Britt-Arnhild's House in the Woods

Look at their nose........

              The conference in Tromsø was for Samien people, and during the two days many of them were dressed in their traditional costumes.

          A group of teen-agers met us one day to talk about their experiences of being Samien in Norway, growing up in the middle of two cultures.

              During a break I overheard two of the kids practicing for what they were going to say. "If you feel very nervous" one of the girls sayd to another" don't look the people directly into their eyes, but look at their nose. You will feel much safer, and they will not see the difference"

A great advice from a great teen-ager.

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Photos: from the Samien conference in Tromsø

Memories from 1977

            Aged 13 I got a very special penfrien, old Jenny from an island outside Tromsø. I met her through a radio program, and we corresponded regularly for many, many years.

In May 1977 I passed my student exams, and aged 19 I was ready for my very first solo travel. I had travelled with friends before, even abroad, and later the same summer I was to go to London with a friend for two weeks, but now I was totally on my own. Old Jenny in Tromsø and her miniature red cabin was my goal.

I took the plane up to Tromsø, quite an experience, and through letters we had planned that Jenny should meet me at the airport. But no Jenny was there. I had her phone number (this was the age before cell phones) and tried to call her several times, but without any luck.

          After feeling very lonely for some time, and after alot of hesitation, I phoned home. "What shall I do. I am here at the airport at a place far from where I have ever been before, I try to phone Jenny over and over, but she doesn't answer, and I don't know this place". I could hear how desperate I sounded, and all I wanted was to be a brave world traveller........ It was my father who answered the phone, and as the wonderful father he was and is, he knew of course what to do. "Listen Britt-Arnhild. I very briefly know a couple in Tromsø. I will phone them, and I am sure they will come and pick you up."

They did and took me arond in the area for a wonderful sightseeing, then back to their home for an even more wonderful meal, and in the end drove me to Jenny's address.

I will always remember the beautiful, tiny, old lady bent double in her postage stamp strawberry field. She had been out all day weeding her strawberry plants and had not heard the phone. She was thrilled to have me there "at last" and invited us all in for a cup of coffee.

          From my hotel window in Tromsø this week I had the most perfect view over to the island where Jenny lived 30 years ago, and memories of my first solo travel came back. I spent one week with Jenny. This beautiful, tiny little old lady who lived so close to God and so close to the humans God sent her way. Her red painted wooden house was the tiniest house I had ever lived in, I slept on a small coach placed on a tiny strip of floor outside her tiny bedroom on the first floor. Downstairs she had a dollhouse livingroom, a dollhouse kitchen and a dollhouse bathroom. In the kitchen food was made on the wood stove, in the livingroom the Bible and hymnbook had the best place on a small table, a basket was filled with Jenny's crocheting, my letters through many years were neatly ribboned and placed in the window sill.

I wanted to go back to the island to search for Jenny's house during my stay in Tromsø, but life had other plans. May be for the best anyway. The little red cottage with the beautiful Jenny will forever live in my heart.

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Going home I travelled with the Coastal Line/Hurtigruten  from Tromsø to Trondheim. I met a  couple of other youths at the boat and spent two days with them. Can you imagine my surprise one night last year when I suddenly got a skype call. "Hello, this is tore. Are you the Britt-Arnhild who travelled with Hurtigruten in May 1977?"

An Iceberg filled with Music. The Year of an Opera Listener - September 2008

              As a decoration of the index finger nail of the Oslo Fjord is placed an iceberg filled with dance and music. Oslo Opera House.

          The iceberg rise up from the fjord right outside the main railway station in Oslo, and whenever I arrive in the city with some minutes to spare before my meeting or whatever my task of the day is, I take a walk on the roof of the opera house.

              One morning this week I had some extra spare minutes and I walked around the whole iceberg for the first time. With La Boheme on my ears ( from my iPod), I peeked through windows where artists were working on the costumes, where carpenters were preparing the next performance. I dreamed.......

                        Yes, I dreamed, and I almost danced, with my camera, my backpack, my suitcase and everything.......

          Even an ordinary week-day morning have room for dreams. Especially an ordinary week-day.....

          Enrichened by dreams, music and artists working, my footsteps continue through the day.

 

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Photos: Oslo Opera House a morning in September

On my way to work I pass a cathedral

         

 

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My office is in the building to the right in the last photo. When I started working here, almost nine years ago, I said to myself: "This must be the best place to work in thre whole, wide world!"

I still say these words. Every day.

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...from a hotel computer in Tromsø:

Can you understand why I travel so much when I have these beautiful surroundings?????

I am in Tromsø, far up north in Norway for two days, attending a church conference with the samien people. Very interesting, and I am getting some great photos of the Samien traditional costumes. Will make a post one day.

A Traveller's Year - September

                 Coming home from Vadstena, I breathed deeply, looked around my home, the faces of my husband and the girls and said to myself: "YThank God, this was my last travel for a while!".

Don't misunderstand. I have had the best summer ever, being able to travel extently, alone, or  with so many wonderful people. But one day you reach a limit, and know that enough is enough.

I unpacked my suitcase and tried to work my way though piles of paper on my desk, mails to be taken care of, laundry, a garden in desperate need of the love of green thumbs, wrapping myself in the comfort of family life, my own bed (half of a shared one).............And all of a sudden it was time to pack again. Where did time go?

             A day trip this time, up to Bodø, the town north of the Arctic Circle, where I have already taken you several times.

I didn't have much motivation when the airport taxi picked me up early in the morning. Tried to sleep in the taxi, but the driver wanted to chat. Okay, I said to myself, you can always sleep on the plane.

On the plane I sat down on the window seat I was given, with a book in my lap and with all intentions to travel to dreamland as soon as possible. But I had not counted on the weather. It was a crisp, bright, cloudless day. The North Sea unfolded like a mirrow below be, islands laid out in the most perfect pattern, the coastline dancing with fjords and mountains.

Sleep was suddenly the last thing on my mind. Instead I followed every angel of the coast where we drove in July, and I could see from a bird's eye the island which captured my heart so completely, making me write "If I lived on a small island". My camera was in my backpack and my backpack was somewhere over my head. I had no time to search for it, and I didn't mind. My eyes and my mind were too busy gathering every single colourful thread of what I saw, weaving the threads into a lifetime memory.

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For a while I had almost forgotten why I am a traveller. Now I know! Again!

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It was a long day filled with travelling and meetings, and waiting because of a delayed train. But before flying back south I had time for dinner at my favorite restaurant in Bodø, Svendgaard's. There I enjoyed a gourmet meal of dried cod while knowing that Terje and Marta had fun in Trondheim watching the pinguins play again.

Saturday morning in town, part two

          Before visiting the fish market I had stopped at the bookstore. My bags were filling up and I was in need of a caffe latte. I could sit down alone somewhere, but decided to call Torgeir who has a flat downtown. Yes, he was ready for a coffee, and when he hear about my shopping he was even ready for a lunch in the Blue Garden.

          "But why are you callikng so early Mom? It is Saturday and I am off work. Hey, I am still in bed. Give me half an hour and I can meet you at The Old Twon Bridge."

          Half an hour was okay with me. I needed to walk up to the car to unload, and stopped for vegetables at outdoor market on my way.

          The Old Town Bridge isone of my favorite places in Trondheim, and while waiting for Torgeir I had enough time to enjoy the boatlife on the river, and the fresh students making themselves at home in the city.

       Well, Torgeir came, we had our well deserved coffee and then time for some antiquarian browsing before lunch in The Blue Garden.

          Torgeir and I share a neverending passion for books.

Saturday morning in town, part one

              Saturday morning I found myself all alone, the rest of my gang busy with their own scedules. I wanted to sit down in the garden with a book, but decided to be a tourist in my own city first.

          The city was still quiet when I strolled along the harbour. A fisherman was in with his boat selling fresh fish to the owner of a small Vietnamese restaurant.

                Friends had invited us for dinner Saturday night, so I was in no need for fresh fish. Still the fishmarket, Ravnkloa, tempted me.

          Ravnkloa fishmarket is so different from the one in Venezia. Still it is a place I love to visit. We always have alot of fish on the menu in The Blue Café, and much of the fresh fish we eat are bought here, if we havn't fished it ourselves.

        Recently another shop has opened inside Ravnkloa, a place to buy fresh bread, cheese and vegetables.         Okay, I dnd't need fish, but bread for a garden lunch suddenly became essential. The temptation was too much, I ended up with two loaves.

Being a tourist in your own village, town or city is great fun. You always find new attractions, and your eyes are open to see the old and well known in a new way. My Saturday morning in town will continue tomorrow.

Eating Out

          The girls were both busy with friends and Terje and I found ourselves with a "night for two" ahead. Oh, let's go out to eat and then to the movies, was our first thought. We looked at each other, and then we both knew that a night at home was what we really wanted. "The best food I know I can get here at home" Terje said, and I knew he was right.

The best food is often the simple food, and now with vegetable still fresh from the soil it was easy to decide the menu. Vegetable soup with meatballs, fresh water, a glass of white wine, flatbrød and a blue glass bowl of sunriped plums for dessert.

I made the table out on the kitchen veranda (the one Terje made for my birthday instead of buying some expensive diamonds, a gift truly after my heart), and we sat there watching the sun go down behind the hill right behind the house in the woods.

Some nights fill the memory chest to the brim.

Indian Summer

                During the three Nordic summer months, June, July and August, I have been everywhere else except my garden. Up and down Norway, along the western coast, Mexico, Italy, England, Sweden.......my wanderlust has had few limits. Our huge sembra pines started to slip their needles the other day, and I saw that summer was almost over without me realizing it. The days are much shorter, and temperatures drops drastically at nights. Will it really be 9 months till we have summer here again?

         Luckily it is not that bad. We are experiencing a wonderful Indian Summer with a bright sun shining from a deep blue sky, dozens of late roses feasting in the crisp, mild air.

I was given an unexpected day at home yesterday, and could enjoy the garden all day. I hung the bedclothes out to dry to savour the sunny smell for loving dreams, and sat down to capture a late blooming geranium. My mind wandered along with the brush strokes. How easy it is to let life slip by. To be too busy travelling east and west, notrh and south, and never fully living today, never fully living now.

I put down the brush and let my mind travel its own way. Time for dreaming and time for the mind to wander is just as imposrtant as breathing. Give yourself at least 15 minutes every day and you will be a richer person.

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Note: during my early morning garden walk today I met three deer who walked slowly though the garden, a mother and her two kids. A cat was hiding, planning to chase a squirrel. I hushed her away and the bird feeding area soon filled with squirrels and birds.

The Glassblower of Murano

               Some time ago I got an sms from a friend - "I am enjoying my days on Jersey with The Glassblower of Murano. This is a book I know you will love."

As soon as she came home from vacation she brought me the book, and last week I started to read it. And was immediately transformed back to Venezia and Murano and the art of glassblowing.

          You never know when a friendship is due to develop, and I had no idea the day Terje, Marta and I zigzagged through the calles of Venezia suddenly ending up outside a tiny little glassblower workshop, that the opening of the door to the studio was the start of a wonderful friendship. Follow the links and you will be able to visit Mauro, my Glassblower of Murano, who takes the vaporetto from Murano every morning to work in his studio in Venezia.

          Some of you might already know Mauro, as he started a blog some time ago and has been my Blog of the Week since then.

A couple of days ago I got an email from Mauro - "If you want, read my new post. Awaits you in Venezia" Of course I wanted, and learned that I have got a rival. Mauro is now not only waiting for the Norwegian blog lady to open his door, another grand lady has stolen a piece of his heart. You can read the story on Mauro's blog, and if you don't read Italian there is a translation possibility on the right hand bar.

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Some of you have seen a couple of these photos before. They are taken in front of the mirror in "my Venezian flat", trying to capture the red glass heart Mauro has made. Compare my photos, which was taken a year ago, to the front cover of The Glassblower of Murano, which I got in my hands two weeks ago. Cool, isn't it :-)