My next door neighbor knits and tells WW2-stories

I imagine it looks incredibly sad to see a person walk back down the stairs after ringing the doorbell with one hand, while holding a tray of cookies on the other hand. In my case, I felt stupid. The lights were out in the kitchen, and as I could see when walked around the garden, the lights were off in the living room too. I even felt surprised and disappointed, thinking to myself that the old lady next door should have provided coffee and the delicious raisin bread that her freezer is full of. But of course, she has birthdays to attend to, grandkids to play with and sisters to visit, just as other people.

When I studied psychology, I read that the factor that mainly decides who you become friends with, is distance. You are more likely to become friends with people that live next door, or if you live by the stairs, people in the story directly above or below you. My friend, the eighty-something-next-door widow, was introduced to me by my grandma. This woman knits amazingly fast, and she knits beautiful hats, sweaters, baby blankets, gloves and miniature dresses. One of her friends lives up the road, and I see her when she visits my neighbor, but I wouldn’t automatically show up at her door and expect coffee.

Ok, sometimes I can knit with the cat on my lap.

Saturdays I go grocery shopping, and this past Saturday I went by my neighbor to ask if she needed anything. When I dropped off her bananas and milk, I told her I’d be by Sunday or Monday to let her read the transcripts of her memoir. The woman’s memory is fading slowly, and I want to save the first-hand experiences from her Norwegian WW2-childhood. It was only 8 or 9 months ago that she gave me a continuous retelling of the events, whereas last week she left out large parts and hesitated a lot when I asked for the stories I remembered.

I hope my neighbor is home on Wednesday. I will bring my yarn and needles and continue knitting the socks that only can be worked on accompanied by fellow knitters. The cookies on the tray will probably be stale by Wednesday, but I suppose Min and I can finish them on our own. Being a little paranoid, I can only hope she is doing okay.

substitute teaching yeah

I had a substitute class yesterday. It started with a fight outside the classroom and four kids blaming a small pakistani guy for starting it and bruising them badly. Inside the classroom two kids were throwing pens and markers at each other. I walked over to them and told them to stop it. Five seconds later I saw objects flying from one side of the classroom to the other. "You and you, come on out of the classroom with me". In the hallway I told them that I didn't want them in the classroom and they could spend some time with the principal. The guys refused and judging by the size of one of them, it would be very difficult to carry him downstairs to the administration.

The majority of the class were to be spent in the computer lab. I spent most of the time standing behind the guys in the last row, separating them when they started to play fight and interrupting when the insults became too bad. The big uncarriable kid didn't want to work and played computer games the entire time. He went on facebook, which is strightly prohibited, and I had no sanctions. Reprimands he has plenty of, so that threath isn't real. He didn't want to go to the principal, and couldn't lift him from his chair and drag him either. Eventually he closed down facebook and complained about being bored and school being like a prison.

"Most teachers would have freaked out and gotten real mad by now", one of the kids said. "She's pre.. Hey, are you pregnant?" I answered that no, I am not pregnant. Some of his friends gasped and asked why he would ask me such a question. The kid held his palms open and explained: "The one teacher who didn't get all upset and yelled at this class was pregnant". So I figure the kids believe that the only reason to stay calm when the class is a riot, is to have another creature living inside you. You know something is going to be a lot worse very soon. When I told Min later, he laughed and said: "I bet that kid is in for a surprise if he believes pregnant equals calm".

When the class was over I went to the inspector's office and had a debriefing. She told me that if I encounter a situation like that again, I should come get her or the principal and they can have the kids get out of the class. To me it feels like loosing face, having to get someone else to take control in the classroom. The inspector pointed out that it is not fair to the other students that two kids get all the attention. I agree, at least I am an experience richer

Cafe, cafe and mormons

In town yesterday I saw an old man in a wheel chair sitting by a table in an outdoor cafe. He was leaned back in his seat with a look of content on his face. On the table in front of him two pigeons were eating his chocolate cake. The man noticed the smile on my face and commented: “They’re hungry”. I laughed and asked if the cake was good. He agreed to that and kept studying the head-butting pigeons going to town on his cake.

Yesterday was our Swede’s last day of work, so she and I went out to celebrate with a “fika”. I was starving after a long day of work, and spent the half-hour before her train arrived looking at menus from different cafes and restaurants. The Pastabakeriet was what tempted the most, with its vegetarian alternatives and cheerful Russian waitresses. The Swede and I put our bags and backpacks next to an outdoor table to make sure no one else would take it. To decide what to have when the selection is so large, takes time. Right after I had ordered my smoked ham pasta salad, one of the waitresses grabbed our bags and walked in with them. I ran towards her, excusing myself and explaining that those bags are ours, we just wanted to sit by that table. The poor waitress was really embarrassed and hid from us for the rest of our visit. There were three middle aged women who laughingly took the blame. “It’s is our fault! We told her that the people sitting there had left their belongings”.

For proper celebration a pasta salad and bruschetta just isn’t enough. There is a chocolatier in town, and we decided to see if they actually sell something to drink as well as chocolates. On the way there two Mormons stopped us and told us they’re on a mission to inform us about the book of Mormons. I said I know what they are about, but what I really wonder is how they learn Norwegian. How come they speak so fluently after a few weeks of studying? The guys were confused at my turnaround of topics, but told us that they have 9 weeks of language classes in the US, and they learn grammar and vocabulary. After those nine weeks they go to their designated country and just speak it. We wondered if Mormons are smarter, or maybe more motivated, but the reason they gave for their successful language learning is: God helps us learn.

In the chocolatier the young girl working there didn’t understand our Swede at all. Maybe the intonation, maybe the specific word usage was a hindrance. The hot chocolate is made with milk, and the girl didn’t understand soy milk or lactose intolerance. Our swede got annoyed and ordered tea and some pieces of chocolate instead. I had coffee and a chili infused chocolate ball. The Swede hasn’t openly complained about the prices in Norway, but in this chocolatier café, she leaned in over the table and whispered in a conspiratorial way: “The prices in here are actually really good. Even in Sweden you wouldn’t find a place where they sell tea and a praline for 25 kroners.”

First day of school

My 29 kids are wonderful! They are funny, well-behaved and intelligent. Of course there are a couple of kids that struggle with motivation, but there are no chatterboxes or exhibitionistic drama kings. Usually I leave my sarcasm and irony out when I teach 8^th grade, there are so many kids that don’t get it, and I don’t want to make them uncertain of me.  I think there is one that will outsmart me if I don’t have my antennas on around him.

After handing out and explaining the 3-levelled homework sheets, I told the kids how I had a hard time studying in middle school. I did well in class, but homework was overkill. I spent hours looking at the sheet of tasks for social science, math, religion, Norwegian, etc. I used to have candles on my desk, and next to the candle I had little plastic figurines. As I got more and more frustrated, the figurines lost a leg or an arm. At this point I had the kids’ full attention and they seemed to enjoy the story of my youth.

My homework would still be undone four hours later, and I then realized I need to manage time better. What I recommended the kids was to set 20 minutes off to do science homework, then 10 minutes English and then take a little break, for instance. That way their plastic figurines would be safe and they would be more efficient while doing homework. When I asked for the kids’ advice, one kid suggested rewarding yourself after achieving a specific goal.

The very same kid that volunteered study tips walked by my desk on the way out. He had a plastic bag in his hands. Another teacher had left a candle and a vase of flowers on the desk as a welcome gesture. The kid made sure I was looking and put the plastic bag close to the burning candle and pulled it away. I started to protest, then looked at him and saw the laughter in his eyes. “Aha”, I said, “that is because I told you about me burning plastic figurines while studying, isn’t it?”

The books that the kids need for their classes were already placed on their desks. The last kid that enrolled to my school (a few days ago), was really relieved and grateful when he found that he indeed gets to lean French. The alternative is Spanish that everyone wants to learn, or German that is a bit too easy due to the transparency to Norwegian words. The kids who chose to learn French are “la crème de la crème”. The kid with a matured sarcasm is also in the French group, and I am sure there will be more stories about his wit in the weeks to come.

The Swede’s fascination with feces (and my wisdom tooth distress)

Our Swede came home from work, all fired up because she had had ice cream with a couch surfer friend. She was now intent on making soy tacos. I was standing in front of the mirror with a flashlight, studying the white pus above the cavity where my wisdom tooth had been.  The Swedish doctor-in-the-making took a good look and confirmed that the white goo is no infection. I sat down in a comfy chair, had some chocolate and felt sorry for myself. The Swede continued with taco making.

We had dinner on the porch before Min came home. As soon as my husband had parked the car and walked in the door, I told him I believe my tooth is infected. Shoving the flash light into my mouth, he too determined there is no infection eating my gum. The Swede yelled from the living room that there is food for him in kitchen. Shortly after he shouted: “What is this glob that I’m eating?” I quickly responded that it is gløgg and grogg mixed together. Our Swede clarified: “It’s glögg and grogg and POOP all together”.

But that’s not all! When we were hiking Sunday, Swede was contemplating how to get all her luggage to Spain. I suggested air balloons, and she figured she could save money staying in an air balloon instead of hostels. She could even cook food over the flame. I suggested barbecuing marshmallows and maize. “YOU can barbecue maize” she said. “I don’t like maize”, I said. “I don’t like maize either. We could make your husband eat the maize”. “Yeah, you’ll have to order him to come to Spain to eat your maize”, I laughed. First then our Swede realized we were talking about maize, the sweet corn, and not “bajs” which is Swedish for “poop”. She had held a complete conversation with me about what she perceived as barbecuing manure.

According to Min, she interprets a lot of the words he says as “porn”. Such a dirty mind that girl has.

hiking and lawnmowing

Such a nice evening! Sitting in a comfy chair in the living room, listening to our Swede doing dishes in the kitchen, Min chewing the veggies in his pasta and the cat purring whenever he lays down somewhere close to us. The Swede has been working in Norway for two months and has only 10 more work days before she heads home. Her opinion is that the cat will miss her so much he’ll run away to find her in Gothenburg. We’ve bought him lots of expensive cat food, so we’ll have to see about that.

This Sunday was spent hiking in a mountainous area. According to Min, hiking is not the same as walking or promenading. We missed the trail we were supposed to be on, and kept walking on the old cart road made out of scree. The Swede was thrilled to see the lakes and mountains and an occasional view of the fjord. Min was upset about the lack of elevation, and after an hour and a half we decided to turn around. Coffee, chocolate and a matpakke (“food package” consists generally of two slices of bread wrapped in paper or plastic) help the mood, and we could laugh about the lack of mountain tops by the time we reached the car.

While I was in Svalbard, Min mowed over half the lawn. I was planning on doing the rest yesterday, but due to lack of sleep after travelling and bed change, I spent Saturday afternoon napping. Judging by facebook updates, people seem to have enjoyed the beautiful weather the past couple of days. It rained when we drove away from to the hiking area, therefore the lawn is now too wet to be cut. Instead of bringing out the mower, I should sit back in my chair and enjoy the view of the green leaves burdened with rain drops.

Barentsburg, a vibrant town close to the North Pole

“There used to be quite a problem with alcohol here, you know. But now it is not so bad. The miners can only buy one bottle of vodka a month”. We were on a guided tour in Barentsburg, and the young girl from St. Petersburg showed us the old crooked buildings of the Russian town on Svalbard. Compared to Longyearbyen, I found the town surprisingly green and colorful. Geeba and her roomie took pictures of dandelions and the grass that grew along the road.  

Our guide informed us that there are 350 Ukrainians that live here, and the remaining 100 are Russian. There is a school+kindergarten with 30 kids and 3 teachers. The hospital looked ancient on the outside, and we were told it isn’t any better on the inside. But they now have a dentist in addition to the doctor and two nurses. Barentsburg still looks like a soviet republic with commie posters and slogans everywhere. They even sold artifacts from the soviet area.

As we walked with the guide, people of Barentsburg flocked around us, yet they pretended to have an errand somewhere. We took a look in a souvenir shop and bought knitted gloves. Geeba’s roommate had been to Barentsburg on a snowmobile trip six months earlier, and she told us tales of the nasty swimming pool in the sports centre. We smiled at the guy in the entrance and were let in to look around. According to the guide, swimming is a popular spare time activity for miners. The water was thick with algae and there were little bobbles of air coming up from the green mud. What really did us in was the floating devise for little kids at the edge of the pool. Is this pool used in gym classes for the young ones?

The boat trip to Barentsburg lasted all day. We stopped by a glacier and let off a group of French kayakers (they were going on a 20 day adventure trip in Svalbard). The weather was amazing, no clouds on the sky and sun shining brightly. The night before we’d played some board games and close to finished a 3-liter-box of wine. Needless to say, after taking a few pictures of the mountains, birds and water, we laid down to rest.

Angry arctic birds

“Why lock the door? Someone might want to get in?” my friend answered when I inquired about the house door. People of Svalbard often leave their car keys in the ignition as well. Someone might need to borrow their car and locking it would just cause problems. The only time Geeba locks her house is when a cruise ship is in town, because tourists tend to think this is an exhibition island. A girl she knows came downstairs one morning and found a drunken tourist asleep on her sofa.

Earlier today I went for a walk along a shallow stream while Geeba was at work. The road was paved, but there were clay foundations on both sides of the road. I brought a skiing pole as I had been advised, and I felt quite stupid until an arctic tern flew towards me. I automatically lifted my pole and the tern flew off. Some Dutch tourists pointed and took pictures; I smiled, nodded and kept walking.

This is what Wikipedia says about the arctic tern: “It is one of the most aggressive terns, fiercely defensive of its nest and young. It will attack humans and large predators, usually striking the top or back of the head. Although it is too small to cause serious injury, it is still capable of drawing blood.” I walked on with the pole over my head, cute little angry birds flying on and on above my head. They made little screaming sounds and I tried to get through their hatching areas as fast as possible. Suddenly my phone went off, and I stopped to answer it.

 A few years ago I subscribed to Aftenposten, Norway’s largest newspaper, and one of their salesmen was now interested in getting me back, offering me an 11 week highly reduced subscription. After listening to him for a little while, I interrupted and said: “I am sorry it’s hard to concentrate right now, I’m on vacation in Svalbard and I’m being attacked by artic birds. I really do like your paper, so please continue to talk to me.” Starting Saturday I will have the newspaper delivered to our door.

I didn’t want to talk back through the area with arctic terns, so Geeba came in her borrowed car and took me for a drive as far as the road goes east. We drove past deserted coal mines and research stations, satellite receivers and up a gravel mountain. What a landscape! No green anywhere, beautiful clouds and an amazingly fresh daylight.

First impressions of Svalbard

The first thing that struck me about Svalbard was the dry air. I got off the plane, tucked my fleece jacket closer around me and breathed in air that felt like a cough. Geeba was waiting in the terminal, and when I saw her, I started jumping up and down. I enjoy making people jealous of the hugs from my loved ones.  A taxidermist polar bear was standing where the baggage claim area was, and we were giddy and joked about how easily you could throat punch that creature. (Later she showed me the .45 caliber ammo that would kill an attacking polar bear, picture to the right.)

In Svalbard there are no taxes on alcohol, gas and cigarettes. A bottle of wine starts at 40 NOK (70 on the mainland), a liter of benzene is 7 NOK (14-15 at home) and a 20 pack of cigarettes cost 14 – fourteen - 14 NOK. Fourteen Norwegian kroner! What an incentive to pick up smoking. I believe the price is between 80 and 90 at home. Food is expensive due to shipping costs.

Traditionally the mine workers weren’t allowed to drink themselves senseless, so the governor issued rationing cards for liquor. I guess that was a clever thing to do back then. Turns out it still is a smart thing to do. The people of Svalbard still have a yearly alcohol card stating how much beer, strong wine and spirits they are allowed to buy each month. There is no limit to the amount of wine you can buy, and Geeba and I spent hours drinking red wine and catching up last night.

Geeba just went out to deal with some stuff at work, she’ll be back in an hour or so. She instructed me how to get to a walking trail below this row of houses. “Go past the Research Institute, down the gravel road and to the right. You’re not allowed to walk past the Polar Bear Sign! And oh, there are some crazy birds on that road, so wear a hat and bring a skiing pole.” She clarified that the pole was not for hitting, but for holding over your head so the birds can attack the highest point.

Northern Norway-bound

This, our little country is so big! I’m currently in the airport in Tromsø, waiting for a late night plane to Longyearbyen, Svalbard. Judging by the mumbling couples around me, I will be flying with a lot of German tourists. It is 10 pm a Sunday in August, and the sun is still shining brightly on the perky snowspotted mountains outside the window. This is so beautiful! I called Min and excitedly told him I was buying ice cream because it’s sunny out.


Most of my previous travelling has taken place in the south of Norway, between West and East; flights with less than an hour duration. I have been to Tromsø once, celebrating New Year’s with a friend whose family lives here. That time there was no sun, just a few hours of daylight from noon till 2pm. One day we overslept the light, and most of our time we walked from café to café in a Christmas decorated downtown.

I have another 2 hour flight ahead of me. Looking at a map, it seems Iceland lies very south compared to Svalbard. Is Iceland really south of the Arctic Circle? I talked to a woman from Alta on the plane; she had been to a blues festival outside of Oslo. It amazes me how big this country is. “Mitt lille land” (my little country) is a phrase people have tattooed to their skin after the massacre July 22^nd. Our country is bigger than I’ve thought, and though the population up north is sparse, we’re all Norwegian.

I think this flight is going to be as full as the other two I’ve been on tonight. More Germans with lots of handluggage. I am going to eavesdrop and perhaps take part in the conversations.

Garden works

We have the last few days been working in the garden. There is a birch tree growing in the flower bed and the holly bush is twice my height. We have some plum trees, but they are being strangled by the gigant willow. Our Swede bought a hammoch yesterday, and when we got back from our shopping spree, Min was already chopping off branches and making a passage way through the yard. Hopefully when the rain is gone, our Swede can relax on the hanging bed.
I don't have green thumbs (or fingers, as we say in Norwegian) at all. I can barely see the difference between flowers and weeds, and I am scared of the snake-like ivy that wraps itself around everything. I've pulled up purple fireweeds from our driveway and green leaves from the gravel under the drying rack. The holly bush is beautiful to look at, and it is nice and green when everything looks dead in the winter. But right now, it's a little too big in the flower bed. I got some giant clippers and cut off the lower branches, some higher branches and offspring bushes of the original tree.

It started raining and Min went under shelter where he could see me clipping ferociously. "Stop!" he said! "Too much!". I walked away from the holly and studied it from a distance. The lower right part of the bush is barren and the left side is not pretty either. I could only agree that I'd gone a little crazy. Min said: "If we have kids, please don't ever do this to them!" No hair cuts like that, note taken.

We've been doing a lot of things to this house. I put in new floors in the hallway and the two bedrooms, Min cleaned up the basement and made it an actual workable place. We hope we can continue to live here for years to come. One of Min's friends on facebook said she is planning to spend some time in Europe next year and was wonder if he was going to be here. Min answered: "YES! Norway is my new home, I will be here next fall." It made me warm to my heart that he embraces my country so openly. We intend on staying here, making our place more homely and have some permanency.

Canadians refer to their home as North America when comparing to Norway

"The first night we were here, we made the mistake of believing the price of a six pack was 35 kroners. We couldn't believe everybody had said beer is so expensive in Norway. That was when we learned what 'per stykk' means." We had a Canadian couple hang out with us this afternoon, grilling burgers and pork filets, talking about training, bike rides and gear, grocery stores with taxodermic animals and Canadian donuts the size of dinner plates.
"There are so many lambs out on the fields, but I don't see any lamb meat in the stores", the girl complained as we were cutting veggies for the salad. "Wait till the fall", I said, describing the fårikål - lamb in cabbage. I remembered that at our cabin there are sheep everywhere in the summer (and they eat our blueberries). One year I brought friends to the cabin in October, and I had described the stepping in sheep poop and waking up to bells and bleating. To my big surprise there were no sheep anywhere around, but it only took a little trip to the supermarked to realise why.

Min talked about the taste of whale, homemade is was awful, like liver cooked in cream, but the burgers we had two summers ago were mixed with pork and tasted like 'the crushing darkness of the ocean'. Appearantly it is legal to hunt seals in Canada, and I made a comment that next Fourth of July the Canadians should bring up seal clubbing as a conversation topic. Min immediately went: You think YOU have freedom, look at the freedom we have: To club seals!"

Neighbourhood kids

Yesterday I chatted with our neighbours over the trash cans. The family next door consists of four loud kids and parents from different parts of the country. I love listening to the dialect mix in the youngest kids. The oldest daughter is 7 or 8, and while I was talking about cats and holidays with the mom, she asked her mom if she could go visit me and Min after lunch. Before the mom could reply I said we had other plans for the afternoon, blueberry picking that was.
A couple of months ago the 7 or 8 year old came ringing on our door, she was very polite and asked to come inside. I wanted to know if something was the matter, but she just wanted to chat and hang out. Shortly after she sat down, she pointed at a glass bowl and said "I see you have candy". I let her eat as much as she wanted, and the fact that the 7 year old didn't throw up, is a miracle. She sat on the bed in the guest room while I folded laundry, and she talked nonstop about her little siblings, her friends at school and her teacher who is so nice to her.

Min was outside making sandbags, probably thankful the kid didn't speak English. A week earlier another 7-year old used the one English word she knew (train) over and over again. Our neighbour's kid had just gotten a cell phone, and the alarm was set for when she had to go home for dinner. She ran all over the apartment to look for her boots when the phone rang. It took her a few seconds to sprint around the house and over to the neighbourhood house, and she yelled she wanted to come visit tomorrow and the day after and the day after as well. I smiled a little, knowing she would come to a closed door the following afternoon.

"Is that normal?" Min asked when the kid had disappeared. "Kids visiting grown ups without their parents or other kids to play with?" I shrugged, remembered I visited our tenants when I was a kid. I played a game on their computer, but it got boring pretty fast. I guess there are less restrictions on where kids can go in Norway, we don't have many kidnappings and the few sickos are decades between.

Berries

Today I went blueberry picking in the woods close to where we live. In Sweden picking mushrooms is a national hobby, but my friends from Belgium were laughing their asses off when they found the first chapter in their Introduction to Swedish text book was about teenagers picking muschroom. "Really?" they said. "Seriously!?! who picks mushroom except old aunts?" Studying in Sweden a semester actually had me invited to a few mushroom picking activities.
The berries in Norway are tarter, my American husband says. He is from a state where they farm big juicy blueberries, and they sell them frozen in huge gallon boxes. Last weekend my mom was a champ and picked 2 liters of blueberries for me. I have them frozen in little containers and plan to use them in smoothies and pancakes. She also brought me 12 baskets of small strawberries, so this winter's strawberry daiquirys are under control.

According to the weather forecast today should have been sunny all day. I didn't see anything but clouds. Bending over in the wood with a blueberry rake, I was happy there were no sunshine. True that we don't have horse flies, nor noseems in Norway. But some little bugs were still landing on my face and chest, leaving red little hickey spots on my skin. The blueberries are still in my backpack. I think I'll put them in the fridge and seperate the berries and the leaves tomorrow.

My husband's is watching a tv show,hidden behind his humongous computer screen, and our Swedish friend is already in bed. I'm slightly buzzed from elderberry (sambucus) and vodka. Berries and alcohol go really well together.

Waiting for a July 22nd aftermath

I've wanted to write a little blog entry every day, but the incidents in Norway Friday the 22. of July are too overwhelming. Terror attacs in the political centre of Oslo, and the shooting and killing of teenagers on a political summer camp shortly after. I have read numerous articles about Norway's response to terror (more democracy, more openness) and condolances from world leaders.

My friend who works in the blood bank, had to work overtime Monday due to all the people wanting to donate blood. The political parties have had a massive increase in members, probably due to the public appeal to stand together as a nation, to be strong together. The maniac is behind bars, and on facebook there are now support groups for his poor lawyer.

I went to the movies with my mom and farmor this afternoon. On the way back to the car we swung by the cathedral and took a look at all the flowers, candles and cards placed on the church stairs. I read some of the cards and got teary-eyed. There are so many names. So many teenagers from this town are missing or murdered.

There is no easy way of ending this blog entry. Norway is getting praise from the media abroad, but there is a wound that will not heal. Discussions go on and on about types of punishment for the terrorist and what Norwegian intelligence could have done to prevent the bombing and the killing spree.

crutches, pregnant women and prostitutes

After a few beers and a midnight kebab, Min Elskede and I were walking with another couple away from downtown. The other couple were talking about the large number of Norwegians on crutches, wondering why so many people were staggering about. According to the American part of that couple, there are pregnant women everywhere in Norway, where as in the U.S, he claims he sees none. I suggested that Norwegian preggos might hang out in public places, in the U.S., they might stay at home and have their social life outside of the cafes and shopping areas. This got interpreted as a pregnancy show-off. Min Elskede pointed out the benefits of maternal leave in Norway, slung his shoulders and chest back and strutted his belly forward: "This is my work-leave in my belly, my work-leave, everyone. Look at my work-leave growing in my belly!"

Walking up the stairs on the outskirt of the city center, I whispered to Min: "If you guys were coming here alone, I think you'd get company at the top of the stairs". He looked up and saw to Nigerian women, casually dressed, with an eye scanning the crowd, searching out potential clients. There were two accordion players playing Eastern European music at the entrance to a parking garage, and Min commented that he liked the music. We continued walking as he searched his pockets for small change. At the top of the hill, he told us to hang on, turned around and ran down to the accordion players to give them some money for their music. There was a prostitute halfway up the hill, and when Min came sprinting towards (and passed) her, she looked hopeful and a little bit scared. I wonder what is more terrifying, selling sex to a nasty drunk guy or to a young handsome one who apparently leaves his girl and comes sprinting back to the prostitute.

A couple of years ago Norway made it illegal to buy sex. The Norwegian hookers turned their business into online marketing, while the Nigerian women, usually here on a tourist visa, roam the streets. They owe their pimps lots of money for the transportation out of Nigeria and can be quite aggressive in their pursuit to make money. "There were so many prostitutes tonight, I counted 8 of them", said the Norwegian of the other couple flustered. Her American boyfriend pretended to be naive: "What, were they prostitutes? I just thought this is where black people like to hang out".