Confessions of a Literature Snob

Just a quick note today. I need to unburden my reader's soul and seek absolution.

In a moment of weakness, I was suckered into a rookie mistake I thought I'd long outgrown. Somewhere in my early twenties, I came to the realization that sale statistics for books are not good predictors of whether or not I'll enjoy them. In fact, the opposite has proven to be true in more than half of cases. I read a number of very popular titles in high school (She's Come Undone, lots of Michael Crichton, I Know This Much is True, blah blah blah.) They were page-turners and I enjoyed them. I matured as a reader at some point during college, however, and found that these books no longer had the same appeal. They read like action movies that everyone sees because of the great special effects: flashy, shallow, exciting and then quickly forgettable. I found myself gravitating toward books that took a bit more thought and that let me luxuriate in gorgeous language and nuanced, thoughtfully developed characters. Often, I find these books to be page-turners as well, but not always. And that's OK. In fact, it's welcome because this type of book often makes me think, and grappling with new and complicated concepts and themes should not be rushed.

Popular books sometimes appeal to me, but I am highly suspicious of books that do very, very well and read them with great trepidation. I research books thoroughly before I commit to acquiring them and reading them. In addition to reading reviews by professionals (Maureen Corrigan and Michiko Kakutani are some of my favorites, though Corrigan can sometimes be too generous and Kakutani too harsh), I read Amazon reviews from readers. The latter method is incredibly informative. Lots of misspellings, too many exclamation points, and generally fluffy content in positive reviews? Chances are the book appeals to a different kind of reader than I am. I look forward, lord willing, to many more decades of reading, but with a to-read list as long as mine, that doesn't give me time to mess around. I am ruthlessly picky.

Usually.

I am ashamed to admit that I have been suckered in. For some reason, after having (rightfully) dismissed it as dreck, I convinced myself that reading Gillian Flynn's Gone Girl might be worth a shot. I reserved a copy at the library and picked it up last week. Twenty-nine pages in, I was spectacularly underwhelmed. I found Flynn's (discouragingly frequent) attempts at wry humor to be wooden and effortful, and her "witticisms" left me scoffing.

Exhibit A:
     She wasn't on the water, she wasn't in the house. Amy was not there.
     (New paragraph)
     Amy was gone.
     (End of chapter)

The tile of the damn book is Gone Girl. How contrived is that? It reminds me of too many high school essays, inexpertly splashing dramatic language around hoping I won't notice they don't make a single solid point. This book is full of groan-worthy phrases like the one above, and the characters have the kind of forced depth I associate with flakes advertising their own merits on online dating profiles. I often have to drag my eyes from the ceiling, where they've rolled with disgust, back to the page. Because that's the worst part: I can't stop reading the stupid thing. At page 29, I told myself that I was going to give it 20 more pages - everyone (even Flynn) deserves a fair chance. That was just enough time for her to sucker me into the story, and now I'm committed to finishing it. I've always fancied myself someone who won't tolerate bad writing no matter how good the story. Dan Brown? No, sir. Life is too short to read poorly written stories, no matter how compelling the plot. But this one isn't even all that compelling, and here I am, hopelessly ensconced.

I am reading it furiously now, hating myself more with each lamely resolved chapter. The faster I go - and it is, as you'd expect, a fast read - the sooner I will finish it and be able to move on to some work of merit. I've got Mandela's autobiography, an Updike novel, a book of essays by David Foster Wallace (swoon), and an issue-and-a-half of Granta to catch up on, to name just a few of the many worthy tomes waiting patiently on my shelves. Perhaps I'll turn them all so their titles are facing the wall until I've finished Gone Girl; I can't bear the thought of their seeing me with it.

Norway 4: Svalbard

The final stop on our Norwegian odyssey was to an archipelago in the Arctic Circle called Svalbard. This place is technically part of Norway, though it is closer to the North Pole than to Oslo. Longyearbyen, the town where we stayed, has a latitude of 78 degrees. It's farther north than the northernmost part of Alaska. There are more polar bears than people living there. I could hardly wait.

Downtown Longyearbyen

I fell in love before we'd even landed. Between patchy cloud cover, Ed and I craned our necks to gaze out the plane window at snowy peaks and huge glaciers as we neared Longyearbyen, a 90-minute flight from Tromso in northern, mainland Norway. On the bus ride to our hotel, we got our first taste of the town. It is on the water, and there's not much to it. Even I, who can't navigate my way out of a paper bag, couldn't really get lost. There are 2,000 permanent residents of Longyearbyen, but the town doesn't seem large enough to house them all. The main street is for pedestrians only and plays host to a few bars and restaurants, the grocery store, several sporting good stores, and shops that sell souvenirs. It takes about five minutes to walk from one end to the other if you walk slowly. Fanning out to either side are a few rows of colorful houses, with other habitations thinning rapidly the farther from town you go. I took a few moments on the bus to read the list of ten Svalbard rules on a map I'd picked up, among them the stipulation that anyone leaving the settlements must be properly armed and know how to use his/her weapon. (More on that later.) Whoa.

Our room

Like many establishments in Longyearbyen, our hotel stipulated that we take off our shoes just inside the door and store them alongside numerous pairs of muddy, dusty hiking boots on shelves. We were hungry, so we settled in for just a few minutes and then headed off in search of dinner, which we ate at another hotel nearby. Like all of our restaurant experiences in Longyearbyen would be, the menu had few things to choose from, but the food was pretty good. And like other restaurants in Norway, items like burgers and lasagna were listed under "Light Dishes." Salads and vegetables were not heavily represented. We visited the town's museum afterward, which was actually quite wonderful. We saw lots of stuffed specimens of local wildlife and learned about Svalbard's discovery and about the whaling, walrus- and seal-hunting, and coal mining operations it has played host to over the years. It was tough to sleep that night. The sun, it turns out, never sets on Svalbard in July, and cracks of daylight peeked around the edges of the blinds, making it difficult to drift off.

The next morning, after a complimentary breakfast featuring an egg casserole, bread, cheese, a few orange slices, and some mysterious fishy substances in bowls, we were met by a van and driven to the waterfront for a kayaking trip. Our guides were Swedish (Alfred) and Russian (Vladmir), and our group contained Norwegians, an Irishman, an Englishman, another Swede, and a couple of other characters who kept pretty quiet. Everyone communicated in English that was not only fluent but also witty and articulate. We dressed in thick, watertight wetsuits and booties, strapped on life jackets, and paddled for the opposite shore. Other than a few birds, there wasn't much wildlife to speak of. The water looked thick and muddy, but Alfred told us that before the thaw brings mud into the fjord it is clear and blue. After about 20 minutes of paddling, during which my hands and feet turned cold and clumsy, we beached our kayaks and wandered around the shore. I excitedly pointed out a few reindeer to Ed, but they're about as common as rocks in Svalbard and no one else paid them much attention. They are short and fat and were shedding like crazy and I picked up a clump of fur, noting that the strands felt thick and almost rubbery. Vladmir warned us about small white birds that are surprisingly aggressive and think nothing of attacking, and sure enough, one swooped down on the group a bit later and had to be fended off with sticks. They are quite territorial, apparently. The landscape was littered with parts of a wrecked ship and the remains of the mining that used to take place on Svalbard. Anything older than 1946 is "not trash, it's heritage" and so is protected by law. Part of me enjoyed seeing the rusting engine parts and weathered wood, but part of me wanted to see unspoiled wilderness. Apart from the thumping of a helicopter on a high ridge behind us, all was peaceful. It was a lovely trip, though I was glad to thaw out in a hot shower afterward. We ate dinner in a restaurant made to look like the inside of a trappers' lodge. The ceiling and the lights were low, and it was cozy and festooned with seal skins hanging on the walls, draped over benches and stools, and even adorning the tables.

Rudolph?

Don't pick them!

We set out on a hike the following day, led by British (Yann) and Norwegian (Erick) guides. Yann was an enthusiastic outdoorsman and conservationist, and we learned a lot about Svalbard's natural side, as well as life in Longyearbyen. It was strange to see this skinny, peaceful guy hauling a rifle around, but that's the law. Rifles had accompanied us on our kayaking trip as well, and by now Ed and I had learned that they're to fend off polar bears. The law was enacted after a Norwegian girl was eaten on a nearby ridge a few years ago. Though the bears don't often venture into town, they're very dangerous. It is illegal to seek one out, and if you see one you're supposed to immediately start heading in the opposite direction if it doesn't see you. If it does, you're to be very still, huddle together if you're with others to try to look like one big animal, and make lots of noise. The next step is firing a flare gun to attempt to scare it away. Finally, you can shoot it if you have no other choice, though you must file a report if you kill a polar bear and could be penalized if you did something to bring on the attack. We learned about other Longyearbyen rules, such as not allowing dogs off leashes to protect wildlife, not allowing cats outdoors at all (they're liable to be shot by residents if they are seen), and not picking or even stepping on the Svalbard poppy, the official flower of the archipelago. Traveling outside certain zones means you'll have to pay for your own helicopter if you need rescue, assuming you have the means to call one of course. Residents can purchase 24 beers and 1 liter of hard alcohol per person, per month at the supermarket, though there is no limit on wine consumption and they can drink as much as they like in bars.

Rules aside, Svalbard is a safe, live-and-let-live kind of place. Anyone can work there without a passport or visa, and an Iranian citizen actually sought asylum there for 15 years when he feared for his life back home and couldn't get anyone else to take him in. There are over 40 nationalities represented by the 2,000 residents, which is really quite amazing. People play sports, go to parties and barbecues, and enjoy the outdoors together, though this is easier to do in winter. Counter-intuitively, Longyearbyen residents can't get too far from town in summer. There are very few roads, and the only ways to travel are by foot or boat. In winter, however, they can snowmobile to the far reaches of the island and onto the ice to other islands, or snowshoe or ski from place to place. There is no crime to speak of. I was completely charmed by the friendliness of the residents. Everyone seemed to have an interesting story and a long list of unusual interests and accomplishments. Even the animals are laid back. The reindeer and ptarmigan, for example, have no natural enemies, and Yann said you can practically walk up to them and pet them. With a hunting license, each resident is allowed to shoot 20 ptarmigan per day during the season. Apparently you can shoot one and the others hardly react; they have not learned to associate guns or people with danger.

Fossilized leaf

We hiked as we talked, walking past one glacier, cresting a high ridge with a great view, and then walking along a second glacier to end up back where we started. I was fascinated by the variety of rocks and the way the melting ice formed channels through and under the ice. In one spot, we stopped and looked for fossils of the tropical trees that used to grow on this spot. There are no trees on Svalbard, tropical or otherwise now, but the fossils were plentiful, and I found a pretty one to take as a souvenir. Although Svalbard is hardly balmy these days, it is known as the tropics of the Arctic Circle because currents around it keep it warmer than most places nearby.

Meltwater channel in the glacier

We learned a lot about how climate change is affecting Svalbard, as well. The glaciers are receding and summers are lasting longer. Longer summers mean more food for reindeer, which leads to more calves. It rains sometimes in January now, though, and the water falls through the snow and forms puddles under the drifts, where it freezes. This means that the larger-than-usual reindeer populations can't dig through the snow to get at the plants underneath it, and many will starve. The ecosystem on Svalbard is simple: there are few types of plants and animals. Small changes can really disrupt things.

Dragging Harald to his place with our team

Ed and I made friends with the locals at a bar that night, then dragged ourselves out of bed the next morning for our final activity: dog sledding! Or, rather, dog carting, as there was no snow on the ground. Our guide drove us to the dog yard about 15 minutes out of town, which was elevated and afforded us a splendid view of Advent Valley (the name coming from the word "adventure"). All was quiet when we arrived. There were 80 dogs in the yard, each chained to a post in front of an elevated box with a hole. These were their houses. We were warned not to let them knock us over when they jumped, then turned loose to pet them. Each dog's name was painted on his/her house, and they were certainly friendly. We were covered in dust and hair in no time. A few puppies howled to be petted from a pen and nipped affectionately at us when we obliged. The peace was shattered when our guide began to show us how to harness the first dog, however. Every animal on the place exploded with desperate howls immediately - they were frantic to go running. We were handed harnesses and told to go off in search of particular dogs which we harnessed and dragged toward to carts, clipping them both to the lead line and to their partner. Each cart got 6 dogs. We learned a bit about the breaks and steering, then Ed sat in the seat in our cart and I took the drivers' seat and we were off! The dogs shot forward so quickly that it was a bit alarming at first, but within a few minutes they settled into a steady, somewhat slower, run. The view was lovely, and it was pretty fun to look down at the wagging tails and lolling tongues in front of us. As we went, several of our dogs had to, er, obey the call of nature, and did so without stopping, though some squatted awkwardly and waddled for a few paces before joining the rest of the team. When we came upon a stream, they flung themselves into it, gulping down water and ignoring the scolding of our guide; we had to drag them out of the water and make them wait for us to fill metal bowls that sat waiting beside the stream. At about 48 degrees, it was very, very hot for them and their stamina took a huge hit. Although in winter they can run all day, we didn't keep them out that long. We returned them, docile and panting happily, to their places in the yard, and after their jealous neighbors expressed their resentment for a few more minutes, it quieted down until you couldn't hear a yap from anyone. I enjoyed the hike most, but Ed was gaga over the dogs and wants one even more than he did before the trip (which was already a lot).

I was sad as I watched Svalbard fall away beneath our plane. We had one more night in Oslo and were to head out the next morning. It had been a fantastic trip, and I was reluctant to end it. I don't know if I'll ever go back to Norway, though I'm eager to see the Northern Lights someday, and Svalbard would be a wonderful place to do it. I'd like to ski out to the parts of the island where the polar bears and seals live and to see what Longyearbyen looks like in the dark. Even if that never works out, I'm grateful to have had the chance to sample some of the splendor of Norway.

Norway 3: Food in Oslo

Ed treated me to two exceptional dinners in Oslo. Both were memorable, but the first was really mind-blowing. Not only was the food delicious, the presentation was so wonderful that I found myself taking pictures of each course. 

Note to those who know me and my obnoxious dietary restrictions: Ed told me ahead of time that we'd be going to some really great restaurants that had set menus. Additionally, I feared there would be nothing to eat in Svalbard but reindeer ribs and seal steaks. (Far from the truth, as it turns out.) Accordingly, I got my stomach ready for the meatiness that would ensue in Norway with a series of roasted vegetable sandwiches garnished with a few thin slices of turkey before going on the trip. I suffered virtually no GI distress as a result of eating the meat in the courses you'll see below - hooray! - and found that I enjoyed the flavor of almost all the meat I was served. The beef was the only thing I found overpowering and unpleasant.

Ylajali Restaurant

Ylajali takes its name from the main female character in a novel called Hunger by Knut Hamsun. In the book, she lives in the building where the restaurant is, on the floor above. Going with the novel theme, the menu has four "chapters" and an "epilogue," though, as you will see, each chapter had lots of parts. Even the physical menu looked like a novel. 

PROLOGUE

Trout roe, nyr (sort of like sour cream) and chives on a black chip, served on...a rock.

Fried strands of potato that tasted wonderfully like potato chips, creamed chicken livers, and lingonberry

Raw shrimp with dill sauce and fried, powdered shrimp shells served on a cylinder of ice. We dipped the shrimp into the sauce, then into the shell powder.

Creamy smoked haddock balls rolled in sourdough crumbs. In a flowerpot, of course.

Oyster, grilled, then covered with chowder and basil oil. Alas, neither of us can recall what the black fuzzy thing is. It was delicious, at any rate. 

Fried strip of chicken skin with king crab and Norwegian herbs - one of Ed's favorite parts of the meal

Ed demonstrates how to eat the "salad," which was a bouquet of lettuces and herbs tied with what looked like a chive: first, dip in the dressing, then in the cooked egg mixture

 CHAPTER ONE - SEA AND LAND

Scallop (it's under all the white crumbs) and horseradish on a bed of seaweed 

Cooked spring vegetables and hazelnuts drizzled with a sauce made from something creamy and roe.

CHAPTER TWO - WOOD FIRE, GRAINS, AND INTERMEZZO

Wonderful little muffins made with flax seeds soaked in beer. They were served in a warm bag of roasted barley with a few soft-boiled eggs for spreading.

Mackerel brought to us on a very hot salt rock, where it sat for a while  before...

...being plated by one of the chefs who visited our table...

...and presented to us adorned by seared pieces of onion and creamed celeriac.

Langostine and beet

Our turbot, destined for a future course, came out in this but then was whisked away to  continue cooking on a nearby tabletop.

Blob of "sour milk" (tastes just like Greek yogurt) with celery peeking out underneath. Our friend the rock is back.

 CHAPTER THREE - KING OF THE OCEAN

Apparently at Ylajali, the turbot rules. Here's the monarch himself, having been baked in a hot pot with hay, ramson,  and cauliflower.

 CHAPTER FOUR - THE FOWL AND THE OLD MILK COW

(Perhaps this title relates to some wise Norwegian saying. It was not explained to us.)

Duck hearts and juniper. It took me a few minutes to bring myself to dig into this one, but I will be eternally relieved that I didn't let Ed eat my portion.

Ed prepares for the beef course, brandishing the weapons we were issued.

Beef and smails, according to the menu. Tasted like snails to me.

EPILOGUE

A delightful assortment of goat cheese, black currants, and almonds, served alongside a blessedly alcohol-free juice cordial. I lost count of how many glasses of wine we were served since we decided to go with the wine pairing add-on, but rest assured that there were a lot, and they were all wonderful. Our favorite was a white from the Aetna region of Italy. The grapes are grown on the slopes of a volcano, and I swear it tasted of exotic minerals.

A tasty little meringue pillow with blueberries and a sauce made somehow from spruce that served as a sharp, piney, wonderful contrast to the sweetness of everything else.

A blurry, low-light picture of another chef making our final course: little pancakes that were served with honey ice cream, caramel sauce, and hazelnuts.

We were a bit relieved that this was the last course, as our clothes were feeling pretty snug.

...but it wasn't quite the last course, and who could turn down these tasty little chocolate confections?

 Needless to say, it was a spectacular experience, and well worth the headache the following morning. Fortunately, I'd recovered enough that night for our next gastronomic adventure at Fjord.

Fjord

This slick, modern-looking restaurant had seats made from some sort of animal skin and chandeliers made from pointy horns. Here, we found a set menu again, though it was a great deal smaller and more simple than Ylajali (thank Odin, as I don't think we had another night like that in us). The full menu included whale calf, which I immediately decided to forgo and Ed eventually did, too. We opted not to go with the wine pairing this time, either, instead sipping slowly from glasses ordered a la carte.

Smoked salmon with dill, cucumber, roe, watercress, and oyster beurre blanc

Plaice, served with cauliflower, egg (the yolk is that yellow thing to the right - I'm dying to know how they did that), radish, and sour cream

I thought we'd be up to our ears in herring in Norway, but this was the only herring we saw during the whole trip.

"Catch of the Day" (alas, I did not make note of what it was...) served with pancetta, baked paprika, and carrots

And dessert: more sour milk - Norwegians are really into this stuff - with sorbet and an assortment of berries.

Norway 2: Oslo

Ed and I decided to take a cab into Oslo because of his giant bike bag. Twenty-five minutes and about $230 later, we pulled up in front of our hotel. The wooded hillsides through which we drove were lovely, but I was too distracted by the rapidly climbing number on the meter to be too enchanted. Our starting rate - that is, the fee they automatically put on the meter before the car even starts moving - was 60 kroner, the equivalent of $10! In New York, it's usually only a dollar or two, and things went up alarmingly from there. Phew.

Dinner in Oslo

Our living room

Our room, however, turned out to be fantastic and made us forget some of the cab's sticker shock. Ed had somehow gotten an upgrade, and so we had not only a bedroom and a bathroom, but a good-sized living room as well. The floor tiles were heated, a feature of our last hotel room in Haugesund as well, and one that was making me increasingly fond of Norway. After stowing our bags and freshening up, we headed downstairs where a very friendly concierge made dinner reservations for us and used a map to give us the lay of the land in Oslo. Soon after, we were headed toward the waterfront. The area is newly constructed and was lovely. It was lined with restaurants, shops, and more ice cream stands than I've ever seen in my life, and absolutely packed with all kinds of people strolling around. We had dinner at a wonderful Japanese fusion restaurant, right on the water. The food was great, but the portions were tiny and the bill was enormous. Hmmm. Good thing we'd forgone dessert. After this, we figured, New York was going to seem like a steal. (Every hotel we stayed in during our trip featured a free, very good breakfast buffet, thank heavens. I was consistently tempted to secretly stuff my purse with bread to save us the cost of buying lunch at Norwegian restaurants, where there is a 25% meal tax.) We walked to the famous opera house after dinner, heading back to the hotel around 10:30 P.M. under a sky that looked like twilight.

Reconstructed, historical buildings

We spent the next day on the Bygdøy Peninsula, which we accessed by ferry, the quickest way. Visitors can take their pick from many wonderful museums there, and we hit three of them before the day was over. Our first stop was the Norwegian Folk Museum, the one I was most excited about seeing. It is huge and most of the exhibits are outdoors. Historical buildings from different eras have been transported to the museum from all over Norway, and there are people in period costume walking around and demonstrating things like weaving, making bread, etc. There are also a few more traditional exhibits, and Ed and I got to see sleighs, furniture, clothing, etc. that was hundreds of years old. But I enjoyed walking through the houses and gardens more. We went into one house where a few women were demonstrating how to bake bread on an open hearth. There were also animals, and though we opted not to take a wagon ride, we did ogle an enormous sow and her piglets, laugh at some chickens, and attempt to coax a bunch of sheep down the hill so we could look at them more closely. (They did not budge, probably because they don't understand English.)

Exhibits at the Folk Museum

Viking ship! (Waaay bigger than it appears)

The next stop was the Viking Ship Museum, which contains pretty much just what you'd think. There are three viking ships inside that were found in burial mounds, and they are enormous. Two have been reconstructed and one is displayed in ruins so visitors can see what they looked like when they were unearthed. Because the ships are so huge, the museum has raised platforms so you can see them from the top as well. We also got to meet their inhabitants, or what was left of them. One guy's bones showed wounds from battle, some of which had healed and some of which likely caused his death; I am glad I am not a viking, as it sounds like it was pretty rough. Each of the mounds were robbed at some point and so there was no jewelry or anything of material value, but the wooden carvings, bits of textiles, utensils, and tools found with the dead (the vikings were like the Egyptians when it comes to burying people) are priceless to archeologists. Virtually no other viking artifacts have ever been found, so much of what is known about them comes from these ships. I like the museum more than I expected to, limited though it was.

Next was the Kon-Tiki Museum, home to a few ships made in modern times according to ancient blueprints. Thor Heyerdahl, a Norwegian explorer and writer, got it into his head that he wanted to test out the capabilities of old-time boats, and ended up sailing one of them across the Pacific successfully. At this point, I was essentially dragging Ed around by the arm, as he was not yet fully recovered from his race, so after about five minutes in the museum we caught the next ferry to Oslo and rested up before a fabulous dinner*.

We took it a little easier the next day, given Ed's fatigue and my hangover from the previous night's wine pairings. We (I) slept in, and eventually made our way to the famous sculpture garden in Frogner Park using the city's pleasant, above-ground train. (Some of it is underground, but not this part, so we got to check out lots of neighborhoods on our ride.) It was nice to get into the part of the city that people actually live and work in, and after checking out the garden and relaxing in the grass for a while, we went to a neighborhood known for being hip and fun, Grünerløkka, for lunch. We ate at a restaurant with an outdoor seating area and watched the hipsters go by, agreeing that it felt a lot like Brooklyn only with shorter buildings and more blondes. Even by our standards, the weather was quite warm, and the locals seemed to find it downright steamy. But, since weather like this is rare in Norway, they were out in droves taking advantage of the sun; the outdoor area was completely full, but when I went inside on a bathroom run I found that not a single table was occupied. We wandered around the city a bit more after lunch, then went to another, outstanding dinner*. This being our third Oslo dinner, we noticed several interesting commonalities between the three experiences: 1) The waiters all spoke to us about the food in low, excited voices, as though they were sharing with us the mysteries of the universe; 2) Excellent restaurants were practically empty. I asked our waiter what the deal was regarding the latter observation, and he explained that the restaurant was usually packed but that the three-week national holiday was just beginning and everyone used it to get out of the city. Indeed, many shops were closed, too, and he said that the restaurant was closing after the next evening and he would be taking a vacation himself. "Personally, I think I deserve it," he said. I agreed with him that he assuredly did. 

Oslo is a lovely city, and Ed and I enjoyed our time there, but neither of us was sorry to check out of our hotel and head to the airport the next day. After all, the part of the trip we were most excited about lay ahead: Svalbard!

*Our dinners were so stellar that I'm planning to write a post entirely in their honor - stay tuned!

Norway 1: Copenhagen and Haugesund

Yeah, I know. Copenhagen is not in Norway. Bear with me.

On the Fourth of July, I patriotically boarded a plane and flew out of the United States. It was an overnight flight, but I befriended my Swedish seatmate briefly before popping a sleeping pill and passing out. When I awoke, we were 45 minutes away from Copenhagen, where I was to sit through a five-hour layover. My seatmate told me that the Copenhagen airport was only minutes away from the city center by train, and I decided to ditch the airport and go on a walkabout instead. It was certainly the best decision I've made in a while.

After being briefly confused by the train map (Scandinavian languages are SO strange), I spent 7 minutes in a public metro car and stepped into downtown Copenhagen. A few years ago, my brother and his wife once spent a weekend in Copenhagen and continue to rave about it. I could see why almost immediately. The city was beautiful and had a friendly air. It was early on Friday morning, and few people were out. About 90% of  the ones I did see were on bicycles. I haven't seen that many bikes since I was in Amsterdam. Citizens, young and old, sporty and stylishly coiffed, expertly piloted and parked their bikes, most of the time without locking them up. I guess when everyone already has a bike, theft rates are low.

The King's Garden

 I had picked up a city map in the airport with a trail of footprints to indicate a self-guided walking tour, and I set off to follow it with a few adjustments. My first stop was Rosenborg Palace. The crown jewels are stored there, but the armed guard pacing back and forth in front of an entrance deterred me from formulating any plans to steal them. It wasn't open yet, so I settled for a walk through the adjacent King's Garden, which was lovely. Next, I headed toward the river. It wasn't on the tour, but I figured there would be some pretty views and maybe a nice bridge. It was the second-best decision I've made in a while. Pretty wooden ships of all sizes and shapes were docked in the canal, which was lined with colorful buildings. After taking about 400 pictures, all of which ended up looking about the same, I went back into the city center to admire old churches, part of a university, the town hall, and scattered monuments and fountains. I did all this in just over an hour. Copenhagen is great that way. You really can't go wrong in the central part of that city. Much as I enjoyed seeing the highlights, I loved peering into restaurants and shop windows, gazing at attractive cafes, and watching happy locals greeting each other. I can't imagine anyone being in a bad mood in Copenhagen in the summer. Someday, I hope to go back and spend more than two hours there.

This is a bit dark, but I hope you can get a small sense of how cool it was.

My plane to Haugesund was packed with lanky, sinewy people in compression socks and visors. When we deplaned, they collected huge pieces of luggage containing bicycles and boarded complimentary Ironman shuttles. I was left to fend for myself and flagged down a cab, which conveyed me through emerald hillsides dotted with fluffy white sheep and neat little houses. Soon, we crossed a bridge and were in Haugesund. The town was tiny and I found it quite charming. Ed and his mother, who had been there for about five days already, were less enamored. Our hotel was filled with guests who seemed to wear their bike kits and running shoes 24 hours a day. I relaxed, read, consumed what seemed to be vastly over-priced food (things in Norway are every bit as expensive as you've heard, and there is a 25% tax on food and drinks ordered in restaurants) wandered the town, and watched Ed fret about the race.

Downtown Haugesund

Ed, looking hardcore on his bike

It turned out he had no reason to fret, as race day went exceptionally well for him, in most ways anyway. In contrast to the previous few days, Sunday morning was wet and drizzly. The enthusiasm of the crowd at the swim start, however, made me feel warm and fuzzy inside (even while I was cold and drippy outside). I think every single one of Haugesund's 40,000 residents came out to watch this race. People were waving Norwegian flags and banners and screaming their heads off. Kids were hoisted onto shoulders, and each of the two waves of athletes was started with a blast from a viking horn. I had to jostle may way through thick crowds to get a good spot on the wet hillside after the start, but I managed a good vantage point in time to see Ed exit the water post-swim just about when he'd hoped to.

With plenty of time to kill before his next appearance, his mother and I enjoyed a coffee in a cafe near the bike course and came out in plenty of time to see him whiz by on his bike. Not a lot of spectating, considering I'd flown halfway around the world to watch this race, but all that changed on the looping run course. We got to see Ed pass by five times throughout the 13.1 miles, and I hollered myself hoarse for him and for just about everyone else who passed by. I was not alone. The sides of the course were choked with screaming fans, and Ed said later that the people on the nearby bleachers were jumping up and down in time to the music so that the air seemed to vibrate with energy. It was this atmosphere combined with the many hours of training he's been putting in that gave him a fantastic finish time - 18 minutes faster than his previous best performance! He said the bike course was lined with people too, and that this was one of the most fun athletic events he's ever done. Haugesund is lobbying to host the 2015 Half-Ironman World Championships, and I really hope they get it.

Half of Haugesund seemed to be wearing the blue Finisher shirts as we walked around the town later that day. We attended the awards ceremony, where the overall winners were presented with viking swords along with their trophies. The winner of the women's division, a burly Austrian, has a long history of doping, and all the athletes who follow the sport closely were quiet when her name was called. The qualification procedure for the World Championships in Vegas is too complicated to get into here, but suffice to say that Ed ended up missing it by just two places and I think he was just a touch disappointed. The athletes in his age group were unbelievably fast, however, and if he'd finished with his time in an American race, he would have placed much higher. They must put something in the water in Europe. He was thrilled with his time, though, and so we left the ceremony happy.

I enjoyed many things about Haugesund: admiring the boats along the river, ogling the giant jellyfish, sitting on park benches, and drinking beers at 9:45 P.M. with sunglasses on because it was still so bright out. But I was ready to check out our next destination, and so after four days in Haugesund happily boarded a plane bound for Oslo.

Haugesund's waterfront