Extroverted Norwegians

Yesterday round about noon, we crossed into Norway. The differences were stark and immediate. Pardon my self-effacement, but these people look much more like my kind than those supermodel blonde Swedes. Oh yes, the Norse have had to insulate themselves while on the seas seeking the finsk. Thus the Ranger noses, the Nelson jaws, and the Garthe (fyi, thatæs a family name--not just my brother!) thighs.

We have elected to rest a couple days in Lofoten, a group of islands off the northern coast. It is idyllic and unique here--the town square has a small farmer's market this morning, and there are locals riding their bikes in every direction. There are some cars too, but by and large, most of us seem to be able to cover this town on foot and on cycle.

Last night, in a search for sustenance and drink, we checked out the recommended restaurants, and the lone Italian restaurant. The receptionist at our rorbu (Norwegian for hostel, I believe) told us, the *really* nice place in town was "Du Verden", which translates as something questionably sensible like "you were" or like that. We p0ked our head in, and boy, was *it* swanky! Earthy tones and tall vases, beautiful yuppie types seeming to be occupied with a nice Malbec and today's fresh Cioppino. And only for a day's wages! Trevor and I decided to keep walking.

Eventually, we happened upon what claimed to be an Italian restaurant, though Trevor got the Mexican plate and I got a kebab sandwich. There we are, ordering at the front table, and the guy looks at Trevor, " do you want Mexican plate hot? Are you sure?" Trevor assures him that yes, he wants the hot Mexican plate, and the proprieter''s raised eyebrows make me think Trevor is in for some large, large, water consumption sometime soon.

We sit enjoying our beer (what I usually get) and our Fanta-like drink (what Trevor usually gets), and I posit that Trevor is in for some serious spice. The man is doubtful.

Then I remember one of the two jokes I think my dad has been telling since I was in Kindergarten--that if you go to a Norwegian's house for dinner, you may think they forgot to season the food, but actually, they put twice as much in in your honor. And of all coggie-goes-on-indie, when the supposedly hot Mexican plate arrives, water is not needed, the plate is cleared, and Trevor is not crying.

My dad's other popular Norwegian joke is "How can you tell an extroverted Norwegian? They look at *your* shoes when they're talking to you!"

And thus, in similar vein, as we took the seomtimes bumpy three hour ferry ride to Lofoten, there was this guy across the cabin from us that spent the vast majority of the ride looking at the upholstery on the ship instead of the craggy and ever changing landscape of the archipelago as we drifted westward. Trevor says, there is so much to look at outside! Why would you spend your time look at the chairs in front of you?? Well, the guy was Norwegian. Just think if he was an introvert. He'd be looking at his *own* chair.

Life is especially not cheap in this island community. We have paid about 30 bucks each to rent bikes for a day, so it's time to get going. The guidebook says Henningsvæer is the Venice of Norway, so we're gonna go there and see if they have Norwegian gondaliers! Ha det!