Catching Up and the path to Norwegian-ness

Wow... It's been 26 days since I last checked in (really, like 1.5 months since a real post).

It's been a summer.

As I'd previously noted, it was "Adult Summer Break" here in Norway which means that, for the majority of July, most Norwegians have either reduced working hours or off altogether (often a combination of the two).

I detailed most of my exploits in the last post and have been back to "life" for a few weeks ago.

So "Why no posts?" you may ask.  Well, it's hard to say because there's not really much I care to say.

If you do a quick google of "expat blogs", what you'll find is a plethora of personal diatribes that are, frankly, boring.  While a lot of my posts probably shade to that realm, I try to at least put together universal experiences that are either entertaining (beer festivals with the awesome Dutch!) or are written to appear as so (haircuts!).

So yeah, I'm not writing unless I have something I wish to share or someone asks me a question ("Hey, bro.  Is Norway a communist country?"  False.) 

My new favorite dessert!

I am now a resident (temporary) of Norway.

For those of you who are reading this and notice that this blog is almost two years old will probably be perplexed by that statement.  

Let me back-up.

I originally came to Norway on a Job Seekers exemption.  Which, as far as I can tell, is fancy language to explicitly mark the difference between non-EU/EEA countries.  People from developed, western nations, ok;  Everyone else, follow the "Apply-for-a-visa-wait-for-the-visa-come-here-for-three-months-return-home-poorer" process.

After my six months were up and I was unemployed, I returned to the Good, Ol' US of A.  No worries there (Unless you attended my "Going Away Party", then it was just awkward).  After another six months of bouncing around (the specifics aren't really important), I finally did the whole "Shucks, why don't we get married, I guess" romanticism with the girlfriend.

She said "meh... ok"

Artist rendering of her response to my proposal

And what followed was a eight month game of "send-us-the-paperwork-will-check-it-approval-it-change-our-mind-require-you-to-get-more-paperwork-tentatively-approve-it-make-you-go-to-a-dozen-different-offices-for-signing-off-and-stamping-not-to-mention-those-offices-are-poorly-run-and-smell-like-what-I-imagine-Asmara-and-Islamabad-smell-like" with a lot of old school waiting in-between.

The one bonus was that I was able to wait out the response here in Norway as opposed to America (though, its not like that was a huge bonus as I wasn't really eligible/allowed to work in Norway).

However, in the end, here we are.  I have a handy dandy card and, in a couple weeks, I'll be wearing a ring for the rest of my life or something like that.

Oh, and I found more Americans here and I still haven't caught a fish in Oslo yet.

The Fjord is barren.

Alt for Norge

Like me on Facebook: facebook.com/OSLOST

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Buy my non-Norway based book: http://www.amazon.co.uk/This-New-Normal-ebook/dp/B008M0GPW2

A man walks in to a barbershop...

So... in an attempt to be more active (I really hope people are clicking on the hyperlinks), I'm going to try and write more often.  As, with most things, my day-to-day life, while enjoyable, doesn't often provide the best commentary.

Thus, I will regale you all with tales of (mis)adventures that have befallen me throughout my time here (in between all the soul crushing rejection from potential employers).

So... About two saturdays ago, it dawned on me that I needed a haircut.  Now, prior to coming to Norway, I had always gone the efficient (see: cheap) route, I let a family member do it. While that never resulted in a sweet mohawk, it usually worked for me.  As the closest family member is now quite a ways away. I had to resort to commercial means.

Though, it probably goes without mentioning, but haircuts in Oslo are a dicey proposal.  As such, I went over to the other side of town where there were barbers (frisør for my Norwegian speaking friends) who were similar to back home.

After a looooong bus ride, I arrived near Grønland, a heavily immigrant populated neighborhood.  I walked around for some time unable to find a place.  Oh, there were places that cut hair, but they were full of Persian looking men laughing and joking, who suddenly stopped when I poked my head in.

To make matters worse, I had a random interaction with a gentleman who seemingly had recently emigrated from Africa.

Rough transcript of the dialog:

* African Immigrant asks a question in a language I've never heard *
Me: Sorry, I don't know know what you just said?  English?
African Immigrant: You too good for your mother's language?
Me: No.  I'm speaking it now
African Immigrant:  Where you from?  You from America?

At this point, after remembering all the horror stories of identity's being stolen, I decided to exit stage right. To which, he remarked something about money team (shout out to Floyd and Fifty).

I was about ready to call it a disaster and take my chances with the hair studio down the street from our flat.

When I found a nice spot where a friendly, Somalian guy gave me a tight fade and shave!  It was good times.

Not even the -10 celsius weather can impede that.  Well, not entirely...

Rap lyric I'd incorporate into a song if I were a rapper:
Nights out, new friends, I can't remember names/ I stay in Norway, like the 94 winter games