was <i>less </i>than that of the general population.<o:p></o:p></div>
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In addition to empowering women, there’s certainly a fair amount of money to be made off taxing the industry. You know the old saying “sex sells”? Yeah, well tax it & let us get a slice of that pie (pun not initially intended). All this talk about legalizing drugs is well & good, but a case could be made that someone who gets high before work or before driving could be a risk to productivity & safety… but someone who gets laid before work or before going driving? I don’t know, but I’d say your typical man might actually be <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">more </i>productive and attentive.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So yeah… that’s that. Those are my opinions for now, at least, but it’s a subject I’m fascinated by & my opinions are always open to change should I learn of something that does or does not work. Hence why I was somewhat looking forward to this dinner, not just in that I hadn’t seen my friend in person for six years; but also because I had a chance to meet two more girls in the business. I had to inquire how they got into their line of work… hey, it’s a question I often ask <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">anyone</i> regardless of what they do. Also it was admittedly entertaining to think of how I'm going to write a blog post -- which I know my family reads -- about how I ate dinner with three prostitutes.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So my friend first got into it when she was 20 and ran out of money to pay for school. She was a knock-out then and could make more money in four hours than she could working a full week in any other job. Now to be fair, she’s still a knock-out now… but a client hearing an age of 26 is oftentimes immediately repulsed even before setting eyes upon her, so as I said: she’s a bit more in the business management side of things now and also has a more “proper” business job during normal hours; but she still works as a high-class escort… one client hiring her for a single night pays as much as I earn in a two-week paycheck.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Another girl was a cute 21-yr old brunette who was also a student. I laughed when she said that and responded that yeah, that's the usual story… I phrased it more as a test to see how she reacted, and from her response I feel pretty confident she’s following the same path as my friend; legitimately a student and attracted by the economics of easy money doing something she enjoys. She was a slight touch heavy for a European girl but would still be thin by American standards, and you’d <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">never</i> guess at her job from the look of her: she was about as innocent-looking a person as you’d ever lay eyes on; even almost like a geeky literati sort of girl. I definitely got the feeling she’d stop working in the industry as soon as she finished college; or at least she’s one I’d definitely hope to get more out of her degree than some others have… this world just didn’t seem like it was for her; she seemed too nice.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The other wasn’t the strongest at English, but being 22 and looking like a clone of a young Uma Thurman is one sure-fire way to succeed in the business. She was the second girl I’ve ever talked to who entered the business through more nefarious means: her ex-husband had forced her into it. Despite her assertions of being Danish, from her accent I highly doubt she actually was… I didn’t get a clear story nor did I prod for one, but I’d guess that her “husband” was a trafficker & she hails from the former Soviet Bloc; the accent was absolutely Eastern European of some sort, though I could not quite place where.<br />
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She assured me that she works by her own accord now, but I honestly didn’t get the warm fuzzy feeling that that was entirely true… she definitely didn’t seem to have the same interest and openness in discussing it as others, but it’s possibly the language barrier or some shyness arising from psychological issues just made her simply not wish to discuss it… my friend later assured me that their business strives to ensure every single woman is well-treated and there by choice. So I hope that’s true, but while I support prostitution in general: there’s no denying that there can be a darker side to it… and even arguably more “progressive” approaches still aren’t without their failures.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Afterward I once again took a slow stroll through town as I made my way back to my room, albeit this time missing Tivoli’s sound & light show… though I admittedly didn’t make an effort given that I expected it’d once again be the exact same thing.<o:p></o:p></div>Bossihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15032063076539453859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2324685500377872584.post-20538203178834010182011-06-19T23:55:00.000-07:002011-06-29T16:31:24.444-07:00DK - Copenhagen<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>June 19<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Sunday<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Denmark<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Copenhagen<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span><o:p></o:p></u></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">SLAM SLAM SLAM<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">Oh how I wish the cleaning staff could be quieter out there.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">From 10 until 11 in the morning, despite my best attempts it was a struggle to get that extra hour of sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Granted, I should have probably just gotten up and gone out to explore and appreciate the city… but so far none of these Scandinavian cities really had that “wow” factor that forced me to get out of bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like I said before: you can’t just wander and appreciate the streets like you can in the cities of the more southern reaches of Europe; it’s really just museum hopping more than anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s OK, but only if there are good museums… and Stockholm had somewhat jaded me on that experience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Admittedly, there were a lot of places in Stockholm that I didn’t have time to visit; but all-in-all it really wasn’t a city that floored me with glee.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">My first destination was the royal palace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, there are like a dozen of those in Copenhagen alone, so I guess I’ll best describe it as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the </i>royal palace – the central castle of the city, Christiansborg Slot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Its exterior was nothing exciting… just some generally unadorned stone facades and a rather drab tower, and like many European palaces: its internal grounds functioned as a parking lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I went inside really not expecting too much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I was more than pleased when the interior proved to exceed my expectations.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">The interior wasn’t necessarily the most beautiful, the more prestigious, the more luxurious, or the most absolutist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it had some pretty paintings and tapestries… with the former: I’m rather fond of the Danish style of painting portraits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By and large I tend to cruise right past most portraits, but Danish artists seem to make them a bit more lifelike and less like they could fill in as a zombie in next year’s Halloween flicks.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 198.75pt;">I’d initially walked right past the tapestries of the main hall without hesitation, but as I returned: one of them caught my eye.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They all told the history of Denmark in rather colorful detail (I mean that literally: they were almost cartoonish; but in an aesthetic sort of way), but it was the one largely covering the 20<sup>th</sup> century which I found really interesting… it was ringed by various historical figureheads and the main portion of the tapestry largely covered WWII, the Cold War, and miscellaneous everything else… much of which still indirectly related to WWII or the Cold War.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I stared at a snippet having to do with World War I – you know, the “War to End All Wars” which was a dozen wars ago – I drew a particular fascination with how the gas mask-wearing soldiers were depicted… they reminded me immediately of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mad</i> magazine’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Spy vs. Spy</i> series, leading me to wonder if the two spies are just depictions of these very soldiers.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Just beside the main hall is the Green Room, so-named because it’s green.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A sign mentioned that it functioned as a ready room for performers, speakers, and such who were about to enter into the main hall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It made me wonder if this was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the </i>Green Room that gave name to such a term when working with events, used to describe the readying room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or maybe countless other European palaces already have such a colored room and the Danes were just copying that arrangement (if so, I’d envision Versailles as having inspired that trend… seems like a reasonable guess).<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">One other thing that really made me enjoy the castle’s interior was the signs for each room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d mentioned this before: the manner in which you sign the history can really make a difference in how one appreciates it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Danes did a great job at concisely providing stories and interesting information for each room, whereas the Swedes were a bit to-the-point… the difference being something like “This is the Aquaman Room, built in 1901” versus “The Aquaman Room, built in 1901, was used as the bedroom for Aquaman’s father.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During construction, crews found crystals that would later be incorporated into the building of the Fortress of Solitude.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The room features a merfolk décor, with the mermaid on the far wall wresting Neptune’s trident from his hands, representing the rise of women’s rights among the undersea peasantry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was in the southeast corner where Peter Parker was first bitten by a radioactive spider.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">The signing was also generally spaced out across numerous small signs in each room rather than one large big sign, drawing all the tourists to crowd around it so that 3 people are reading and 20 people are staring at the backs of the people reading.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So the Danes got another win for smart signing arrangements.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, the signing did miss a few things that I’d have preferred to get a bit more info on… namely: most of the paintings didn’t have any definition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While most were just portraits & I’d soon enough begun to recognize most of the individuals from room-to-room, there were some lovely paintings of what I assume to be historical events or religious depictions, but I had little more to go off of except the occasional Swedish flag adorning a burning ship.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">The nearby Teatermuseet – the Theatre Museum – was a place I accidentally ended up at as I attempted to find the entrance to the Parliament.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d colored the Theatre Museum blue in my guidebook, indicating a place I could stop by if I ended up there; but not a place I’ll go out of my way to get to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since I was there: I went in and checked it out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once again, I was pleasantly surprised… but again, I hadn’t been expecting much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whenever I approach something with low expectations: it’s easy for me to leave with a high opinion of something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This museum was small – indeed, when I first entered I thought it was just a toilet until I realized I could go through the closed double-doors – but it was also an entire theatre up for exploration.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The theatre itself was tiny, with the stage & backstage seeming the same size as the entire seating area… but it was just neat to be able to roam about the area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a fun diversion and free since I’d bought the Copenhagen Card… but unless you’re a Theater major with a strong passion for your work: it’d be tough for me to recommend it unless you have that card.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I next attempted to get in on a tour to see the Parliament – only viewable by tour – as I’d spotted a sign that said there was a tour at 2pm… I read the sign seconds before the churches began sounding off that the time was 2pm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I inquired at the castle’s ticket office how to get into Parliament and learned that the entry is on the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">other </i>side of the building… so yeah, thanks <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lonely Planet</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve always had amazing fortune with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lonely Planet</i>, but their northern Europe guides have been… well, crap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Places are incorrectly located on the maps, places that are tricky to find even with a map aren’t detailed well enough (or at all), and there are countless typos… a far cry from the great quality of their guides for southern and eastern Europe.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">So around I go at a brisk pace, rolling in just as the tour was starting to move through the entry area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I attempted to nonchalantly join in with the non-English tour, but one of the staffmembers at a desk spotted I didn’t have a sticker to join the group… bah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Turns out the tour bookings are free, but you have to claim one & this group was full… and it was also the last tour until next week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bah.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">So next up: T<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">ø</span>jhusmuset, the armory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Half of it was closed off for remodeling – the portion dedicated to hand-to-hand combat – so admission had been waived… not that it mattered since, again, I had the Copenhagen Card.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What was still open was quite impressive – a collection of artillery spanning from medieval cannons to later artillery to modern rocket launchers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was amused at an American warhead which had the warning on it “Caution: before installing warhead or safe & arm device refer to maintenance manual.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were a number of Allied and Axis weapons; I bemused how many were pointed at each other before they reached their current positions side-by-side.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I made my way eastward into Christianshavn, grabbing what would function as my lunch for the day at Lagkagehuset – claimed within <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lonely Planet </i>to be the best bakery in town (well… a local bakery chain).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got a danish (not the name they gave it) as well as cookie (the clerk gave me two because she said they were small… despite being the same large size as all the others).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cookies had a bit of chocolate in the cookie mix in addition to chocolate chips and, I believe, almonds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m really not a fan of chocolate in the cookie mix, so I was a bit repulsed by the smell of it… but it tasted quite good, nonetheless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The danish was amazing… I’d say it’d be a very low number of those before someone managed to acquire diabetes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only problem of it all was there was really a lacking in tasty Scandinavian cuisine, leading me to seriously consider making dessert a staple part of my diet for as long as I’m in the Land of Danes and Danishes.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">The Vor Frelsers Kirke was nearby, including a spire which is well-worth the climb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You go around and around and around a spiral staircase, often pausing to work your way around those on their descent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a normal walk at first; then you start going through some rectangular bends as you traverse through the still-functioning bell loft (I managed to not be standing right next to them by about 30 seconds… win), then you go outside and start spiraling up again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You keep going up right up as the staircase tapers narrower and narrower, literally running out of stair as you reach the top: it narrows to about a foot-wide when it just disappears into the spiral’s metal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s an easy ascent; less so when you’re coming down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As there were some drizzles roaming about here and there amidst the sun, the stairs were wet, narrow, and a tight fit past tourists – many bedecked with large backpacks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Add in that a slightly low railing is keeping you from a faster descent & that I’m trying to protect my camera and you end up with an experience that certainly got my heart beating a bit faster.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I figured the higher blood pressure would help push through some of the clogs that my lunch had induced.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Nearby was Christiana: a couple decades ago – at the height of the beatnik / hippie movement – a bunch of that very subculture tore into an abandoned military facility and called it home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’ve been squatting ever since, largely functioning as its own government independent of the rest of Denmark.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With the government deeming it a “social experiment” and by-and-large giving it temporary status, it seems the government tends to keep its hands off other than the occasional presence of riot police.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apparently it’s still a touchy subject, with increasingly conservative governments proposing to take a tougher approach on evicting and closing the community.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I entered somewhat unsure what to expect, as I walked in shoulder-to-shoulder with khaki-wearing tourists: retirees with camera and goofy hats, families with kids in tow, and backpackers with dreads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That last one seemed more appropriate: the type of backpacker where you’re not sure if they’re hosteling backpackers with day jobs or essentially homeless people who are in constant transit.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Christiana is decked out with large “no photographs” signs and graffiti amid all the other graffiti, which is really quite unfortunate considering there was some truly phenomenal work I’d have loved to capture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the restriction on photography wasn’t to protect the artwork – indeed, I’d wager that would go against the very philosophy of the residents – but to let the residents themselves remain as anonymous as they can.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For good reason.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The smell of cloves was strong in the air, with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">every single table</i> in the town center being occupied by someone doing some form of drugs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In most cases they were just rolling their own weed, but there were a few openly using heroin or cocaine, despite (per my understanding) all being officially illegal per Christiana’s local government… but I’d gathered police wasn’t something they put much effort into.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">This was definitely the place that the teenagers and 20-somethings ended up at, joining alongside adults that never grew up; both genders sporting dreadlocks as the staple hair style and most people looking like they hadn’t bathed in years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bravo, peaceniks: way to push forward the peace movement by doing absolutely nothing with your life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is why I’m repulsed by peace… its seemingly most dedicated of advocates are such wastes of human life, rotting away day by day. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Later in the day I’d share my experiences with a dad from New York who wanted to visit the area with his ~10-yr old son, saying it’s an interesting place with some beautiful artwork & definitely a place to see, but you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really</i> have to be comfortable with your kid seeing a lot of drugs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have no idea if they ultimately made it there or if he opted to start their nighttime Tivoli visit a bit sooner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m somewhat leaning toward the latter.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">The rest of Christianshavn was OK.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of the streets were ho-hum, but the walk along the small canal was certainly a highlight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d definitely suggest taking this route if you’re in the area visiting the church or Christiana.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I continued my canal tour by next crossing to the western shores and heading to Nyhavn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When you see pictures of Copenhagen: you’re probably seeing Nyhavn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For good reason: the canal’s frontage had undoubtedly the most scenic and colorful buildings in the city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d definitely recommend walking the southwestern side of the canal: you get the best view of the prettiest buildings (the buildings on the northeast side) and have room to maneuver about (the crowds on the northeast side are thick and plentiful).<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Continue northward I made it to Amalienborg Plats, site of another palace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was late in the day, however, and the palace had already closed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The plaza itself was nice, with tourists nabbing photos of the patrolling guards and traffic periodically workings its way through the rotary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t help but laugh at how rigidly the soldiers moved… this is really true for pretty much all guards which have a bit more of a ceremonial role than legitimate defense (not to say they won’t defend if they need to): the guards all patrol such a stringent and timed march that a would-be invader could just time it so that they invade while the guards’ backs are turned.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">One of the vehicles to traverse the plaza was a limousine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I nabbed a few photos before espying the phone number on the side of what ended up being a rental.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was duped, but learned otherwise with enough time to spare to watch the rest of the tourist hordes flock toward it, hoping to nabs photos of royalty or to at least say “look how close I was!” … no realizing that someone thought it’d be awesomely fun to screw with tourists’ heads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It reminded me of our “Famous for a Day” prank back home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At least the tourists who didn’t get it will get to go home with fond memories!<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">From the plaza I looked up and saw a massive doom cloud of angry gray doom approaching from the west.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not knowing Copenhagen’s weather patterns, I decided it might be prudent to route myself a bit nearer to transit lines, just in case I might deem them necessary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fortunately it didn’t rain… even more fortunate because I soon became distracted and parted from my intended proximity to transit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ended up walking back along the Str<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">ø</span>get shopping street, a pedestrianized area replete with brand name after brand name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s the place to go if you’re addicted to shopping & want to buy things that you could buy in any major city, but otherwise it’s just a place to go to people watch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Works for me: the sun was toying with the scattered clouds, I was armed with a cheap carton of tasty strawberries, and it was a very slow ambling back to my hotel room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was my most <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bel far niente</i> sort of moment; the appreciation of doing nothing but appreciate the world.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">As I strolled past the east side of Tivoli I admired a children’s playground within its fence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There weren’t any playthings that were overwhelming different or unique, but for some reason I had this immense urge to run in and start playing… I just had this mental retroversion back to being a wee one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Curse you, societal norms! <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I’d gotten in touch with a friend of mine who was staying in Copenhagen, but having limited access to a phone (without paying an arm and a leg), I decided it’d just be easier to go out and try to meet her at the address she gave me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I journeyed out there armed with my Copenhagen Card and the assumption that it let me ride the S-Bahn commuter rail for free.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one ever checked, so that worked out well enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was up near Nordhavn where I knocked on her door & learned she was busy… not wanting to distract her, I left back for my hotel room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We later worked out that we’d meet up the next evening for dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally- some socializing!<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">I returned in time to catch the music & light show at Tivoli again, noticing that both the music and lights didn’t change the slightest (other than being an hour brighter as it was now a work night; the park closed earlier).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once again the music piece that they used – which I couldn’t quite place – ended with a string of notes that reminded me of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">E.T.</i> or maybe <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Back to the Future</i>; definitely a Spielberg flick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It goes right up there with one of the churches playing <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">almost </i>the five notes from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Close Encounters of the Third Kind</i>… except their 2<sup>nd</sup> to last note was a bit off and the last note was totally different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But so close.<o:p></o:p></div>Bossihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15032063076539453859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2324685500377872584.post-76835999435346785572011-06-18T23:55:00.000-07:002011-06-29T16:31:24.445-07:00DK - Copenhagen<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>June 18<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Saturday<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Denmark<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Copenhagen<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span><o:p></o:p></u></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Sleeping in is nice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My train didn’t depart until 12:30-ish and I was a short walk from the train station, so I took full opportunity of my hotel room my staying in until 11:50 – ten minutes before the latest checkout time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Soon enough I was on board the train and on my way westward.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">The train ride was pretty nonchalant, with my brain attuned to my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lonely Planet</i> guide and my laptop most of the trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So while I <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">admittedly wasn’t paying much attention out the windows, it was just past Lund when I happened to spot my first wind turbines; the first sign that I’m finally reaching the lands of windmills.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was just past Malmö, passing over the bridge, when I spotted a whole legion of wind turbines out on the water.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">It was also on this bridge when I mused about the simplicity of it all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here there have been centuries of hostility between Danes and Swedes, with countless lives lost crossing between the two lands & so much blood shed exchanging the territories back and forth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And here I’m on a train full of Danes, Swedes, and assorted other folk making the crossing without the least bit of ill-intent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ahh, what would their ancestors think…<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">But who knows; I don’t view history is consisting of bouts of war; rather, I see history is full of occasional outbreaks of peace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There have been periods of peace far longer than what Europe is currently experiencing; and even longer between Danes and Swedes… who’s to say we’re not just in another lull?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The loss of power from the monarchies has likely brought down much of the politicking common to so many past wars; but who’s to say the gang mentality of democracy is much better?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I first unloaded my gear at my nearby hotel, the Cab Inn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s so-named as in “cabin”; as in a boat… and wow: the rooms are tiny – definitely not worth the money unless you dearly desire privacy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My first<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>task was to head right back outside and do laundry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hadn’t done laundry since Reykjavik and at the moment: proper sanitation would be a good thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So began my quest for laundry. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was first directed out to some place further north, but another person at reception offered a place just near the train station… along the legendary Istedgade.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">First I wanted to load up on cash and chow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alas, my chow required a PIN.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bank in the train station also required a PIN, parting from Sweden’s need for only my passport.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried another bit o’ food and once again required a PIN.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So this could be problematic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But voila: a credit card payphone not requiring a PIN!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Five minutes later (well maybe ten since it took me five minutes to figure out the phone) I had a new PIN… tested it out at 7-Eleven then then the ATM and wooooo I was a rich man!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">So Istedgade, running just west from the train station, would be Copenhagen’s red light district.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apparently it was quite the street back in the day… but it’s certainly taken on an odd take since then.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I’ll save that for later: by day it was just a bit of an uncomfortably journey which prompted me to fit my camera into my backpack on the way back.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">My search for the “elmegade” was complicated in that I’d assumed that word was Danish for “laundry”; not immediately heeding that the word was actually the name of the street I’d first been given.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But my search for the nearer one continued. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A shopkeeper directed me westward from where my hotel’s reception had marked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then a guy at the Turkish Airlines desk directed me back eastward, exactly to where reception had notated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>None of these seemed to be working.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stopped in at a kebab shop and the clerk just seemed confused, despite speaking English… I think this was because I still hadn’t figured out that “elmegade” doesn’t mean “laundry”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fortunately, one of the customers – who looked a lot like a dude from Improv back in DC – directly me precisely to the right spot, located on Skydebanegade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It had closed 45 minutes ago.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I was on a search for laundry; I needed to do laundry; dagnabit I was going to get it done… off to Elmegade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was when I realized it was a street.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fortunately, a bus took me straight there and I’d arrived at the bus stop just in time to catch it up there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I broke a 1000 DKK bill on a bottle of soda… that’s like $200.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With change in hand and a couple helpers in the laundry: I was soon on a roll with getting some clean clothes.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I slowly meandered back, nabbing dinner at RizRaz to complement my not-too-distant hotdog from 7-Eleven.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let me say that RizRaz has AMAZING falafel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously… when I bit into it, it was like a tasty tasty delightful happiness of tastiness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The rest of the food was quite tasty, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My return stroll took me by Tivoli, a 19<sup>th</sup> century amusement park that is still kind of awesome… except for its noted lack of entrances.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I really wish they’d open one up on the east… ahh well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I made my way into Tivoli as darkness set in, arriving just in time to catch a water & light show fifteen minutes before closing.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Following up such a classical outing: I next went back to the red light district to see what it was like at night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was… interesting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It feels </span>dangerous and uncomfortable for the first few blocks but becomes nicer & gentrified about 10 blocks or so in (which isn’t far).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It included a mix of sex shops, strip clubs, and both cheap & nice restaurants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was amused at how many <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">families</i> were looking in the sex shop windows… including one father with 3 young children who seemed particularly intrigued by the wares in a gay sex shop’s window.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I also loved the two families posing their small children on two lions on each side of the blackened door to a strip club, replete with large images of topless women all over its frontage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was an entertaining experience, but I’d explored it with my point & shoot backup rather than be so promiscuous with a large SLR.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Speaking of promiscuous: I was propositioned about a dozen times; and not a looker among them!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Overall the surge of bar-goers helped make the area feel <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">safer</i> at night than by day… there certainly aren’t too many areas that can claim such a credit.<o:p></o:p></div>Bossihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15032063076539453859noreply@blogger.com0