BushRadio

Black Friday Christmas Card

2010-11-26T21:29:00.001+01:00

I found this picture in my archive. Homer Alaska, January 2008. Frosty riding a beat up old truck. Hi Frosty. Since they put up the first Christmas decorations here yesterday I thought it appropriate to decorate the blog too. Consider this your Black Friday greeting: Welcome holiday season, let’s prosper in the name of family, love and frequent consumer frustration. Now hurry to your nearest store and help the corporations meet their consumer quotas for the year.

Digital Asset Management

2010-11-21T00:08:00.005+01:00

I am inside. Literally. While inside I'm staring at files within files within files of work from what feels like another life. Yet it's only from a few years back. It's a bit like going on safari through my own life, because all these photographs I have were taken by me at a place where I've been. They feel so foreign, not because most of them are from someplace I had to show my passport to get to, but because when making pictures for a living it sometimes feels like life in the frame isn't really happening to me but to someone else. I'm just there to see it. So as I sit in a foreign country at a foreign desk browsing pictures of fun times somewhere else, I remember why I thought signs in China were funny. I was there.

Brooklyn On My Mind

2010-11-13T00:23:00.002+01:00

Eight and a half years ago I moved to Brooklyn. The part I moved to was then a hipster haven, and over time it has become hipster central, every corner a new cafe filled with Apple laptops. Illegal lofts are condos, the sugar factory rumored to become a hotel and the vacant lot by the river a park where children play. So when I showed up, eight years later, my two old addresses had become a tapas restaurant and a japanese dormitory hotel. In fear of sounding old I miss my old Brooklyn. The one where there were two coffee shops, four languages, and all non-Brooklyn natives made less than 25 000 dollars a year.

The Small Things

2010-07-29T22:42:00.007+02:00

I’ve long heard about dessert in my generation. Especially in Norway. We apparently like it, as we’re nick’ed the Dessert Generation. In my family we sometimes got dessert on Sundays. I can’t say that should qualify for an entire generation's name, but I guess they’re not referring to the actual meal when talking in these terms. We are Dessert because we have been able to eat things we like, do things we like, play anytime we like, go anywhere we like and all to the tune of music we like. Freedom seems to be an appropriate word. So then I wonder why so many people are trapped. Seems less is more doesn’t apply as I read about people hollering for more money so they can have a house with a garden, a cabin, two cars and three children in pre-school, all the while paying less taxes and having free health-care. I spent a few hours in a cabin with a friend who gets his light from candles, water from a creek and still can make a mean espresso on his gas stove, all with the biggest smile on his face. He lacks nothing. When did we get so used to dessert we forgot how tasty real food is?

Summer

2010-07-15T20:06:00.006+02:00

Summer. In the northern hemisphere it's the perfect time of year, when the winter cold has melted away, scratched the earth and given way for chlorophyll and allergies. And fruit. Oh, strawberries, how your red beautifully mismatches the green. And cherries. So many cherries. Once again the air smells of something, not just a chill that burns the insides of the nostrils. It's summer. Freckles, beer on boats, shrimp out of and into the ocean, and people grinning on every Hipstamatic-print-for-iPhone. The one thing summer in Norway lacks is people at work. At least people who work for Norway. Welcome home, where the government governs from vacation.

Leaving Again

2010-07-06T14:31:00.001+02:00

Facebook says I have 544 friends. Today. Tomorrow I may have more, or less, depending on which way the wind blows. Some are caught in the (inter)net, but most are people I've had at least one conversation with. These friends are my village, readily available from a handy pocket-device where I can access them at all times. But as I pack my bags to make another journey to someplace else for however long it will take me, I start to realize; 544 friends on Facebook is worth little compared to one in person. With this I'd like to say to my friends in Tromsø: It's been a wonderful two years, I'll miss you all very much. Please come find me sometime. In person.

No Exam

2010-06-24T15:23:00.003+02:00

For 730 days I have been studying. One topic has taken up my entire brain for two years, taken over all spare time, my life. One short film and one thesis later, the buildup was going to be complete. Relief was to come in the form of two hours with a committee judging the product of my 730 days of thinking. So when a woman with an attitude phoned me up three hours before my defense to tell me one of my committee members was sick and couldn't make it, my exam would just have to be postponed for two months, it was like a volcanic explosion. All that pressure from all that time had to come out somewhere. And for once it got me what I wanted; postponement of exam for only a week. Come Tuesday this will all be over.

Thesis Thoughts

2010-06-17T14:51:00.007+02:00

I just wrote 17033 words down in 875 sentences on 53 pages separated into 5 chapters and a conclusion. This writing was the result of two years at the University of Tromsø, and is accompanied by a film of 27 minutes and a little over 30 seconds. On Tuesday I have to stand in front of two anthropologists for an hour, explaining why I wrote the 17033 words in the order I did, as well as give them a few words left out within those 53 pages. Between now and Tuesday I have to read nearly 1500 pages with words written by writers practicing varied skills of word organization. I have learned to use words such as identity, reflexiveness, stigma, globalization, modernity, and discovered a level of anxiety only possible through sleep depravation and a caffeine induced diet. I've been high, low, and high-and-low at the same time, my brain has felt inflated and squeezed, like a sponge. So come Tuesday I will be released from the university system back to my own making. I will no longer be imprisoned by poorly organized words; on Tuesday I will be free to feel less like my own shadow.

Writing Woes

2010-04-12T23:17:00.003+02:00

Thesis writing is something entirely new to me. As I read academic writing I find it tiresome that it has to be so completely void of fun. Each page is a series of words, all linked by some connection to the topic, but lacking any murmur of comedy. This is perhaps because academia is serious, and like a law needs to be written with exact words to give exact meaning. So now, after two years of reading these meaningful words it’s time for me to write my own. One word at a time I decipher the meaning of being Sami in Alaska, trying my best to keep it as succinct as possible while dreaming of going outside to picture what I see.

Brackish Blog and Mining Gold

2010-03-16T23:50:00.003+01:00

Lately this blog has been brackish, as I’ve been focusing my attention on blackboards and learning new things (see below). But today, as I enter into another anno of mine, it struck me my brackish blog should be revived, and who better to do that than this gold miner I met on the beaches of Nome this summer. He’s come to Nome for years, sifting through the sand, hoping to strike rich, as so many generations have done before him. He’s building a shack on the beach, his very own, from driftwood and found scraps. He has a vision. He’s 70-years old. My great-grandfather went to Nome and had a claim just a kilometer behind where this gold miner stands. He struck rich, went home to Norway and bought a farm on an island, which eventually had to be sold back to the government because the island became too popular of a place to live for there to be a whole farm there. I live on this island now, about two kilometers from the site of the old farm. I went to Alaska to find a different kind of gold, my kind, story-gold. Which is what I’ve done this year, which has left my blog brackish. And now the revival of the blog will spiral on...

My Life, For Fun

2009-10-29T21:51:00.002+01:00

Some time ago I returned to school. The grand idea was to get a Master’s, which in my head would equal unlimited smarts plus fun learning experiences. Although it has been, and still is fun, after spending most of my days either glued to a monitor or fixed on a book I have yet to locate the well for this unlimited smarts I was so eager to find. So when my professor made the blackboard a little bit like how I picture my head to be, I decided to cave, rule out unlimited smarts and just settle. For fun.

FAI-ANC-SEA-NYC-OSL-TOS

2009-08-20T10:13:00.002+02:00

NYC

2009-08-20T10:03:00.002+02:00

Holy Smokes

2009-07-31T03:42:00.003+02:00

When you turn on the local news in Fairbanks, Alaska, there's the normal local jibber; the cat in the tree, the car in the tree, the fire chief's wife in the tree, it's the normal local goings-ons, and sounds exactly the same as anywhere else in America. Until the weather report. It may go something like this: Today's forecast includes highs of 84 degrees, lows at 70. Calm winds, with increasing clouds. High chances of smoke. When the fires burn in the interior, the wind drifts smoke into the Fairbanks valley and makes the air impossible to breathe. Old people and children are advised to stay inside, and the rest of the population urged to keep away from the outdoors as much as possible. On the front page of the paper, next to a smiling Bettie Upright bowling in the International Seniors Games, the weather will tell you only two things: the temperature, and that there's smoke. Later the news announced the arrival of a state-of-the-art firefighting jet, a 747 ready to dump water on all areas inflamed. But it has to stay on the ground because there's too much smoke for it to fly...

Two Years of Radio

2009-07-27T17:32:00.006+02:00

Back in the town, in the cafe, at the window, by the table, on the chair, drinking the latte where it all started, I couldn't help but think about when was it exactly I started this blog. And holysmokes, it was exactly two years and two days ago. Which is ironic, because that also happens to be my father's birthday, which was one of the reasons this blog came into existence: to inform my father of my whereabouts without him having to leave too frequent voicemails. I don't think I planned it to start on his birthday, but since it did; happy birthday, Pappa and happy second, BushRadio. And funnily enough, this is exactly my 100th posting.

A Day of Firsts

2009-07-14T21:58:00.002+02:00

I went reindeer herding. After 2500 deer, 13 hours and 12 miles stumbling over tussocks on the tundra in my work-boots not recommended for hiking, I finally got my reindeer footage. Every few miles I'd get picked up in the helicopter, and plopped down where I was needed to keep the reindeer bunched together, which was the main function of the herding. It's the new meets the old, we were three walkers on the ground while the helicopter buzzed above. When I was returned to the cabin where we started, a RedBull was waiting for me, given to me by the young guy who'd been there earlier. I remembered he had a million dollar grin, and was told he was also a convicted murderer. Apparently for running over his dad with a car. Twice. Never met one of those before. It was an Alaska day of firsts, for sure.

Reindeer, And Then Some

2009-06-16T23:06:00.003+02:00

It's reindeer season. Reindeer are penned up, tagged, notched and recorded. While we record, notch, tag and pen, food will be prepared, because it takes days. Food is also reindeer. And since winter just ended, coats are being shed, so reindeer hair is everywhere. And when you finally get to steal some shut-eye, dreams are about reindeer. Yes, it's reindeer season.

Fly Away

2009-06-05T10:24:00.004+02:00

I met a man on the beach and he had an ear-to-ear grin talking about how he ended up in Alaska. It had something to do with the weather. Everybody in Alaska has a story about how they ended up in Alaska, even if they're born here they have some story about how their parents ended up in Alaska, only to conceive them somewhere in Alaska so they could end up in Alaska. The man on the beach told a story about being swallowed by the weather, and then the chopper flew overhead running away from the weather.

Roaming Religion

2009-05-30T23:51:00.005+02:00

Religion is very important in Alaska. Nome has eight churches, five of which are spread over a three-block radius, ready to serve. Once upon an Alaska time someone in charge took a map and designated certain settlements to be this that and the other Christian denomination. The Natives already thought there were some kind of higher spirit lurking, but they’d never known its name. In come the missionaries eager to tell. Now the locals could go to a building every Sunday and pay their respects to a specific god, named God, and their place in the afterlife would be a done deal. It must have been the missionaries dream-come-true, and the result is churches everywhere.

Car Talk

2009-05-25T23:02:00.003+02:00

Alaska loves dogs. After taking some evolutionary steps from the wolf, the dogs have helped deliver mail, provide transportation and fill the Alaska air with barks, howls and general dog sounds. As the great state continues through westernized evolution it's not surprising to find dogs doing the same thing.

Break Up 2

2009-05-25T09:29:00.006+02:00

Yearly is an event the locals call Break Up. This has nothing to do with switching partners, but everything to do with the Bering Sea and watching the ice sail away to unavoidable ice-death. Somehow Break Up doesn't seem to come fast enough as the locals started talking about it sometime last month, and a few days ago euphoria hit. The shoreline broke the ice's heart and sent it packing to sea. Welcome back the smell of salt, ripples on the water and the shade of dark blue. It's as if the place woke up; the dancers scheduled to entertain the elders failed to show, apparently they'd taken their boats and gone hunting, and the townies walk around with permasmiles big enough to melt what's left of the permafrost. Good times to be had.

Noon!

2009-05-11T06:49:00.005+02:00

Every day at noon the fire-alarm rings loud over Nome. It’s loud enough to make a cadet stand attention, and the town's many dogs howl. It also announces it's time for town to take lunch, which I think is odd because nothing here seems to open before noon. Which leads me to believe that perhaps it’s not the lunch bell, but the time-to-go-to-work bell. Either way, it’s a sign.

Boondoggle

2009-05-07T22:12:00.007+02:00

I love English. It has words like boondoggle. I learned it on CNN, yes, I barely have internet, but CNN seems to flow without interruption here, don’t ask... Boondoggle means work that is wasteful or pointless but gives the appearance of having value. CNN is a bit of a boondoggle sometimes. Internet too. Personally I can spend hours, even days on the internet, surfing blogs, Facebook and the occasional world renown newspaper (only if someone is reading over my shoulder of course, after which I return to boondoggling blogs and Facebook), and always make it seem like I’m doing very important work. Point and case, I just made you spend 30 seconds on my boondoggle of a blog, much appreciated, where I use words like boondoggle frequently and in many incorrect ways... Keep up the good work!

Temp Home Nome

2009-05-04T21:27:00.002+02:00

It lives under the motto: There’s No Place Like Nome. It’s true, a city of 3000 on the spit of a peninsula in the Bering Sea, 15 minutes on foot will take you from one side of town to the other, about 7 minutes will do across. It’s a city built on a promise of gold which still holds. Named because of a spelling error, apparently some Brits sailed around in the Bering Sea some 150 years ago and realized this prominent point was nameless. The officer wrote “? Name” on the map, which the guy copying it down saw as “C Nome” which turned into Cape Nome, which means it was officially named by a mapmaker in the British Admirality. Gold was prominent here once, still is, and every year the Iditarod lands about 1000 dogs here. It’s also very rhymalicious: Nome, home, alone, condone, moan, grown, tone, bone, cone...

Weather Man

2009-04-23T23:28:00.010+02:00

My hostess' brother is the Weather Man. He used to work for the weather service in Nome, as the weather forecaster, which is different from the meteorologist, but since he's entirely Inupiaq and born into snow, his instincts get cred. He was known to change the forecast the meteorologist in Fairbanks had for Nome, he'd call up and say: "Hey, do you know something I don't" and then they'd give in. He asked me to go for a ride up the road to see how far along they were on clearing it of snow, and how could I say no to that. I mean, who doesn't want to know how the road-clearing is going. About five miles out he nodded his consent and declared the road-workers were doing a much better job this year. He didn't say much else. He made jokes about things I didn’t understand, and as he’d forgotten his hearing aid, he couldn’t really hear me asking about it either. So we just laughed, which is what people do in the north when things get complicated. Laugh.

Fun with Framilends

2009-04-17T21:13:00.007+02:00

They let me back in, these perky people of the north. The framilends grew in size, learned words in need of translation from bi-lingual interpreters, and acquired a particular fondness for puddle-jumping slash rolling. Basecamp Framilends is as warm and welcoming as always, the six-month old who became a one-year old is now a two-year old walking around the house saying “excuse me” and constantly reminding me that I came on a plane and live in the basement, or kjeller’n, as she speaks two languages simultaneously. A fairly accurate assesment of my life done by a two-year old. After I resupply at the grocery store where you can buy your eggs, milk, bread, flat-screen tv, gas, gun and garden furniture all in one go, I bid farewell to fair Faribanks and get on a plane. Nome next.

Disclosure: NYC

2009-04-07T14:27:00.002+02:00

My brother works in finance, NYC. Admirable, perhaps a little free-falling at the moment, and all very hush-hush. When I get an email from the bro, let's say to remind me of dinner reservations at 8, I also get a full disclosure underneath stating that the message contains confidential information only intended for the named individual(s) above. In this case me. If I'm not that person, I can't read nor distribute the information anywhere or pass it along. I am also informed that the message does not contain any investment advice, nor should I take it as a recommendation to buy or sell anything. I wonder if purchasing food and eating it is considered an investment. I'll have to ask the bro at 8, we have dinner reservations and I'm disclosing that here...

Grandma Giggles

2009-04-07T14:14:00.003+02:00

Grandma giggles. Especially when it comes to her main man Ares, the dog, who unfortunately had an accident and tore his nail. Now he gets to look silly with a tract over his head, and grandma gets to get appalled that I'd photograph him in such a state, apparently I'm inconsiderate of his feelings... I miss grandma.

Circum Circus

2009-04-07T13:45:00.002+02:00

Sun! In the polar regions there’s sometimes a circle around the sun, but nobody seems to remember what that means. It has something to do with the weather, this much is agreed, but the old folk tales have been lost on the townies of Tromsø. I bid my farevell to Tromsø for the summer, headed for another advendture in Alaska. Four months of frisky funness, stay tuned!

Looking Light

2009-03-20T20:14:00.003+01:00

Sometimes the only solution is to find some light.

Pink Think

2009-03-19T10:23:00.002+01:00

In fickle financial times, what better news to read over tea than the pink paper. Providing gossip on the latest of the former greats being hunted down for embezzling and stealing, looking prison in the eye, it's now as fun as the tabloids. Time to think, re-think and be thankful for modest means...

Turning 30 (it's an annual thing...)

2009-03-17T15:28:00.003+01:00

Last year I had my picture taken on sea-ice, holding a giant Shee-fish, fur around my collar and sporting a smile only someone high on nature can carry. This year I'll share another portrait. It's from yesterday's fever-daze, in a room as tidy as my brain, wearing glasses which make everything blurry... Welcome, wisdom of the weary.

Sighting Svalbard

2009-02-16T08:27:00.005+01:00

New adventure. This time I wanted to investigate a place known to be under the plastic on your common classroom globe. This island houses the world’s entire collection of seeds, has more polar bears than inhabitants (although most have never seen one), one school, one university which only offer courses in Arcitc something-or-other, and an automatic preservation of anything and everything placed here before 1945. Even cinderblocks. It is also a place where everything should be in the Guinness World Book of Records; northern-most swimming-pool, northern-most newspaper, northern-most road system, northern-most café-which-serves-lattés, northern-most elementary school, northern-most car dealer, northern-most restaurant and northern-most city where I'm visiting the northernmost-family-who-just-moved-here. And I'm currently the northern-most-girl-in-a-coffeeshop drinking the northern-most-latte.

High Noon

2009-01-25T15:17:00.003+01:00

It came back! Euphoria! Who knew a few minutes of sun could cause so much excitement. The D-vitamins have returned, and there's no rest for the weary.

Lunar Links

2009-01-20T02:19:00.008+01:00

Since November our days have for the most part looked like this. Nail clipping of light towering 384 403 km above us. Someone told me the Japanese think there's a picture of a rabbit in the moon. I'm still struggling to find that man in there everybody's going on about, wondering what he's thinking about us gawking at him all the time. Must be uncomfortable being started at by billions for eternity. Tomorrow we get our light back, the sun will again arrive to make us happy. Only pity it's forecasted to be a cloudy one...

Bush Bus

2009-01-03T16:02:00.005+01:00

Happy New Year, people! It happened sort of suddenly, 2008... It's now an imprint in the memory of times past. Kind of like waiting for the bus and leaving an impression of how that can be done. With this the Bush Bus leaves the station for hopefully more exciting adventures in 2009, stay tuned, I'll try to make it interesting...

Granny Sports

2008-12-14T19:55:00.004+01:00

Watching sports with grandma is always a favored pastime. Generally I’m not a sports-on-TV kinda girl, but Norwegian commentators, along with an 88-year-old sidekick, are just too good to pass up. Sunday we watch wonders of the snow all over the Alps, people with steady muscles and extended feet working miracles in the hills. Aside from grandma’s extensive knowledge about skiers’ competence and personal life, along with general weather conditions in the area, the commentators are my most favorite part of watching sports. They talk non-stop, in many levels of Decibel, and if the great ski-nation of Norway doesn’t have a competent enough skier, they choose a Swede. If there are no Swedes or Norwegians to get excited about they holler in favor of the Finns. And if there are no Finns, well, then perhaps it's not worth watching...

Night Light

2008-11-28T05:56:00.014+01:00

In the Polar regions there's a symbol for the sun seldom seen other places. It's a simple drawing of the sun below the horizon line, providing local third graders with an alternative way to doodle sunset-on-the-horizon. It never comes up, and it never sets. People get physically affected by this perpetual lack of natural light, so much so it has it's own name: Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). Treatments include light therapy with bright lights, ionized air, anti-depression medication, cognitive-behavioral therapy and carefully monitored doses of melatonin. Or, simply, go native and drink cod-liver-oil every morning followed by several doses of alcohol at night-time. Whenever that is...

69˚Manhattan

2008-11-19T11:13:00.003+01:00

I live on an island shaped almost exactly like Manhattan, only much smaller. Despite its small size there has been no need for people to build towers to the sky, as there is more than enough space to go around for its 60 000 inhabitants. This polar town comes complete with its very own mountain, university, lake, hotel-shaped-like-a-ship, Aurora Borealis, and towers made from doorbells.

Fire

2008-11-19T11:04:00.002+01:00

The other day we were at the university learning about this, that and the other when the sudden sound of fire rung through. Memories of childhood past came back as we scurried in an orderly fashion toward the door, only to find that it was completely locked. We school in a building where doors can only be unlocked from the outside, windows don't open more than a crack, and the fire alarm cause a complete lock-down. One of many things about my university experience that defies all logic.

Notes on Facebook

2008-11-07T12:00:00.008+01:00

The dusk is hitting the north like a vortex swallowing the earth. Daylight's few hours become precious minutes of D-vitamin boosts, eating fish and consuming cod liver oil to fight the darkness depression. And when not scurrying to the top of mountains or drowning the boogeyman at the bar, the blog gets plotted. In the wee hours of surfing the web a fun project presented itself. A website for the website, which can be found here for all you facebook enthusiasts. Coming soon will be the myspace-page-for-the-facebook-page-for-the-blog-for-the-website, or something along those lines.

Surf's Up (North)

2008-11-03T22:29:00.008+01:00

Somewhere over the rainbow is a beach over the arctic. People go here to surf! They travel this surge above the circle, as if jumping into sub-zero is the most natural thing in the world. Waves of the North Sea, watch out for the children of the 69th latitude.

Young At Heart

2008-10-22T15:36:00.006+02:00

In the face of the elderly you can find the wisdom of the past. Every little wrinkle represents a story, every word lost to memory is another sign that the inevitable is at the doorstep. They live in homes, where the only people who can benefit from their wrinkled knowledge are the other wrinkles, bunched together in circles trading stories of the old days. On a recent outing to such a home I witnessed a room full of elderlies with missing words learning how to use YouTube. The intention was to invoke memories of the past by teaching them technology of the future. To the sound of old folksongs, the elderlies sang, laughed and cried, and it made me wonder if we sometimes forget that even the old are young at heart.

Writing Woes

2008-10-14T21:40:00.001+02:00

Somewhere in the maze of scholastic information I’m expected to write a paper. Writing, along with talking and making photographs of stuff are a few of my favorite things. I’m assigned an academic paper with an opinion about approaching people, which in my science is profoundly non-academic and also one of my favorite things. I’m expected to write a paper where I pepper in words of scientific significance, big words, which makes me feel somewhat like a 1-year-old trying to read a book my way, and having an adult tell me it’s up-side-down.

Soon, Snow

2008-09-29T16:40:00.004+02:00

Summer has fallen. I just realized I won't feel warm again 'till spring.

Currently

2008-09-09T11:28:00.004+02:00

Learning o'hoy.

Icy Stomachs

2008-09-04T14:36:00.008+02:00

Moving to Norway proved to be just a matter of some heavy packing, some even heavier luggage, a plane and a small move to my grandmother's basement. Only then to be informed that the most northern university in the world had accepted me, but couldn't inform me until a week before school started, due to the administration being on vacation. Thus some more packing, some light luggage, another plane, and a small move to a city three degrees north of the arctic circle. Things here move like syrup. Everything seems to happen tomorrow and next week, only to be happening tomorrow and next week again. And after three weeks, it's still going to happen sometime tomorrow or next week. If you ever try to speed up the process, the answer is always the same: "Keep some ice in your stomach and see what happens." Luckily the first ice has appeared on the tallest mountain around, so there's enough to go around. More tomorrow. Or next week.

69˚N

2008-08-23T12:37:00.003+02:00

Summer Solace

2008-08-22T09:46:00.002+02:00

It happened, it's over! Summer in Norway has taken leave, and fall has made its gray entrance. Gone is cucumber news full of water and fluff, shrimps on the dock, laps in the ocean and shameless flirting. So long summer, hello winter!

What Is Freedom?

2008-07-16T00:39:00.004+02:00

It's a humongous question. Open to and subject of all kinds of philosophical discussions done by brains everywhere. Particularly in the US where they once defined it, only to loose the definition in order to create newer definitions on something already defined. But if you'd met this five-year-old girl in a field somewhere in the middle of Norway a summer afternoon, she'd have no problem giving you a satisfactory answer. Sunny day. Dirty knees. A large field of really tall corn, the ability and willingness to run run run, fall fall fall, and perhaps, at the end of the day, an ice-cream cone from grandma's freezer. Sometimes looking hard for something means it's just right there.

Free Food!

2008-07-15T21:12:00.002+02:00

On a recent stroll in the many parks of my hometown I came upon a childhood favorite. Cherry trees! As a young punk I used to steal cherries from Arnardo, the circus family. They had several large ones, surrounding their house by our cabin, and all summer they’d be gone circusing leaving us free to pillage their trees. We’d sit for hours shoving our faces, making our moms very upset over our cherry-soaked t-shirts, rendered un-cleanable and making it impossible to stand before a judge with innocent faces. Now these trees scattered all around the public greenness that is Oslo serves a different purpose. Free food! In these times of low income, new beginnings and an anorexic wallet, the red berries have become a valued source of vitamins and juice. But as I bite down and devour the pulp, I admit, getting them off the forbidden trees tasted much better.

Universal Vacation

2008-07-15T20:39:00.006+02:00

It’s summer in Norway. Summer is a favorite of Norwegians, it gives them free rains to party, drink and fornicate. To assist its citizens in this endeavor, various festivals have been created with this purpose in mind. And music, of course. Jazz, rock, punk, indie and classical can be enjoyed in a natural, outdoor setting. Add some overpriced beer in plastic cups, a scorching sun overhead, and you have the ingredients for the perfect Norwegian summer. It also has another interesting, yet determining factor. It’s called the Universal Vacation. Every year, around July, Norwegians go on vacation so they can enjoy said festivals and the summer cabins they occupy only a few weeks a year. This sociodemocratic nation provides its citizens with five weeks of vacation a year, most of which is taken during July and August. The result of this is that doing things like eating at a restaurant, seeing your favorite dentist, having a baby, taking a train or seeing a judge becomes very difficult as all these people, and more, have gone on holiday at the same time. Norway in the summer moves at a slower speed than a slug, but the happiness is vast and bountiful.

I [heart] Oslo

2008-07-07T09:11:00.009+02:00

"The minority is always right" from En Folkefiende by Henrik Ibsen

Oslo’s main street is named after a Swedish king, Karl Johan. He earned his keep as king from the swedes after he excelled in battles against all-time-favorite, little man Napoleon. In 1814 Norway became its own kingdom united with Sweden and with Karl Johan as king. Norway’s training wheels as a country came off in 1905 when we broke free, much to Sweden's current dismay. Strolling his street on my way to work one morning I noticed something that I’m sure has been there for years, but it’s new to me as I’m about 11 years behind my countrymen. The sidewalk is littered with quotes! And not just any quotes, words of wisdom from one of Norway’s late great men, Henrik Ibsen. They’re spread all the way from the King’s castle to the Parliament, as a reminder of who we are and were we came from. His quotes about life’s hardships with nationalistic undertones ring loud on a street he once walked every day for his coffee and chatter with fellow literary greats. Even now, more than 100 years after his death, he's still chattering up a storm on Karl Johan.

I [heart] New York

2008-07-07T09:00:00.004+02:00

Relationships can be hard. Sometimes the love just isn’t there anymore, and passion fizzles into a memory of the past. Instead of skipping a beat, the heart feels dreary and lame, searching frantically for feelings once there. Nothing. Gone. No deal. So as I packed my bags and closed the door behind me one last time I remember the good times, what once was this magical city which taught me so much, but alas the magic is gone. Later Yorkis! I'll miss ya!!

Combat Fishing

2008-06-23T06:47:00.004+02:00

As I leave Alaska for what I'm thinking will be a while, salmons are starting to school up the rivers. Readying themselves for what salmon do best they take off for multiplications, smelling their way toward an inevitable death. Little do they know what awaits them on the way. If it wasn't enough that these swimmers had to swim against the flow and switch from salt to freshwater, they have another predator to fend off. And it's not only the bear. Once they reach the mouth of the river, the worlds most dangerous predator awaits with a stick. As the salmon season starts, people everywhere sharpen their hooks, string out their rods and prepare for little more than Last Frontier elbowroom in an event coined Combat Fishing.

Just Crazy

2008-06-23T00:32:00.005+02:00

Crazy is such a good word. The US loves crazy. There is a whole industry of doctors out there who rely heavily on Americans acting out of the ordinary and needing to talk about it. Even the shrinks go to see shrinks and talk about the crazy stuff they hear from the crazies. Crazy is cool. So when you go to the middle of nowhere, to an island sans trees which was never intended as a place to live, and meet some crazy locals full of spirit and spirits, crazy hits another high. And all the while you watch the craziness unfold, you come to the realization that these people aren't crazy at all, but I am for thinking so. They have come to terms with their craziness, and are completely at ease in their findings. As Captain Ahab says: "They think me mad--Starbuck does; but I'm demoniac, I am madness maddened! That wild madness that's only calm to comprehend itself!"

Sea Trippin'

2008-06-22T20:59:00.004+02:00

One of the most amazing things about this country is their road system. It just works, it's a fine tuned machine. Americans love their cars so much there are actually on average more cars than there are people to drive them. Each U.S. household holds 1.9 cars and 1.8 drivers. Every day people set out on roadtrips, ready to spend some quality time with their vehicles, seeing the land buzz by in a fleeting and speedy way as they howl to their favorite pop songs. It's the freedom of the land of freedom. But there are other ways to see land. By boat, for example. Less people do it, there is no hassle with traffic in your lane, and the road is always not taken. So, in these times of costly fossil energy and much disdain with general gas consumption, I urge you Americans, set sail and find a different freedom. It's the ultimate roadtrip.

Breaking Bearings (again)

2008-06-06T02:23:00.004+02:00

Nome. Again. Only this time there's no snow. At all. Completely gone. In the stores hang posters wishing welcome to watchers of birds. Apparently one of Nomes biggest pulls in the summer is birds. And gold. The miners are in full fledge dredging the sand through washtubs resembling half-sunken ships. Apparently there is money in this gold business, although you wouldn't imagine by looking at them. Face and hands are so embedded with dirt they look like they just came out of a cave. They probably did. Come out of a cave. Like the bears. Come to think of it they actually kind of look like bears. Their stories are great and they are always busy with something. I am also going on a boat. In the Bering Sea, an ocean I'm completely facinated with, but also a little scared of. Which is the best reason to go I think. I'll be back in three weeks with some pictures and some more stories, wet stories.

Eating Apples.

2008-05-24T22:05:00.003+02:00

I forget about this town sometimes. Sorry, city. The City. It’s as if this place is a universe of its own, with small solar systems spinning around at different paces within. Sunday I went on a nature hike with 45 000 other walkers, 6.5 miles of gridlock exercising, if you will. Granted, it was for a cause, successfully collecting some 7 million dollars to fight AIDS. Thursday I had an assignment to photograph a businessman in his office who subsequently announced he’d just lost two million(!) dollars overnight (ooops), and in the same breath offered me espresso. He didn’t even flinch. In fact, he smiled even more broadly. Wow. Then there was the wedding assignment in Tribeca, two lovers getting hitched at a loft, which happened to belong to a famous Pop artist, as in late 50s art. Casually he was wedding the couple, yet not casual at all, as I had photographed this same painter five years prior when his work had invaded the whole Guggenheim museum. I think they called it a retrospective. Hellonicetomeetyouagain, as I’m hoping my awe isn’t showing too much as my nervousness trickles out of my pores and stains my armpits. Awe! Sometimes this town, city, universal gridlock of a place is just too much to handle. In a good way. I think.

Emotions

2008-05-12T21:45:00.004+02:00

They run high, especially at airports. Old friends, family members, the car service guy from Brooklyn who doesn’t know where he’s going nor speaks any English, emotions everywhere. The worst part about meeting someone at the airport is the waiting. Worrying about your meter expiring, thinking about the work you’re missing. Regretting you didn’t bring that book. Or flowers! How could you forget the flowers! But wait, in America, flowers, like chocolate, Pepsi and convenient snack sized potato chips, come in vending machines, so if you had that affair or forgot that anniversary, savior is conveniently placed in a machine. Welcome home.

CrumGum

2008-05-10T23:12:00.003+02:00

In an alley under a market behind a bar stands a wall. Once upon a time this wall was just like any other brick wall, standing solid, protecting it’s inner sanctum from forces fumbling outside. Until one day, one fumbler deposited a piece of gum, radically changing its fate forever. Because, like all things one person does, another has to mimic and so on. Until finally the end result is a wall no longer recognized for it’s bricks, but for its crummy and colorful array of gum, rendering it brilliantly disgusting.

Webdings

2008-05-10T02:33:00.002+02:00

It’s all the rage. Getting married. Wiser people than myself blame it on age. I remember when my parents were my age, they were really old. Adults even. The fact that I can remember my parents being my age, not only makes me old, but also a late bloomer. I’m not bothered by this. In my generation being a late bloomer is all the rage, as well as saying all the rage multiple times in one blog. Which is another thing that is all the rage. Blogging. My most recent friend to get hip and engaged was perhaps a bit more curious than the others. She’s a woman who likes other women, until she met a boy she liked more, and now they’re engaged. She is a self-proclaimed hasbian, making it all the rage enough to earn its very own hip word.

Break Up

2008-05-03T14:05:00.004+02:00

It’s spring! This is evident by the sun being up when I get up and go to bed. Spring is, as always, highly unpredictable. One day there will be people in shorts and flip flops running around eating ice-cream with glee in their faces and a skip in their hop. The next day ice-rain will prevent mail planes from landing anywhere in nowhere, and put wool shoes back in fashion. All the while people will shake their heads and wonder what happened to spring, certainly this has never happened before. As far as I can recall this event takes place most everywhere seasonal with the same outcome. As it were, spring also signals another very important event in Alaska. Break up. It’s the time when everything shifts, but until the change is complete limbo rules. You can’t travel on the ice, and ice renders your boat useless. Driveways are knee deep in mud, and people use the puddles on their lawn as training ground for the upcoming canoe trip. The bear resurfaces after its long doze as do odd creatures from other bubbles. So as I watch the white man in the extravagant indian costume bob to his iPod I take a minute to realize I’m going through my own breakup. I’ll sure miss this wonderful and smelly place.

Animal Farm

2008-04-23T10:43:00.003+02:00

We went to Animal Farm. It isn’t exactly Animal Farm in that there are no Napoleons or Snowballs, and the animals don't speak human. It's an animal sanctuary for animals in need of general sanctions. As it were, these creatures of the wild got themselves into a bit of trouble, and lost the ability to care for themselves, hence a non-profit stepped in and saved them from Darwins rule. There’s the three legged moose and the orphaned caribou, the clipped-wing bald eagle and a whole array of other animals whose wild ways were cut short by fate. Now these disillusioned, disenfranchised, distraught, displaced and overall dissed creatures can live out their years in a beneficial environment close to their old one. We, on the other hand, can get the true wilderness experience without even exiting our car. Which is optional on the 1.5 mile stroll that is the park.

Roadtrip Droppings

2008-04-21T09:34:00.009+02:00

We went roading and tripping. A common fact is that there are no toilets in cars, but there are toilets in various forms all across the state. As noted before the outhouse is a very interesting structure that can be found in most places, thus save a poor bottom from the itchings of raw leaves. The town of Girdwood, a place were we went tripping, has a rule about outhouses which says that you simply can’t have them anymore. Unless you were grandfathered in, which means something of the like that your grandfather set up an outhouse once upon a time that for some miraculous reason is still standing. Not really, but it sounds nice. Anyway, as it were, we stayed in a yurt, which had no outhouse nor plumbing, as a yurt is a fancy tent of sorts. But fear not, bum, there’s a new invention in town. The incinerating toilet. Which will reduce your excrement to a teaspoon of ash. By way of heat. Our host described it as a similar process to cooking your droppings in a pan on the stove. Which makes me wonder how they came up with all this in the first place.

Freaky Fairbanks

2008-04-17T19:54:00.004+02:00

Icefog. February, Fairbanks. -40˚C/F.

First time I came to this town I wondered why anyone would live here. Nestled in a valley, there’s ice-fog in the winter and smog in the summer, with mountains barely visible on the horizon. On a good day. But once I got to know Fairbanks with all its quirks and charm I found it’s inner beauty. It’s a town with personality. It’s where you’ll sit next to a one-legged lady who got the missing leg shot off one night stumbling drunk down a village street when another drunk thought she was a moose. It’s where you’ll happily bounce down the sidewalk while walking your dog and someone will yell from the window of a passing car: Get a yard! It’s where crazy is embraced and normal is shunned, where crazy is considered normal. It’s where all corporations have been delegated to one side of town, contained, so as not to spill into the lives of liberals. It’s where the grocery store has everything you need, from milk to firearms to armchairs. It’s where you’ll meet the old man who used to smuggle weapons during WWII, who had to get smuggled to Alaska when a crazy lady set fire to everywhere he lived.
Fairbanks has personality. It’s the place that fills in the gaps.

Framilends

2008-04-07T21:43:00.004+02:00

When you travel around on extended flimsy whims there’s a lack of normalcy in your daily life. A certain stability of family is missing, and although you are greeted with the most welcoming arms, you will always feel that there’s an emptiness in your life. Along comes amazing. People who act as your substitute family, people you can return to and never feel the lesser for it. People who has already accepted your quirky flaws, people who will even appreciate those. People who’ll have a bed made ready and waiting. People who’ll open their door when they’re not home, let you know where the key is, and even expect you to be there when they get home. This is family. It’s where you can open the fridge and find food, sleep in a bed and rest good, make a fool of yourself and wake up sans paranoia, and overall believe that they’ll love you nonetheless. My fortune is the greatest in that I have people just like this, whose homes I feel warm in and presence I crave. This is my family, these are my friends. It’s when the lines blur between friends and family and you end up with framilends.

Are You Lost?

2008-04-04T20:22:00.002+02:00

I came to Kotzebue nearly three weeks ago. My plan was to stay a few days, visit with some friends, and return to coffee shops and latte. Again, that was three weeks ago. Since then I’ve learned loads about shoveling snow, caught an unlikely number of fish, mushed some dogs, and learned some words I’ll most likely forget within the week. So it’s no surprise that new people I don’t know start the conversation with ‘are you lost?’ because Kotzebue isn’t exactly the navel of the world.

I contemplate this, yes, I am perhaps a bit lost since I am in the middle of nowhere for no other apparent reason than to be in the middle of nowhere. But no, I’m not because when in doubt, make pictures, which is what I did. Only when I’m on the arctic highway driving a snogo outside town I can’t help but wonder if I’m not just a tad bit lost after all.

Turning 30

2008-04-01T09:13:00.006+02:00

I did it, made it past the three-oh landmark that is the halfway point to retirement. Or something like that. Regardless, I have now exited my roaring 20s and entered into what is supposed to be the ripe old age of maturity. What can I say about it so far... I have learned more in the past two weeks from a couple of eskimos than I would have staring at New York Times, Google and Wikipedia all day. My favorite muscle in my hand has returned, if only for now; this year has taught me that it will leave as soon as my fingers start pounding the keyboard again, it’s a muscle that only comes with gripping things like a shovel, hammer or axe. I’ve also learned in no particular order how to maunouver a snowmachine/snogo/ snowscooter/ that-thing-that-travels- on-snow, fish under the ice, dig holes, face my fears, drive dogs, scoop their crap, speak about half a dozen words in eskimo, endure cold, colder and coldest, go without shower, telephone, internet, running water, electricity, lattes and other modern conveniences for weeks on end, sow fur things, appreciate wool, and laugh at just about anything that goes wrong.

Mostly I learned that instincts are present to be followed, and a little spontaneous behavior never hurts. I also learned that turning 30 is totally a mental thing, because I feel no different than before. On the contrary, I think it made me younger.

Photo taken by LuLu Nelson on the Kobuk Lake outside Kotzebue. It’s a Sheefish.

Broken Bearings

2008-04-01T09:09:00.002+02:00

In front of Nome lies the Bering Sea, vast and scary. All the streets in Nome dead ends in it, with a perfect sign just begging the question ‘where to now?’ Nome is the end of the road, last call. The shoreline is where my great grandfather once stood searching for the perfect piece of gold, further out lies Russia and a roaring sea that will claim lives every year. At present the water is frozen for miles out, and besides the Nome National Forest; discarded Christmas trees planted in the ice for an otherwise treeless town, there is nothing but ice, ice, ice as far as you can see. The Bearing Sea is the perfect place for philosophic reflection, long walks, snow angles, spinning around in circles, making lists, shrieking loudly to the tunes from an ipod, and, well, other memorable things. As I leave my 20s in a town built on dreams of fortunes from gold, I realize I struck it last year when I stood on the Bering ice and decided it was time for a change.

Bella

2008-03-18T01:16:00.006+01:00

It's my birthday. Today I round the corner of adulthood and obligations, and to underscore that, Sigrid gave me a dog. My favorite dog. So with my thirtieth birthday follows obligations and commitment in the form of a four legged Iditarod athlete by the name Bella. Welcome to my life, Bella!

Consider it Crazy

2008-03-18T01:03:00.002+01:00

Would you ever consider trudging 1000 miles through the snowy wilderness of Alaska on foot?

A Little Fur

2008-02-26T21:34:00.001+01:00

I have relearned to sow. I learned this skill first from my mother, then from various teachers during my younger years, and now from one of my new friends in Alaska. So far I've made Beaver mitts, and I'm almost done with a Fisher hat, before starting a ruff. This new sowing skill entails leather and fur, a product so enraging to some people they feel the need to throw paint on it, generally red. This was a popular past time for various types of activists in the late eighties, and like most fashions is on its way back. They have clearly never been doing their activist activity in 50 below, and thus have no concept of the usefulness fur has to offer. People in Alaska live in the middle of nowhere, which clearly is somewhere, since they can live there, but nowhere to us normal folk who need roads and Starsucks to function. Living in the middle of nowhere requires fetching of food, like fishing, but also trapping, and in doing so, they are left with fur. The fur is then treated, cut, sown into a parka, hat, mitts, ruff or mukluks, and then worn outside where the freezing cold will claim your life unless you dress properly, so you can further go outside and fetch food for the family. And so the cycle continues, which it has been doing for centuries before we invented espresso and BlackBerries. This is what I tell myself as I poke my needle through the skin (mine and the fur) to build a hat for warmth and protection, the process is Darwinistic, and I just don’t want to get cold.

Shocking

2008-02-05T11:32:00.000+01:00

There was all kinds of excitement going on last night as I checked into a hotel and found that it had a few amenities I didn't realize how much I missed.

King size bed. And it's all mine. It's not a desk, carpet, floor or foam pad. It's an actual bed on which I can spread whichever way I want without fear of falling off, poking my feet in someone's nose, or freeze to the window.

Electricity. So far I've managed to plug something into every socket in the room, two external harddrives, one smaller external, my card reader, computer, battery for camera, battery for phone, so much so that there's none left for the lightfixtures in this cream colored room.

TV. Who'd have thought that the box would be so welcomed back, only to find that there's nothing on of any interest. There are seven channels devoted solely to the race for president, three for sports, one for Alaska with reruns of the same tourism ads, as well as the usual cartoons and Law and Order reruns.

And then, as the day went to night, and the night turned into an all night work thing, I discovered that the bed had those annoying covers that insist on being stuck under the mattress, the TV was only showing reruns of reruns I'd already seen, at a previous hotel stay, I'm sure, and the electricity, well, let's just say it's shocking me all over the place. I guess the combination of an all wool outfit, dry winter air and 40 below will make your fingers spark every time you touch your computer. Ouch.

So as the second day at the hotel goes into night, I long for my sleepingbag, my headlamp and maybe a nice comfortable desk to sleep on.

Pfew Year!

2008-01-09T08:54:00.000+01:00

I live at Dog Camp. No shit! Every day I tour the yard seeking the betterment of our four-legged friends. I consider them such, even though they don’t exactly communicate with words, nor have the ability to dispose of their own crap, which we do by shovel and hauling faaaar away from sensitive noses. Here, at Future and Current Race Dog Boarding School, I act as kind of a preschool and kindergarten teacher. There are the eight puppies who won’t listen to a word I say if it’s not a word they associate with food. Hell, they can’t even remember their own names, so hoping for anything more is stretching it. Then there are the teenage dogs who like to make noise at any and every move you make around the yard, and then there are the more seasoned dogs in their twenties who just play it cool and wait for their turn in the harness. These ages are all in dog-years of course. So when I make my way to the outhouse for another completely unrelated chore it is with a certain five-year-old humor I have to chuckle, as it carries the title Poopsickle, and is perhaps the dirtiest of all jobs here. This inanimate object needs to be knocked down so as not to poke someone in the butt, a repercussion of residing in the cold with no running water. Happy Pfew Year everybody!

P.S. For 2008 I’d like to know whom other than my father is lending me their time here in cyberspace. Drop me a line if you have time; mail@kristinenyborg.com.

Busted Wires

2007-12-26T22:20:00.000+01:00

I'm wired. Not from coffee, but there are wires everywhere in my life. Most everything I own requires a wire of some sort, and here I was, thinking I had simplified my life by going north. Not so much. My computer needs one, as does my camera's battery charger, and my external harddrives where I store my photographs. There are also wires running between all the aforementionned devices, and sometimes I think one goes into my head, just to mess things up. This makes things complicated when you don't have anywhere to plug said wires in, considering there's no electricity where we are. I used to think that was my biggest problem, concerning the wires. Until one day, xmas eve, the wire that decides what I look at on my computer screen decided to take a break and break. Now I have flimmering strings of LCD swimming across a screen that used to be my neatly organized desktop, and for the first time in a month I wish I was in proximity of an Apple Store with an overcrowded Genius Bar, and someone with an answer to my sick Mac.

Wilderness Reflections

2007-12-26T19:55:00.000+01:00

Alaska offers a variety of wild animals, hence people call the bush they live in The Wilderness. I have been recently informed that I don't exactly live in the wilderness, since we have a kind of road that leads to our camp, but since it gets so cold the car won't start, the propane liquifies and the generator quits, I'd say it's still pretty wild. Sometimes when I visit our outhouse I feel as if something is watching me. Our outhouse is all of a shack with a hole in it, facing the woods, so the likelihood is there. Take into the fact that our friendly neighborhood trapper told us he saw wolf prints outside our gate (our driveway is a mile long, so it's still a bit down the road), it's enough to make your heart beat a little faster when the need to pee presents itself at five a.m. So there I was, at the outhouse, during the wee hours of the dark night, when my headlamp caught two eyes staring back at me somewhere beyond the spruce trees. Luckily for me I was already on the toilet, because you can imagine what I did next. Apparently wolves are more afraid of humans than we are them, but in my case I beg to differ. I was sure I was staring into the eyes of a serious throat-bite. But as it turns out, it was only Fred, the pet dog of our neighbor, taking his nightly stroll...

Minus Farenheit/Celcius, Whatever

2007-12-26T19:52:00.000+01:00

What fun winter can be, huh? -40C/F. You know that's where they meet. Those two letters that essentially is trying to tell the same thing, but in impossibly different numbers, requiring a formula that no one in their right mind should have to remember. It's kind of like trying to remember all the numbers of Pi. In California I learned to tell the difference by that 100F was really hot, much more so than we'd ever get in Celsius Norway. In New York I learned that 90F plus 60% humidity was outright obnoxious, and those were the kind of days where you'd stay inside in front of your air conditioner. In Alaska the two have finally met. Celsius and Fahrenheit have become friends as far as I'm concerned, because here, the other day, the two joined forces on a big, red 40. It's the point where everything becomes very difficult; the propane liquifies, the generator quits, the car died about 20 degrees ago, and even the dogs take a day off. It was the kind of day when things get done, around the house, kennel and strangely enough it was a beautiful day to spend outside.

Another Blog on Bush Girls

2007-12-15T11:44:00.000+01:00

We made a blog for the blog on the blog of the blog that is the blog. Or something along those lines. Regardless, we decided out here, in the wilderness, that emails are quite hard to respond to, and so we have created this communal blog for the both of us where you can hopefully read and see what we do. But, be warned, it's in Norwegian. It's not meant to be rude, it just was simpler that way. And out here simple is key. So here it is, us, in the wilderness: Hen E Det Sjø!

Showernet

2007-12-15T11:39:00.000+01:00

I met a guy at the washeteria in the village who designs websites for a living. He was sitting there, in the shower, designing a website for a local pet supply store. Michael, the web designer, has no electricity at his house, nor does he have internet. So, being that the washeteria is the only place in town with these accomodations, he makes his living from a shower in Manley, Alaska. Which is funny, because that is precisely the reason we go to the washeteria. For electricity. And the world wide web.

Bush Knowledge

2007-12-12T02:26:00.000+01:00

We need a radio. In fact, the whole title of this blog is about the radio which we don’t have. Apparently it costs a bunch, and you have to reinforce its antennas with foil, but on the next trip to town we will acquire a Bush Radio, if only to listen to other people’s chatter. I have been here five days now, and I can honestly say I’ve already learned a bunch. First of all, don’t stick your hand into a dog fight. No matter how many times you’ve done it before, just don’t. That one time you actually do happen to get bit, it kinda hurts, and you have to learn new, big words to describe what it is. Besides, it seriously inhibits your ability to carry buckets of water and other essentials. But if you do happen to get bit, you’ll want to look up Carol, the nurse, who does an amazing job with foolish hands going places they shouldn’t be. Secondly I’ve learned that running ten dogs on a four-wheeler is a lot harder than five on a sled. Especially when there’s snow involved, and the four-wheeler hardly has any breaks. It’s slippery. And fun.

In other news I made some awesome soup, which I am really proud of. It was made on a iron stove, powered by birch, and the meat got thawed next to some wet socks. Yum!

Laceration and Abbration

2007-12-08T02:07:00.000+01:00

I am writing this with one hand. Because today I've learned two new words. Laceration and abbration. I have also gotten aquainted with my fat cells, as they came into light on my right hand. Sometimes breaking up a dogfight will render you with a lacerated hole going into an abbrational bruise. Carol, the vilage physician was nice enough to clean, sterilize and tape me back together with various 3M products, which will hopefully stick better than their Post-Its, as the gaping hole heals. My first 24 hours in Alaska already will leave me with a three cm scar that I can tell exciting tales from for a time to come, and I have also decided that typing with my left hand is hard. Today has been an eventful day, a precursor for an exciting next few months. Stay tuned, a picture will follow.

And just for logistical purposes, this photograph is obviously not taken by me. Credit for this one goes to Sigrid Ekran who can operate a Leica. Good job.

An empty room and no picture

2007-12-06T11:03:00.000+01:00

There's an echo in my room, and the mice no longer have anywhere to hide. They dart, acting as if I don't notice, but I do. How could I not. People have called and asked if I'm standing in a cave. I'm not. There's just an echo. Because now it's empty, one stool remains to welcome whoever gets my oasis next. I am leaving in five minutes, and once I step out of this house I will per definition be a vagabond. I am keyless. I was going to write a list over what New York has taught me, which is a lot, and five minutes just won't do for that purpose. Instead you get this. A blurb about mice and empty rooms. And no picture. Stay tuned for Alaska! And maybe a list.

Snow

2007-12-03T11:37:00.000+01:00

I really miss snow. Seriously, where is it? I met a man in Alaska who liked snow so much he’s getting his PhD in it. Just snow. I like snow, there are angles to be made, snowballs to be thrown, immaturity to embrace. Apparently it is a thing of the past, because today, outside my mother’s kitchen, there is a green lawn as the radio is playing Christmas songs. Let’s take a moment to miss the good old days, when Christmas was white. At the dawn of 30, I will start using the expression when I was young...

Brand New

2007-12-03T10:48:00.000+01:00

The other day I sat on my camera. I’ve sat on many things in my life, once I sat on my napkin ring and flattened it completely. This would have been fine had it not been for it being a family heirloom and previous owners include something like my great-great-grand-goat or of the like. Which upset my folks. Regardless, I sat on my camera and broke the LCD screen, which makes the LCD screen look like it’s been on LSD, creating all kinds of swirly art where my exposures should be shown. It happened in an art gallery, just to make the picture perfect. Now it's practically useless, and this on the eve of one of my adventures, an inconvenience I could be without. However, as I ponder this predicament I’ve put myself in by sitting on my camera I’ve discovered that this camera, a little thing which nestles nicely in my pocket, has gotten a younger brother, which apparently don’t have all the flaws mine has. So, this is the question that only a poor person with no reasoning whatsoever will ask; did I sit on my camera so I could get the new, improved version? I think not, but yet I will.

Fog

2007-11-20T12:17:00.001+01:00

And I mean fog.

More Wires

2007-11-20T12:13:00.001+01:00

I spent a good part of yesterday trying to find wires for my hard drives. As I am presently moving my home base from American sockets to Norwegian, several complications arise. Like what are they called exactly, those long, black cables that go into the socket, which on the other end looks like a figure 8 and goes into whatever power box goes to whichever hard drive. Or charger. Or anything for that matter, no one understood what I was talking about even though it is the most common cable in the world. But who can blame them, my description probably needed a bit of editing. Regardless, I finally found them, and for the price of eight cups of coffee or a small Oslo meal, three cables are now mine, operating my hard drives. And they didn’t even explode.

In other news my first days in Oslo have been seriously foggy. Like you can't see your hand in front of you foggy. I like fog. The little light we get looks oh-so-pretty. Welcome home.

Finally New York

2007-11-20T12:06:00.000+01:00

This is what it looks like. Millions of peeps stacked on top of each other, with holes of space and peace in the form of hotel lobbies 34 floors above scurry level. With Big Brother watching. Later, New York!

Moving

2007-11-15T12:15:00.000+01:00

I have no picture for moving. At least not at this very moment. This very moment is 6am and I'm sitting in the Apple Store on Fifth Avenue, it's shaped like a big, glass box, and is open 24/7. One of the things I'll miss about NYC. 24/7. You can do anything at any time, because there are 8 million people here ensuring your comfort in screwing up. Your mess is here at their convenience. Which is me. At this exact moment. Because my computer is acting up, which it has been for the past, well, while, and because things are as they are when you move, you figure it's the best time to make it better just when you have no time to do it. Again with the time, I know... So here I am, Apple Store, Fifth Avenue, 6 am, and feeling very nerdy. And pressured. I leave this town in 12 hours.

Where did the time go?

2007-11-06T05:21:00.000+01:00

Last weekend I changed the time. All week I had appointments on time, the new time, before suddenly discovering that this weekend was the actual weekend to change the time. Which begs the question how all my appointments happened on time even if it was the wrong time. Apparently, Pres. Bush decided it was time for the U.S. to change the time at a different time than the rest of the world, but what do I know about time, other than that I'm always running out. Despite all the confusion Halloween happened on time, and sometimes even Death needs a hot dog.

Another Cable Cut

2007-10-31T18:47:00.000+01:00

One of the trials of living in New York is that work never stops. Especially if work generally happens in a time zone six hours away. So when Verizon, our internet company, occasionally, which is actually often, shut off our i-net, it can get tricky to meet deadlines. Last night the rude man on the phone had no answers, so I set off on a search for a signal in the hood. This midnight stroll with apple under arm was conducted in a neighborhood that isn't the best around that time of night. Add to the fact that it's late october and zombies patrol the streets, I became a little concerned with my stoop surfing. Apparently everyone around here are Verizon users, so after an hour I found a signal a mile away. All because someone cut a wire while digging a hole around the corner. Thinking about how many wires are in the ground under my step, it made me grateful we don't have them above us like this township in Cape Town.

Yawn

2007-10-25T12:13:00.000+02:00

Insomnia. It's just one of those things that kicks in now and again. The work of a churning mind, sleep's true poison. As I battle this temporary disease, I look through pictures, trying to get organized, which is the whole reason my mind is spinning anyway. Vicious cycle. I found this one from last month, taken five feet from my front door. I saw it and remembered I liked the signs, which made me want to ramble about signs for a page, but then the lady made me yawn. Which is when I realized that would be a sign not to write about signs, and also when it came to me that yawning is contagious. My insomniac self went on a mission to find out why, and ten minutes plus many search engines later, I found out that nobody can really say. Basically they think we yawn because of self awareness. It's the compassionate thing to do. With that I send this yawn around the world. Did it work?

Blissful Crowd

2007-10-23T00:58:00.000+02:00

The irony of city life is that sometimes, to get away from the hectic life of the city, the only thing to do is completely immerse oneself in it. Like taking a stroll in the middle of Chinatown, ignoring your usual need to keep an 18-inches-of-freedom bubble around, and just take in the fact that the city is what it will always be: hectic, impersonal and sometimes completely necessary.

Spam-a-lot

2007-10-17T16:01:00.000+02:00

Among the many pleasures of living in a big city is the constant access to everything technological. You can keep up to date on everything you want instantly if you have one of those fancy gizmos which works as a phone, email and internet compacted to a thing the size of a credit card. It's amazing how well connected people get, and instant knowledge makes sure party conversations never dry up. RSS feeds and emails will plop into your gizmo making you a walking 24 hour news channel, all thanks to the inventions of busy America. In a sense these gizmos seem to be invented with such small gaps so as to keep people busy from getting bored. Perhaps needed in a place where people average a seven minute attention span. When I recently considered upgrading from Gizmo 1 to Gizmo 2, a huge pull was the fact that the busy people in the invention plant had made Gizmo 2 foolproof, which is what I needed seeing that I still don't fully understand Gizmo 1. But upon further contemplation, I realized that with this new technology also follows an older, more annoying technology; spam. Which begs the question, do I really need to read about how Barry got a huge cock, and Viagra will save your marriage 24 hours a day? I think not. Welcome back Gizmo 1.

No Standing

2007-10-15T06:12:00.001+02:00

I'm feeling rebellious. Somewhere between the airport and the gutter it's time to take a stand.

Let's get out of town...

2007-10-09T06:17:00.000+02:00

Imagine this scenario... You live in a place with 8 million people. You get claustrophobic. You need a break. Anywhere, anything, as long as it is away from the overcrowded humid streets. You find out one of your friends has an extra ticket to the best concert of the summer, probably the last one outside. The venue is in the city, but on an island, hence it’s like getting away. An escape. It involves travel time, first on a train, then a boat and a finally a walk on grass, before the stage will present itself, in front of about 10 000 bladders sharing green port-a-potties and seven dollar Heineken in plastic cups. The music starts, and you wonder how is it possible to feel so relaxed in a crowd this big, enforcing the love-hate relationship of a city overgrown. The band sings and you realize it is the right decision to break up. Because there's definite love there, just not the right kind. The band sings, and you agree:

New York, I Love You
But you're freaking me out

New York, I Love You
But you're bringing me down

And with that, I decide with a 100 percent certainty, it's time to leave.

October Wishlist and a Blue-eyed Bull

2007-10-05T16:56:00.002+02:00

It’s October. Really. October. The month of changing leaves, rain, weather that goes sub zero overnight, sweaters, fresh air, Halloween and a bunch of nice things I’ve forgotten about. So where is it? Because October so far has been sticky, hot and humid. I want my sweaters, my shoes, I want to go outside and not feel as if I’m dressing myself in New York’s polluted air like an unwanted coat. Instead we’re still in short skirts, tank tops and flip flops. October. We’re having conversations about the beach, what beaches are open, the public pool, anything to make the coat go away, if only for a second.

I did, however, meet a blue-eyed-bull-dog, which was cool. October!

Freedom of Speech

2007-09-25T17:16:00.000+02:00

A man came to visit the land of freedom this week. He was invited to speak at a university where young and able minds were to decipher his aging wisdom. Even as a foreign national this man has the freedom of speech, which he intended to use at this university. Only problem is that in the land of freedom and free speech this man is considered dangerous, hence many free people had a problem with his freedom to speak, so they set the wheels in motion to use their own freedom of speech to let this man know that his speaking and freedom to do so was not appreciated. Also, if he could please abstain from saying anything at all, that would be preferred. He came, he spoke, and he provoked, a stir heard around the world. Later, after his speech, this man also wanted to use his freedom to visit Ground Zero, a place many free people have determined he helped create, but despite diplomatic international law allowing him to travel in a 25 mile radius of Manhattan's navel, the police has decided not to give him the freedom of travel. At least not there.

Traffic NYC style

2007-09-24T05:33:00.000+02:00

It's UN week in the city and all the important people of the world have come to play, like worms in an apple. There are 192 member states of the United Nations, and as far as I know Norway alone has about 100 people scurrying the hallways. So if all the 192 member states each have the same amount of people, that means we have an invasion of about 200 000 new people in UN attendees alone. And that’s not counting the people who work for the people who are attending, making sure their schedule is up to par, the Secret Service and the bodyguards traveling with the higher ups, and the media here for the event. To top it off, these people are all staying within a 20 block radius of the UN, which means pretty much all in the same spot as half the radius goes into the East River, and the higher ups all have to travel in motorcades due to the fact that, well, they need to enforce a certain amount of security to make sure these heads of state don’t get into trouble. So the whole mid-section of the city is jammed by motorcades long as a city block packed with guns and protective eyes, each with a police escort to make traffic shy away, although the only other vehicles on the road to cause traffic are other motorcades equally long, also with a police escort to keep traffic away. Due to these chains of cars all traveling within 20 blocks of each other, everyone in a hurry with important meetings to attend, you get something so rare as a motorcade traffic jam.

Homeward Bound

2007-09-20T20:48:00.000+02:00

A’ight. So it’s time to head back to city life. Actually, this is me talking from my kitchen table, in my smelly chinese neighborhood of New York City. Not exactly Alaska, but a wilderness in its own right. So, from now on, there will be some radio from the big Apple while the Last Frontier awaits in limbo.