The night was as expected, an endless parade of bunkmates rolling their ginormous overstuffed suitcases or tipsily crashing into things as they returned. My favorite though was around 3am when the blonde one stood in the open doorway macking on a dude while occasionally stopping just long enough to peer into the room, undoubtedly to assess the chances of getting lucky in her bunk. Luckily the outspoken American below me put an end to that with a curt “Get out and shut the door!”. With the heat, head cold, fear of missing my flight and 2 iPhone with forgotten early morning alarms on full blast I did not start the day feeling my best.
I grab the free hostel breakfast and watch in amazement as the guy in front of me loads up his tray with enough food to feed a family. Seriously. 4 slice of bread, 4 kaiser rolls, 4 apples, 2 oranges,1 pear, 4 hard boiled eggs, about 30 slices of lunch meat, 15 slices of cheese, 1 tomato, 1/2 cucumber, bowl of yogurt, bowl of cereal, juice and coffee. I can only hope that he was planning on squirreling away for lunch but it made it very clear to me why at most hostels free breakfasts consist of toast and cereal only.
Traveling in the EU is much less stressful than North Americe, they don’t treat you like you’re a terrorist. In fact, not once during in the day, in 3 countries, was I asked to show any sort of ID. I’m grateful for the prompt flights and generally easy journey as I feeling like death. I managed to sleep on every bench and available chair I came in contact with but with my current sinus issues was unable to regulate my ear pressure. If you’ve ever flown while sick you know how painful it can be. When I landed in Copenhagen I could only hear at about 30%. In the bathroom stall, tired, overheated, deaf and only able to breathe from my mouth I blow my nose with substantial force. I almost pass out and have to grab the stall door for support. The sound of my eardrum squealing to release the pent up pressure can only be described as a scratching record playing the sound of a car that needs a new fan belt.
I regain some hearing in time to eavesdrop on a conversation between some americans who have just met and the middle aged man in a wheel chair with his family tells the younger couple “I’ll give you 5 guesses why I’m paralyzed”. The look on the face of the young guy was terror and confusion at the suggestion but with the eager urging of the family and 5 clues later we find out it was from a common flu shot, just 4 years ago. I immediately make a mental note to avoid all flu shots.
10 travel hours later, I arrive in Bergen, Norway to find my workaway host Charly waiting for me. He looks like an older hippie version of Weird Al Yankovic. He speaks very quietly in an accent with mixed parts Norweigan, Argentian, German and hippie. With my once again plugged ears I struggle to understand why his is carrying a large king crab in a plastic bag. After a few attempts I ascertain that he randomly ran into a fisherman friend from Finmark at the airport who gave him it as a gift. This is a theme that continues throughout the day.
I meet the very large, very shaggy and also very wet sheep dog Emile when we get to the car. He is shooed from the front seat where I am left with a very wet seat cover to settle into. I can feel the wet dog water soaking into my jeans as Charly and I settle into the always awkward get-to-know-you chit chat that happens when you are sizing up the person you are about to share a home with. Feeling like a pile of sheepdog shit I give a valiant effort to be cheerful and interested in what is being said to me for the 1.5 hour drive to his village of Strandvik.
Charly is very kind, full of stories and eager to show me around. First stop is monastery ruins from the 1200’s then one of last remaining workshops still creating traditional viking boats called, Oselvars. A historic hotel, a farm owned previously owned by the first Prime Ministers of Norwary and a small botanic garden. With the sights seen we pull up to the ferry just in time to see it pull away. In that moment all I can think is “What. No. Noo! I’m so tired. Sleep… ”. Out of sheer necessity I rally and we chit chat for 40mins until the ferry returns. Almost every person we see or building we pass he has a story to tell which I am most grateful for as I am not a great conversationalist at this point.
We drive through 2 or 3 tiny villages before we get to Strandvik which is a most picturesque village on the Bjørnafjorden. It has one shop and one small restaurant and about 200 inhabitants. Every house we pass was either once inhabited by one of Charlies family members or currently occupied by a good friend. I get a quick tour before we get to the old timber house which once belonged to the mayor of the one of the towns but had to be taken down to build a wider road. It was given to Charly and he rebuilt on his property (He’s a carpenter). This is the main house, but there is also a garage and a very large greenhouse that has multiple coi ponds, aquaponics, and general living room space. The view of the fjord is amazing.
Around 10:00 I meet his girlfriend of nearly 40 years whom I can call Shista or Kirsten, whichever I can pronounce better. She has long white hair, is more timid than Charly and I think a little more weary of a stranger in her home. Having not eaten dinner yet we sit down for bread and a medley of Norwegian spreads and schmears. Cod fish caviar from a tube, traditional ‘brown cheese’, liver pate, prawn mayo, beet mayo, mayo, cream cheese and a bevy of jams. And the fresh king crab. I think I will be able to reclaim my scurvy status here.
We chat until around midnight, when I excuse myself to go to sleep thinking it a reasonable bedtime but they look a little surprised and inform me that they don’t usually get up until 11/noon so if I’m up ‘early’ to just help myself to breakfast.
At last I settle into bed. A king size bed. A comfortable bed. With no bunkmates. In the silence of nature. And I die for the next 11 hours.
