Journazza

5000 kilometers in 13 days may not sound like a lot. But it equals ten trips between the two major Norwegian cities, Bergen and Oslo (one trip takes seven hours). That is how GOOD the Norwegian roads are.

Our journey started off through the Western fjords, passing the beautiful Sognefjell’s Road and Galdhøpiggen, Norway’s highest mountain, and dramatic scenery with fjords, mountains and lets not forget plenty of tunnels, towards the typical eastern-Norwegian scenery of trees, red farms, tractors, more farms and more trees……..In a bid to save time, we turned east after Trondheim towards the Swedish border.

Here we were surprised by the beauty of lakes and trees, the cities of Åre and Østersund turned out to be beautiful! Unfortunately we arrived the day after Midsummer’s day, a major festivity in Sweden, so nearly everything was shut. However, we managed to find some kebabs and yet another Swede who pretended he understood Norwegian.

The Swedish roads however were straight where the Norwegian roads are curvy, and the speed limit refreshingly higher. So we sped through Swedish Lapland towards the Arctic Circle. We were forced to stop when a reindeer decided to pee in the middle of the road, and wait for it to finish. That is not how I expected my first encounter with a wild reindeer would be!

Through Jokkmokk (such a fab name), and dull cities with snowmobiles in the gardens and plenty of mosquitoes, we finally got to the Swedish city with a Finnish name, Kiruna (with the previous Sami-name of Jukkasjärvi, you gotta love the names) where we stopped for a meal. What a grim city.

Traditionally a mining town, I can only imagine the employment rate to be drastically falling. Seven menus were posted in a restaurant, but only three were available. Something I’d expect in India, but not in Sweden.

As we approached the Norwegian border, the mountainous landscape reappeared – and no mistake, a minute after crossing the border – the landscape CHANGED! Suddenly huts appeared in the middle of nowhere and the curvy road and low speed limits returned.

After a night in Narvik, we arrived on a rainy, cloudy and somewhat chilly day in the fishing town of Svolvær.

Lofoten – at last!
Here we managed to miss a ferry to a tiny island due to technical problems and instead went on a boat trip to what is boasted as the narrowest fjord in Norway, the Trollfjord. It really wasn’t that fantastic compared to the fjords of Western Norway, so I must admit I was a little disappointed. I was not disappointed with the taste of the fish we caught, nor was I disappointed when a sea eagle suddenly came close to our boat. That was one of the highlights.

In the tiny Henningsvær, the oldest fishery in Norway, I found some lovely designed handicrafts. The town itself was just lovely. The fishing boats I remember from my childhood are still in use in Lofoten, and what a sight it is.

We then stayed with my friend’s relatives at the absolutely stunning location of Hov. Ocean, more ocean and lovely beaches. Her relatives were sweating and wearing t-shirts and dreading 22 degrees, whilst I was freezing!

It was also interesting to know that hardly any new houses are being built in the area which suffers from decline in the population, so their kitchen was refreshingly another nostalgic feature: a typical grandma-kitchen!

We managed to watch a surf-competition and watch the midnight sun (well, unfortunately the midnight sun doesn’t actually appear until July, so this sun actually sort of disappeared into the ocean instead of remaining and rising again) and enjoying the light summer night Then it was time to sample some whale steak. It’s my second attempt, and I’m still not a fan.

Another highlight came when I ventured off by ferry to Røst, one of the bird kingdoms in Europe. Just off the 12 meters tall island of Røst there are millions and millions of puffins and other birds. I spotted five to six sea eagles at the same time! Amazing.

The Italian Pietro Querini’s stranding in the area in 1450s marked the start of the prosperous stockfish-trade with Italy. Interestingly the tourist brochure from Røst was in English, Norwegian, and hang on – not German, but ITALIAN! Che bello! Italy also owns its own island in the stockfish-land, and Røst sends all of its pupils to Italy before they leave school!

Well, the Italians were rescued and wrote interesting notes about the lifestyle on the islands which were archived in the Vatican. Apparently the Italians found the Norwegians to be more liberal (the women weren’t locked inside their houses and were recorded to wear less than their Italian counterparts at some occasions) in some ways, and stricter in other parts (religion). By the sounds of my guide, I reckon that archive must be an interesting read!!

Separate households at Skomvær lighthouse

Built in the 1880s, the manager of the lighthouse lived on the island with his family. In a house just next to the manager, his two assistant lived in – their two separate houses. They all had separate households…..! Insane.
A housemaid and governess also worked at the tiny island, but the housemaid’s role was really to keep the housewife sane. When the weather was at it’s worst, it was impossible to leave the island..

The best story was when the inhabitants managed to leave the island, and took the four-hour trip to Røst, only to return to realize the inhabitants at Skomvær didn’t think they’d return that day due to bad weather. Without their help, it was impossible to get ashore. They simply only had one shot at trying to get ashore – lifting the boat with a crane. So, then they had to return to Røst…and hoping they would be spotted the following day..

On our way from the land of stockfish, we stopped at Saltstraumen, the strongest tidal current in the world.. Only to notice it was TINY!

At the museum for South Sámi-population I met a girl who grew up with reindeers. Without thinking I asked how many reindeers her family had, and she answered without thinking, 3-400. My friend who didn’t enter the museum, was surprised I got an answer. It is just like asking someone how much money they have in the bank, my friend said. She was correct of course, but really, it was interesting to know.

Moscus Ox

At Dovre, a beautiful mountain, there are nearly 250 moscus oxen that were brought from Greenland in the 1940s. My friend and I went to the area we had been told where they were located: in Hjerkinn shooting field.
Just passing a grenade field, we spotted the ox, and were on our way when a car stopped. Out came a safari guide, and so we were lucky to follow his German safari for a little while.
He told us that there could be grenades in the area and that the army would be closing the road the following day. There were no warnings, and tourists were camping in this area! The guide also told us the army shoots with their canons towards the area where Norway’s only wild reindeers are, and at the moscus ox. Ludicrous.

And with that we left through some pretty wild waterfalls towards the steep Trollstig Highway (Trollstigen) and some amazingly majestic mountains, and the touristy but UNESCO-listed Geiranger-fjord before returning in Bergen, where I’m now getting my knees back into shape!

This morning I was hit with several flashbacks as I heard the newsreader announce a terror attack in Mumbai.

My first thought, as I was getting out of my deep sleep and into awakeness whilst listening to the radio in bed, was: this can’t be real. – Tell me, it didn’t happen.

Please tell me it was a nightmare, and that the newsreader said something entirely different.

The same sensation struck me during the 7th July bombings in London a couple of years ago when, in my pre-caffeine state, I learnt about the London bombings via an e-mail.

Once, the news is slightly digested, the quest for news hits you. You want to soak up everything you can, and then once you’ve got the gist of it, you’ve had enough of the chaotic and repetitive news stories. Though, the instant the news hits you, most of all, you just want to know your friends are ok. Bearing in mind how the London bombings affected me, when suddenly friends from far fetched cornes of planet earth and friends whom I hadn’t heard from in ages, suddenly got in touch wanting to know how I was, made me reluctant to ask my friends in Mumbai how they were doing. I didn’t want them to feel the same surrealness as I experienced. However, most of all you want to know that they are ok.

- So far, we have no reports of Norwegians or Germans injured, says the newsreader.

Who really cares? Does it matter whether foreign nationals are affected? Naturally, but what I really care about is the native population. They have to stay where they are, and aren’t as fortunate as others – they can’t just get on the first place out of there. And why should they.

Most of all, I’m surprised by my reaction, and it just seems unreal that the places I felt safe in Mumbai, are amongst those places which were targeted. Juhu beach and the train station for instance.

It’s weird knowing that a couple of months ago I was there and everything seemed just fine and then – poof, the situation is changed. For a while. Then slowly, things return to normal. They have to. Otherwise, we’d let fear win, and then life becomes unbearable.

Hardly a day passes without me thinking how I can utilise my India-trip to help make the world a better place. I mean, having grown up in a country without class distinctions and poverty, the trip changed my perception of life in many ways. Studying abroad, in both England and Australia, made me realize that Norwegians have too much materialistic items in their homes. Don’t get me wrong, who am I to judge what people chooses to surround themselves with, but it amazes me that no one seems to think about what happens to the old TV e.g. when you chuck it out, and ultimately what happens to the environment. This lack of thinking I find astonishing. Though if you were one of the capitalists who just kept on buying without thinking of the consequences, it seems, you weren’t alone. Just take a look at the recent financial crisis.

Part of me wonders whether it is a major disadvantage having grown up in the West, feeling safe and without worries (well, the truth is we waste energy worrying about issues which are out of our control).

I thought living in the dodgier parts of London had toughened me up. Then I got to Qatar and travelled around Doha on my own, poorly prepared (I blame that on the recovery from a concussion), on my own, and just didn’t feel safe nor comfortable, so I decided to spend ten hours at Doha Aiport instead of exploring Doha.
Then, I got annoyed with myself. I see myself as tolerant and openminded, so why did I cope so badly with being in a muslim country where women were hardly visible whatsoever?
More so, when I was left alone at the end of my India-trip, in Mumbai, I craved going home. That was a first for me, I have never been the one to be dying to go home, quite the contrary. Lets say when your friend keeps asking whether your driver is ok, when a shop assistant tells you about rapes on Western women (why did he raise the topic I wonder?) and when you discover someone has tried to break into your room, then, you regret being on your own in a country which is so different from your own, and you just want to go back to feeling safe in the Western world which you are accustomed to.

Now, part of me is dying to return to India, but there is a part of me who doesn’t want to go on my own. She doesn’t think it is wise even, and knows she is right. Then there is the other part, who look at the Western women who travel independently outside the Western world, and she doesn’t know whether these women are strong or stupid. Though she remains impressed as she know she is not one of them, not now, anyhow. Who knows what the future brings? This part also wants to challenge Journazza to go on her own, but in the end some parts of a human being should perhaps never be challenged. But, it doesn’t leave her pondering whether having been brought up in such a safe environment has made her a coward, who is afraid of taking risks, and she also thinks this is transferable to other parts of the society.

I’m striving to sum up a nearly three week holidays to India. Tons of impressions have left me searching for the right words. I can’t remember any holiday or any country having made such an impact on me before. I returned to Europe with an immense sense of gratitude including a long-lasting calmness. My friend who claimed India changes first time visitors forever was right. At least for me. Equally I can see why some say, either you love India, or you hate it. I totally loved it. I also think I was incredibly lucky to have travel companions with local connections, because most of all I was impressed by the people and the hospitality. We were so incredibly well taken care of! In fact, so well that often we didn’t get a say in matters. You learn to enjoy what’s thrown at you.

So, let me try and grab some of the impressions and visualise them to you! The first one was undoubtedly the arrival at Mumbai Airport. As I saw the sign ”Welcome to Mumbai”, I noticed an intense smell of sweat. That was to be the start of many scents to come… The smells and the sounds, make up a vital part of the Indian experience. And India really is an experience. However, someone told me you get used to the smells, all the dirtiness and pollution after a while, and I dare say that person probably was right.. What I can’t get out of my head is the lack of hygiene! It was incredible. Indian toilets are an essay in itself, but lets keep this brief. The “squatting” toilets consist of a hole in the ground, no toilet paper and either a shower item next to it, or a can of water. I have heard Asians claims this is more hygienic, but does it have to be smelly? And how can it be when there’s no soap?! Why is there no soap? Even where there were Western toilets, we were clinging to the toilet roll which was a constant companion together with the hand disinfectant. On the road you can add flies, and let me stop there and conclude that most of them were pretty disgusting, but when you don’t have a choice you taketh what you get.

Right, I’ll get back to the impressions. So there I was. At Mumbai airport with all my luggage and walking through the customs where I noticed an ATM, but in my naivety and invisible blondness, I thought there would be another one outside. Wrong. So I got outside, only to notice the driver wasn’t there. Instead there were lots of men hanging at the other side of the rack, trying to get customers for their cabs or presumably waiting for someone to arrive. I told myself to remain calm and called the driver. What I didn’t know was that he didn’t speak English.. Lets just say that it was a pretty interesting conversation which was the starting point of my pidgin English. Somehow I had a feeling that the driver told me he was 20min late. Though I seriously wondered how as he had only spoken some English words and they definitely didn’t contain the words above! So, it was also the start of a telepathic connection with the driver. Ask Anni if you don’t believe me. It sure was fun.

Whilst I was waiting for the driver, I discovered mosquitoes and started swearing when I realized the repellent was…somewhere out of reach. Then the driver came with a sign. I’m officially Liz Kolstad now.. Pretty soon we passed streets, with stalls, shelters and houses. I was happy we didn’t book ourselves a budget hotel in the suburbia of Mumbai. There is a particular image that has stuck to my mind: eight adults spread out on blankets, sleeping soundly on a pavement next to a busy road. Another is of the mother with her three children sleeping on a blanket in Mumbai, who we passed on our way home from the funky Not just Jazz by the bay (where no one sang during karaoke..). Thank heaven to the person who recommended the book ”The Fine Balance” to me. It somewhat prepared me for the poverty that was to come.

Trains
Whilst I was expecting heaps of people everywhere, I was somewhat let down. Well, I realized the best place to experience crowds, queues and chaos was at the train stations. Even better, you enter the most disgusting train station you’ve ever been to, and you realize your train is 1hr and 35min delayed. You wonder where you can go in the meantime and you already know the answer. Nowhere. So, you make the best of it, and hope time will pass quickly. In the meantime you watch the stray dogs, ignore the beggars with either one leg or one arm if not both, ignore the flies and hope you won’t catch malaria, you watch the sewage in-between the racks and you watch the boy picking up bottles and hope to God they’re not being filled with water again (although you for sure know that’s what’ll happen). You watch the monkeys jumping around the station ceiling just as if it was a tree, over the stray dogs which by now have started fighting and who are now on top of some boxes which may contain food. You watch the people crossing the tracks, walking into the train and out on the platform on the other. You watch the train and realize someone’s using the toilet, and at the same time people are throwing garbage at the tracks and feeding the monkeys. Then you watch the monkeys entering the train and you’re filled with disgust. You hope your train is coming soon and realize it’s now an additional 40min. So, you try to be mindful and ignore the chaos at the station. You are positively surprised by the public toilet, apart from one of the toilets which is cracked, so whilst you’re squatting you see a huge beadle. You hope it isn’t a mouse and get the heck out of there. Then you start praying for the train to arrive whilst you keep reminding yourself that this is only one day in your life and that it’ll be an experience instead of a daily event. When the train is another 40 min delayed, and your travel companion who is getting worried about catching her plane from Jaipur, says that the train you’re waiting for is usually 5-6 hrs delayed on a daily basis, you pray even harder. Since the effect of your Imodium pills are wearing off from three days before, you’re praying for the train to arrive so you won’t have to travel 4-5 hrs by car, because you just can’t take another Imodium unless you really, really, have to. And even then you can’t stand two days of not eating properly. When two of your fellow travel companions get slightly hysterical you try to find the station master as well, only to discover he is nowhere in sight. You watch the porters to check if there is a remote chance of your train making it on time this time, but in vain. After four hours, and some frustration, the solution is calling the driver from yesterday, and drive the 4-5 hours from Agra to Jaipur. You pray that your stomach will not go into complete turmoil, but the almighty is not listening. Then you pray for the driver to slow down and drive carefully..

Incredible India
So why do I love India? I totally love the food despite the spiciness and lack of hygiene. I love the fact that you cannot expect anything, and most of all I love the experiences.
The newspapers are totally fab, they’re just as dramatic as the Bollywood movies, and the matrimonial ads on Sundays a great read. There’s the fabulous rhythm of the Hindi pop or Bollywood music. Not to forget the honking from the cars all the time. And then there is the no-honking day. Though your driver is still honking! Some situations are so unreal that you just can’t help laughing.

There is so much to watch that your eyes are nearly leaving your body and you don’t know what it means to think anymore. You just don’t have time for it anymore. There is too much to watch; all the beautiful and colourful saris; the local salesmen who touch the food with their bare hands..; men in pink, red and yellow turbans in Rajasthan; the overloaded trucks and the colourful water tanks which look like they’re from the 50s; the beautiful Jain temple in Ranakpur; the holy cow standing in the middle of the street; the elephant running past you in Udaipur, or the camels passing you in Rajasthan. Anything goes, and whilst in India you’ll never cease to be amazed if you keep your mind open and do not have any expectations.

There’s the majestic Mehrangarh Fort in Jodhpur with audio guides and humorous commentary. There’s the beautiful Taj Mahal, which was a bit of a disappointment, but which still is beautiful. There is Delhi that seems very Western because of its pavements, British style buildings, English signs, menus, and presumably wealth. There’s the smiling Sikh driver in Delhi. Amber Fort and the buzzing bazaar in Jaipur. The sounds of the mosque from the rooftop of your hotel in Jodhpur. There’s the stunning interior of the Rajasthani havelis with lots of mirror items. The sight of people sleeping inside cars, rickshaws, on top of the cars. The total lack of logic. The Mani Bhavan, Gandhi research centre in Mumbai, with an incredible energy. There’s the constant –what country- question and the blank stare when Annika and Phillip respond Germany…. And needless to say, when Iliyana says Bulgaria, and me Norway.

Then there’s the three-day wedding in Aurangabad with the Henna session, the World Heritage Caves in Ellora with amazing Jain, Hindu and Buddhist temple carvings, and the sangeet session where you dance just like in the Bollywood films. There’s the complete calmness at the bride’s house and the lack of a tight schedule is just great. You soon learn not to ask when the ceremonies commence.

There are of course lots more to be said about India, but I’ll leave that for another day.. Expect the unexpected and embracing the uncertainty of life are some of the major gifts India gave me.
Have a fab day.