You will, I hope, forgive the slightly hyperbolical language. Things have more or less fallen into a harried routine here in Olso. With the cold biting through my skin and every bone, it is all one can do to keep moving - trudging through snow drifts and ice patches - on to the next task, as mundane as it may seem. Old man winter finally got the best of me the last week, scratching my throat to a dry, bloody-red mess complete with uncontrollable coughing fits. Itches came from deep in my lungs and are unsatisfied even with the most violent of convulsions. Finally, I'm feeling healthier again, with the more familiar excess of slimy mucous coating the wounds in my pharynx.
On a brighter (and hopefully less graphic) note: My friend from England came to visit last weekend. We journeyed out over the frozen crusts of Sognsvann lake, testing our courage over the slushy parts of ice and trudging through almost three feet of snow.
Working backwards chronologically, the previous Thursday aforementioned German hunk was kidnapped before his birthday. After we rescued him from his captors, we took him to a concert. Reports of the kidnapping are vague and mysterious. Some say a terrorist plot was involved. Others claim it was all a figment of the birthday boy's imagination. Photographic evidence is, as of yet, unavailable, but investigators are on the case.
The Fulbright ski weekend and Viking party... photos can say more than words in this case, I feel.
Heather, Alex and me with Barry White, US Ambassador to Norway at his house!!
I skied down this slope. Almost fell of the edge of the mountain when distracted by the devastatingly gorgeous scenery.
The hallway next to our room at the hotel looked like something out of the Shining. Meant to photograph one of the hotel staff there, but I'm sure I could not have done Kubrick justice.
We were entertained by a 2 man Bulgarian cover band in the empty basement bar at the hotel on Saturday night. Their set list was vast and extensive, ranging from New York, New York to I Kissed a Girl to the most obscure Madonna song any of us had ever heard.
The decor was very 70s with a retro mod twist.
Prep for viking party: I wore my helmet everywhere
Skiing at Tryvann
Vi gikk på beserk
I got to DJ for an hour. Don't think I'll be doing that again any time soon. The thinly veiled, boiling rage is real this time.
While on the ski weekend, I completed a few interviews. Since then, I have been running a bit behind schedule, but I expect the project to pick up rapidly after the first week of April when my term paper and final for another class are due. I am waiting for the spring weather and that age-old familiar call "west! west! west!" to lure me to the opposite shores for some captivating consultations with whalers and oil (wo)men.