Café Gravdahl

"A life without books is like a life without adventure, a childhood without love, old age without peace."
Carl Petter Frøhling
(my translation)

What do you do in Norway when you have a day off? Or a lunch break? Or if you are unemployed? Some people sleep and some people ski but still others find themselves some coffee. The plan: walk to your nearest cozy coffee shop and order up your favorite drink, maybe read a paper/book, do some people watching, and/or catch up with a friend. It's a good time.

I used to be quite the regular at Poesi Kaffe og Vinbar, commonly known as Poesi (po-eh-see) which had, in my and many others' opinions, the best coffee in town. Poesi recently closed (*sniffle*sniffle*) and I have been left to try and find a replacement. It's not easy. Nothing can measure up! But luckily Hamar does have it's share of fun coffee shops.

One of them being Café Gravdahl. Gravdahl is also a chain of bookstores, and I think most of us can agree that bookshop + coffee-shop = good. Coffee wise, I had also heard that it was the only place able to compete with Poesi when it was still alive and kicking. And because they were right across from each other over arguably the coolest plaza in town, it is safe to say they were viewed by many as rivals. I was a die hard Poesi supporter. Now, I have turned to the dark side.

(Emma, Ilmi)

I spent a large portion of my Monday hanging around Gravdahl and admittedly had a great time. I met Ilmi (who is, in addition to sweet and funny, the biggest Twilight fan imaginable) and we chatted up a storm on all topics possible--from religious extremists to sparkling vampires to future aspirations. Later her good friend Emma (who I like more and more the better I get to know her) joined us, we chatted some more, drooled over our respective cameras and camera wishes and Ilmi bought a new vampire book.

Emma was planning on helping Ilmi take some sweet pictures and we were losing daylight. So out into the crisp winter air we went!

Once Emma thew on her leather jacket and shades and lit up a cigarette, I thought she looked a bit like a walking Grease reenactment. Rizzo anyone?

In fact, when you put the two of them together, you do get a Rizzo/Sandy feeling. I'll have to let them know... ;)

It was a great Monday. :D

*NOTE* I do believe that Gravdahl got that Frøhling quote on their wall a bit off. According to the internets, it should read: Et liv uten bøker er som en barndom uten eventyr, en ungdom uten kjærlighet, en alderdom uten fred. Again my translation: A life without books is like a childhood without adventure, youth without love, old age without peace. Basically the same though. They probably had some space constraints and did it on purpose. But even better if it was a typo!

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Hungover Hamar

Welcome to Hamar and the tail end of a Norwegian winter. Yeah it's March and we still have feet of snow of the ground and temperatures below zero---so what? That's just the way it is!

The other times I have played along with Sundays in My City (hosted by Unknown Mami) I have shared a little piece of our lake Mjøsa and our skiing adventures upon her. Today we didn't go skiing. Instead, we slept late (and yes, we do feel a little guilty about it).

We did, however, venture out into the world for a nice walk. The town of Hamar is a pretty quiet place on any given Sunday, but this today the town honestly seemed frozen in time. There was barely anyone on the streets despite the relatively "warm" and "sunny" weather.

I saw quite a few beers littered around the place and was fascinated by the way the foam had frozen around the rims of the cans. There was also a fair amount of broken glass, and strangely enough, several piles of dog poop. Hamar is normally really clean, but just wasn't in tip top shape today. My guess is she was a bit hungover after a long, hard night of partying.

In addition to today's poop and litter, there are, and have been for quite some time, icicles--EVERYWHERE. Fortunately, Hamar absolutely boasts many more icicles than poop piles or beer cans put together. Unfortunately, these pretty ice formations can also be life threatening. I realize that I exaggerate at times, and especially here on Little to Big, but honestly, I am being serious here. People have in fact died from falling icicles before. It's just reality that as the our corner of the world begins to warm up and portions of the icicle banks begin to loosen their hold on the rooftops, that you'd better watch out.

As if testing your luck on snow and ice covered roads and sidewalks (occasionally also spotted with poop and beer) wasn't enough--one also has to be on the look out for falling icicles! Luckily business and apartment owners make life a bit easier for you. Anywhere icicles form, you will also find signs warning you to pay attention, or long wooden planks/tape extended from buildings to deter you from walking too close.

Nice that people look out for each other right?

Even if Hamar is sometimes a bit sloppy on Sunday mornings and it can be potentially livsfarlig (really dangerous) to walk her streets, we love her anyway.

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A bag worth 5,133 kr

As many of you know, I teach English online. I have on average two lessons a day, although it is quite difficult to throw out an average since business goes up and down like a roller coaster. Sometimes I have four, sometimes I have none. Some weeks are busy, some weeks are slow.

Today I had four lessons scheduled. I woke up on time and even ate breakfast before my first lesson at 9am but it was no use. Lars' poor little laptop is reaching the end of its time (probably doesn't help that I dropped it from head height and basically have it on all day long). Teaching has therefore become a bit of a juggling act; because of problems with the microphone, I have had to continuously click the mikrofonforsterkning box to be heard, and of late I have to hold the charger at exactly the right and most awkward possible angle. Meanwhile, of course, I am trying to concentrate and explain difficult English concepts and am toggling between windows, online articles, a virtual textbook or whatever source we are engaging. Have I mentioned that I'm not a fantastic juggler?

Today, the computer had had enough and no matter how I massaged or tickled that little charger, he wouldn't work for me. I watched helplessly as the battery died while I was chatting with my first student explaining my dilemma. I am no stranger to technical difficulties and normally I just huff it to the library, borrow a computer and notify my students of the situation and reschedule. But four lessons was a lot to cancel and I just wasn't having it!

So out I went, into the little winter world to solve my problem. I made it to an electronics store, somehow managed to explain what the heck I needed in Norwegian and bought a new charger cable! Sure I was out a ridiculous $135.41 (OUCH!) but it's a necessary investment since I do depend on that computer to make money.

BUT, to get to the fun part of my story! I had some time before my other lessons were going to start so I headed next store to Maxi, the biggest shopping center in Hamar. I wandered around and was lured into Voice of Europe because of numerous signs that told me that I could take as much as I could fit into a bag for only 300 kr ($50)! For those of you that aren't familiar with the shopping scene in Norway, let me explain: normally 300 kr wouldn't get you very far; it's maybe half the price of a decent pair of jeans or a party dress. 300 kr is maybe a cheap pair of shoes. But 300 kr is still 300 kr and I wouldn't be tossing that around unless there was something I really wanted/needed. A pair of jeans caught my eye, I tried them on and they fit! So basically it would have been worth it to leave with only that pair of pants in my bag...but of course I filled that baby to the brim. Here is the little bag:

I meticulously packed in 5, 133kr ($866.15) worth of merchandise into that plastic sack! I must say that I am pretty darn pleased with myself. The sales lady was absolutely flabbergasted with my packing skills! I told her, of course, that I had moved here from the U.S. so I had had plenty of practice.

It was fairly liberating taking anything that could fit in my bag. I almost felt like I was stealing, to be honest.

Too bad the store was so picked over! But I still managed to find some stuff that was wearable (or gift-able). I grabbed three scarves, numerous tops and dresses, a necklace, a ridiculous sequined green vest and of course the jeans that got the ball rolling. Lars got 5 shirts and a tie. I even threw in a fancy pair of pants for Stine and some tights for Iselin.

(So the new jeans are a bit too long, but that's an easy fix!)

And then, on the way home I ran into Linda on her way home from work!

And we enjoyed our first cup of coffee outside! Well, I opted for hot chocolate but still--GLORY!

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I ♥ Reeses

My good friend Meredith is hosting a bit of a photography experiment and I am going to do my best to play along. Heck, I love taking pictures and need a good excuse to get to know my camera better! (If you want to join up too, you definitely should! She is using McLinky so everyone can link up and check out each others' efforts! Go visit her!)
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Lesson 1: Aperture Basic Training

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Here's the basic idea:

• Don't let all the fancy language scare you off--f/stop and aperture are the same thing.
  
• F/stop numbers dictate how much of your photo will be in focus.
  
• A low f/stop number means less of your picture is in focus. High f/stop number means more of your picture is in focus.
  

Simple. as. that.
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I had two very generous models that so graciously agreed to be involved with this week's lesson. They came to me in the mail recently and I am very grateful. They were, of course, gobbled up right after the photo shoot.

f/4:
Nothing but the tasty morsels in focus

f/10:
A bit more in focus--notice the 3 Norwegian kroner on the edge of the table

f/29:
Basically everything's in focus. Pretty lame picture.

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I have confirmed what I already suspected; I really like low aperture settings for close ups. The first picture is the only one that is aesthetically pleasing to me.

Thank you lesson one! And thank you Mere for hosting!

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Salmon in Spanish

There is a Foot in Mouth coming in this post, but first some very important news: Lars doesn't like fish all that much. I, however, do.

I remember one of my sisters teasing him for being Norwegian and NOT liking fish. That seemed to be a bit of an oxymoron in her mind. I don't hold it against him though, as there are many things that I don't like that he definitely does. There are, in fact, almost certainly more things that are common in everyday life that I don't like that he does enjoy--like black coffee. Or beer. Or wine. Yeah, I'm a pain in the ass...but that's what happens when you have your first drinking experiences in Spain, when the weather is still HOT, and you learn to drink a light, sweet, refreshing Spanish drink like tinto de verano (which is even weaker than sangria).

So I don't cook fish. Ever. Luckily, my good friend Linda is an exceptional cook and invites me for dinner from time to time. We always eat salmon since we both love it and it has been expressed that I am lacking a bit of fish in my diet.

So to get to the Foot in Mouth--the combination of Linda's recent dinner invitation and my speculation about how I developed my drinking tastes in Spain reminded me of a classic one that I just have to share . . . . . .

The year is 2007 and I am studying in Granada, Spain with a group of almost 30 American students. October is transitioning into November and we are awarded a week long and much needed break from our intense Spanish classes. Everyone is making travel plans. I join two roommates, Jessica and Justine, for a few days in London and then an unofficial tour across Ireland afterwards. We have a trip of a lifetime, getting rained on and taking mature touristy shots in London:

We meet a Spanish recommended, Italian friend named Alessandra and have a delicious salmon dinner at her home a bit outside the city:

We hop a flight to Ireland, wander around different crooks and crannies of Dublin, spend some hours recovering in a cozy coffee shop:

(Jessica, me, Justine)

We hit the pubs at night and get bought beer after beer by friendly Irishmen. I don't manage to drink any of them and get reprimanded by Justine for telling our new Irish friend Patty (yes that was really his name!) that Guinness tastes like ass.

We hop a bus across the country and a ferry out to the tiny Aran Islands off the west coast of Ireland. We rent bikes and ride, regardless of the rain, out to the cliffs.

We head back to our hostel and down to the one and only pub on the island. We meet and dance with some spry young locals:

They try to teach us Gaelic, but our brains are too full of Spanish vocabulary to retain anything else. Exhausted, we head back to Spain, courtesy of Ryan Air. Lucky for us the same Spaniard that recommended us to meet with Alessandra picks us up from the airport. He of course is curious about our trip, and most of all wants to hear about our time with his Italian friend of many years.

All three of us are more or less fluent in Spanish, but that of course does not mean that we are exempt from making asses of ourselves in the foreign tongue. We begin obliging his questions and expressing our gratitude for her hospitality and his recommendation. He wants more details; What did you guys do? How is she doing? Did you see her house? I describe that she was wonderful. She gave us a tour of the city and made us a delicious dinner, I tell him. Justine details what she cooked for us, as it was so very delicious and definitely a highlight on our traveling menu. "Salmon" in Spanish is salmón, which is indeed very similar to the English word, but is also hysterically and unfortunately dangerously close to another Spanish word with a very different meaning.

So Justine wants to say that Alessandra is a very nice woman. And that she made us an incredibly delicious salmon dinner. It comes out a bit like this:

Alessandra es una mujer muy simpática.

Ok, so far so good--Alessandra is a very nice woman. She continues,

Ella nos preparó una cena de semen que fue increíblemente deliciosa.

Insert foot in mouth here!
Semen and salmon do sound similar in Spanish and after over a week of wandering in English speaking lands, I suppose simple Spanish mistakes could be expected. Plus we were exhausted. Which for me, just made it all the more hilarious. We exploded with laughter. While salmón means "salmon", as previously mentioned, semen on the other hand, well that means exactly what it spells in English: "semen". Or sperm. Or cum, or man seed, or however you call it.

She made us an incredibly delicious semen dinner. Wow, she really is a nice woman! And apparently a super cook as well! Num num!

Oh how I love language and the entertainment it provides. I am sure that my next post will be back to me and my mistakes in Norwegian. I do make them almost daily after all...

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