Høst i Oslo

The Fall Colors

Autumn has come to Norway and it has brought fiery colors and cold air, both of which are rarely seen back home.  Back in Cali I used to think it was cold when I rode home from school at night and I could see my breath.  I would think, “wow I’m glad I wore a hat and brought this one rather thin jacket with me today!”  Now I have been layering up with wool socks, long underwear and sweaters, gloves, snow jackets, faux fur hats, and a neck buff that is made for skiing in the mountains, and still the cold penetrates my clothes.  It’s then, when I wonder how some people can walk around with one jacket and no gloves or hats or anything else that looks warm, and be so casual.  I tell myself that they have grown up with it and are used to it, but I still wonder.  

I am enjoying the cold weather.  It’s something that I have not experienced living in before.  But I am only more excited for the weather to stop just flirting with the idea of cold and take the dip below freezing, because that means snow is coming.  I probably can count on my hands how many times I have actually been in the snow, so living in it, walking in it daily, is something that I cannot wait for.  My wife warned me the other day.  She said that every year she thinks she is prepared for the winter, but when it comes it slaps you in the icy face like a woman on TV who has just been insulted.  I can’t wait ;)

About the colors...and I’m sure I sound like a typical dramatic American, but they are so beautiful.  They grab and hold my attention nearly the entire time I am out.  Just the trees by the intersection in front of our apartment are lovely to gaze at.  Over the past few weeks they have turned from the usual green, to yellow, to orange and now red; making a handful of Skittles ashamed to be called colorful.  They shed daily and cover the entire ground around them with the same vibrant colors.  It’s about a 2 minute walk to the grocery store from our apartment, but it’s two minutes of walking in what feels like a fairytale.  On one side are the red, green, and yellow apartments with high peeked roofs and decoratively trimmed windows.  On the other side is the long line of white trunked trees filled with bushy colorful tops.  In between is the street made of cobblestone, which don’t get me started on because I still find them to be Disneyland’s streets.  Then, what makes the very ordinary walk to the grocery store feel like a painting is that the entire ground is covered with a fluffy layer of yellow leaves.    I appreciate going grocery shopping every time.  

The best part is that the entire city is like this.  Trees are everywhere and so are the leaves and the color.  There are several parks within walking distance of the apartment.  All of them are a joy to walk though because of the color.  Back in Santa Maria, I think we have four...no wait...five trees in the city that change colors.  Mostly we have pine and other types of evergreen trees.  They give off a nice smell and grow to be 45 meters, but none of them display the kaleidoscope of hot colors.  I have heard that much of the eastern part of America has the rich four seasons, but not southern California.  I guess this is the the compromise to our beaches and year-round near perfect 70°F weather.  

I find it difficult to describe what exactly is different about Norway and home, so this picture is worth many of those frustrations.  This is just the simple intersection in front of our apartment, but its unlike any intersection back home.

Any Norwegian in their right mind wouldn't look twice, maybe not even once, at this picture.  It's just an average pink building and a street.  But I find it to be so different from what I'm used to in America.  

One of the parks near our apartment.  Very beautiful to walk through.

Playing in the trees – she is so much fun.

Not much to say here...

Our little trip to the post office turned into an adventure and an addition to our furniture.  We had been needing a new bookcase in our room, so when we saw this used but clean one that someone was throwing away, we decided that I would carry it home.  Well, now we don't need a bookcase anymore.  

Enjoying the Autumn beauty at Frognerparker.  One of, if not the most, famous parks in Oslo.

Frognerparken has over 200 bronze and granite statues of naked people...probably why it is so famous.  Somehow this little guy (Sinnataggen or Angry Boy) seems to be the most famous.


Frogneparken covers over 80 acres of land, all of which is peaceful.

We went for a nice walk one sunny Sunday afternoon and there were people everywhere out walking.  A popular stroll is taking the path along this river that runs through the neighborhood.  

Sykler i Oslo

Riding my new bike in the park.  Can you believe I got this bike for FREE?  Granted it didn't have a front tire or a seat when I got it, but with a some clever thinking and swapping of parts, I have quite a nice bike to ride now. 

I recently was given a used bicycle.  And I have recently found myself lost in the city on it several times.  The cities in Norway are laid out much differently than the U.S..  American cities are like checker boards — the streets typically run N-S and E-W or some other variation of 90° angles.  Here, you can look at an intersection from one view, then come to the same intersection from anther direction and not even realize that you are at the same place.  With the turns and hills and oddly shaped blocks, I have a hard time keeping track of where exactly I am at.  Back home, when you want to get somewhere that you don’t know the exact route to, you can generally point in the direction and rather easily arrive there.  Here, after three blocks sometimes, I surprisingly come across a spot that I thought was a neighborhood away.  Just looking at a map of the city is confusing, like looking at a map of Santa Maria that has been crumbled up and ran through the washing machine. 

Riding in traffic in Norway is not the same as riding in California.  Like I said before, the streets are more narrow and windy.  Road signs and signals are harder to see.  Sometimes it seems like there are as many cyclists on the road as there are cars, and sometimes it seems like those drives aren’t worried about the cyclists at all—but I shouldn’t say that because every motherly woman in my life will be worried.  In the order of most privileged; everything stops for the trams that are in most parts of the downtown city, and everything but trams stop for pedestrians.  Cars are probably the least prioritized and bicycles fit somewhere between them and busses.  But the beauty of riding a bike is that you get the maneuverability of pedestrians and nearly the speed of a car when in the city (yes mom, I do wear a helmet).  When Benedicte and I head home from Aker Brygge at the same time–she on the bus and me on the bike–I am usually home ten minutes before her.  

Back home, when growing up we learned to cross the street by looking left, then right, then left again, then finally cross while holding hands.  The way people cross the street here makes me think that kids learned that if there is a crosswalk at foot its safe no matter what.  Or that cars just don’t hurt when you get hit by them.  It’s ridiculous!  People don’t just expect cars to stop, they actually trust them too.  Sometimes big vans and trucks slam hard on their brakes, nearly skidding, to stop for pedestrians who might as well not even be checking before they walk.  In America pedestrians have the right-a-way also, but we don’t trust that rule the way Norwegians do.

Min norsk er bli bedre.  (My Norwegian is getting better).  I think.  But that sentence in Norwegian is probably grammatically incorrect.  I’m understanding more and more and my mental dictionary is expanding at exciting rates.  I am now in a Norwegian course twice a week.  A local church offers it for much cheaper than government courses.  I think it’s viewed as their ministry.  I am the only American in the class, along with some Polish, Lithuanian, German and Asian students.  I have a big blue text book and work book to go along that makes me feel like I am elementary school again with cartoon pictures and simple point-and-speak exercises.  I learn fast because I enjoy it and I’m not afraid of trying to get my point across with the words I know.  But I don’t feel that a big “breakthrough” has happened yet.  It’s not so hard to learn this language on paper.  Writing and reading comes fast, but the spoken language is where the disaster can strike. 

 I often feel that I have learned a lot and want to exercise my new skills, so I attempt to speak to someone I don’t know (a store clerk or bus driver).  I don’t mention that I speak English.  One of two things usually happens; either I spit out my sentence and wait through the courtesy pause while the person tries to figure out what I am saying, or I get the first sentence out properly, but the response comes so fast that all I hear is one long word.  Then I’m the one racking my brain at what was just said.  Then I ask them to repeat it with saying “unnskjyld?”.  “Unnskjyd?”  And then awfully, usually after the third time, I revert back and ask them in English.  It’s this disaster that makes me feel like I have been rowing the Learning A New Language boat up the wrong river for the past 5 months.  However, if I’m speaking to someone who knows I am learning, I can usually impress them with how much/little/whatever I know.  Then I feel really good about my progress.

But learning Norwegian for me isn’t about impressing anyone or even about the Norwegian language itself, it’s about my wife and loving her.  I am enjoying learning this new language and culture, but I’m doing it for her.  I’m adjusting my life daily to fit better with her.  I’m bringing my life to her and offering it to her to make one life for us.  And I am completely confident that she does the same thing for me daily as well.  And that, I love her for. <3

Is this Shrek actual size?

Is this LEGO man actual size?

Good friends, Izzi and Morten.  We went on a weekend long double-date to Sweden, did some cheap Sweden shopping and to Liseberg theme park.  

With the Love Of My Life on the lock bridge, well thats what we call it.  It seems like many lovebirds put locks on the bridge with their initials on them.  We will add our own soon.

And finally I will end with a picture of my beautiful wife.  Oh how sweet it is to call her my wife ;)