Oslo, Norway

Visiting Norway most definitely appealed to my inner child, for their emphasis on vikings, dragons, trolls, and fantastical lands left me ecstatic throughout the entire duration of our stay. Despite its ridiculously awesome value of Norse mythology, however, Oslo remains one of the most expensive cities in the world--an aspect of which my wallet was reluctant to acknowledge. I bought sixty-five British pounds worth of Norwegian Krones, which converted to approximately five hundred fifty units of currency. The enormous values in which Norway's currency is expressed also made everything seem ridiculously expensive, especially when I paid seventy Krones for a McDonald's meal. I never expected to pay seventy units of anything for McDonald's. On a side note, I never fully realized how small a Big Mac really is. I was displeased to know that my horrifically gluttonous appetite would only subsist off of mediocre McDonald's meals for the next day and a half. We managed, however, to save enough money for a traditional meal during our final night's stay. In fact, we only ate McDonald's once. Allow me to recount for you the entirety of our meals:

- McDonald's (70 Kr).

-Two pieces of toast--one lathered with a dollop of jam and another providing a fine pallet for a cold piece of cheese (40 Kr).

-Lefse bread (25 Kr).

-The traditional Norwegian Christmas dinner. The meal consisted of a medium-sized sausage, a variation of meat loaf, two cutlets of virtual fat, some type of syrup-saturated prunes, purple cabbage, sauerkraut, potatoes, lettuce, and tomatoes. I spoiled everything, probably, by dousing it all with an unnecessary heavy drizzle of Tobasco sauce. I couldn't resist when I saw the red bottle. (175 Kr).

I wish I had been able to experience their notorious seafood dishes, but perhaps I'll save that for when I visit the fjords. The night we arrived, or the day rather--for it was only four o'clock but the sun had completely disappeared, the city welcomed us with brisk weather. We managed to find our hostel rather quickly, thanks to Talia--who had thoroughly researched our entire itinerary prior to arrival, and proceeded to situate ourselves until we felt comfortable leaving. We walked around Oslo for the remainder of the night. The city's urban development surprised me the most. I never expected Norway to boast such tall high-rises but Oslo's business sector was full of them. It was quite a modern city to say the least, but it also had its historical city center. Most of the streets were laid out in that European-esque flagstone, or that mystical cobble-stone that everyone familiarly fantasizes about when they dream of quaint European towns. The buildings were beautiful and although I neglected to note their age, I sensed a range from the eighteenth to twentieth century. We went back to the hostel later that night, exhausted from our day of travel (why does the mere process of travelling induce so much exhaustion?) and discussed a topic inspired by one of the magical proclivities of Norway: dragons. Our avid discussion lulled us to sleep until we were awoken by the light of the warm Norwegian sun. Kidding, we were awoken by an alarm clock.

We managed to pack a day's worth of activities into a relentless morning. Our itinerary consisted of the Viking Ship Museum, the Folklore Museum, and Vigeland Sculpture Park. We reached all of these locations by the extremely efficient Oslo bus system. I think the twenty four hour bus passes were the best investment we made the entire trip. The viking ship museum was incredible. The building itself, I thought, was quite an innovative design. It was laid out in the form of a large cross, wherein the main wing displayed a nearly pristine viking ship and the adjoining wings held two ships in far worse condition--especially one whose hull was almost entirely deteriorated. The museum also featured a collection of artifacts from the ships' excavation sites. The detail that went into all of the wood carvings was incredible; even the ships' masts and sterns were intricately carved.

From the ship museum we walked down the street to the folklore museum, which had to be the most engaging part of the trip. Here, several viking villages were recreated. We were able to walk around and pretend we were actual vikings, which we happily did. Two Norwegian women reenacted oppressed viking bakers as they gave us warm lefse bread from their small hovel. The lefse bread was good, but not as good as asiago. From the village we proceeded to the indoor section of the museum, which featured a variety of Norwegian antiques from across the centuries. What especially interested me was the presentation on Norwegian fifties culture, which was closely akin to that of America's. I think I merely liked dancing to the jukebox in the corner. As we continued through the museum, the displays became more and more grueling, in my opinion anyway. The basement held an array of glass display cases that suspended various Norwegian cultural attire. It became quite monotonous after a while and I believe the only thing that could've wrenched me from that drowsy boredom was what came next.

I've never been to a more obscure setting than the Vigeland Sculpture Park. After entering the wrought iron gates, we were ushered across a bridge--the sides of which supported a variety of naked stone sculptures. Most of them were naked men performing various acrobatics with young naked children. Some of the sculptures were actually quite discomforting. The bridge ended at a large fountain whose sides were adorned with copper templates showing more naked children. The center of the fountain featured a group of naked men supporting a large bowl from where, I'm presuming, water is supposed to spout in theory. After trekking the entire length of an adjacent staircase, we observed the enormous, obelisk-like pillar of crushed naked people. Yes, this pillar consisted of, I'm assuming, one hundred intertwined nude people. It was outrageous, but interesting.

I wish I could've spent more time in Norway itself. I'd like to go back and revisit the countryside in the summer; perhaps see the beautiful fjords, but I think the day's visit yielded great results no less.

Apologies

I won't make any promises--seeing as I've been quite an unreliable informant and have egregiously failed to uphold the original intentions for my blog--but I'll try to write as much as I can this week before I depart for Norway this Friday...that's right, Norway. I've done a lot of things and have been a lot of places since my last post, but have also been overwhelmed, unnecessarily, with school work--which I suppose is the primary reason for my lack of writing. Nevertheless, I'd love nothing more than to get these recent experiences down on paper (computer) and share them with my THIRTEEN followers! By the way, take a look at this tuna/mayo/red onion jacket potato with a side salad I purchased for only two pounds:

Bonfire Night

"Remember remember the fifth of November?" Well, I certainly will; especially considering the astonishing firework displays the British put on to commemorate the day Guy Fawkes attempted to blow up British Parliament in 1605. Partaking in bonfire night gave V for Vendetta, for me, a different significance; not in the sense that it made the film more comprehensible, but, rather, gave it more meaning. I was surprised to discover the lack of British people who'dactually seen the film. Despite their enthusiasm towards the traditional holiday, many had never even heard of the movie. I can actually recall viewing, prior to coming to England, a brief documentary on bonfire night--or Guy Fawkes Night as Wikipedia terms it. I vaguely remember watching clips of people roll barrels around a giant flaming pyre, on top of which sat a burning Guy Fawkes manikin. Contrary to what you might see on television, however, there were unfortunately no tribal-like dances or effigy conflagrations--no matter how much I longed to see one. I was also disappointed in the lack of those ominous-looking Guy Fawkes masks. I expected to see a sea of white faces with wry smiles but instead, among the bright explosions of those phenomenal lighting displays, I observed a mass of ordinary faces who were just as captivated as I was. It recalled that awe-inspiring, tearful, final scene in V for Vendetta wherein the cloned multitudes divest themselves of their masks and watch, in rapt attention, their most prominent legislative structure be demolished by V's subterranean, fertilizer-laden plastic explosives. Fortunately, the firework displays were in no way related to any insidious terrorist attack. They were wonderful no less, and I'm glad I had the opportunity to participate in the tradition twice, once on Friday and once again on Sunday.

Futility in Fashion

Disclaimer: This post is a useless snippet and waste of blog space, but the recent encounter with my reflection compelled me to write about the sickly image that stared back at me.

Earlier today, I chatted with my sister and discussed the highly-prioritized British realm of fashion. I didn't actually acknowledge this revelation until I verbalized it, but living in England has made me care less about what I wear than before I came here. Don't, however, think it's indifference that's forsaken my fashion standards; it's the sense of unattainability I feel as I observe the vast wardrobes adorned by all of these intentionally disheveled beatniks. First of all, my unfortunate inability to grow substantial facial hair inhibits me from resembling any type of Kerouac-figure, and second, I am constantly forced to squander my money between two things: food or clothes. Which would you pick? The future of an all-comfortable and contented wardrobe seems, to me, unrealistic and, therefore, I give up. I'll have to remain satisfied with my generic, stone-like attire.

Again, until Tuesday.

I realize I haven't posted in several days. I'll have been to Hadrian's Wall by Tuesday, a visit that will most certainly yield a longer post than this one. It's not that nothing exciting hasn't happened, I just don't think anyone wants to read about the aimless gallivanting that has characterized much of my time here. There are, however, a few points I'd like to bring up. I noticed, and am overjoyed, that I have accrued several more readers, an aspect of this blog that fuels encouragement and support. I also wanted to discuss a blatant topic that, I'm sure, everyone's thought about at some point. The country of England, as in the actual size, is small enough, I believe, to fit within the state of Georgia. It's a phenomenon, then, that this island seems to contain such a rich history that seems, to me, much more vast than the United States'. Granted, England obviously is a much older country, but it's not only the history that seems more dense, but the geography of its culture. There seems to be just as many distinctive cultural groups here as there are in the United States--which is nearly fifty times its size. I listened to my roommate the other day as he described the various dialects throughout England: Geordie, Brummie, Cockney, Scouse, Welsh, Scottish, and so on, all contained within a relatively small country. I don't know how else to expand on that, but I do want you to observe the great, golden man I found crawling on the wall of the civic center:

Romeo and Juliet

Last night I attended a production of Romeo and Juliet put on by the Royal Shakespeare Company. They hail from the Bard's hometown in Stratford Upon Avon and visit, annually, Newcastle in early Fall. I saw--for free, might I add--the first play in their Autumn series; this includes Romeo & Juliet, King Lear, Antony & Cleopatra, and Hamlet. The play featured in the Theatre Royal, a magnificent, Georgian building that seems central to the historical Haymarket district in Newcastle. We sat in the second from the last row in the precipitous third-balcony region, towering considerably high above the stage and the rest of the audience. I once thought that I was in the steepest theater when I saw a play, in the last row, in the Imperial Theater in Augusta, GA. These seats, however, proved me wrong. But again, they were generously given to us English majors free of charge, so I won't complain. I wonder how many other perks the humanities department offers.

I realize it's almost sacrilegious to profess an apathy towards Shakespeare, but he's just never done it for me; it could just be my complete ignorance, or incompetence for that matter. This particular production, however, was the most stimulating play of which I've ever attended. The opening scene, where all of the men are biting their thumbs and such, was so intense and quite abrupt. There were pyrotechnics involved and lots of slashing around with swords. It was...intense, for lack of a better word. I was almost certain the play would take place in the traditional, sixteenth-century context, seeing as the characters were outfitted with traditional dress, but as several other characters ran on stage wielding active fire extinguishers I knew I was in for something different. Moreover, Romeo and Juliet wore complete modern clothing as well--Romeo, a hoodie and Juliet, some skinny jeans and a blouse. Their families and friends, however, remained in traditional attire.

My favorite part, probably because it resembled so closely the dance sequence in A Knight's Tale, was the scene wherein Romeo meets Juliet at the ball. The scene took on an almost tribal-like dance appearance. Most of the cast ran around in a spastic cyclone while Juliet belly danced in the middle...crazy.

The end of the play was surprising as well. As Romeo and Juliet lay dead, both of their families and several police officers appear on stage, all dressed in modern clothing, as if all of this was some alternate fantasy dreamed by two flippant teens. To me, the end suggested that this tragedy, and Shakespeare himself, is just as relevant to contemporary society as it was four hundred years ago. The familiar story of impassioned love, familial strife, vengeance, obsession, sacrifice, etc. remains applicable to our chaotic modern age, and it is Shakespeare who still manages to suspend our preoccupations with another one of his classic tales. It's hard for me, as I'm sure it is for many, to perceive the immense influence Shakespeare has had on the collective of literature, films, story-telling, etc. The basis of his plays and poems have historically become ingrained in post-sixteenth century societies to the point where current artists unconsciously draw from the same themes and subject matter. I suppose this is a perfect example of the intertexuality we see studied so often in literature, it still amazes me!

Long-awaited Post.

Wow, it's been quite a while since I've posted, and I'd be lying if I said it was because of a lack of time. I've had plenty of available time to write but have also been deliberately prolonging the next post because I dread how lengthy it will be. The past ten days have been dense with novelty, excitement, stress, anxiety, etc. Admittedly, I won't be able to write a whole cohesive exposition detailing my stay thus far, so I'll do the next best thing: bullets! I'll discuss the topics that have been ailing me and stimulating me whenever they choose to pop into my mind:

-Tynemouth: The group of us Americans made our first trip last week to the lovely coastal village of Tynemouth. It is roughly twenty miles away from Newcastle and well worth the journey. By train, we traversed a great deal of residential area to meet our friend Kathryn at the train station, who then took us by car (which is still, for me, quite an unnerving experience--careening in an out of traffic all on the left side!) to meet our friend Mark, who then proceeded to take us to a small fish-n-chips shop because they believed it to be the best quality fish-n-chips in the area; and, to my knowledge, it was. We all ordered heavily battered cod and French fries, which, in American terms, is the said staple of the British diet. It was delicious and even though I could feel the calories and fat coursing through my blood stream, I managed to conquer the rather large pile of fried awesomeness. Oh, I forgot to mention, they also served complementary tea and buttered bread, which I thought was amazing, especially when the only beverage I had to resort to was hot, steaming tea to wash the battered fish down my throat.

After our meal, we proceeded to Tynemouth and walked around the priory, which is situated atop a promontory overlooking the North Sea. Everything was green, lush, and the waves of the North Sea, as I expected, looked dark, choppy, and capable of accommodating a multitude of viking ships. We walked along an extremely long stretch of stone pier that rewarded us with an old lighthouse at the end. Upon reaching the lighthouse, and being, perhaps, a quarter mile out into the ocean, a set of formidable rain clouds decided to migrate our way and relinquish their hull of cold rain upon our already freezing bodies. It wasn't until we returned to the priory, however, that a proper storm had chosen us as the day's victims. I couldn't have been more pleased, however, because dismal weather is, for me, ideal weather and only contributed to the sense of magic and wonder that I evinced from the ubiquitous stone architecture and rolling-green landscape. Three of our group decided to take refuge in Kathryn's car while the remaining three--Kathryn, Aaron, and I--chose to continue with our initial intention of running into the ocean. Yes, it was freezing and raining, but it made me, all the more, want to dive into that dark, ghastly water. We didn't actually dive, however. We pranced down a long flight of steps to a beach where we discarded our shoes and only dipped our toes into the breaking waves. But we did it with a great, looming castle over our heads. How many people can say that?

My experience at Tynemouth: remarkable.

-School: I've been in classes for two days and nothing, so far, strikes me as unusual or different from the American school curriculum or general student behavior. I'm enrolled in only literature classes, which everyone knows requires a good deal of debate and discussion. As usual, there is still a lack of response in the classroom when the professor prods us with a seemingly answerable question. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, everyone's human, but for some reason I was possessed with the notion that British students contained some superior amount of sophistication over me. In a sense, however, they do. When they are forced to answer questions, or merely discuss a subject, their manner is extremely sagacious and very tactful. They're well-spoken, unlike me, and carry a calm composure throughout their speech. Needless to say, their eloquence could also be attributed to how I associate the British accent with sophistication, aristocracy, librarians, and wizards. Who knows?

As I said, I'm taking all literature classes, which obviously require many novels to be read. I believe I've bought twelve already...yes, twelve (I just counted). Twelve may not seem like a lot (what am I talking about, of course it's a lot) but I have to buy even more. I believe there's yet seven more books waiting to drain the money from my poor, abused wallet. What's more, the novels are dense, thick, Dickens! Yes, Dickens. I've read Dickens but not like this. Two Dickens novels in one class, jeez. Dombey and Son takes on the appearance of a large brick. Evidently, my preconceptions regarding the British school curriculum were false. I foresee long nights of rigorous eye strain and hand-crippling writing (even though I type opposed to that old pen and paper nonsense). It's quite overwhelming already and I still haven't attended all of my classes yet.

-Food: Jeez, where to begin? Food in Newcastle is surprisingly cheap. I begin every morning with a crisp, warm, unhealthy meat pie from the delectable chain-bakery Greggs--of which my roommate informed me only existed since 2009 in Cambridge and has thence proliferated rapidly throughout England achieving the status as the fastest growing business in the UK. (It's recently been brought to my attention that Greggs has actually been established since 2005, but retains the same status no less).There are literally dozens in Newcastle and what's great is their low prices on the convenient little pasties and assortment of baked goods. For instance, this morning I bought a cheese, bean, and sausage pasty for only 95 pence (roughly $1.50), and that's actually one of their most expensive items.

Enough about Greggs, but only it's not enough! for I neglected to mention the relief I feel as I trudge along the dark, dreary, morning surface of Strawberry Lane only to be confronted by the warm luminescence of the Greggs corner bakery at the end of the street. It is quite comforting when I see that bright beacon of hope, redolent of warm dough and rich coffee, and I'm sure I'll have more great experiences there, especially tomorrow when I take advantage of their "two sausage rolls for 1.15" deal.

Moving on. I've also formed a new addiction to potato jackets. They're a staple here and quite a simple concept. Essentially, a potato is baked, split, lathered in butter, and then stuffed with basically whatever you want. Yesterday I had mine stuffed with chicken tikka masala. It was wonderful. I've seen them stuffed with tuna and cheese, beans and spinach, literally, whatever you want. Again, quite a simple concept that rarely exceeds three pounds, which is great for a student on a budget.

I'll move on to one last subject regarding food because even though I'll never tire of discussing my affinity for it, I believe I've thoroughly exhausted it for whoever's reading this. Pub food! The food in pubs is what you'd expect: greasy hamburgers, sausage and mash potatoes, chicken curry, strange varieties of meats doused in gravy, etc. The point I'd like to make is that this food, as well as the above, is cheap and awesome. Seriously, one rarely sees a pub meal for more than six pounds (perhaps eight or nine dollars).

-Walking: Quite an appropriate topic to follow the former. All I do is walk, but I won't complain. Merely walking here is such an enriching experience and a fun way to shed the excessive amount of calories I've been so carelessly accumulating. The city of Newcastle, as one of my professors noted, is "layered with history." To see this history--Georgian, Victorian, Medieval--as a palimpsest of various architecture is so uniquely rewarding that I have no complaints about my mode of mobility. I've always enjoyed walking, and the fact that I get to practice it even more in this beautiful city is quite a thrilling experience.

-Dormitory: I suppose another appropriate topic to follow the previous, only because it's due to my residence's location that I'm forced to do so much pleasurable walking. I believe I discussed, briefly, my dorm in the previous post so, to avoid being redundant, I'll spare another description of the interior/exterior of the building. Instead, I'll discuss the wonderful location. The building itself is literally across the street from the football stadium (of course I mean "soccer" but I'm attempting to condition myself to avoid looking like a complete ignoramus in front of my British friends). A block away--only not a block because they don't have blocks here, instead they have enigmatic labyrinth's that create shapes unknown to the human mind--rests Leazes Park. It's a beautiful, green park complete with a rather placid pond in the middle. Despite the lingering football stadium that imposes itself above the trees, the park manages to keep itself isolated from the city. Travelling far enough into the park, which I have yet to do, will, I'm sure, afford you a more reclusive feeling and a view without the stadium. I've been there, several times, to play basketball and simply walk around. There are lots of trees which occasionally form the borders of small meadows and magical looking groves. Near the back, or what I consider to be the back, exists a very sumptuous manor that reminds me of the estate in Jane Eyre, the one owned by Mr. Rochester. I've probably said more than enough about the park, sorry to belabor the subject, but might I share one more anecdote that takes place in the park itself? Of course I can. I was walking along the intricately laid pebble-stone banks of the beautiful pond--keep in mind this was my first time in Leazes Park so the ensuing event made it all the more magical--and a flock of, perhaps, seven swans wildly took off from the opposite side of the water and all, simultaneously, landed in front of me, skidding with their webbed toes to a complete stop. It was amazing.

The most advantageous aspect of living in my dorm, other than the park of course, is its location relative to Newcastle's city center. It is, literally, up the road. Any of my shopping needs can be quickly satisfied by a quick jaunt out the door. Also, surrounding my dorm are a range of various pubs and restaurants.

Overall, I lucked out on my residency placement. Some of the other dormitories, I've noticed, are quite far from the bulk of activity, but they have their own advantages as well.

-Campus: This will be my last topic in the post, my fingers just can't persist. It should have followed the "school" topic, as it's obviously related, but since I've already begun I won't copy and paste. The school campus is not unlike my campus at home, despite the integration of sixteenth-century architecture. Thus far, it has been quite accommodating and has been able to fulfill all of my needs. The recreation center, to which I refuse to pay the monthly fee, far trumps the one from my American campus. It is much larger and, from the looks of it, used more often. The library, to my delight, is open 24/7--an aspect of which I have yet to take advantage. The Student Union building is probably the largest building on campus. I believe it contains four stories, two of the levels hosting bars. Connected to it is yet another bar that surprisingly serves cheap food and beer. The Lipman building, the structure of which I've become most familiar, serves as the home to all of my classes. Being the school's humanities building, it is of course quite old but amazing at the same time. It consists of small tunnels and corridors that always prove to be quite adventurous obstacles in the process of finding my classroom.

That's all I can write tonight. I apologize for such an abrupt cessation. There is nothing witty or constructive left in my brain. It has to rest for it can only produce so many ideas. Until next time, hopefully later this week.