Paris had left a bad taste in my mouth. I’m speaking literally here. At two consecutive meals, I had ordered entrees containing chevre (goat cheese). I never preferred goat cheese at home, but in Paris, I definitely disliked it. In fact, after biting into both meals, I nearly gagged when the sour, rotten taste hit my taste buds. Dakota laughed hysterically but Scott didn’t appreciate when I announced, “Chevre isn’t goat cheese; it’s goat ass!” For the record, Scott likes goat cheese both in the U.S. and in Paris. Since those two meals, I’ve been kind of timid about ordering anything from the menu that mentioned cheese, just in case. You know that sickening feeling you get when you smell the first alcohol on which you got too drunk (mine happens to be Southern Comfort)? That’s the same feeling I now had whenever any cheese is set before me in France, even if I’ve been promised that there is no goat cheese near me.
As I said in the last post, Uncle Reidar and the Norwegian Olsen’s welcomed us into their home like family. They gave us two guestrooms, made us meals and offered us tons of sweets. While in the kitchen nibbling on some homemade cookies, I noticed an oversized bone with a thin layer of flesh out on the counter. I would’ve thought someone had forgotten to throw away the remains of a recent meal but the meaty bone balanced on a sort of decorative wooden prop. This was a purposefully placed piece of flesh. Throughout our visit, we had compared and contrasted American habits to Norwegian with Reidar and Aud Barrett so I didn’t feel rude pointing to the bone, “Reidar, what is that?” He answered with a Norwegian name that I have forgotten ( he even wrote it down for me but I lost the paper),explaining, “It’s a Christmas tradition. Every Christmas, we buy a smoked leg of lamb. It sits on the stand and we cut nibbles off it when we are walking by.” “So it’s a treat?” I clarified. “Yes, we eat it here and there through the holiday. It’s almost gone now but we could get some slices off still. You want to try it?” “Sure, I’ll try it.” It wasn’t cheese, right?
I reached out my hand for a piece as he sawed the hardened red meat from the bone. He cut off three pieces; one small and two larger. I took the smallest chunk and inconspicuously sighed with relief as Cody walked in. His pride in anything Norwegian was my ticket out of eating the other two pieces. “Look Cody, it’s a Christmas tradition. Try it.” “Alright!” Enthusiastically, Cody grabbed the remaining two pieces and Reidar continued shaving more, just as the smoked lamb interacted with my taste buds. UhOh! My chevre gag reflex overcame my wish not to offend and I headed for the sink. I spit the gnawed jerky into my hand over the sink, “No,” I sputtered, my tongue shooting in and out against my teeth, “I don’t like it.” I know Cody. And I knew at that moment that whether he liked it or not, he would force it down with a smile on his face, so I took the opportunity to throw him right under the bus, “Cody do you like it? “Oh…oh yeah…it’s good,” his voice a bit higher than usual. “Oh good, then you can have the rest because I don’t like it. I think it’s because it tastes kind of like the chevre. I explained to Reidar my new sensitivity to goats, and now apparently lamb, and was able to blame the French rather than the Norwegians, while Cody swallowed each of the other slices with a smile on his face.
We took our first Malaria pills in Norway. Elle had to take hers on the day we arrived because her pill is a weekly dosage while Cody, Scott and mine is a daily pill. Of course, we would rather only have to remember our medicine once per week but the side effects for adults are hallucinations and night terrors. We were ensured repeatedly that those side effects only affected post-pubescent people, and so far Elle seems fine. The irony of taking Malaria medication in a snowy, wintery environment wasn’t lost on us, and the reality that we would be in Africa in days set in. Throughout our few days of site-seeing and visiting the Olsen family homes, Scott and I continually stared at each other, incredulous, “Can you believe we’ll be in Africa in four days?” “Can you believe we’ll be in Africa in three days?” “Can you believe we’ll be in Africa in two days?” It was hard to believe considering the places we were visiting now.
On the evening we arrived, we ate a hot meal with Cody’s “uncle” Reidar and “aunt” Aud Barrett. Reidar differentiated between dinner and hot meal saying, “This is what we would call a hot meal because dinner would have to include potatoes and everything.” I, personally was so thankful for a home cooked - and recognizable- meal, I didn’t care what it was called. The hamburger meatloaf patties, bread and mixed veggies (with no cheese) filled us up just fine before we headed over to Reidar’s son, Roger’s home.
We spent the evening getting to know Roger and Torin (his might-as-well-be wife), along with their two kids, Donnie (9) and Lisa (6). Elle shortly fell in love with the darling blondy Lisa, and from that point on, she never wanted to leave her side. Cody and Donnie rough-housed and harassed each other as boys do and soon Torin told Cody, “Donnie thinks you are cool.” Lisa and Donnie spoke only Norwegian. Donnie, in the fourth grade was just beginning to learn English vocabulary words like colors and numbers. So besides the times when Cody tricked Donnie into repeating, “I am stupid,” and the Norwegian curse words Cody knew thanks to Grandpa Oli, they relied on that mysterious universal language of childhood, and were buddies for the rest of our stay. The kids played and the adults visited over sweets and cigarettes. We, of course had beverages, but neither beer nor wine was ever offered when we visited homes. It’s so common in America to first offer guests a beer or wine so that seemed strange to me, and in some cases disappointing because this travellin’ mama needed a drink! Scott said he didn’t notice, but then again, as long as he had a coke in hand, he was satisfied.
Because Scott is a historian, Reidar and Roger had a full day of site-seeing on Karmoy planned for the next day. Aud Barrett served us breakfast, smoked salmon, boiled eggs, bread, jam, salami, roast beef, cheese and mayonnaise. We found out that breakfast in Norway was actually more like brunch. No midday meal was served throughout our stay. Instead, we snacked on homemade sweets throughout the day until dinner. So it looked like the standard was to eat boiled eggs and make sandwiches using the meat and fish. I made a type of egg salad with the mayo and had smoked salmon on bread, then I made a meat sandwich. The roast beef was delish but when I pushed a slice of salami into my mouth (why wouldn’t I,? I love salami and pepperoni), I had to ask, “Why don’t I like this salami? I usually love salami?” Reidar cleared it up, “That is lamb salami.” Ok then. It is now established I’m steering clear of small hooved animals and any of their byproducts (except pigs…I still love bacon).
Roger and Donnie arrived after breakfast. Lisa had come too, so Elle was thrilled when we decided she and Lisa play at home with Aud Barrett while Scott, Cody and I left with Reidar, Roger and Donnie for the day.
We started with a snowy hike to some German bunkers poised atop bluffs over the North Sea. We trudged snowy paths through woods, over hills and across fields. Little Donny led the way because his classmates had taken field trips to the World War II bunkers several times. Roger translated his gleeful explanation, “Donnie says you can still see blood from the German soldiers in some of the bunkers.” Roger winked.
In a single file, we followed Donnie down narrow steps and dunked through short doorways into the dark cement blocked, boxlike rooms. The only light came from the lookout windows on the sides or top of the bunkers. Roger explained, “They used those holes to fire at Norwegian ships.” I’m mostly an ignoramous when it comes to geography and history but I’m not embarrassed about it (I have other strengths), so I asked Roger, “So did the Germans build these bunkers here first and then the Norwegians tried to come to the island? Or did the Germans come after the Norwegians were already here?” Scott laughed out loud, “The Norwegians were here and the Germans invaded.” Roger clarified without condescension, “After the Germans invaded and captured Norway, this was a strategic spot to set up bunkers so Germans could prevent any Nowegian retaliation by…HEY!” Just then a snow ball smashed against the side of his face. He jerked his head in the direction of the shot as Cody emerged from the hole on top of the bunker, “Sorry, sorry,” he stifled an adolescent laugh, “I didn’t mean to hit you! I swear I just through it up over the bunker without looking.” Roger laughed it off and brushed the snow from his left eye and cheek, “Take it easy, boys!”
We hiked through to four or five bunkers hidden around the snowy hills. The scenery was gorgeous. Rolling, white hills overlooking a frigid and choppy sea. The temperature, at 0 degrees (Celsius that is), and no wind made for a relatively mild morning, and no one complained of cold until Donnie inadvertently led us through some lowlands with standing water covered in a thin layer of ice. Donnie’s boots broke through first, followed immediately by Cody, “AHHHHHHH, I fell through, my feet are soaked!” Within seconds came a crack, spaloosh and bellow from Scott, “OOOOOOOWWWWW That’s cold!” It was about time someone got a clue here so I began walking up one side of the small valley, leaping from shrub to shrub beneath the snow. A flock of sheep had approached us and bleeting sarcastically at our stupidity. Along the way, Cody and Donnie continued their snowball fight, even hitting Scott and me in the back a few times. If Dakota missed Donnie, the ball would skid by him and Donnie could just reach down to retrieve the same ball, in tact. He threw it back in the same motion like a second basemen turning a double play. The flakes were fat and thick and swollen with moisture – perfect snowman building snow – so I couldn’t resist scooping up a few of my own snow balls and launching them at the boys.
This was my favorite part of the day touring the island of Karmoy. I would have continued hiking for hours if I could have, but the wind was picking up, the boys feet were soaked through and we had more popular tourist sites to see.
St. Olaf’s church majestically topped a hill overlooking the village and sea. Reidar told us it was 1000 years old. The mighty stone structure stood tall and proud, a vigilant sentry over the lines of tombstones in its snowy yard. “Cody, many of your aunts and uncles and cousins are buried in this graveyard,” Reidar pointed to the stones. Dakota wandered between the plots, maybe perusing the engraved names for his own, OLSEN.
We stopped at copper mine. “This is where the copper came from to make your Statue of Liberty,” Reidar declared. Sure enough, beside the turnaround drive, a miniature lady liberty held her torch. “I never heard that before. I only learned that the Statue of Liberty came from France,” I said. “Sure, the French made her but the copper came from Norway. They only wanted the best copper for the Statue of Liberty. I was a bit envious of the innate honor he felt for his homeland. Cody had always taken pride in his heritage and I saw now that it was an inherited trait (as are his looks apparently; these Olsens are a good-looking bunch).
After strolling the narrow winding roads of a historic village over 200 years old, we headed to my next favorite stop of the day. Reidar drove some winding dirt roads and approached a small one story home. Throughout the day, he had pointed out several homes where Cody’s ancestors had lived, but this one was a special one. “Dakota, this is where your grandfather lived with your great grandparents before he went to America.” A cousin’s wife, Olga lived there now and she had us in for an impressive spread of sweets, including a traditional Norwegian cake. Covering the dining room wall was a mosaic of framed photos. All of them were sepia, black and whites of Cody’s relatives as children and throughout their years. Watching Reidar point out snapshots of who was whom and how Cody was related was heartwarming. I was so thrilled that Cody was getting this chance to connect with the heritage he felt so proud of. True, a bitchy part me felt smug that I was the one here with him now; not his dad. But the other side of me (which is bigger, you know) felt something else-maybe guilt or empathy or ennui- that his father Leif really belonged here,sharing these moments with his family; not me. Cody must have had the same thought because he asked to use Uncle Reidar’s phone to call his dad. “Cody,” Reidar called to him, “when you are done, let me talk to your dad.” Soon I heard Cody say, “OK, Dad? Uncle Reidar wants to talk to you.” He reached across the coffee table to hand Reidar the phone and sat down across from him. “Leif,” Reidar spoke loudly into the phone. I could hear his delight as he beamed, “You have a wonderful son here…yes…a very nice young man…yes we’re so glad he’s here with us…a really great boy…” I’m so glad Cody heard it, because it’s so true.
Before we left Olga’s home, Cody proved his cleverness as well…and his ability to laugh at himself. He had excused himself to use Olga’s bathroom in the front of the house. The rest of us, including Reidar’s daughter, Elizabeth, and two granddaughters who had joined us continued visiting, until after some time had passed and Elizabeth asked, “Is he still in the bathroom?” She cupped her hand to her ear, signaling for us all to listen, just as Cody bounded in the room, barefoot, holding his black socks in his hands. “I was stuck in the bathroom. I had to jump out the window and come in the front door.” Laughter erupted. Cody sat in a chair and propped one foot on his knee, pulling his socks on. “Why did you take off your socks, Dakota?” “Because, dude, I didn’t want to get them all wet when I jumped out the window into the snow!”
We left Norway on January 9th, one day short of Dakota’s 15th birthday. Uncle Reidar didn’t forget his young cousin’s special day. He handed him 200 crowns and 4 huge chocolate bars because, “Norwegian chocolate is the best chocolate!”
I’m so glad we took the few nights to visit Norway. More important than the beautiful scenery and impressive tourist sites were the lessons we learned about pride in one’s heritage and the power of family ties, across generations and across the globe.
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