And now it comes to that time in my blogging where I get a little introspective and maybe just a touch self indulgent.  The third thing I need to blog about my trip to Norway is this creeping feeling I experienced that I really am Norwegian. Okay, obviously, my grandmother’s parents were born there, so my actual heritage is not in question. But while I was there, learning about the people and the land, I started to seriously wonder about the subconscious, unconscious, sometimes unwilling carriage of culture through generations.

So, you already know I have a thing about fjords (this is not evidence of my Norwegian-ness–just go with me for a minute). What parts of the country are not threaded by fjords are still subject to incredibly steep mountains and vast wilderness, but rather than inlets from the sea, they are strewn with lakes. The landscape is beautiful and dramatic, but the climate is unforgiving and the land itself is actually quite scarce. It’s as if anyone who doesn’t live in Oslo has their back to a sheer granite face and their big toes in the water. (If you need evidence, look at my pictures or do a flickr search for the  Kjeasen Farm. No lie, it’s 500 feet above sea level on a cliff, because that was the only farmable piece of land.)

It’s not surprising then, that the characteristics of Norwegians that I heard repeated over and over again include stubbornness, an ability to make the best of things, and a quickness to laughter.

So, I wonder, if I also posses these things, how much of it was my choice or my parents’biology, and how much of it was handed to me unknowingly through generations. I wonder about that, and then I wonder if someone ever had a cheesier thought.

Just for the record, the other thing that I really like about the current culture of the place is the guilt the society seems to feel over the source of their great wealth. Though Norway has one of the smallest per-capita carbon footprints of any industrialized nation, they know that’s really the least they can do, given that they are rich and comfortable because of the untold barrels of crude oil they are supplying to less guilty, less rich nations. On the other hand, considering they’ve only been this rich for half a century, they seem have adopted socialist ideologies with gusto.

I’ve read a few other things lately (specifically Malcom Gladwell’s Outliers) that suggest that this culture thing is passed on through literally countless generations–long past the necessity or cause of the characteristics.

Am I the only one with this kind of heritage fantasy?

For five days near the end of July I went to Norway. There are only three things I need to say about this trip, and here’s the first.

It’s not just clever marketing. It really is breathtaking.

The biggest reason that I chose to go to Norway was to see the fjords. I got my first taste of fjords in Alaska a few summers ago, and that experience did nothing but fuel my geological geekery. My absolute favorite kind of land form (see? geek is not too strong of a word–how many of you have a favorite kind of land form?) is granite carved by glaciers. Absolutely, hands down, the most beautiful, striking, dramatic and wonderful kind of land, in my opinion.

The fjords along the northern coast of Norway are just that. They’re not really different from Yosemite in how they were created, except that instead of a valley floor that is several thousand feet above sea level, the valley floor is several thousand feet below.

My need to see fjords actually informed the entire trip. I went to Bergen, in north, called the “cultural capital of Norway” as well as the “gateway to the fjords.” Aside from Bergen, I spent a few days in a lakeside town called Voss. My experience of these two cities was interrupted by one very long day where I rode no less than three buses, three boats and a train in order to see as much fjord as possible.

Some Fjordy Goodness

We cruised the Hardangerfjord, the Eidfjord, and a couple of other narrow inlets. We saw glaciers, salmon, seals and sheep. We went through many many tunnels, including one that was an actual spiral, curving dramatically down the inside of the mountain. We visited the Hardagervidda Nature Center, where I had to come to the very frustrating conclusion that my love of all things granite-carved-by-ice had gotten me to a place where I can no longer learn anything about geology from your average interpretive center or tour guide. The Hardangervidda Nature Center was also where I photographed goats grazing on the roof of the restaurant/gift show. So, at least it’s got that going for it.

Goats on the Roof!

As far as it goes, I am very glad that I made this trip a priority for my summer. Every day I see things that strike me as beautiful. Even as I write this, I am watching rolling green hills quilted by dry stone walls and dotted with clean white sheep whiz by and it is really quite grand. Still, just a few days in Norway sort of changes your perspective on just how literal breathtaking can be.

Go check out the flickr set of pictures. Of course, I recommend the comments as I do tell some stories.

Cory and Jaime came up to Edinburgh last weekend for a bit of castle, a bit of drinking and a bit of theater. It was the last leg of my brother’s London to Edinburgh adventure which also included stops at Stonehenge, Manchester, and Liverpool.

The absolute most disappointing thing about the entire adventure is that there is not a single picture of the three of us together. I’m not even sure there’s a picture of any two of us together. Paul was here, too, and we still didn’t get any. Boring.

Oh, except this one of my sister, eating an exceptional jacket (in the U.S. we say “baked”) potato, is too cute not to share:

Jaime calls this breakfast.

Aside from not taking pictures, there’s not a lot that we did not do.

We did tour the Castle. We did walk the length of the Royal Mile. We did tour Holyrood, the Queen’s summer home. We did visit the cafe where one J.K. is said to have created one of the most popular fictional characters of our time. We did go to a (disappointing) art museum. We did see a puppet dry heaving with a bra around his head and a stand up comedian from Liverpool that we had to fight to understand. We did eat at what must be some of Edinburgh’s best restaurants. We did drink, every night of their visit, at Lebowski’s (which is, not surprisingly, “More than a restaurant, a way of life.”). It was also at Lebowski’s where we did (well, Cory did) trick the same guy with the same bar trick on two consecutive nights.

Of course, we did also argue, analyze, chatter, discuss, disagree, chuckle, chortle, laugh, giggle, and enjoy each other’s company immensely.

So, I’ve started doing this little running plan that I heard about from Seattle-area knitter, photog, chef and runner Rebecca. Basically, by the end of the 9th week, you should be able to run 3 miles in 30 minutes.  Not terribly remarkable, except that it’s just a good solid amount of exercise if done a few times a week. There are two reasons why I’ve decided this is my exercise plan. First, it’s cheap (I’d rather spend my money on plane tickets and beer). Second, if I could keep up with Paul, then neither one of us will have an excuse for not exercising, no mater where we happen to be.

Day one was too easy, since I’m not exactly starting from couch, so today I decided to kick it up a notch. And it was hard.  Paul reminded me that actually, it’s supposed to be hard, otherwise I’m not making progress.  Oh right. Duh.

Go look at my running route, if you need a good laugh.  Keep in mind that the goal is to stay inside the park for as long as possible, without running the same path or having to cross a street.  Avoiding streets is just to keep me safer, so that I don’t have to think about which way to look, and not retracing my steps, well, that’s just a little game I play with myself.

Here is today’s iPhone picture from somewhere I walked past and found interesting:

I really really really want them to turn this into a nightclub.

In one hour I’ll be on a train to Manchester for the Elbow/Halle concert. It feels like it was roughly a million years ago that I woke up to find a text message from Paul, saying that if I could get myself to Manchester for this thing, there was a ticket for me.  I really really can’t wait.