I met Steffi on the street in Morocco. A beautiful Norwegian, thought she was playin’ in the majors while I rode the pine in AAA—so cute and confident. Lucky for me she was a sucker for lame jokes and Moroccan bracelets; cause we hit it off, kept in touch, and I thought, Hell, Norway’s on the way home. Sort of.
It’s Norwegian
Norway is an awesome country, and Steffi was anxious to show me everything. Like when we saw deer cross the road one evening, she was floored that I was able to witness this unique Norwegian animal (obviously the U.S is just Hummers and high rises).
Or at breakfast the first morning, when I grabbed a knife to cut some cheese (grow up), she stopped me. Wait! Wait! Wait! She zipped around the kitchen opening and slamming drawers like she was late for a flight and couldn’t find her passport.
Ooo! Here it is!
She held up a cheese slicer (don’t know what its called in English, looks like a cake server with a slit at the base you drag across the cheese).
It’s a -- Ostehøvel! It’s Norwegian.
I felt bad saying it, as she held out the slicer like it was the Holy Grail…
Uh, we have that at home.
What? ! Her heart sank.
While Steffi was a bit naïve in thinking certain things were only found in Norway (learned the phrase burst your bubble too well), she showed me more than I could have hoped to see. Fjords, moose, and reindeer—the place was all that and a side of whale.
Lights On
Steffi didn’t realize it, but all she needed to do to carve a spot for Norway in my heart was draw the blinds. Not only did mountains dip the MLB’s steroid supply and bathe in green paint, but natural light glowed 24/7 to show them off. I couldn’t’ get over it. Steffi had grown up with it, so she was over it. But at 11:30pm, cruising through Vigelandsparken park after sneaking a peak at a Neal Young concert in Oslo, I explained my fascination to her. Imagine, in my 24 years, I’ve never seen natural light at this hour. Never, it’s always been dark. And suddenly, I’m taking flashless photos of statues and it’s nearly midnight.
She began to see my point as the trip continued (not much choice, I wouldn’t shut up about it). Day trips could start at three, no worries about running out of light. Feeling bloated after a late dinner? Go for a paddle. A few times we surfed til one in the morning. As we got out of the water, people would just be showing up.
Stand Up and Get Shot Down
Most of our time was spent in Hoddevik, a small village of about 100 people that sits in the cleavage of two green mountains and hugs a white sand beach. It was there that Steffi managed a three story white house turned B&B/surf shop/playground for the budding Norwegian surf community. We spent most days playing on the grass—mastering the Indo Board and slack line, maybe some beers to test our balance even more. Or skating down the single road that ran the length of town. When there were waves, we surfed. And when there wasn’t, I was keen on trying the Stand Up Paddle board—a twelve-foot surfboard you stand on and paddle like a Venetian gondola. I’d resisted the temptation to try it back home, fearing the ridicule from friends, as SUPs are a nuisance in the line up. But what the hell? I was in Norway, thousands of miles away from judgment.
The first day I took it out, I walked awkwardly down the path with the beast on my head, Steffi right behind me.
You’re lucky you already have a girl here, cause you look so gay right now.
Thanks babe.
Lil Lessons
Strange traveling with someone though, 24/7 with one person after five months solo. I’m surprised Steffi was able to put up with me for two weeks, that she didn’t just kick me out of the car and tell me to ride a reindeer back to Oslo. We made it work though, learning about each other and ourselves along the way. She learned to be friendlier to strangers (Scandinavians are more closed off than Americans) and stress less; I learned to take photos vertically and that I shouldn’t pee with the door open. Things we’ll carry with us.
Norway was sick. Loved it. Such an unexpected detour from my Africa mission, but exactly why I love traveling, why loose itineraries allow for the greatest experiences. And the fact that I got to see one of the most expensive places in the world for less money than I spent for running a red light made it that much better.
As much as it pains me to say it, that was the end. The trip is done and I’m back home to same old same old. No clue as to the setting of my next adventure, but after less than a week back home, it can’t come soon enough.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Taylor's Travels: Best of South Africa
Writing a Best of South Africa blog, I feel like parents do about picking a favorite kid. How am I supposed to choose favorites when the whole trip was so lekker? But in honor of those who slyly wink and nod at their youngest after telling their brood that they love them equally (thanks dad!), I’ll have a go.
Favorite City
Cape Town gets a narrow win over Durban on this one. Anywhere that’s got mountains, waves, and wine within 50 sq. kilometers makes me want to get comfy. The maze of mountains and bays and roads made my senses spin—one of the few places where I completely lost my sense of direction. I’d drive around the corner to check the surf, decide to see what was over the hill only to be back where I started. A week driving in Cape Town and I was still saying damn it around every bend. Not a place I mind being lost though. Oh! And there were beautiful girls…everywhere.
Favorite Food
Meat Pie. The mystery of why we don’t have these in the States is up there with Stonehenge.* They’re so fricken good. Doesn’t take a genius (case in point, Australia) to figure out that putting our favorite slow cooked meats and veggies inside a hand held pastry is a winning recipe. I suggest a culinary exchange: we’ll send over our best burrito makers if they send the pies over. I’ll have a Pepper Steak, my good man.
Favorite Word
Lekker. An Afrikaans word meaning cool. Heard it used to describe everything from clothing, people, even the feeling of being inside the barrel. I can picture you now, if you’ve yet to visit SA, saying the word to yourself, LE-kk-ERR. Not so cool when we do it. Hell, I heard it every other sentence and I still couldn’t imitate it. Gotta say it quickly, out the corner of your mouth, LA-CKAr. And throw in bru after it, just for good measure. I’m not alone in loving this word. Friends who’d visited before wrote me while I was there. Dana wondered if I’d met any lekker locals or surfed any kif waves? Trevor asked if the waves had been lekker or lacking? The waves were lekker, Trev. And Dana, the locals couldn’ta been more lekker.
Favorite Saying
This came from a guard at the South Africa/Swaziland border. I’d been dropped off at night after being told by the receptionist at my destination hostel that there would be public transport at the border. I asked the guards with confidence where the bus was. They had a hearty laugh in my face and said the last one left a couple hours ago. Grab some pine kid, we’ll try and find you a ride. So I sat as they stopped each car, asking if they’d be willing to schlep a naïve American to Mbabane. They found me a ride like snap. Two actually. One was a semi-truck going all the way to my final destination, Durban. But I already accepted a ride with another car. And I reserved a spot at that hostel. I guess I didn’t’ put a deposit down. Shoot, it would save me money if I just went straight to Durban. Aaaagggh, I can’t decide!
Hey! One guard snaps me out of my mental struggle. Make up your mind, between two stools we fall on the floor.
I laughed and asked him to repeat it. He did, then explained the saying to me three times, just to make sure I’d got it. While he was proudly lecturing me on the pitfalls of indecision, the semi left.
Most Awkward Moment
Riding my host’s bike to the mall to withdraw cash to rent a car, my phone rang. I stopped on the corner (its dangerous to talk and ride, ya know?). Why hello Leslie! I’m fine, thank you. No, I can talk. Ya, Cape Town is AMAZING!
WHAAAM!
One man darts past me and I make a move to follow. Then I realize that another man running down the other street is the one who just ripped the phone off my ear. I head towards him, set on reclaiming what’s mine. But he’s halfway over the fence already and if I chase him, his homeboy will come back for the bike. What to do what to do? I got it! I’ll yell something at him. Ya, its perfect. Something so clever, so noble he’ll realize the error of his ways, lower himself from the fence, and return the phone with a heartfelt apology…
F**K YOU!
My new SA phone number is 073 986 7238.
Favorite Person
Ok, so I’m just as bad as the spineless parents who can’t get off the fence. Minus the phone bandits, South African’s treated me as family. Of the two months I spent there, I think I paid for lodging maybe seven nights. I spent the balance in the homes of friends, their friends, and strangers. People are SO hospitable down there. I could list all the legends that took me in, but lists are lame and they know who they are.
I’ll claim it: South Africa is the best country I’ve been to.
* After I wrote that I saw this on youtube, essentially solving the Stonehenge mystery. Unreal: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lRRDzFROMx0
Favorite City
Cape Town gets a narrow win over Durban on this one. Anywhere that’s got mountains, waves, and wine within 50 sq. kilometers makes me want to get comfy. The maze of mountains and bays and roads made my senses spin—one of the few places where I completely lost my sense of direction. I’d drive around the corner to check the surf, decide to see what was over the hill only to be back where I started. A week driving in Cape Town and I was still saying damn it around every bend. Not a place I mind being lost though. Oh! And there were beautiful girls…everywhere.
Favorite Food
Meat Pie. The mystery of why we don’t have these in the States is up there with Stonehenge.* They’re so fricken good. Doesn’t take a genius (case in point, Australia) to figure out that putting our favorite slow cooked meats and veggies inside a hand held pastry is a winning recipe. I suggest a culinary exchange: we’ll send over our best burrito makers if they send the pies over. I’ll have a Pepper Steak, my good man.
Favorite Word
Lekker. An Afrikaans word meaning cool. Heard it used to describe everything from clothing, people, even the feeling of being inside the barrel. I can picture you now, if you’ve yet to visit SA, saying the word to yourself, LE-kk-ERR. Not so cool when we do it. Hell, I heard it every other sentence and I still couldn’t imitate it. Gotta say it quickly, out the corner of your mouth, LA-CKAr. And throw in bru after it, just for good measure. I’m not alone in loving this word. Friends who’d visited before wrote me while I was there. Dana wondered if I’d met any lekker locals or surfed any kif waves? Trevor asked if the waves had been lekker or lacking? The waves were lekker, Trev. And Dana, the locals couldn’ta been more lekker.
Favorite Saying
This came from a guard at the South Africa/Swaziland border. I’d been dropped off at night after being told by the receptionist at my destination hostel that there would be public transport at the border. I asked the guards with confidence where the bus was. They had a hearty laugh in my face and said the last one left a couple hours ago. Grab some pine kid, we’ll try and find you a ride. So I sat as they stopped each car, asking if they’d be willing to schlep a naïve American to Mbabane. They found me a ride like snap. Two actually. One was a semi-truck going all the way to my final destination, Durban. But I already accepted a ride with another car. And I reserved a spot at that hostel. I guess I didn’t’ put a deposit down. Shoot, it would save me money if I just went straight to Durban. Aaaagggh, I can’t decide!
Hey! One guard snaps me out of my mental struggle. Make up your mind, between two stools we fall on the floor.
I laughed and asked him to repeat it. He did, then explained the saying to me three times, just to make sure I’d got it. While he was proudly lecturing me on the pitfalls of indecision, the semi left.
Most Awkward Moment
Riding my host’s bike to the mall to withdraw cash to rent a car, my phone rang. I stopped on the corner (its dangerous to talk and ride, ya know?). Why hello Leslie! I’m fine, thank you. No, I can talk. Ya, Cape Town is AMAZING!
WHAAAM!
One man darts past me and I make a move to follow. Then I realize that another man running down the other street is the one who just ripped the phone off my ear. I head towards him, set on reclaiming what’s mine. But he’s halfway over the fence already and if I chase him, his homeboy will come back for the bike. What to do what to do? I got it! I’ll yell something at him. Ya, its perfect. Something so clever, so noble he’ll realize the error of his ways, lower himself from the fence, and return the phone with a heartfelt apology…
F**K YOU!
My new SA phone number is 073 986 7238.
Favorite Person
Ok, so I’m just as bad as the spineless parents who can’t get off the fence. Minus the phone bandits, South African’s treated me as family. Of the two months I spent there, I think I paid for lodging maybe seven nights. I spent the balance in the homes of friends, their friends, and strangers. People are SO hospitable down there. I could list all the legends that took me in, but lists are lame and they know who they are.
I’ll claim it: South Africa is the best country I’ve been to.
* After I wrote that I saw this on youtube, essentially solving the Stonehenge mystery. Unreal: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lRRDzFROMx0
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