That was the temperature when I woke up this morning.
Almost in disbelief, I went outside in jeans and my summer coat (that's a funny thing, before I came to Norway. I had three coats. One I wore in fall, one I wore when it was winter, and another I wore in both months when I was wearing something sorta fancy... Now, I have eight coats) and was quickly re-buffed.
It was, indeed, cold outside.
(I realize "cold" is relative, but, when you're anticipating low-teens Celsius/mid-50s Fahrenheit, getting smacked in the mouth with something quite lower than that registers as cold)
Fortunately for me, I had (at the behest of the lady) swapped out my summer clothes.
The week prior, I had carried up the winter clothes, in their dormant boxes tucked away in the back of the unit in the basement, to the apartment. Then, solemnly, I folded and sorted which summery things I still dreamed of wearing between now and when the sun's warmth returned from those which I could go without (this seasonal change is the saddest I feel for inanimate objects... Sorry, threadless.com t-shirt. I just don't have space for you. I don't like you any less... It just won't be that warm and... you'll understand when you're older?). The unchosen were placed in the spot formerly reserved for the winter clothes, which, in turn, replaced the summery clothes spots in my drawers and closet, and then, I returned the boxes to their sub-terrain storage.
I'm no longer young and cool (or, rather, I no longer have the illusion of being young and cool... if ever I had been the latter is debatable).
I'd been aware of this fact for some time, but a three-hour whirlwind through the crowds and music of the 2013 Oslo Musicfest (Oslomusikkfest) confirmed this truth.
I thought of writing a running diary for the proceedings, but that seemed silly considering the fact that my experience was only 180 minutes of a possible 12 hours and a decent portion of what little time I did commit was spent walking between venues.
So, in lieu of a blow-by-blow, here are a sampling of the highlights (Please keep in mind that I only visited 7 of the 20 venues and only saw 8 bands):
Best Setting I visited. The Kristparken venue was epic. The park itself is little more than a huge courtyard between a kindergarten, Church of Sweden's Norwegian headquarters, and the Norwegian Dental headquarters. There are numerous trees and wide alleyways leading in, so there was a cool breeze and dabs of sunny spots. It was packed and it was a festive crowd (i.e. there was a lot of marijuana being smoked). It most embodied the idea of a music festival (at least, as I have known them). Unfortunately, they had a less than ideal vendor situation (the lines spanned the width of the courtyard) and the sound was distorted. Which did no favors for the sounds of Man the Machetes and Blood Command.
Most Enjoyable Venue I visited. Strangely, the Vulkan Scene provided the best combination of space and sound. There were more tables and chairs brought in for sitting, as well as beer being sold from multiple spots to avoid long lines (50 kroner/$8.33 for 33 cl beers, that's an ounce less of a standard, American beer can). The stage was set-up at the bottom of the stairs, providing good acoustics. The wide walkways could've accomodated 500 people (it was about 1/7th that number in attendance).
Worst Venue I visited. While it had one of the better programs, Cafe Sør was unbearable. There was approximately 290452834982734 people squeezed into an indoor and outdoor area meant for about 75. However, the sound was exquisite (which makes sense as it was one of the few places that actually hosted music on a semi-regular basis). A shame because I would've loved to have stayed through EMILY's whole set, but I just couldn't... People-induced claustrophobia is a real thing, I think...
Most bizarre question I was asked. Can me and my wife have your mulatt babies? (I'm paraphrasing and this ended my first stint at Kristparken)
The one scene that is impossible to describe but I will try anyway. There are few places that combine the unintentional comedy of people trying to look tough in bright colored clothing and oblivious, drunkwhite girl dancing (Oh my God! Is that racists!?!?!? I didn't mean for it to be, like, racists!!) better than Turkish Delight. Though, this all pales in comparison to the awkward, reggaeton stylings of Son of Light!
Best Band. I guess the perfect combination of space, sound, and charm of Vulkan was aided by the fact that the perfect band was playing, DUDES. Now, please don't take this to mean that I think the band, itself, is perfect (or even very good), but, as so often happens in life, the combination of their energy, the setting, and the crowd's reaction (somewhere between riotous and perplexed excitement) just made the set unimpeachable. What were they saying? I don't know. But they meant it! Also, the drummer looks like Micheal Cera and their base guitarist looked and dressed just like the Don Dawson character in Dazed and Confused.
Why Did I Lead into this post with melancholic musings on youth lost? Well, the following four reasons... 1) Because I didn't understand any of the clothing the trendy concert goers were wearing (I saw an assortment of "NOFX" and other mid-90s screamo bands. I couldn't tell if people had these on to be ironic or to chalk it up to their Norwegianness... I feel like, with most things, the answer lies somewhere in-between); 2) I didn't understand the appeal of most of the bands (granted, when you're playing a free event, you tend to not have Kanye West or Counting Crows show up); 3) I just referenced Counting Crows like they released a relevant album in the past decade; and 4) I was pretty done after three hours. There was still more to see, but I wasn't up for it.
That's pretty much all I have. Youngstorget was a complete and utter debacle of people (there was at least 300-500 people milling in-between a logjam of two stages with music that ran over each other and a dozen vendor stands selling everything from Eastern scarves to cowboy hats) and Revolver was nondescript (there's only so many ways to describe loud rock).
Attention American, High School Seniors (and those that were high school seniors at one point, even if it was way back in '99), congratulations on graduating! However, as you embark on Senior Week, know that while you might think your week-long, dalliance at the beach or having crazy house parties with Matt Damon are the ultimate, you're mistaken.
The Basics. The period of celebration for graduating Norwegians is referred to as Russefeiring and those that participate in it are Russ(not to be confused with Rus, which means intoxication from drugs...). The word Russ derives from the latin cornua depositurus, which means "bound to put aside one's horns" and is synonymous with many Scandinavian University Acceptance ceremonies (sinister legend suggests that during the time of "union" with Denmark, when Norwegian students attended The University of Copenhagen, snarky Danish students made them wear horns to denote their more "rural roots". The Danes are mean). Either way, there have been Russ, in some form or another, for a couple hundred years.
That sounds kinda gangster, but how can that compete with beer bonging and party hopping on the beach?
For starters, the period last longer than a week as it stretches from May 1 (May Day) to the National Constitution Day on the 17th. Secondly, since the school structure is different here (Norwegian "middle school" is four years long), most Seniors are 19 when they graduate or, if they're precocious or born in the back half of the year, 18. The drinking age in Norway is 18 (for beer and wine, 20 for hard liquor... but whoever waits?). No fake I.D. needed.
But they don't even have beer pong, how much fun can it even be?
It looks like a blast. For starters, the whole "rural roots" thing gains traction here. The customary clothing are overalls (yes, everyone and yes, they wear them for the duration of the 17 day period... it's frowned upon to wash them... in fact, if you get caught, they make you caught off a leg of the overalls), for everyone. Boys and Girls. They also have different colors depending on the course of study going forward. Blue are for the Business kids, Black for Engineers, Green for Agriculture (the most rare of the Russ), and, for everyone else, Red. Additionally, to discourage drunk driving, its customary for Russ to pay for transportation. Not just any kind of transportation, but a tricked out bus. You think your prom limo was fly, these busses can cost upwards of a quarter million US Dollars (think part RV, part tour bus).
Where does the money come from? You get sponsors, of course!
LEGO man gotta beer!
Or, your parents are just Oslo Ballerz and you and your friends just pool your allowances for it.
Either way, kids race around after school (that's right, these kids party and bomb out of their mind WHILE SCHOOL IS STILL GOING ON... they haven't even graduated yet. They still have to take exams, which is in mid-June) going from party to party (The first weekend in May, there's a huge party in Stavanger) or creating their own.
Ringnes and Hansa for all
There are actually prizes for having the best bus. The whole thing isn't a complete loss because most Russ recoup a sizable portion of their investment by reselling the bus the following year to the next set of Russ.
Aww, crap... I give up. Are there anything else that they do that should make me hate my life or try to pose as an exchange student?
Instead of getting those wallet-size graduation pictures to hand out (There's a drawer at my parent's house that contains about a dozen of them along with my junior prom pictures... poor investment), Russ have mock business cards that they hand out to anyone that, if you clink the link you will see, contain a picture and a whole bunch of zany tidbits. I think when I found out about this, I spent a few days trying to figure out what my cards would say.
So yeah... I won't say this often, but Norway wins. Hands Down.
"Like" the OSLOst in Space on Facebook (Facebook.com/oslost)
ATTENTION EVERYONE!! HEY!! ATTENTION!!! PI IS THREE!
Now that I have your attentions... What do I do with my days? Good question. In addition to trying to find a job (this consists of hours of job search engine scanning, crafting cover letters, and clicking "refresh" on my inbox repeatedly hoping for good news that never comes), I read newspapers and do a random assortment of errands. Additionally, I have been taking language and culture courses.
I would attempt to explain this in detail, but its not really that interesting and, as most things, is far more interesting to me and people who are involved with it than to an outsider. An inside joke is only funny if you're on the inside and, even then, its pretty subjective.
Anyway, I have had nine weeks of course and I would definitely rate my Norwegian skills as "needs improvement". Money well spent.
Though, the best thing I have gotten from the sessions is a better understanding of Norwegian life and some great friends from all over the globe.
So... Norwegian Life. It can be pretty dangerous (ice is EVERYWHERE... even under the ice!), but, generally, its about making the best out of every situation. You need assistance/help/directions/human contact? Mostly everyone will respond in English (of course you wouldn't take the time to learn our language...). It snows nine months out of the year? Let's incorporate skiing into the national identity and let's go hammer during the three months its actually nice outside with a crapton of outdoor festivals. Norwegians perpetually see the glass half full... even when the water is frozen because of a freak, March snowstorm.
Norwegian life... it consists of trying not to slip on the ever-present patches of ice
Pop culture here, like everywhere, is a mash up of global trends and traditional looks (especially mandated by weather) to give you something that makes the average Oslonian (I just made that up) look like they could've just stepped out of Park Slope.
Music isn't all death metal and trip hop DJs (as I thought before I came here) as "indie folk rock" is probably the dominant sound (judging by restaurants, conversations, radio, passing cars, and the newspapers that I can figure out how to read). Though, hip-hop is popular here and manifests itself almost as equally awkwardly as it does in affluent, American suburbs (funny anecdote: I was on the tram the other day, and this couple, african guy-norwegian girl, were sitting a few rows in front of me having an animated conversation in Norwegian in between making out. Norwegians tend to intersperse English phrases into their conversations... "no problem", "can you believe that?", "and I was all like". Yes, it sounds as odd as you'd imagine. Anyway, this couple was sorta doing the same thing and, at one point, the girl, a very blonde and blue eyed, diminutive Norwegian in similar clothing pictured above, goes "hun er alltid i min skitt! Men hun vet ikke and I be like, Nigga please. High comedy)
1 degree (Celsius... 34 Fahrenheit)
