As part of my volunteering for the Alternatives to Violence Project (AVP) I'm travelling from London to northern Norway and back to co-facilitate a nonviolence workshop and help a local group to establish AVP in the country. If you have nowhere else to be and have no other things to be doing then follow the journey's progress here, each day between 20 June and 1 July.

Win a great, yet small, prize

Predict the number of legs on the London-Trondheim-London journey - door to door and back - and I'll send you 'A Sense of the World' by Jason Roberts - an extraordinary and beautiful book about voyages.
a) Make a small (or big) donation to AVP at
www.justgiving.com
b) Leave a message on the blog by
clicking on the 'pobbledockets' link beneath any post in the blog.
c) In the comment box write something like 'I have given, honest!' and leave your name and your estimate of legs i.e. the number of individual vehicles (excluding walking) involved in the whole trip from central London to the flat in Trondheim and back again (excluding the week's work in between).


Rules: 1) Jokes like 'You'll only need two legs' etc., even if funny, will result in instant disqualification. 2) The winner is whoever's prediction is closest and, if shared with another, made earliest, so get your pobbledocket in early.

Wednesday 22 June 2011

Köln to Oslo

A night train, a train, a bus, a train, bringing the legs total to 14. All last night and today has been a journey north and east over flat land and now, in Norway, by the sea and fjords. One town we passed was called Bastad. It wasn't as bad as it sounds but I added it to my list of places not to live anyway - never live somewhere that makes you look bad on an envelope.

There's a certain amount of time travel involved in going north. Even around the towns along the railway, civilisation seems to shrink a little and look older with every 100 miles north (despite the perfect efficiency of the transport system). For its part, nature throws up more trees and claims the expanses; there seem only a few rusty machines spread between sparse farms to prevent a complete take-over. When we ARE all dead and gone, nature will forget us quickly, or remember us as another lot passing through.
Up here corporate capitalism can't easily take hold either; there just aren't enough people to buy all the crap and if there were, they wouldn't want to, or not so much, because they're not stuck inside that pap-world, which has colonised the bodies and minds of the cities.
Then there's the light. Go south for the heat but north for the light, which is softer, whiter and clearer; now, in June, it lasts forever and in December each minute must feel like a sort of sacred gift. Chatting on the train, a Swede said, 'You're no good at celebrating midsummer's day', meaning most Brits and Americans don't really notice it. I think she's right - we don't know light well enough.
And then there's the much-maligned cold weather, known by its evil alias 'The Cold', which - according to my own theory and contrary to popular belief - is better at making you feel warm than heat is. Have you ever noticed and appreciated warmth as much as when you're wrapped up well on a cold day, or when you come back home, shake your boots off and warm up by the fire? It's a rhetorical question - please don't write in. The North is a lot to miss out on just for a preference for hot weather. Nuff said.

There was time for an hour's walk in Copenhagen and Göteborg; not sufficiently long to shrug off the tourist traps but enough to get a feeling, which I've had since I arrived in Holland, that people in all the countries I've been through (less so Germany, maybe) are quite a bit happier and friendlier than we Brits are. A quick search on Google digs up several reports claiming that the Dutch and Scandinavians are indeed the happiest, friendliest and most trusting folk in Europe. Some say it's because they're wealthier but I'll bet the whole world a fiver that the happiness of any given European population correlates in inverse proportion to its shopping centres per capita figure, which data are sadly beyond even the rabid statistical attentions of Eurostat so I can't prove it right now.

Penny from the Oslo Quaker office is going to meet me from the station at 21.45 and make sure I get a bed for the night.

In Swedish I can say, 'I have an animal on my Smorgasbord.' but I know no Norwegian at all. I wonder how I'll get by.

2 comments:

  1. your resident linguist22 June 2011 at 23:33

    Fear not David: Swedish and Norwegian are mutually intelligible. Whether they'll understand your cryptic humour is another matter I suppose...

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  2. Yes I think if you speak swedish as if you are drunk then you can be understood in Norway. Or it might be the other way round... Or it might be danish that sounds drunk, I can't quite remember. But it might be worth some experimenting for amusement if nothing else?? Personally, I've always thought the scandinavian languages sound a lot like the accents in the north of scotland. I know how you like any opportunity to show off your scottish impression so maybe whats called for is a little bit of swedish with a scottish accent after a few beers...?

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