Turs of Duty

Norwegians have the idea of going for a walk or ‘tur’ instilled in them from an early age. This weekend I managed to get three different kinds of ‘turs’ ticked off the list of things to do in Oslo, further integrating myself as a Norwegian - Yes!

Firstly, a couple of friends took me out to view some of the local drinking highlights. This is invaluable in a new city, it cuts out a lot of wasted drinking time. I should say that this bar-tur wouldn’t actually be recognised as a Norwegian tur – going on a tur needs to be healthy and outdoorsy, it could be on skis, in a boat, or in the mountains. I like to think I put a British spin on it by making it involve drinking beer in dark rooms with loud music.

We went to The Nighthawk Diner, an American-style diner with great food and service and small booths you can sit in. This appeals to Norwegians who, as one of my companions for the evening put it: ‘Would hate the idea of going for a night out and actually having to be social.’

We also visited a bar where you can play old-school arcade games at your table like pac-man and space invaders (this bar also had booths to sit in). In a second room, which I only glimpsed on the way out, they also had a game played on long wooden tables that was something like curling. I have no idea what it was or what it was called but it without doubt the most exciting weird bar game I have ever seen in my life. Ceramic discs were spun slowly down an alley of wet wood with the aim of knocking opponents discs off at the far end. I’ll have to go back and play it and let you know what the hell it is. We walked back home at about 02:30, I guess that, as it was a walk, then it was technically a tur as well, but it might be better to call it a stumble.

A little worse the wear from my bar-tur the night before I decided a cycle ride would be just the thing to make me feel better. Not too sure where to go to on my road bike I decided to head for Holmenkollen, a famous ski jump in the hills above Oslo that is being rebuilt in time to be opened this winter. You can see it from the city centre so I figured I could get there without getting lost. I’ve mapped my ride here.

On the way there I fell in behind another guy on a road bike going at a similar pace. I tucked in behind him for most of the way. Having done this for about half an hour I started to feel a bit embarrassed about tailing him in silence. When you’re tucked in behind another rider they take some of the wind off you making it easier to cycle, so I was leaching off him. My cycling inexperience started to show: should I take the lead for a while? Introduce myself? Have a chat about cycling? Ask him if he was going all the way to Holmenkollen? I moved to overtake but as I came alongside him I got nervous and in the end I just smiled, said ‘Hi’ and sped off up the hill.

Holmenkollen is at 1200m elevation and we’d already been going up hill for a long stretch and I was tired, but having suddenly decided to leave this guy and take the hill I had no choice but to press ahead and make sure I didn’t see him again.

I made it to the top of Holmenkollen about ten minutes ahead of him. I know this because I nearly passed out at the top and had to stop for water and a banana. While I was doing that, sweating at the side of the road, he overtook me. He smiled at me in what might have been a triumphant sort of way. The lesson is: slow and steady wins the race. Unless you’re in the actual Tour de France and then fast and steady is probably better.

It took me about two hours to get up there and then twenty minutes to get down. I don’t have a speedo on my bike but I think it’s fair to say I may have broken the speed limit (although no bones) on the downward journey.

The third tur in three days was from our home in Sagene out to Mariasvannen, a reservoir close to Oslo. We followed the beautiful Akers river, but my mapping tool only lets me show you the closest road, see here. Akerselva dissects Oslo in along its North South Axis and we followed it away from the sea and out of town. There was a fine misty rain on Sunday, despite weather forecasters confidently predicting the best weekend of sunshine in the countries history but it made for nice walking weather, the whole place looked really luscious, green and beautiful. Within an hour we were outside of inhabited Oslo and looking at the huge expanse of Mariasvannen. I’m planning to mountain bike out there this week and take my fishing gear with me as long as I can work out how to buy a license from the post office.

In Norway they have a saying: ‘Ut på tur, aldri sur’ literally: 'Out for a walk, never sour'. I feel exhausted, damp and achy - but definitely happy.

Professional man of leisure

New work strategy: become a professional man of leisure.

When we decided to move to Norway we started selling stuff so that we wouldn't have to transport it. Then I had a brief visit back to Norway and remembered just how expensive everything was. The new plan became to horde as much gear as possible and bring it all with us.

In a brilliant moment of foresight (to which I am not often privy) this included a lot of sports equipment, two bikes (mountain and road) a frisbee (yes, I'm counting a frisbee as sports equipment), two fishing roads (ditto) a basket ball, rugby boots and trainers.

What this all means is that despite not having a job and not being able to afford beer I can afford to get outside and do sports. I've joined the rugby team, I'm investigating cycling teams, Camilla and I shoot hoops in the evening and I'm going to go fishing this weekend. I'm not jogging. I hate jogging. But there's all kinds of healthy things I can be getting on with (when I'm not looking for work). I've lost half a stone.

A friend and I were talking about how training, exercise, sport and outdoor activities were absolutely integral to Norwegian culture. So I guess I'm integrating too. I'm even managing to tan without burning, something I've never managed before and something that immediately and completely camoflaged my Britishness. It's like an invisibility cloak having a tan (alright, a bit of colour) in Norway, people just assume you're not British.

I'm still meeting people and still enjoying the queues of a new countries administrative institutions - but you don't want to hear about that, it's boring. A highlight this week is that my Economist subscription has finally been rerouted so I'm back in the loop of International politics and intrigue. Hooray!

Me in the winning ORK side against OSI, Oslo

I'm the one at the back right, in a very clean shirt and blissfully uninjured body.

The search goes on

I'm still looking for work. I have an interview this week on Tuesday for two positions. They explicitly state on the application that native English speakers are preferred. I'm currently researching for both roles and have my fingers crossed that the interview will go well. I'd like you all to join me in crossing your own fingers too.

I'm also in discussion with three different organisations about freelance work, am continuing to meet people in the publishing and education business in Oslo and have thrown what limited support I have to offer behind a project to launch a Children's Literature and Storytelling centre, planned for the heart of Oslo.

The other thing I've been able to do, for the first time in 8 years, is play Rugby. I've joined ORK (Oslo Rugby Klubb) for training twice and for their match last Saturday, which they won. The picture of the winning side is above.

They were very kind and let me into the picture even though I was only actually on the field for less than a minute while the second row got a blood wound seen too. During that time I spectacularly failed to make an impact, unless you count knocking the ball forward almost immediately as making an impact.

To be honest I was relieved to be off the pitch. I need some more training to condition my body and remind me how to tackle properly. Otherwise I'm likely to get injured. The problem with me getting injured, or ill, at the moment is that I'm currently between medical insurance schemes and can't afford treatment. The UK kick you out of the National Insurance system if you say you're moving abroad. Norway won't let you in theirs until you have a job. (See above re: keeping your fingers crossed).

Two people were knocked out, one broke a rib and there were plenty of sprains and bruises. I'm going to stick to training for now.

Life begins in Oslo

I'm now in the, slightly difficult to sustain, position of needing to get a job, but ALSO needing the threat of impending homelessness and doom to make the blog worth reading.

If the blog becomes a happy description of a perfect life in Norway with skis and ice-cream and friends and my own oil rig it'll be boring. Eventually I'll probably revert to discussions about zombies again and nobody wants that (Although you really all should because talking about it is the only way to prepare for it).

Lucikly, for this post at least, I'm still unemployed and therefore my life and dreams hang in the balance and if that's not enough to interest you then what the hell?!

This morning I woke up early to go and stand in the very long immigration queue. At the front of the queue I was told I could have stood in the much shorter immigration queue in some other building that I'd missed on the way to their building. But the joke was on them! I had seen the other queue but I didn't want a short queue. I was feeling homesick, I wanted a long queue. A queue with forms to fill out and then further forms to fill out because you'd filled them out slightly incorrectly. I was not disappointed.

I was disappointed at the treatment my British Passport received. My passport, like the passport of all British citizens was issued to my directly, along with a kiss on the cheek, by the Queen herself. She spends most of her time (when not on Royal display) nipping around the country in a van delivering peoples passports personally.

So when they gave it a bit of a funny look and then started prodding it and then holding it under ultra violet light and then picking at the corners of the personal information page and then calling another person over, and then asking to see my drivers license and then looking at my face and the picture in the passport about FIFTY times I felt compelled to ask them if there was a problem. They said my passport looked old. But I like my old passport, I'm trying to fill it with stamps. So? So it doesn't have any of the fancy iris technology or easy to use scanning things that one of your new-fangled passports has. It's retro. Retro is cool. Everyone knows that (apart from Norwegian immigration control).

Anyway, they recommended that I get a new one. You hear that Queen? One new passport over here please. Best get that van on a ferry sharpish.

In other - someone I vaguely know moved to Norway and insists on telling me all about it - news: This week I made a new front disc break on a mountain bike and made some curtains from actual material cloth to hang in the kitchen.