Getting a Job as a Foreigner

My wife took this one of my on a sunny day in front of my new work place – Egon Byporten.

After waiting eight months before getting the visa, I was more than eager to start working.  I thought finding a job as a server in Oslo would be a snap of my fingers.  I have over three years of serving experience in California and the city presents several American style restaurants that almost exclusively hire english speakers.  I thought TGI Fridays would be the most perfect fit for me because of how they proudly flaunt their American style, but after 3 weeks I heard nothing back from all 4 of them.  I began to get a little discouraged when the Hard Rock Cafe emailed me back with a regretful “unable to pursue employment possibilities at this time” email.  The discouragement only set in further as nearly all other restaurants were adamant that they only hired employees of Scandinavian tongue.  But like everything else in life, when your original plans don’t work out, you begin to go down roads that weren’t an option before.

I was down in the heart of the city doing something other than job hunting when I saw an “Egon” restaurant, just like one I was rejected by the day before, but bigger.  I just had an impulse – something that often gets me into very unique situations – to go in a ask to speak to a manager.  But the impulse was “I wonder how this will go if I try to speak Norwegian?”  Ten minutes later I had a job as a server at the largest grossing restaurant in all of Scandinavia.  

I talked to the right person at the right time in the right language.  I remember saying “Jeg heter Matthew.  Jeg er 23 år gammel og kommer fra America.  Jeg søker på jobb som servitør.”   Basically, my name, age, where I was from and that I was looking for a serving job.  

The guy cut me off and asked in English “how long have you been here?”

“Eight months.” I said slightly insecurely.  Knowing that my Norwegian was probably the sound of chewing stones.

“...and you speak THAT much Norwegian?”  he exclaimed with a surprised tone in his voice.  “Let me get the boss who hires people?”

And I thank God that my manager Ali was working that day.  He instantly liked me, nearly loved me.  We clicked with our customer service personalities.  And even though I could only understand about half of what he was saying, he went on and on about how he thought I had the ‘key to Egon’ with my smile and excitement towards people.  

My job isn’t so much of a waiter job that I am used to.  The very popular Norwegian Egon restaurant has a unique ‘all order at the bar’ concept.  That changes the game for the waiter a lot.  I feel like I am more of a busboy, rather than a waiter sometimes.  My job is to maintain order in my section at all times.  That means clearing and cleaning all dirty tables, chairs, floors, asking guests how the food is and if there is anything I can get them and fixing anything else that can go wrong.  

It is harder work than I am used to in the restaurant business due to the 9 hour shifts and much much busier location.  I also don’t make nearly as many tips like I was used to in California, but I still appreciate the job so much.  For my level of Norwegian speaking, it was a perfect start.  I am forced to speak to customers in Norwegian, but not so much to the point of overloading.  If I had to take full orders from them like I did in California, but in Norwegian, it just wouldn’t work, at least not with my level of speaking when I started two and a half months ago.  I get to control how much I want to speak Norwegian by going around and choosing which tables I want to talk to and which questions I want to ask (even though I am supposed to as every table how they are doing and how the it tastes). 

Just after 3 weeks of working, my Norwegian grew so much.  It is still growing too.  I can have a conversation now...as long as the person speaks slightly slower than usual conversation speed.  But even so, there are still so many words and ways of saying things that I don’t know yet that I am constantly asking people to repeat themselves.  My newest task with the language is pronunciation.  I am starting to listen intently to how and where to put the pressure and stress in each word.  It doesn’t sound like much, but I think it’s a very important element between sounding like an absolute foreigner or a person perceived to have a brain – which is a goal that I WILL conquer one day.

On that culturally out-of-key foreigner note, I’m definitely not the only black sheep working at the restaurant.  I’m the only American, we have many people from Central Europe and many many people from Nextdoor Sweden.  In fact, sometimes I feel that I’m working in Sweden rather than Norway.  A little background info is that because Norway is so rich from oil and has such a good economy, it’s very popular for young swedish people to move here and make twice as much as they are used to.  The result – probably 75% of my coworkers are Swedish.  Now I am learning a few Swedish words here and there, but in the beginning, not knowing who was Swedish and who was Norwegian and definitely not hearing the difference between the two when they spoke, made for a bit of a comical memory for me.  The first few days when the Swedish words hit my ears it was like they just bounced off without any recognition at all.  I began to get frustrated and discouraged thinking that my Norwegian must be better than this.   It’s relieving to know now that apparently even Norwegians have a bit of a hard time understanding them sometimes.

So that’s it for now.  I know this was a long wait for a blog, but the 12 hours a week of Norwegian course, about 40 hours a week of Egon and 168 hours a week of husbandry has kept my fingers away from the keyboard.  (btw I didn’t know ‘husbandry’ was a word until my computer didn’t spell check it)

Here is what the restaurant looks like from the outside.  It is located right in the heart of the downtown city.  It is the first thing you see when you arrive from the airport train – which is why we get so much business.  

The Impossible Appeal

It has been over a month now since we were granted a family immigration visa for me to stay here in Norway with my wife.  Benedicte and I thought getting married would be an absolute solution at getting a visa, but after being denied by UDI’s reason of “just marriage is not enough reason for us to grant you a family immigration permit”...we began preparing for separation again.  That was not an option to us though.  I gave up my acceptance to my dream university and major – Cal Poly SLO and Biomedical Engineering – just so that we wouldn’t have to be apart any longer.  So, before we bent over and allowed UDI to ship me home, we poured our hearts into 17 pages of appeal. 

We collected 80 signatures, gave reason after reason and document after document to why I would be a good citizen in Norway and even used a few sentences of their own law against them to change their decision to separate us.  We knew that we didn’t fulfill their strongest requirement of Benedicte making at least 245,000 NOK a year (about $44,000).  Everyone around us was telling us that it wouldn’t work.  We heard that the signature collecting was a waste of time and that UDI didn’t care about how we felt or the love we shared.  I stood before friends, church and classmates at Norwegian lessons asking for signatures and saying that I will do everything I can to stay with my wife.  According to the facts, we knew that 5,000 miles of separation was eminent, but we still had a this ‘foolish’ faith in us.

In the three weeks it took to process the appeal, I remember praying ever night after my wife fell asleep.  I half prayed half questioned God why he would let us be separated.  Since I decided to follow Christ when I was 17, I haven’t questioned my faith so seriously.

A few weeks after we turned in our essay of an appeal, I decided to call UDI.  I was preparing my stomach to hear the date in which I needed to leave.  I had to ask the man on the other side of the phone 4 times to check his information because I literally could not believe the words he spoke.  He said it so casually and meaninglessly, but I will never forget those unmistakable words  “uhhh, yes...I see here that you have been granted a family immigration visa...”

That moment I was truly speechless.  I almost couldn’t tell the man to have a nice day.  My eyes filled with such a rush of emotion from every place inside my body it was like a dam breaking.  There is crying from joy and then there is what I did.  I was too happy to cry, scream, laugh or even move.  I just fell to my knees in awe of God’s kindness.  I knelt there for ten minutes probably in the solitary silence of my room.  Benedicte was still at work having a difficult time finding purpose in what she was doing because her husband was soon to be away from her for such an inappropriate and avoidable reason.  When my voice finally came back to me I screamed and jumped and celebrated.  Our roommate Sandra was the definition of a good friend that day as she went out and bought balloons, cake, ice cream and all other happy things to celebrate with us.  Benedicte didn’t believe it either when she got home.  I don’t even want to begin to describe how hard she cried.  She almost got mad at me just because she thought I was lying. 

The official letter from UDI arrived about a week later.  It translated something like “...we find no reason to separate the couple...”  What?  That does not happen and makes no sense.  People have to leave the country everyday because they do not fulfill UDI’s requirements.  Visas are not easy to get here, and family immigration visas are the most difficult because once you have them, you can’t be denied ever again.

The surprise has worn off a bit now, but I remember even 3 weeks after we received the good news, we still found ourselves in a bit of a fairytale realizing that we actually have the visa. 

Life brings circumstances like this that make us realize how unfair it can get.  I found myself broken, tired, with everything I wanted out of my control and questioning the God I believe in.  How could anyone separate young, fervently in love newlyweds?  I found myself sitting on the cold ground deep at the bottom of the dry well of exhaustion.  I know we have all found ourselves sitting there exhausted with life at some point; whether in our relationships, work, finances, home-life, whatever.  I cannot, and never will be able to, give an answer to why life is so unfair, but I can say that I have faith that Jesus Christ really is my Savior because I know he helps me when I sit at the bottom of that cold dry well.  

If anyone wants to read the 17 pages we wrote to UDI and see how we pleaded our case, I can email it to you if you contact me.  I want people to know of this goodness that I have found in God.

I wrote these words to UDI:  "I will end this appeal with a picture of my wife and I.  This photo of us is just one small glimpse of our beautiful love.  Please give attention to our lives and our marriage.  Please honor us and our marriage by allowing us to stay together."

What it feels like to be in the abyss.

I woke up this morning to dense thick fog clouding everything everywhere outside.  I couldn’t even see the front yard from the house window.  I was expecting the sun to dry it away once daylight hit like it happens in California, but to my great surprise, that event never occurred!

The fog stuck around all day.  I’m sure today was old news about winter weather for Bergen citizens, but not for me.  I was enthused by it all day long, just like I was when the ice crystals infested a few weeks ago.  I had to see what it was like to be out on the boat during the little bit of daylight that we had. 

As you might have watched in the video I posted on Facebook, you couldn’t see more than 100 meters in any direction.  If the Blair Witch Project was filmed at sea, it would have been in those conditions. The entire time I was out there, I only saw one sign of living humans in the form of a boat puttering slowly and cautiously through the hazy expanse.  I saw them, but not so sure that they saw me or the little brown row boat.  

I had been traveling close enough to the rocky islands to know where I was at all times.  If you didn’t know the area well, then getting lost would have been an avoidable mistake.  I didn’t even consider the possibility of getting lost because I do know the area well enough.  But I did learn that knowing where we are at brings a great sense of security, whether we are conscious of it or not.  

I was enjoying the beauty of the sea.  It was tranquil, peaceful and calm, not creepy.  That is, before I rowed out into the middle of the large bay where I couldn’t see anything but silent white fog.  This caused my sense of sight to no longer be of any use.  I was too far from any land to even make out a faint silhouette.  I let my imagination go and suddenly realized how eerie the conditions could be.  

I had a playful shivering feeling at that moment.  

What if you didn’t know where you were at on the sea that day?  You would feel completely alone, not knowing how long you would have to row until you would again met land.  The feeling would be so strong that rowing one time would feel like rowing a thousand times, and rowing a thousand times would feel like rowing one time.  You could stand up on the boat, look all around you and still see nothing.  Your eyes could try to focus on something, anything, but would only fail.  You didn’t know before, but when you don’t have anything to focus on, then a little piece of your orientation leaves you.  I’m sure if it was a real situation, a little piece of your sanity might leave you as well.

 It was a fantastic moment that I hope never presents itself to me seriously.  

This picture doesn't really fit my eerie story category, but the details of the sea always grab my attention.  

This one is for my mom!  I thought of you when I saw these little guys.

How to Make Music by Breaking Ice.

I know I said that my next blog would be about my wife’s and my grim visa situation, but I rather write about something much more pleasant.

This day was a classic summer day – clear, sunny, crisp and cold, short but sweet.  When I woke this morning, everything was painted white.  Not snow, not the fluffy whiteness sitting on tree limbs and engulfing entire cars.  But ice, umfgillions of tiny crystals that had grown on every surface of everything over the coarse of the night.  I don’t know exactly why, probably a mix of the below freezing temperature and ocean marine layer, but it was beautiful outside.  It still is, even as I write this.  I have never seen everything cover in such whiteness like that before.  You know those fake white Christmas trees?  The ones that look nice but only because their so artificial they could never be real...?  Well, all day I enjoyed that same arctic frost, but it was everywhere and it was authentic.

I had to take advantage of it and go out on Arvid’s rowboat – the same one that I used all summer.  The water was super dark turquoise clear...more than it has been in years according to Arvid.  When out on the boat, I could see down probably 60 feet to the little white patches of sand.  From the dock I could see all the picky details; colored seaweed and dozens of starfish.  Starfish small enough to fit on a dime and starfish large enough to creep me out a little.  I know he’s a harmless starfish, but do you think he actually eat my head if it had the chance?  I mean, come one, he could easily completely wrap himself all the way around it?  Maybe that’s just my sci-fi mind.     

I didn’t know it was so hard to row through ice...and this ice wasn’t even that thick.  It’s not that your boat stops completely, but the ice is surprisingly strong enough to hold your oar underneath it.  And then, if you don’t have good gloves, it will slip right through your fingers and through the ice.  That was problem solving situations, but don’t worry Arvid, I got your oar back.  I reluctantly turned away from my adventure of shattering my way through the stubborn ice.  

Maybe you saw the video I posted on Facebook of rocking my boat to create ice breaking waves.  I was helplessly fascinated by it.  As each wave traversed the sea in formation further and further from the boat, they created an almost symphonized performance of cracking ice and slushing water.  A new sound for my ears.  Likening to the whaaa whaaa ringing sound of large pieces of sheet metal fluttering, along with all the crickets in the northern hemisphere performing their unique instruments.  The sound started at my boat and traveled out, spanning the frozen section of the sea until I could hear it no more.  But honestly, I probably looked like a doofus out in the middle of the sea by myself jumping up and down on the boat.   

I have so enjoyed the sea here at my in-laws place, but I realize that I haven’t posted many pictures of it while out on the boat.  So here are a few of the ones form today that I enjoyed.  

Winter 2012

         I had a great 300 word start to a previous blog entry.  I was going to talk all about what I think of Norway’s weather in November.  About how it’s supposedly the worst month for weather.  About “surt vær”, the type of sour weather that just gnaws at you.  About how it isn’t cold enough for the constant rain to turn to snow and how the dark gloominess grows longer by 6 minutes everyday.  About how the rain doesn’t come down on your head, but about how the accompanying sideways wind helps it up under your jacket and directly into your eyeballs.  I was going to talk about the rhyming Norwegian saying “De finnes ikke dårlig vær, bare dårlig klær!” and about how even my Norwegian teacher said that they use it to comfort themselves about how it’s not bad weather, just bad clothes.  I was going to talk about how I actually agree with the saying and don’t mind the weather.  The most common question I get is “what do you think about the weather?” which leads me to believe that many people expect me to dread the sour weather.  It really hasn’t bothered me.  I agree with the little Norwegian comfort saying, as long as you have clothes to keep you dry and warm, it’s like being in California...ok maybe not quite.

        Those were all things I was going to talk about for a late Autumn post, but I haven’t yet gotten a firm grasp on this blogging thing.  I enjoy to write and paint pictures in the mind’s  of my readers.  I also find it most important to archive my experience for my future self – he always appreciates being reminded of where he has walked.  

Anyways, that sour weather is gone and now the flippin’ cold is here.  I mean cold.  I mean so cold that I had to stop riding my bike one night and hold my sleeves to my burnt face.  That night I thought I was going to lose my a finger.  I thought I was going to get home and see my new blue stick finger ready to break at the slightest bump.  Well, I will never ride my bike in a Norwegian December again with out gloves or anything keep my head from direct contact of the icy air.  But once again, the cold isn’t cold if you have the proper clothing.  Wool is my feet’s best friend.  Thank you Papsen, Mamsen and Tante Torill for the wool socks!

I remember two stories of cold that I can relate to now.  The first is from Nebraska, I think, when my Aunt Val walked just to the mailbox and her bare ears nearly shattered.  The other is from Alaska when I complained to my Uncle Tony about how my single paned window was giving me a sore throat in the California winter nights.  He replied “I understand, you can do this and that to help, but the truth is, that it doesn’t get that cold here.”  I thought he was being insensitive, but now I can’t wait I go back home next year and laugh at any coldness that The Central Coast may think it has.  

I do like the cold though.  In the same way that I have liked pretty much all else that Norway has offered me.  Of course it requires more energy of you to layer up three extra times anytime you just want to go buy milk, but in all, it’s sweet.  I like the way the crispness kind of bits the inside of my nostrils as I take a deep breath and I like the way the cold air feels clean in my lungs.  I like how the sunsets, even though they occur at 4:30 pm, are long lasting in contrast to the fifteen minutes of fame back in California. I like the crunchy snow under my boots and I like purposely walking on it instead of the path when I have the choice.  I like the morning sparkling sidewalks, gleaming as if a million diamonds were spilt at my feet.  I like the fluffy whiteness in the parks when they have been laid with a fresh blanket.  I like that for the first time in my life I am wearing a scarf, and yes, I felt a little feminine the first time I put it on, but now I rarely leave without it.  I like seeing the children playing in the kindergartens, each with their own little winter onesie waddling around like bubbly penguins.  I like making a snowball to throw at my wife, then regretting it both because my hand is now painfully frozen and that I have vengeance awaiting me.  I find it clever when people walk around with extremely reflective snap on bands on their arms and legs.  I find it amusing after the freighting moment of a calm walk when I step on unseen ice and lose all orientation.  I have heard studded car tires before, but for the first time I rode a bike with the little metal chips between rubber and road.  I notice and appreciate so many little things being in a new land.  The list could go on and on...

Another funny story I want to remember is about not having oil for my bike.  I put together a pretty sweet smooth riding cruiser here in Oslo.  It’s white with thin 28” rims and flat handle bars.  It is literally perfect for what I need it for – taking the place of riding the buss in daily life.  I somehow found all the parts here and there, even an expensive $100 racing seat.  I guess the bike is something to write home about because it was free.  Usually free bikes are a pile of scrap metal.  But this one wasn’t, and wont be thanks to gifts from California (thank you Uncle Rick).  I have been riding if for 3 months now and have not been able to take proper care of it, due to not working and only spending money on the necessities.  At first just the handlebars were a little squeaky, then, as more rain and junk from the road sat on it, the chain began to squeak.  Now, every part on that machine creates it’s own unique little squawk.  A few nights ago, I was out riding on a Sunday night.  It was actually the quietest I had ever heard the streets of Oslo.  Nice silent bliss, then there came Mr Noisy on his clankity crackle bonk bike disrupting all ambiance.  It was a pretty funny moment I had to laugh at.

Well, now my wife and I are on the train back to Bergen to spend Christmas and the New Years with family.  We are excited to be going back, as it is always a relaxing joy to be at my in laws house.  I am so happy to be hear, more than I can enclose in words, but like always it’s bitter-sweet because I miss my family back home in Cali.  I love you guys :)  

My next blog will be about our visa situation.  As many of my readers know already, we were denied approval of the family immigration visa we applied for back in July.  It makes for one of the most frustrating times of our lives, but we are handling it well.  We are keeping our heads up and choosing to focus on our relationship and not the situations around us.  Whatever you focus on in life gets bigger and more dominant.  So, we choose to focus on the other person and serving them with all our hearts!

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 ;)

A Taste of Norway...uncensored

       I have traveled to a few countries, experienced the different cultures and I know that if you don’t try the food, you don’t get the full experience.  Of course there are many other aspects to fully embracing other cultures – trying to learn the language, using the money, not following the tourist swarm, taking off the fannypacks, etc, etc– but tasting every different bit of food possible has always been one of my top priorities when traveling.  I never want to leave a country and wonder what a dish or a drink that I saw tasted like.  Marrying a Norwegian woman has definitely ensured that I wont be a tourist in Norway for long, but I want to keep up my practices of embracing the culture so that all of my friends and family back in Cali can have a taste of Norway.  So, I decided to commit an entire blog entry to Norwegian food, from my adventurous perspective. 

I have been wanting to write about the food here for sometime now, coincidentally Bergen’s annual food festival and monthly farmer’s market offered many new experiences for my taste buds this weekend.  

I remember talking to Benedicte on Skype while I was still in America.  My cousin was leaving the house to go get a breakfast burrito before school at Orcutt Burger, it was a completely natural commodity for him, but Benedicte’s response was “Only in America can you afford to do that!”  A quick cheap bite to eat isn’t as accessible here.  Of coars, McDonald’s has infested Norway with its cheap fattening food as with the rest of the world, but other than that, going out to get something to eat several times a week isn’t practical.  

I enjoy hamburgers, as do most Americans.  In Norway the tastiest ones are sold at gas stations.  I know, my first thought of a gas station burger was leaning toward the unappetizing side also.  I thought that they would be worse than fast food because gas stations usually sell other inedible things, like oil, gas or nachos.  However, besides being rather expensive, about $16 US, I do enjoy them.  They are made when ordered and fresh vegetables are used.  They aren’t as fresh as In-N-Out, but they don’t feel like ten pounds of grease in your stomach afterwards either.  They come with the usual; lettuce, tomato, onion, cheese, but also with two extras: “hamburger dressing” – similar to our thousand island dressing but not so overpowering – and “sweet corn” – which is just canned yellow corn to me.  

While you have that peculiar sweet corn on your mind because its an odd addition to burgers, imagine it on your pizza or tacos as well.  I have been here for a few months now and eaten Tacos for dinner several times, so it seems more normal to me to have bright yellow corn my tacos.  But the first time I had heard of it I remember having Benedicte repeat herself when she told me that it was one of the most important ingredients for her in tacos.  

Taco (tacos for dinner)

Before I go any further about Norwegian tacos (or taco as they call it) I want to make the point clear that I LIKE them very much.  I don’t mean to sound like a hater when I say they that they seem slightly manufactured.  In America, kids often get little plastic mock kitchen sets as toys.  They have a plastic sink and microwave and countertop.  They also come with an assortment of perfectly decorated plastic food items – banana, chicken leg, piece of pizza.  I remember I saw a plastic taco in one of them as a kid, and I cannot help to think of that every time we have Norwegian tacos.  It cracks me up.  They are colorful with brown seasoned meat, red bell pepper, yellow corn, white sour cream, green lettuce, tomato, white cheese and cucumber, each having its own specified spot on the table and seemingly in your taco as well.  The “soft tacos” look more like rolled burritos, but cannot be because I haven’t laid eyes on refried beans since I have been here; while the crunchy tacos look like TacoBell tacos in their rather bright yellow pre-shaped, stacked and packaged shells.  They good and are satisfying to eat, but they taste like a white person made them compared to what I am used to coming from Southern California.  

What I think is so funny, is that all the packaged taco stuff – seasoning, shells, tortillas and guacamole – is produced by a company called Santa Maria (for those of you who don’t know, my home city in California is named Santa Maria).  Apparently my city produces many taco necessities along with any type of spice you may ever need in cooking.  

Frokost (breakfast)

Bread and butter then you choose what you’d like on top.  I don’t know if it’s just a Foldnes style breakfast, but the table is scattered with different types of toppings; cheeses, spreads, boiled eggs if it’s saturday, mayo in a tube, jams, salami.  Warm breakfast is almost unheard of, unless it’s a special day and pancakes are served.  But erase the image you have in your mind of thick fluffy IHOP style pancakes.  These ones are more like my Uncle Tony’s pancakes when he uses buttermilk instead of regular milk and they come out thin and moist.  Maple syrup is one of the many internationally adopted foods that isn’t used seriously, so the pancakes are served with butter and sprinkled sugar – or with sour cream and jam like I had at the food festival.  I had a small surprise when I thought I was putting whipped cream on my pancake then bit into sour cream.  I miss my HappyStack at IHOP but I also enjoy Norwegian pancakes very much.  

And basically the same things that are eaten for breakfast are also eaten for lunch.

Middag (dinner)

Dinner is when the heat gets turned up.  And its usually meat and potatoes.  Now, there is no use in discussing all the regular modern things that Norwegians eat for dinner like pasta or pizza – it’s the same as in America.  But, what is interesting are the dishes that have been around for hundreds of years, like Raspeballer.  

The closest thing to raspeballer in America that I can think of is dumplings, but baseball sized, made from potatoes and flour and other unknown substances.  They get cooked in an oven cake pan with turnip pieces and carrots and come out with a soupy liquid around them just like dumplings.  Salted and boiled lambs meat is traditionally eaten with them, which is close tasting to corned beef in texture, color and taste.  I think this may just be another Foldnes thing, but we always have sliced sausage and sliced bacon pieces as well.

  Kjøttkaker is another tradition dinner meal that gave me a good laugh the first time I came to Norway.  Literally it is meat cakes but pronounced it is (and excuse my language but you have to know) shit caca.  It definitely doesn’t taste like the second one!  They look like dark brown meatballs served with a same colored gravy.  And I repeat, it definitely tastes like meat and not the other thing.  Apparently they are made with ground beef and flour.  My wife wont eat anyone else Raspeballer or Kjøttkaker except her fathers because, and I quote her, “no one else’s comes close to my dad’s”.  He is a phenomenal cook that spoils us everytime we come back to Bergen.  Looks like I have a lot of learning to do when it comes to the Norwegian kitchen!

I don’t have a favorite Norwegian meal, I have three!  And the third is a white rice porridge called Grøtt.  When Benedicte was growing up, they had it every saturday for dinner.  It’s more like something I would eat for breakfast back home.  Once you’ve slopped a bunch into your bowl, you scoop on some butter and sprinkle on some cinnamon, sugar and raisins.  Apparently it looked “disgusting” when I mix it all together, so I quickly learned how Foldnes people do it by slowly eating a moat around the center puddle of melted butter.  And only to dip each bite into the butter and not let the butter run everywhere.  To me, all that matters is that it makes it way to my screaming stomach.  

Oh, and I cannot forget to mention the fun tradition of the grøtt dinner every Christmas Eve.  One almond is hidden in the pot of grøtt and whoever gets it get a surprise; usually a little pig shaped marzipan treat in Christmas packaging.  Once again, I don’t know if it is a Foldnes thing, but it will be a Betancourt thing for our kids!

Drikker (drinks)

Even though Norway is the number one coffee consuming nation per capita in the world, I can’t help but be unsatisfied with their coffee.  It just doesn’t compare to Starbucks back home.  Even the only Starbucks in the country, which is an expensive 179,- kroner flight-train ride away, doesn’t taste quite like American Starbucks.  I used to not drink coffee after 12 or 1 or sometime in the afternoon, but after being here with Benny for two weeks back in March, I now drink it all the way into the dark of the night.  She is happy to have “converted me”.  

Soda is also a sorry subject for me.  The most popular one and my wifes favorite is Pepsi Max.  I have never tasted Pepsi Max back in the States, so I can’t say if it tastes the same, but I can say it tastes like a typical sugar substituted soda.  Of coarse they have Coca-cola, and even though it has a slighly different taste, I enjoy it.  There are two particular sodas that are interesting enough to mention, but sadly they both taste like...well I’ll let you do the judging.

The first is a red “Christmas soda” they everyone is crazy about during Christmas time.  Apparently they keep selling it a little further past Christmas time each year, but that doesn’t make me like it any more.  Back home we have a store called Food Maxx.  It’s a giant grocery store that sells almost anything edible.  They sell the best name brand quality, a kind of middle quality and then a crappy quality (I think worse than Firstprice here in Norway).  They used to have a soda called Big Red and it tasted like old expired candy in liquid form.  And I am sorry to all the Norwegians reading this, but that is what your Christmas soda tastes like to me.  However, along with all the other important Norwegian stuff I don’t like to eat or drink, I am going to keep drinking Christmas Soda until I like it.

The other soda is Hansa’s Champion Brus.  I remember when I was 4 or 5 years old, we had a pink child’s medicine in the fridge that was bubble gum flavored.  I liked it’s sweet taste so much that I used to sneak in and drink it straight from the bottle.  Now when I think about it, it must have tasted awful to any normal adult.  If Champion Brus was pink instead of gold, I would think I was 5 again.

This is fiskekake, like kjøttkake but made with fish instead of beef.

This is regular grøtt.  With and without the toppings.

This is sour cream grøtt (rømme grøtt).  It was at the food festival.  I saw it and was weirded out by all the butter, Mamsen saw my face when I saw it and got some comic relief.

This was a delicious homemade tomato soup that a friend made for our small group.  Just wanted to point out how Norwegians eat eggs in unusual ways – cold scrambled eggs, or in soup, or with a spoon.  But I guess the idea of  boiling them, painting them and hiding them in the yard for your children is odd too.  

Im sure they sell this somewhere in America as whale.  It tasted like smoked salmon, just not as strong.

See, Norwegians eat regular food too.  This is my wife's favorite, and I have say probably the best steak I have ever had.  

Mamsen's plum-milk dessert; infamous to my wife and brother-in-law, delicious to me.

This is what I know a Norwegian breakfast looks like.

Brown Cheese.   The one on the right is the common one that many Norwegians have asked me if I like it, and I do.  It is the one I brought home last time for some of my family to try.  The one of the left is geitost (goat cheese).  My in-laws bought some at the festival for me to try.  It's so strong that I feel like my taste buds are being punched in the mouth when I eat it.  I guess its taste accompanies its price at 175.- NOK.

Raspeballer!

Santa Maria style, only Norway doesn't have Tri-tip.

Warning! The next three pictures may be disturbing to some, if young children are reading, you may want to turn their eyes. ;)

At the food festival, we saw a sign that said Smalahovetunet.  My Norwegian isn't that good, so when Mamsen wanted to play a joke on me and ask me if I wanted some, all along knowing that I will try just about anything, I said sure why not...

My Norwegian isn't that good yet.  I walked over the the stand and peered into the wooden barrel to see what Smalahovetunet was exactly....












Goat heads!
Dried and salted goat heads!

The tongue is supposed to be the delicacy of the head.  I tasted a little piece like the one on the edge of the table from behind the jaw.  It wasn't as scary as you think.  

So, now you have a little idea of what Norway tastes like and what I think of it all...

Thanks for reading :)