Pause Oslo

I haven't written an update with pics and stories from Oslo yet.  One might think that's because there wasn't much to say or photograph in Oslo during cold and snowy March.  One is right, but I do have a few tidbits to pass on.  


This weekend I was back in The Dam and THE SUN WAS SHINING!  The city turned into a new, more livable place, and I took another entertaining writing course.  The topic this time was Writing Nonfiction.  Unfortunately I apparently did not follow the assignment to write a profile of another participant in the class, and instead wrote what the instructor referred to as "a blog entry."  


So be it!  I should break the rules more often, but next time I'll try to do it on purpose.  So below is the "blog entry." Note that I did follow the rule to change the character's name and keep it under 500 words (499 to be exact).  This was read aloud in front of the class with "Danielle" sitting right next to me which made me just a touch nervous.


***

Choices in life can be difficult, and Danielle has had her fair share of them.  After 13 years working in the Entertainment industry and hobnobbing with the rich and famous, Danielle has made the complex decision to settle down.  In her own words, she has gone into “hibernation,” exchanging the bright lights and big city for rain and darkness in a small town south of Amsterdam.  This departure has allowed her husband to focus on developing his career and Danielle to raise her two small children and dedicate herself to writing a debut novel.

Danielle is sitting in front of me; petite, composed, confident and direct.  The story she just described is not unlike the situation countless other professional women in dual career households are faced with.  But there is one other choice that makes her different.  This is potentially a more risky choice than leaving a successful career and loving friends to move to a foreign land.  Danielle has chosen to wear a hijab. 

I come from a country that has declared a War Against Islam.  Some extremists back home would have me believe that Danielle is dangerous – associated with terrorists - simply because she wears a soft, jade colored scarf around her head that is fastened with a small gold pendant. 

I think that is ridiculous and it is easy for me to dismiss; I’m not surprised that my insular country would make ignorant stereotypes.  But as I listened to Danielle in quiet astonishment, what was more difficult for me to accept is the realization that she is the first practicing Muslim I have ever discussed the purpose of this prominently worn scarf.  It made me wonder about my assumptions.  And although I didn’t want to believe it, I not only had assumptions, but judgments, about why the scarves were worn.   I believed they were used to demonstrate modesty and deference, and as a feminist, I couldn’t support it.  But Danielle was about to firmly put my ignorant assumptions in their place.

Danielle happily explained to me why she chose to wear a hijab – and it was a decision she made later in life after she had children.  In Danielle’s words, wearing a hijab is “a simple way to be who I am.” It is a way for her to remember to focus on her true, internal self and not the external, physical aspect of being human.  Her hijab is a symbol of her commitment to improving and learning as she goes through the journey of life.   It has nothing to do with silencing herself and everything to do with evolving into a stronger person.

As I looked at Danielle:  Woman, Mother, Writer, Wife and Wearer of Hijab, I had a new found admiration for the scarf neatly tucked around her smiling, confident face.  I now understood the very different meaning it has for her versus my uneducated assumptions and why this choice was crucial in supporting the accomplished woman sitting before me.

*****
More traveling this week after Oslo & Barcelona last week.  This time it is Bonn & Cologne and I just hope the German's allow the sun to shine...

You Ghent What You Give

I learned several very important lessons while mistakenly visiting Ghent:

1. Accidentally visiting Ghent for the second time sure beats visiting Luxembourg for the first time.
2. I need to branch out – next stop has to be someplace both memorable and not a place I’ve been before.
3. Ghent is certainly a place worth visiting twice, even if it was an accident.
4. I would state that I’m astoundingly scatter brained – but I believe this has already been made crystal clear.

The famous Ghent street during daylight.  My camera was dead so this is all taken with my horrible new smart phone.  Never, ever, ever, EVER get an HTC smart phone.  Or visit Luxembourg.

Ghent is well known for having great shopping and restaurants.  The boutiques have gorgeous clothes that even made me want to shop.  So of course they are insanely expensive.  I went into this store to buy a scarf and then I realized it cost 300 euro.  And although the window display was tempting, I passed on this get up too.  Now that I’m back in AMS I wish I would have at least tried it on.  I have lived in Europe for more than 2 years and still wear 90% American clothes…it’s time for a change and this could be the new Christy.

I think the stirrup leg warmers are a piece of genius.  And Ladies, lime green is apparently the new black this year.
 Go for it!

Instead I stood in line to buy mustard.  But not just any mustard!  Some of the most famous mustard in Ghent.  I mean Belgium.  Probably still famous in portions of Europe.  Anyway, I paid a lot for it and this stuff is so pungent it will burn your nose hairs off.  And if it doesn't do that, it definitely tastes like it could cure cancer, but I can't be sure.

I did enjoy the food in Ghent, although the first night was not so good (it was a recommendation from the B&B owner which will explain itself later).  I ordered a vegetarian salad and it came with toasted pine nuts, corn, apples, pears, beets, pineapple, tomato and goat cheese topped with wasabi dressing.  I thought that was strange.  But for lunch I went to the lovely vegetarian restaurant Avalon that I highly recommend to anyone who has heart for veggies.  Essentially all you can choose is the soup and plate of the day and it’s anyone’s guess what that will be.  But the pumpkin and lentil soup was fab and the plate of vegetarian delight was even better.

This might not look like heaven to you, but I promise it was.

Ummm...So I stayed at a curious B&B with a most odd owner.  I thought she might be on to something with her B&B concept.  Now I just think she was on something.  Her idea was a B&B and small spa combo.  It's a centrally located B&B where guests can sleep and get a mani pedi in the same place.  Perfect. It even crossed my mind that I might enjoy opening up a similar business.  Then I experienced it.

To be fair, it wasn’t the concept’s fault that there was no heat and I had to sleep with a hat and gloves on.  Nor that the walls were so thin I heard every movement, cough, laugh and burp in the building.  I pretended not to hear the farts.  Perhaps it was just bad luck that the night I stayed there it was so windy that it blew through the walls.  It also wasn’t the concept’s fault that the owner was so interested in our conversation about travel that she lost track of time and gave me a 90 minute massage instead 60 minutes.  Normally this would be a blessing, but considering I nearly passed out because my head was dangling  through the extra large hole in the massage table, it was torture.  

Let's call these executional details that could be addressed and this idea might still be brilliant.  The good news is that I had my very own sun bed in my bathroom, and when have you ever had one of those before?

Considering everything was broken here, including the shower, I didn't consider trying it.  Broken sun beds = danger.

To cheer myself up I went on a canal cruise and then had some fine Belgian beer.  People sit outside at cafe's here even in the freezing cold.  The nice thing is there are heaters and lots of blankets, but I still froze, having never thawed out from my B&B experience.

I love Belgian Beer.

So it was a good trip to Ghent, but I learned lesson #2.  Time to book a trip somewhere new!  Next stop - Oslo.  They have different currency, a different language and I swear to Sven I've never been there before.


This might not work out well considering it is one of the most expensive cities in the world, but also I will have to go straight to the airport from a 3 day offsite in The Middle of Nowhere (otherwise known as The Netherlands).  

The good news is that I will do my Bana proud by finally visiting her Motherland.  I know she wonders how I could travel the world and never go back to "the most beautiful place on earth" and finally I will get a sneak peek.  I still fully intend to make a return trip with the Olsen Mommsen girls, but that might be in a few years and I just couldn't wait.

This is a castle in Ghent I avoided going to a second time.  My muddy memory says...don't go back!

Been There, Done Ghent

I’ve been to Ghent before.  And it took me a shockingly long time before I discovered it.

While I was reading a heavily used Time Out Belgium on the 3 hour train ride here, I fondly admired a photo of a Belgian street where I had sat in the sun drinking beer and eating french fries.  At the bottom of the photo Time Out said it was taken in Ghent.  I thought - Ha Ha Time Out!  You screwed up this time.  The caption says this photo is from Ghent, but I damn well know it is in Antwerp.  How did the editor miss that one?

I didn’t give it a second thought and went back to reading my book (The Girl With A Pearl Earring – if you haven’t read it, I recommend it.  Quick read...haven't seen the movie).  Then I arrived in lovely Ghent and immediately went for a very chilly walk to find dinner.  As I was walking past the tall churches and through the cobbled streets, things did seem familiar, but come on!  This is Europe.  If it isn't filled with church steeples and cobbled roads it doesn't belong.

Then I came upon that very street featured in Time Out and realized those Know It Alls were right again.  This lovely passage on the canal was indeed in Ghent, and I had apparently been here before.    

I was perplexed…how could I have forgotten I had already visited Ghent?  Is this early onset of Alzheimers?  I am going to give myself the benefit of the doubt and assume I purposelessly put it out of my mind.  The earlier visit here took place during a particularly unhappy time in my life and it makes some sense that I would place it in a psychological black hole.   I don’t even remember why we stopped here – but I do have crystal clear memories of standing on this beautiful street on a very hot sunny day waiting for a table to enjoy a cold Belgian beer by the water.  I remember how good the cold Belgian beer and frites tasted.  But I only have muddy, foggy recollections of visiting the famous churches here, and I even wonder if I’m confusing those memories with the countless other old churches I’ve visited.  Regardless, lets pretend I did indeed visit these historical monuments and there is no reason for me to go back to visit them again.

I will write more about Ghent later.  I promise not to forget. Ghent is worth remembering.

Cross Country and Continents

I just arrived back in Amsterdam after what seems to have been a long journey.  In reality, I was traveling for only a few disjointed weeks - 7 days of Corporate Enthusiasm in Barcelona followed by 7 days in the good old US of A in the City of Brotherly Love.  I had the privilege to attend Leadership Training at the Oh So Prestigious Wharton and then home to Wisconsin normalcy for 36 hours.  

But I have the same weird feeling I had when I returned to Amsterdam after my two months off - everything looks a little different.  I’m noticing things that I hadn’t noticed before.  Like there is a shoe store for large footed people across the street from my flat.  How did I miss that?  And why is it that I seem to always locate myself near shoe shops for giants? I lived next to a Big Foot Shoe Store in London too.  Strange, right?  Apparently not – this population is growing.  When I Googled “How Many Big Footed People Are There Anyway?” I found out the population is growing.  It concerns me that the Dutch could be growing larger in any respect.  They are already ginormous.

I have zero stories worth sharing from Philly, but going home made up for it.  I saw both of my grandmothers, two aunts, a dear friend, and stayed with my sister and the fam.  I had an outstanding time.  One of the highlights (Lehman’s lunch being the best) was my sister taking me cross country skiing in a place called Timberland (I fully support the town in suing the outdoor apparel company that wrongfully stole their name).  It was 0 degrees – that’s Fahrenheit folks - which required some careful planning for our attire, but you can see that it paid off.

Had anyone been at the well groomed Timberland trails, I guarantee they would have been very impressed by our professional cross country skiing attire.  And the super special thing about these cool duds were that they kept me really warm.  So warm that I sweated through all 4 of the tops I was wearing and the soggy long underwear bottoms my poor brother in law was kind enough to lend to me.  Unfortunately I have a history of ruining his clothes.  The crowning achievement was putting a hole through his brand new Levis while sliding down the side of a gigantic hill on my ass in the midst of a “hike” gone wrong with my dad. 

This cross country adventure was a special one, not only because I was with my sister and hadn’t been skiing in an awfully long time, but because it was the same morning that 10,000 cross country skiers from around the world began their 50 km journey in Cable WI for the Birkebeiner race.  If you’ve never heard of it, it is one of the most famous cross country sking races in the world and it is held annually in a town close to where I grew up.  And if you’ve never cross country skied before then you don’t know that this race is 50 km’s of sheer hell.

While we were skiing I was struck by how out of shape I've become and that my balance had deteriorated to the point where standing on skis was a challenge.  When I went downhill it was typically done with legs spread dangerously far apart and arms out wide like I was going to bear-hug an elephant.  I was also struck by how fast my sister was on these pencil thin skis.  It was a shame she was so far ahead that she missed my dramatic downhill stance, but she did stop and wait patiently at intervals to allow me to catch up.  

On one of the first stops as she watched me on my approach, she cocked her head and said “Chris, I’ve never noticed this about you…” and in my head I’m wondering if she’s going to say that she’s surprised how the orange in my jacket really sets off my blue eyes, or that I have an unusually strong ability to wear furry headgear – or perhaps that I have a natural athletic talent that could result in a big endorsement deal.  Instead she said “You are the spitting image of Cousin Tommy”

Now I already know that I am a dead ringer for my father, a 6’4” bald man (who is very good looking I’ll have you know!), but to discover that I’m also a twin of my balding 6'4" male cousin (also very good looking of course!) made me wonder.  I can’t imagine what poor Tom will think when he finds out about it.  Something tells me it will result in him wearing a blonde wig and having a look a like contest, but we'll see.  

After we finished skiing, I was even more impressed that my 8 year old niece and 5 year old nephew had completed the mini Birke's a few days before.  Sophia skied 3 kms and Nathan 1km.  Betsy and I managed over 5 KM’s and I was about dead.  

But now I'm back in snow-less Amsterdam trying to liven life up.  I haven’t been updating my blog mostly because I have nothing I feel like writing about.  It’s not fun when you have to force yourself to write about shit you don’t care about.  Ironically I was in a writing workshop in AMS a couple weekends ago (and ended up sitting next to a girl who went to my high school which is completely and totally bizarre) and the instructor was commenting that most writers are at their best when they are miserable.  But I’m the opposite.  I didn’t even find out that I liked to write until I was happy, and when Christy ain’t happy, she's quiet.  Which provides an explanation on why I haven't written anything in about a month. 

But I have a plan and I refuse to idle in misery.  No Siree!  I’m taking this sorry ass to Ghent.  That’s right, back to a random town nobody else travels to and most people haven't heard of.  But I have a bit of confidence this time -  I’ve heard too many good things about this little city and the guidebooks say there are even some things to do.

Plus, I need to get out of Amsterdam.  Today when I cycled to work, I had to peddle hard to make it down a hill and the wind was gusting so hard I nearly fell off my bike.  That pissed me off.  This is when I stop writing...