Akvavit at the Kulturhaus

"It is a glorious afternoon for tennis, but tonight perhaps I shall write you again; for I shall probably be all alone, and there is an awfully tempting moon that haunts the boulevard these nights. A lavish donor of delicious sadness she is, and I should love to watch her with you over the chilly somnolent farms. I love the moon and the memory of ma petite jolie, and the lesser Chopin, and the cross-eyed girl next door. All that doesn't fit me for literature, but oh Christ, it makes it hard to renounce." 

I woke up shortly before the sun and through the window watched the crows getting a jump start on the dawn. There are the usual European cardigan-wearing version but also a thicker, blacker species with a silver ring around the neck. Silver-Chain crows.

It was supposed to snow, but as it grew lighter it looked more and more like the weatherman was a famous fool.

What I thought was a shadow under my boots was, in fact, a dark, spreading pool of water. The snow and dirt from beneath them had melted on my host's floor. Toweled it up and put the shoes on a mat near the front door. So that's what that was for!

Back in the room, I took out my camera equipment. It smelled like the cat, which... how had he.... I had been so careful to hide the suitcase from him. He always finds a way to follow me when I travel. 

It was a shirt I'd had laying on the bed while I showered. He stealth sprayed it in that brief window between my cleaning myself and kissing him on my way out the door. The lenses had been closest to it. Tossed it in a pile next to the dirty towel. Almost enough for a load of laundry!  

Sat at a large wooden table in the living room and polished the lenses. Some of them still had sand from the Sahara in their creases and folds.

There was nothing to eat.

Went out in search of breakfast. This is not... an early town. I was going to have to kill three hours before I could get anything like a meal, and the coffee shop was still an hour away from opening as well. I guess the folks here sleep in on Saturday. Which, you know, makes sense.

Since it was cold.

Tooled around on Inges Gate, which was really only a few steps from the apartment. "Gate" means "street" here which took me a moment to understand. I had been looking for... a gate. The abbreviation is Gt. and some maps condense them. Ingesgt.

Inges Gate is some sort of warehouse district that's been converted to gallery space. And gallery spaces mean street art. Some really marvelous pieces. A few political, but most abstract and strange. A building with stripes and a woman's face was particularly effective. An enormous curling alligator was a real stunner.

Didn't want to miss any, so I picked around slowly. A homeless-seeming woman sat on a stoop and drank from a cup of coffee. I wanted to ask her where she got it, but I also didn't want to rouse her. Just watched each sip with cowardly jealousy.

Found my way to a river bank and watched ducks drift helplessly in the current. Some sections were frozen, and the whole scene was bordered by a canopy of leafless trees. A spare winter scene. People were starting to stir now, and I saw many off-leash dogs. Labs mostly.

Teens in pajamas ran for an idling bus. They had snowboards on their backs and pillows in their hands. It was easy to imagine them having woken up late in some hostel. I imagined the bus was taking them to the mountains.

Found, at last, an open cafe, sat in a high-backed leather chair next to a very low table and sipped myself awake. The strange dimensions of the furniture made me feel like I wasn't the average size and shape as the locals.

Which is true. They are almost all taller with longer arms and fuller beards. Much thinner. Though, still half as thin as those living-willow-reeds in Latvia.

I drank black coffee and ate yogurt with seeds in it. I was finally as comfortable as that homeless woman!

I read Exile's Return by Malcolm Cowley for about an hour. Really rich and wonderful. A used copy, and I lot of it is underlined. I tried to look for a pattern in what the previous owner had marked. What was their focus? Who were they? Was it for a class? Were they a writer?

Walked down more lonely gates of closed shops and found a diner called, hilariously, The Nighthawk. It was "American Breakfast" and it was open. I tried to order the most Norwegian thing on the menu - Salmon Eggs Benedict.

The server was Australian (the closest to an American they could get to work there, I guess) and when he seated me he used his normal voice, but after he had taken my order he whispered "the drinks are really strong here, mate."

I guess he was trying to upsell me... but if I drink in the morning, there's no afternoon. I really don't know how people do mimosas and stuff. Can't do it. Ordered tea.

The table was small, so I had to prop open the book with a ketchup bottle. Read more Cowley and ate my eggs without looking at them.

The place was full of mothers with their children. Infants in arms. Many of the tables had two woman who took turns holding a baby while the other ate. I thought that was a nice "village" moment, everyone helping one another out. A few toddlers ran around with such freedom of range it was unclear who their parents were.

To whom did they belong? The community.

Finished up and went back out. The stores were opening now, and I discovered I was in some sort of vintage and antique district. Drifted in and out of stores full of dead men's tea sets. Found an incredibly soft sweater for $50. That seemed like too much, so I didn't buy it, but... spoiler warning, I soon discovered that is the Cheapest Sweater in Scandinavia. I may return for it tomorrow.

Stunned by a mural of a peacock on the side of a building. An enormous splash of color and truly marvelous. There's nothing like that. Turning a corner and seeing some crazy street art is my purest joy. I feel it in my chest, my feet. 

Crossed some nutty bridge with four excellent statues at the corners. A woman riding a bear, a dude with a violin mounting a wild horse, a guy wrestling a stag, and a chick on a bull. This city is mostly... unlovely architecturally, so these were nice to see. The city was truly awake now.

Children were sledding on trash can lids down snowy hills in the park. One boy screamed all the way down and smashed into a garbage bin. For whatever reason, some primal feeling, I burst into shrill laughter. Like, I didn't recognize my own laugh. He wasn't hurt. Just, the scream ending in a crash was so... cartoonish. It awakened some Saturday Morning Cartoon part of my brain.

Got a little lost on purpose and found this crazy huge area called the Mathallen. A sprawling complex of restaurants and shops. 

Made my way through the crowds back to the apartment. Did laundry and rested a while. My host was home, Camilla. Her work was forcing her to get certification in Windows 10, and she was really sweating it. She showed me how to operate a strange light in my room that I thought was just an art installation.

When the laundry was done, I went back out. Just needed a little break.

Went a different way than I'd gone before and ended up near a theater with an installation of... tiny statues. They were astounding. Hundreds of them all huddled together. I took a bunch of pictures. They were so cool, and their size was such that a few snowflakes buried them completely.

Found what I guess is Downtown. Churches and juice shops. Trams and buses. Shopping shoppers. This section looked like anywhere. But colder. Fairly normal stores and avenues. Near an overpass I found a little record shop with a cool sign. Browsed for a while. Everything is expensive here and there were no bargains to be found.

Backtracked to a bustling square and tried to get a chair at a fish place, but it was SRO, baby. So I went to something called the Kulturhouse and drank akvavit. Large coffee shop and bar with many connected rooms, each with a different theme. Games, music.

 Little blond toddlers screamed in delight and terror. Free-range. Like in the diner, no parents chased them. The drink hit me pretty quickly and had two effects. Firstly it made me fall deeply in love with the book. Each sentence followed the other in such a pleasing, akvavit-enhanced way, that I grinned along with it. Wildly. When my face hurt from smiling, I had to close the book.

The second effect was I bought a giant wedge of cheese from a farmer outside. I might have balked if I hadn't been in such a good mood, but it was like I'd had a magical cup of Why Not!

And the cheese was mine. He offered me some "cheese paper" to wrap it in, and that was also strangely funny to me. A good mood.

Floated home, took my shoes off at the door and slept for a thousand years. In the morning, I plan to go to the Munch Museum and the sculpture park. I think those are most people's priorities here, but I have my own.

As ever, I have my own.