june 21, summer solstice (midsummer)
oslo, norway
wow! an eye-opening week of natural wonder! what a physical and
psychic chasm between the pinnacle/nadir of the economic evolution
of mankind (gothenberg) and the awe-inspiring eternal beauty of
fjordic norway.
1- a couple of very full touring days in oslo – seeing the 1299
castle and fortress of good king hakon V sitting dominantly and
strategically above of the icy but protected harbor; the national
theater of iconic and feminist, henrik ibsen; the haunting
existential screams of 20th century man at the edvard munch museum;
and the granite and bronze figurative sculptures of gustav vigeland
in an 800 acre city green space named after himself. (there is one
labyrinthine fifty foot high granite monolith to the sky with
perhaps 300 human figures snaking in and around one another in an
endless variety of human physiognomy. a phallic monument to the sculptural potential of mankind. another wow!)
2- the most sensational scenic seven hour train ride from oslo,
west, across central norway to the coastal 12-13th century capital
of hanseatic scandinavia, the city of seven hills – post viking,
bergen. i hate to compare one travel experience to another, saying
“the best this, the best that”, but rest assured, if you ever want a spectacular train ride through quaint green alpine villages with
white capped melting snow peaks towering above them, through a
stark, naked glacial tundra wilderness, where the train has to
crawl through old wooden tunnel/bridges built right through the icy
glacial plateau, down through the warming & greening coast, your
eyes and train wheels running almost as fast as the roaring,
melting waterfalls making their way to the briny north sea — then
here’s your ticket. get a scan rail pass – unlimited training for
twenty one days straight!
3- two days of r&r in the stony sotra islands, just a “30 minute
bus west from bergen center” (according the servas book) – on rural,
craggy, formerly-isolated fishing islands, now strung together by a
series of greedy suspension bridges built by the prosperously
hungry norse oil industry. an industry so lucrative perhaps, that
norway has for a second time, stubbornly refused to join the
convoluted and prescriptive EU in a national referendum, displaying
once again, the me-first self interest of corporate avarice – and –
the thorny protestant work ethic of the leave-me-alone norse
citizenry. me? i’m simply soaking up two days of long-awaited
sunshine, re-charging my cold-impaired, run down battery, and
resting my nagging cough, on west coast of the norwegian sea, where it’s supposed to rain 270 days out of the year! yet here i am
with two solid days of sunshine. maybe it’s just another
manifestation of my born-upside-fool-thing, once again tampering
with and reversing, the weather, and fate itself…
4- “hurtigruten”! the eleven day postal-coastal steamer – from
bergen -north – to the polar cap. no roads. no trains through this
ice-age cut fjordic mail route-paradise. just boats. luxury cruise
ships. mail boats. steam ferries. or… the hurtigruten, a three way combination of them all. a little too gray-haired and bourgeois for
me — the fat cat german, italian, french, american, and hardy
norse couples gorging their way through smorgasbord after
herring-filled smorgasbord, while simultaneously snaking their
(our) way through one 1000 foot granite fjord after another. one
thousand foot waterfalls tumbling seven at a time like bridal
sisters, the midnight sun keeping me out on its eternally sunlit
deck.
me — truman capote/somerset maughm-like, chatting occasionally
with a novelist or psychotherapist from berkeley, CA – or more
likely, just keeping silent for most of the thirty six hours i’ve
treated myself to, soaking up and surrendering to the meditative
rhythm of the mountains, the fjords, the steamer, the air.
interrupted only occasionally by the erudition of a blond haired
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nordic beauty working the ship – teaching me about the literary
merits of noble (nobel) norsemen knute hamsun, the national
treasure, mr. ibsen again, and her absolute main man, the poetic
and as yet, untranslated-to-english, dag sulstag. damn, these
scandinavian women are just as beautiful as they are educated,
strong-willed, articulate, independent, and alluring…..
5- hope i’m not boring you…
6- the train back to oslo from medieval trondheim, the
hurtigruten’s last trulesian deposit point — another five hour
whirlwind tour – to the largest gothic cathedral in scandinavia,
named after the legendary and omnipresent, “st. olaf” of scandic
viking lore. the same dude of the finnish fortress in savonlinna,
karelia. seems the long bearded plunderer pillaged and conquered
the entire medieval-ed west, but then in a self-deluded act of
sublime stupidity, brought back his newly conquered subjects’
religion, the cancer-spreading and crusade-inducing catholicism –
for which he was duly canonized ad infinitum — until mr. luther
came along and reformed & razed all the catholic churches on the
planet for his new protestant vision of more of the same.
this train ride is softer and greener than the others, but just as
lush, wet, and beautiful – huge white water black rivers racing
along the tracks, sprawling river-cut green valleys covered by
heavy white norse clouds, the valleys spotted once again with red
barn monopoly houses, this time bowled out by one-eyed odin
himself. odin, who traded his one eye for wisdom, who became the
main man in the norse viking pantheon of gods in cushy, violent
valhalla, where viking men fight, drink, and kill all day long in
heavenly viking bliss, only to be reborn anew the next eternal day.
what else? a little norse mythology? why not? gotta keep track of
these big oafish trolls living in the woods, fjords, and
mountains, only to be outsmarted by the youngest, blondest,
cleverest child in the family. coming to your local big screen
soon: “grumpy old men IV, the norsemen” – gotta get danny devito to
replace mattheau, i guess. nyooks – the mean-spirited,
ugly-faced, children-eating creatures who live in the rivers – the
best way for worrisome parents to keep their sons and daughters out
of the water. neesa – the little barn people who you have to feed
a lot of porridge on christmas day, if you want to keep your cows
milking properly. dwarves. faeries. elves. we know these from
snow white, cinderella, and the bothers grimm. huldra, the
mythically-beautiful, siren-like women of the fjords, whose
odysseus-like call lure weak, horny men to their destruction in the
treacherous & icy glacial waters – never to return to mortal
reality – or their wives – ever again. shit, why return? these
women are something. i saw them…. on the tour: sharon stone –
angelina jolie – with tails!
and my favorite – the gnomic creatures from grieg’s hall of the
mountain kings – who teach aspiring fiddlers how to play like
whirling dervish paganinis – but only after the novice offers a fat
enough offering (gold, goat, perhaps a soul) and the entranced
student-fiddlers – fingers burst with blood – as the fiendish
mountain kings force their hands over and over the squealing,
singing, and demented strings.
anyway, better stop now. before i’m possessed. we’re just stopping
in lillehammer. gotta change into my summer ski garb and schuss a
quick downhill slalom. all those tiny, born-with-skis-on-their-feet
nordic tots speeding between my knock-kneed beginners’ legs, as i
wave my poles violently and try not to fall off the side of the mountain. wish me luck!
then gotta figure out where to stay tonight. no servas hosts in
oslo. they’re all away for midsummer’s weekend festivities:
bonfires, maypoles, fertility rituals & offerings to the elusive
and long-awaited sexy sun at its zenith!
i’m not in LA
i’m not in LA
i’m not in LA
then one more click of the heels for each of you–
your main man in the fjords,
erik the troll
