Banana Bread

When we lived in York and had access to the BBC channels, we liked to curl up on our floral pattern sofa and watch stuff like QI, Antiques Roadshow (I do like old stuff with a history), Homes under the Hammer (again, that's me), but also cooking shows like the brilliant Heston's Feasts and The Delicious Miss Dahl. The first had 'culinary alchemist' Heston Blumenthal (owner of The Fat Duck) prepare all sorts of weird food to different themes, like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory with a real fountain of chocolate or the 70s with a hovering UFO dessert.

The second was a series by Sophie Dahl, granddaughter of Roald Dahl (and indeed the inspiration for Sophie in The BFG). It is a very refreshing take on a culinary television programme as she includes copious anecdotes about her own life and her love for literature. She wrote a cook book called Miss Dahl's Voluptuous Delights which I stumbled upon at Waterstones and promtly bought. It has recipes for all the seasons of the year divided in breakfast, lunches and suppers, and concludes with 'puddings' (i.e. 'desserts' for those of us not English, not just mounds of gelatin). The page I've turned to the most after buying the book is page 266 'Banana Bread' where she writes

I used to make banana bread in the fierce winters when I lived in New York and it was too freezing to do anything but bake.

Since it is very very cold in Bergen at the moment I thought I'd share this brilliant banana bread bake with you. It is especially suited for MA students on a well deserved break from that pesty thesis.

75g of soft butter, plus extra for greasing and serving
4 ripe bananas (No green ones! You'll be wanting those going slightly brown.)
200g of soft brown sugar
1 egg, beaten
1 tablespoon of vanilla extract (I use 2 tbls of vanilla sugar since I'm out of extract)
1 teaspoon of bicarbonate of soda/baking soda
1 pinch of salt
170g of flour

Preheat the oven to 180°C and grease a bread tin.

Mash the bananas in a bowl and add the butter, sugar, egg and vanilla extract. Mix in the bicarbonate/baking soda, salt and flour. Pour the mixture in the tin and bake for one hour. Remove, cool (only slightly!) and serve with a bit of butter and a cup of tea!

I added some candied orange peel this time. I imagine you could add some cinnamon, cardemom, clove etc. to that these days if you want to Christmas things up a bit.

Bon appétit!

‘Stralia, part 3: Melbourne

15-25 October: Melbourne
Here then, finally, the last blog post of our vacation down under.

We flew in from Alice Springs on the 15th of October. As we would be staying at the Coffee Palace Backpackers for more than a week we were able to take the airport shuttle for free. But this was during rush hour, so it took forever to get there. This was slightly worrying as we had a dinner date with my very good friend Espen and his Vilde who study there (and who were our excuse/reason to go to Australia in the first place) and even though I had jotted down Vilde’s phone number, it was in a book in a bag in a carriage rumbling along behind the shuttle bus. Which is always to be expected in situations like that. Anyhoo, we got a lovely room to ourselves at the Coffee Palace and eventually, with the assistance from a guy with a very nice Irish accent, found the tram that took us through the city centre to our friends. The weather was dreadful (in fact, we probably had about 50 per cent rainy days while it previously had been a balmy 25 degrees. But this is also to be expected.) but we were inside eating tacos and having a jolly good time. So good that we had to take a taxi back to the hostel, and not for the last time either.

The next day we teamed up with Vilde as Espen had a few exams around the corner. There was a lot of shopping going on with me plopping down to read Follet’s Pillars of the Earth on any strategically seat put out for dads, husbands and boyfriends. Later, we visited the library, a dignified old building with an interesting exhibition of books and literature throughout the ages as well the story, and armour, of Ned Kelly, Australia’s infamous bushranger. The shopping date ended with a quite luxurious cup of hot chocolate at a chocolatier called Max Brenner. Later that evening we went to the third largest Imax in the world to watch an extended (by a royal 16 minutes) edition of Avatar IN 3D! We were completely sucked into the screen. I’ve heard a lot of different opinions about the film but we all absolutely loved it.

The next couple of days were spent exploring the city, going to cafés, eating out or making dinner at our friends’ place, watching films or playing videogames (for the boys) and consistently missing the tram back. Katrine and I visited the Melbourne Aquarium, the Zoo (which was a bit disappointing, but we found out it must be because you should only visit one zoo per three or so years – they do tend to look a bit the same) and Victoria Market. Being gastrophiles we had a very nice dinner at Claypots where we had giant scampi in garlic with crusty bread and Cajun flathead, a fish cooked whole with Cajun seasoning. We went for dessert at Waltdorf for chocolate cake with cherry foam and ice cream and crème brûlée. On another occasion we bought  four cupcakes and three sushi rolls which we ate on the banks of the Yarra river while watching the rowing classes. 

One of these days Katrine and I braved the Skydeck, one of the tallest skyscrapers in Melbourne and the highest vantage point (man-made presumably) on the southern hemisphere. The lifts launches you skywards at 9 m/s to the 88th floor providing an impressive view of Melbourne and surroundings. It is also possible to stand in an all-glass box which is shoved out the side of the building so that you have only a bit of glass and a lot of air between you and the unforgiving pavement of Melbourne. But this costs, of course, as much as the admission ticket itself, so I had to give up on that sadly. We later met another friend of ours, Anette, at the bar where she works and teamed up for quiz night! This involved a lot of Australian celebrities and sports and we didn’t do spectacular, although we had a good time!

On the 22nd it was time for our road trip! We met up with Espen and Vilde early in the morning outside Budget car rentals where we drove away with a very sleek Holden SV6. We were out of the city on the second try and found the Great Ocean Road on the third try. The scenery was gorgeous: lush pastures, dense woodlands, beautiful skies and a winding road through it all. We stopped to buy stuff for lunch, stopped at a number of beaches for the views and had lunch at one of them. A bit further on we bought ice cream from a place which, judging by the amount of diplomas and prizes on the walls, is unable to manufacture a single taste without it winning in some category or other. I had two cones: ginger and cheese… I do sometimes get tired of my propensity to always having to try strange new flavours. I almost ate all of it, though. On the way we saw the Twelve Apostles, the Arch, Loch Ard Gorge and London Bridge, all magnificent artworks of eroded rock and sea, and wild koalas! We travelled back along the Princess Highway, stopping for pizza, horrible fatty, salty, vein-clogging pizza, in Terang. Nevertheless, overall, the bee’s knees! One of the best days on our trip, perhaps only surpassed by the next day.

Although this time we started a little later. Still, on we went to Phillip Island! The four of us made a brief stop at a chocolate factory, made all the briefer when we realized, contrary to expectations, that it wasn’t, in fact, free. Oh well, next up: A Maze‘N Things! The place that is exactly as awesome as the cunning name implies. It has a maze and other things, like optical illusions where rooms are built in impossible angles, balls seem to run uphill etc. It had a bit of a run-down feel to it and the gobstopper machine stole my dollar (Get one, two OR three gobstoppers! my arse) And the funny thing about the maze was that it was hard just to find the emergency exit, but the illusions part was a lot of fun! After this I finally tried my hand at driving. I was a bit apprehensive considering they drive on the left over there, and I was afraid I’d savage the first pedestrian in sight after driving out of the parking lot in a confused panicky state of mind, but everything went quite well. Next stop: the Nobbies! Offering again a spectacular view of the coast as well as being a nesting area for seagulls, tiny little penguins and, as we suddenly spotted, snakes, well snake. We only saw one, but the people standing with us told us it was a venomous Brown Snake which poison would kill a human being in an hour. Very exciting for us, and another ‘Australian animal sighted’ checkbox ticked off. After driving back we spent, I kid you not, 30 minutes trying to find a parking spot. Then: a steak dinner, beer and wine and life was good! Dead-tired, we spent the night at Espen and Vilde’s place.

Our last full day in Australia was a nice, lazy one. We slept in, had the best breakfast and strolled around a large bookstore (where Espen and I continued our quest for a simple goddamn cup of brewed coffee – all you can get, it seems, is a long or short black (espresso or waterd down espresso)) while Katrine got her hair done. Later on, Espen and I went for a stroll in a nearby park and popped into Melbourne Museum 20 minutes prior to closing time (free student admission) to watch the awesome skeletons and not-so-awesome, but very informative, shrivelled remains of male genitals. We all had dinner in the Italian neighbourhood where the owner managed to turn away as Espen commended him on the pizza, turning him into an instant arsehole. He even counted the money in our presence to see how much of a tip we gave him (none, surprisingly). The rest of the evening was spent relaxing, gaming and evacuating because of a (false as usual) fire alarm.

The next day we packed and went to the airport, saying goodbye to magnificent Australia. We had a blast, seeing a little bit of what it has to offer, travelling from the tropical Darwin, through the desert around Alice Springs to temperate Melbourne. We’ve seen crocodiles, wallabies, parrots, koalas, snakes, camels, lizards and possums, seen amazing landmarks and met many interesting new people. And some day, when we’ve forgotten all about the enormously long journey to get there, we’ll be back! Oh, and on the way back, the in-flight entertainment system worked like a charm.

'Stralia, part 2: Alice Springs and the Rock Tour

10-15 October: Alice Springs

As our train, the Ghan, arrived in Alice Springs, we were greeted by abandoned car wrecks and rubbish. We quickly found a shuttle that could take us to our hostel, the YHA. Here, we shared a four-man room with a very well-mannered Japanese fellow (when was the last time you left a room while ensuring you were facing its inhabitants until you had closed the door?). The rest of the day was spent exploring the town, verifying our tour booking at the Rock Bar, visiting ANZAC Hill and having dinner at the Overlanders Steakhouse. This very nice and gloomy restaurant was stuffed with old saddles, hides, pictures and the like, conveying an outbackish atmosphere. After asking where we were from they planted a Norwegian flag on our table. Looking around, we could see several, apparently, different nationalities in the room. Katrine had the chicken mignon and I the kangaroo fillet with plum sauce. Win.

The next morning at 6 am our Rock Tour guide Scott picked us up at the YHA. The Rock Tour is one of the many tour companies that takes you to one or more of the magnificent sights in the middle of the Australian dessert. This particular tour took three days and included Uluru (Ayer’s Rock), Kata Tjuta (the Olga’s) and Kings Canyon.

We travelled by bus with supplies and swags (a heavy-duty water-proofed canvas sleeping bag with mattress) on a little carriage. The first stretch of the journey took about 6 hours. We made a few stops to buy petrol, beer and snacks and at some point also to collect firewood for the evening campfire. For everyone who wanted to play the bug game Scott drew some circles on the windscreen. You had to chip in a dollar and he’d write your initials under one of the circles. I had only 70 cents and got a slightly smaller circle… Besides listening to music, we had to go to the front of the bus and tell the rest of the people (we were 21 all included) a little bit about yourself, and, to top it all off, an embarrassing story. On the last day of the trip I was told that my story was one of the best. In light of potential young readers however, I will not repeat it here!  Finally, we stopped at Ayer’s Rock resort to drop of the swags and firewood and drove to the Uluru visitor’s centre. The underlined consonant in e.g. Uluru and Kata Tjuta denotes, Scott told me, word stress. After a bit of research though, I found out that it’s also to do with a consonant being retroflex (pronounced with the tongue curled backwards), so that Uluru is pronounced (according to the local Pitjantjatjara language) [uluˈɻu] and Kata Tjuta [kata ʧuˈta]. Anyway, Katrine and I found the centre very interesting and would have liked to have more time there. Before leaving, we bought a lizard carved from red gum tree wood which now proudly sits on a cabinet at home and is called Tinka (the type of lizard it’s supposed to represent).

Before going to the rock, our guide told us a little bit about the climbing situation there. There is a chain that goes all the way to the top of Uluru, and it is permissible to climb it. However, the Anangu people ask everyone to respect their sacred place and not climb on it. Aboriginal people only climb it on one special occasion: when, after his walkabout, an aboriginal boy turns into a man. Regardless (of course), many tourists climb anyway. They also sometimes tumble off due to dehydration, heart attacks or bad luck (at least 35 deaths so far, and after each case the Anangu women stand around Uluru for a whole day and cry) and defecate when on top, poisoning the waterholes surrounding the rock. In 1983, the then Prime Minister promised to hand back the land title to the Anangu traditional owners (including forbidding the climbing of Uluru), but the government set access to climb Uluru and a 99-year lease, instead of the previously agreed upon 50-year lease, as conditions before the title was officially given back to the Anangu (Wikipedia). There is also a council of 12 (6 of which are aboriginals) who each year vote on whether or not to close climbing for the public. Every year only one votes against – the Minister for Tourism (or so Scott told us). Very sad business.

Once at Uluru itself we quickly started walking. Scott told us we should be able to walk around it in an hour and a half, which means we felt a bit rushed as we had no idea how long the walk would be (about 6 km). We also needed to bring 3l of water each. Unfortunately, we had misunderstood the Rock Tour website. We thought we would be doing a lot more walking and had to pack everything we were going to need in a backpack and bring with us all the time. It turns out we could just leave everything in the bus whenever we went somewhere. As we didn’t have a small extra pack we had to carry one bottle in each hand. The other days were far cooler, so Katrine only brought one while I managed to stuff them both in my trouser pockets.
 

Skirting the rock, we learned how it is a very sacred place for their women. As such it is not allowed to take pictures of some of the sites. This is because the images might be published somewhere and Anangu men might see them. Several decades ago this resulted in some men insisting on being punished for this; the punishment being a spear stab in the thigh. The stabber then nurses the ‘stabbee’ back to health, ensuring no hard feelings. Although Uluru was much smaller than we thought it would be, it was a beautiful and very interesting walk. 

When we got to the parking lot there was cake and biscuits all round, silly colourful pigeons to laugh at, a visit to the restroom and a small walk to a waterhole and (if we didn’t have to run to the toilet again (3l of water, you know!)) cave paintings. So yeah, we missed those… We drove a little and from there admired the sunset over Uluru, drank beer, had dinner and, back at the resort, slept around the campfire in our swags. We slept quite alright in spite of a small drizzle of rain.

The second day of the tour (this does drag on, does it not?) we were awoken at 4:45 to quickly drive to a vantage point where we could watch the sunrise over Uluru and Kata Tjuta. At this point, after being awoken at an ungodly hour, no access to a bathroom OR breakfast yet, being dependable on other people and having two more days of this until we were on our own again I must admit, I was thinking ‘why am I here again?’. This was luckily quickly forgotten, and the rest of the day turned out being one of best of the whole trip! We had a quick breakfast consisting of weat-bix (Australia’s take on Weetabix), oatmeal porridge, canned fruit, toast, coffee and tea, and then drove to Kata Tjuta.

Kata Tjuta was gorgeous! We walked a 7 km walk through a collection of enormous rocks and small mountains with a lot of lush vegetation in between. Katrine and I both found this the best part of the tour. Unlike Uluru, this is a holy place for men. Using sand, gravel and pebbles, Scott explained the formation of Uluru and Kata Tjuta (remnants of an enormous mountain range from billions of years ago), showed us how the indigenous tribes used ochre to paint their bodies, and where hunters sharpened their spears on the rock. After this fantastic scenery we drove to Kings Crest Resort, collecting firewood again en route.

For dinner we had chilli con kangaroo along with a type of bread which Scott made from flower, water, canned fruit and M&Ms cooked in a cast iron pot put in the hot coals of the fire. At this point I found out that one of our fellow trekkers had studied linguistics at the uni in York like me, and even had the same professors!  Coincidence? I think so, yes. That night the stars were out which made sleeping in a swag under the night sky even more enjoyable.

The next morning we were awoken by the cries of a retarded owl and left for Kings Canyon. We were told how hard the climb to the top would be, but, freakishly athletic as Katrine and I are, we found it no worse than Bergen’s Stoltzen. The terrain was great, all the more so because of the sheer drops all around us. Fun fact: America’s Grand Canyon should properly be called ‘the Grand Gorge’, which of course doesn’t sound all that grand. The thing is, a canyon is formed by a crack in the rocks which widens over time due to erosion (like Kings Canyon). A gorge on the other hand, is formed by a stream or river eroding the rock (Grand Canyon). ‘Course, the fellow naming it the Grand Canyon didn’t know this…

Again, we learned all sorts of interesting things from our guide. Aboriginal spears were for example made from the aptly named ‘spear tree’. The makers would cut a branch to the proper length and, holding it over a fire, pulled it straight. Once the wood cooled, it stayed straight. The tip was made from red gum tree which is slightly poisonous (more so to kangaroos). This was fastened with kangaroo tendon and glue. When successfully thrown at a ‘roo the tip would break off, poisoning the animal. If hunting was slow, they would sometimes put rock mint in a puddle of water, which would make kangaroos drowsy, making them an easier target. Although, being proud people, the aboriginals tried to avoid this tactic. Also, I was interested to learn, the well-known boomerang shape known to everyone was only really used in Kakadu (the area around Darwin in the north of the continent) as the people there hunted over water – they needed their weapons to return to them. In the rest of Oz the boomerangs were more or less shaped like a number 7. They were not designed to return to the thrower and were meant to break the bones of kangaroos. By the way, we swam in the Garden of Eden in the middle of the desert (well, Kings Canyon). The most refreshing swim of my life!

After our walk around Kings Canyon we drove back to Alice Springs, stopping for lunch somewhere. At this place there was the largest swarm of flies I have ever seen. There were flies everywhere! We had to quickly make lunch and then run around, all the time waving a hand around our food. We didn’t stay long. But we made another stop at a camel farm! Katrine and I rode one together. It is a remarkable thing to sit on a camel (strictly a dromedary, i.e. one hump) when it rises from the ground. Its legs seem to fold out in an infinite number of … folds. Its fur is coarse but at the same time quite soft to the touch. It doesn’t smell (no really) and it has this wonderfully sarcastic look of disdain on its face with a lopsided sort of sneer. I couldn’t resist waving my hat with one arm while it went into a little trot. In short: I want one. I’m sure it would make my everyday walk from Sandviken to the uni all the more enjoyable.

Once back at the YHA in Alice Springs we got a bed in a room with 14 other people. But we could take a shower! And at the YHA they have posters in the bathrooms that promote showering together to save water, so we did our part for the environment. After that it was off to the Rock Bar to meet everyone for dinner and drinks. I had a magnificent plate of nachos and still dream about them. Unfortunately, we were all quite tired, but we still had a great time. We got Scott’s number so we could meet up the next day. Alas, I didn’t know at the time that you have to drop the initial 0 when entering the country code, so we never met up (so if you read this, Scott…) The next and final day in Alice Springs was spent doing laundry, packing and having (hot!) Thai food for dinner. Noon the following day: Melbourne!

Stay tuned for the third and final part…

‘Stralia, part 1: Darwin and the Ghan

It seems I updated this blog six times while we were adventuring in the city of York. That's slightly more than once a month. It should come as no surprise then, to the (handful, I’m sure) avid readers of this little niche in the blogosphere that nothing has been added since and that it’s taken me exactly 16 days since our return from Australia to tell you all about it here. Thus:

So we sent to the land down under; where vegemite does flow and wombats blunder. It seems easy now, travelling there. But ye gods, what a journey! We were up at 3 am, ‘smiled’ stoically at the stormy Bergen-weather lashing rain against our skylights and staggered backpacker-style to the airport bus. In London the tube was, astoundingly, not in service due to a strike. We went to Katrine’s mother and stepfather’s house in Chiswick to await our evening flight to Oz.

The 13 hour flight to Singapore was uneventful enough. We had a very decent curry for dinner and did lots of sleeping – you know, the kind where your arms are folded, your head is slightly tilted backwards and you wake up every now and then to see whether you’ve been drooling or not. There wasn’t much else to do since the BLOODY ENTERTAINMENT SYSTEM WAS DOWN. There you are, staring at a black screen inches from your nose for 13 hours when you could have had films, music, games and whatnot the entire time. Ach. Oh, and Katrine was walloped around the head twice by people who were probably quite anxious to get to the restroom and therefore too busy to apologize. 13 hours summed up.

In Singapore we had a so-so Indian and Cantonese dinner, but a very good smoothie. We had about five hours to kill and nothing lethal so we walked around for a bit and then sat for a spell and time went by. I would like to take this opportunity, however, to tell you this: As I was in the restroom washing my hands a Chinese guy walked in, talking on his mobile. He walked over the general urinal area but stopped in front of a (quite obvious) rubbish bin, about navel-high, in metal, with a square gap in front. Still engrossed in his conversation, he started pulling on his trousers to reveal a pair of tighty-whities. But, I had finished my washing and had to tear my eyes away from this potentially impending sticky situation. Once out of the restroom I had a brief dialogue with two conflicting parts of my brain, which the part that watches South Park and films with Will Ferrell won, and I rushed back in only to discover that the man was now washing his hands… And I will never, ever know what happened.

Anyway, the next flight took almost five hours. In this case, the seats were ergonomically designed for a whiplash-like neck position. We didn’t sleep. Then, finally, we landed in Darwin. As we exited the small plane by way of a staircase onto the runway we were struck by the heat which we presumed to come from the aircraft’s engines. We soon realized that, even at 4:30 in the morning, Darwin is one frakking hot place!

(Thank you for bearing with me so far.)

6-9 October: Darwin
With a population of 124,800 Darwin is the most northerly of the Australian capital cities and has an average temperature of about 30 °C in October. We arrived at our hostel, the Melaleuca on Mitchell, at about 5:30 am only to be met with a lecture on how you have to book a room a day earlier if you’re showing up at 5:30 am, ‘because let me tell you a little something about how the world of hostels works.’ That’s all very well, and he was quite right of course, but we had just gotten off the plane after a 25 hour journey, hadn’t slept much and instantly hated his guts. We could leave our luggage there and come back at noon. Because of this, we managed to explore the nearby esplanade and Bicentennial Park quite thoroughly, reading countless signs about the local Larrakia people and war memorials about the ANZAC forces, WWII battles off Darwin and bombings of Darwin.

The hostel itself was dirty, the bed (we had a room all to ourselves) hard and the vital air conditioner noisy. We must admit, however, that we have discovered ourselves to be a bit like a bitter old couple when it comes to things like this, with no patience for noisy people, dirty accommodation etc. Then again, I did find $5 on the bottom of the swimming pool. That evening we went to the outdoors Deckchair Cinema, which is by the coast in a little grove. It has deckchairs to sit on, hot food (we had very tasty yellow curry) and a big screen. As soon as the sun sets the film starts and there you sit, under a starry sky accompanied by the occasional bat. We saw Das weiße Band, Eine deutsche Kindergeschichte, a very dark, black and white German drama from 2009 about the creepy happenings in a little village just before WWI. I can strongly recommend it.

The second day (yes, this will be long, hence the ‘part 1’) we went by bus to Crocodylus Park where we had a very informative tour, learning about the ferocious crocodiles they have there (‘Doin’t stick yer hand through the fence, because these crocs WILL jump out of the wodder and boite it off!’). Apparently, saltwater crocs are the most dangerous. They can become five to six meters in length, have a bite force equivalent to two cars going 50 km/h crashing and consider humans to be a very decent snack. We walked onto a walkway over a range of breeding pens to feed some of the more aggressive crocodilians. Many had missing bits of their body, sometimes even whole limbs, due to fighting. The tour ended with us being allowed to hold a baby crocodile. It was surprisingly soft, sort of rubbery, warm and docile (though its snout was taped shut). There was also a small unnerving museum with many graphic stories and even photos of the history of human-croc interaction. At the end I had a croc-burger. It had a texture similar to Thai fishcakes and tasted slightly fishy. The reason why the park sells crocodile leather and meat, they told us, is because they need the money to fund their very important research which has bettered the understanding between humans and crocodiles (well, let’s just say on the part of humans anyway) and increased the number of crocodiles to where they are no longer threatened by extinction. We were quite impressed by the respect and love these people have for crocodilians. After a long walk, during sudden heavy rainfall, we found the bus back.


Our final day in Darwin began with someone having the audacity to steal Katrine’s bikini which hang outside to dry. Doing nothing much that day, we had breakfast and did a little reading on the esplanade where Katrine was asked by some boys if they could take a picture of her… She gracefully declined. After reading about a restaurant called Crustaceans on the Lonely Planet website we wanted to try it out. Unfortunately, we had the ‘mixed seafood platter for two’ which, although it contained lobster, king prawns, oysters, deep fried fish and calamari, was rather tasteless. This was crowned by a seagull decorating Katrine’s thrupenny bits… We finished the day with another film at the Deckchair Cinema (South Solitary, Australian, alright enough) during which it started to rain. On the whole, Darwin is a bit dull, but the Deckchair Cinema, Crocodylus Park and, apparently, Kakadu National Park (for which we had no time) are very recommended.


9-10 October: the Ghan
We travelled to Alice Springs by railroad, namely the Ghan, so named in respect for the Afghan camel riders who made important contributions to opening up and connecting Australia. The train made a few hours’ stop at a little place called Katherine (pop. approx. 1100, many of whom are indigenous). Here, eighties and country music was helpfully played over public speakers. And that is about all there is to say about Katherine. When the bus driver drove us back to the Ghan, he offered to drop us off at the very scenic Springvale Homestead, the oldest original homestead in the Northern Territory (1879) (and where we saw a bunch of wallabies!) while he made another run for the remaining passengers. He was a very informative guide while driving the bus and the type of man who would point to a large rock and say ‘guess how much that stone weighs. One stone.’ Also, he told us of the reason why there are no sheep in that area: the local black spear grass leaves its seeds on the wool of the sheep. There they burrow down until they reach the flesh, causing an anguishing death. On other animals they simply fall off. Back on the train we had a bit to eat and tried to sleep in our sleeper chairs. The next day we awoke to a beautiful sunrise over the red-and-green outback and several hours later we rolled into Alice Springs.


(Part 2 to follow soon.)

Aaaaaaand we're off

That was it then. Our final day in York. Today was a very hot day, perfect for spending indoors washing and scrubbing... We decided to get up early, failed, and got up a little later to wash the place down. We were quite thorough. It was therefore a bit of a letdown when the landlord and –lady spent about, oh, four and a half minutes inspecting the place.

Being done with our pensioner’s cottage we decided to walk a final walk on the walls of the city, which is very nice this time of year. Then, we had dinner at Loch Fyne, a fine fish restaurant. After that, a final farewell to some of the people at the NSC, and here we are then, in our very hot (it is very hot in York right now) Victorian cottage.

Tomorrow morning we’ll take the train to London, have a few days’ quality time with some Texans, and then I’m off to Bergen, followed a little later by Katrine.

Goodbye York! Goodbye Fairfax Street and Micklegate. Goodbye English sausages, affordable king prawns and Marks & Spencer chocolate chip cookies. Goodbye Minster, walls, Clifford’s Tower and geese. Tata shop assistants who call us ‘love’, ‘duck’ and ‘sweetheart’, see you later! Goodbye skimpily clad girls and hefty men on Saturday nights (and Friday, Tuesday, Monday, Wednesday. And Sunday and Thursday). Tararabit Oscar’s and Akbar’s. Goodbye takeaways and Indians. Goodbye student discounts and cheap honey. See you later fellow linguists and boxing people. Also a heartfelt goodbye to the shower and frying pan; we will not miss you. Goodbye all the things we’ve forgotten but will remember in the wee small hours of the morning!

Good bike!

Penultimate blog update from York!

Righty-O. The last time we spoke we were in Bergen. It’s been a while since I’ve busy with exams and assignments, but this is merely a bad excuse. I am now done and it is officially summer vacation! Katrine still has a few days to go with two essays to finish.

We were in Bergen to see the – our – student theatre company Immaturus perform the 70s cult musical classic The Rocky Horror Show. For those who don’t know: transvestite aliens, naughty lingerie, a spooky mansion and a Frankensteinesque yet ‘perfect’ artificially created man should about sum it up. It was all performed in Nynorsk which sounded surprisingly good. There is just something about a... plump bloke with make-up, high heels and a corset (Dr. Frank N. Furter). I was gleefully reminded of Eddie Izzard. All in all it was great, a job well done, we loved it! Well, that was the one night. The day after we went again, because we sort of went to Bergen specifically to see the play and because it was a midnight special where we would, according to Rocky Horror tradition, shout and throw stuff at specific moments in the play. Let me repeat that: SPECIFIC moments in the play. Interestingly, most of the audience did not know this or they did know but didn’t care because it’s easy to forget something like that when you’re drunk. As a result, instead of shouting ‘slut’ (for example (no really, you’re supposed to (but do check beforehand, will you?))) when Janet (or in this case, Janne) entered the stage, people would shriek ‘slut’ from the moment she entered till she went off again. This happened in all cases. Kudos to the actors who managed to perform brilliantly in spite of the orang-utans. I would have planted my stiletto-heel into an eye before the first act was over. For example into the moustache-infested face of the amoebae who sat in front of me and apparently felt an overpowering urge to ‘laugh’ hard for the entire – entrance to exit – first appearance of the aforementioned Dr. Frank N. Furter. I could see his girlfriend twisting in her seat in shame, poor thing. Anyway, it was brilliant nonetheless and such a success that there will be extra shows in June. Not bad for an amateur production!

The next weekend we were in London. Again, to see a play. We are very cultural, you know. This time it was Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot with Sir Ian McKellen as one of the leading characters. We have both read the play and had always wanted to see it. The scenery was spectacular. They had blended the balconies on either side of the stage in with the scenery but given it a dusty, dilapidated look, with broken beams sagging down from the ceiling, a high old wall as a back-drop and a twisted and gnarly old tree centre-stage – everything greyish, dusty and old. The acting was great and made what are essentially two long nonsensical absurd acts go by very quickly. We also saw the musical Oliver!, which we almost missed because we couldn’t find the bloody theatre. First we went to the wrong one and were told to just go out and straight ahead and we’d see it easily enough. You’d think a theatre-building would be somewhat of an eye catcher if you follow the road it lies at, but we ended up walking in random circles until we suddenly saw a neon arrow pointing further down an alley. We were certain we’d be turned away but we were helpfully shown to our seats all the way on the upper floors. We missed the first 15 minutes but the rest was great, with brilliant moving scenery and impressive talents. At the end there was a little farewell speech by Fagin because it was Nancy’s hmhmmthundreth performance and now she was leaving. There were roses and confetti! Afterwards we had a Japanese pork bun which still haunts me and makes me nauseous when I think of it... We met up with a friend of Katrine one of the days as well and went to a restaurant where we had some Brazilian vegetarian food. Now, it’s not like I’m against eating vegetarian food every once in a while, heck I ate a cookie just a few minutes ago, but my previous experience with Brazilian food still comes out at number one. Probably because of all the different types of meat they would come around with all the time. Yes, I ate grilled chicken hearts and loved it.

During the Easter holidays my family came over to visit us. As we have a spare bedroom my sisters could sleep in our house, with my mum and dad a few streets away in a nice old hotel, where my mother had managed to snag an en suite with a view of the garden. They were here for about a week and we did a lot of touristy things like walking the walls, visiting the Castle Museum and Clifford’s Tower, checking out York Minster and of course walking the myriad of streets of York. For Easter Sunday I had hidden a lot of eggs in our ‘patio garden to the rear’ while the girls were getting ready for the Sunday lunch at the hotel. It must be noted that the Easter bunny himself was the most excited and perhaps also enjoyed most of his girlfriend’s share of the eggs... This week was unfortunately cold and dreary, with Spring-time coming back just as the family left again.


Some time later we were invited by one of the teachers at the Norwegian Study Centre to attend the Indian festival of Baisakhi and Holi. This is a festival celebrating the founding of the Sikh community known as Khalsa and is celebrated every year in April. We first had lunch with delicious, towering piles of Indian food. I was the only one at our table to finish his plate (I have the Stomach of Holding +1). After bursting our bellies, we were ushered into an auditorium where we were treated to various contributions from York’s Punjab and Sikh community, such as Sikh prayer and hymn, the story of Baisakhi performed by some local children, the story of Holi, some dancing (which was fun, because we do like the odd Bollywood film) and a few musical recitals. Some of these were performed by quite young but very talented children playing on traditional Indian instruments. There was also a performance by a Dr Sriharan who played a few ... longish songs. We were told it was quite an honour to hear him perform and it’s a good thing they told us. Fellow linguistics geek Janne and I caught ourselves analysing the speech of every single speaker on stage, noting such fascinating things as rhoticity, whether children were likely to have a native English-speaking parent, Yorkshire dialect features, retroflexity of plosives and nasals, clear l’s and other Indian Englishims, and afterwards sheepishly admitting as such to each other.

Then, curry night! The dedicated reader of this randomly updated blog will know that we go boxing here in York. Yesterday was my (Katrine is bravely trying to come to terms with her final essays) final day there as we leave the country at the end of the week. But that particular week we went out and had curry with a lot of the more regular members. Akbar’s is great for curry, so go there if ever you are in York, despite the inevitable ‘ring-sting’ the following day (I was made aware of this beautiful phrase by one of the boxers, and if you don’t get it go have a Chicken Madras and wait). We will miss both Akbar’s and the boxing classes.

Last week we treated ourselves to a short rainride to nearby Malton to see Castle Howard, a 'magnificent 18th-century residence set within 1,000 acres of breathtaking landscape'. It was a welcome break from our studies and it was very nice to see such beautiful architecture and gardens on a sunny day.

We have seen three more films in cinema which I can recommend. Kick Ass, a cartoon-flick, that will leave you with that obscure feeling where you really want to laugh out loud but don’t dare because you don’t know if you should (10 year old girls dressed up as a superhero stabbing people to death with a glaive will do that to you). As the name already implies, it kicks ass. Four Lions gives you somewhat the same feeling, albeit on a more tragic note. This British film is about four terrorists who aspire to become suicide bombers. Although it is a comedy, the end is surprisingly shocking. No wonder families of those who died during the 7/7 attack on the London underground urged people to boycott the film. On the one hand this is understandable as it is not too long ago, but on the other the film does not portray those events and is a different eye-opener and comment regarding terrorism. It will make an impression on you. Then there was Robin Hood! I read a review in a Norwegian newspaper (Aftenposten) that the reviewer missed the old Robin Hood as this film focuses on the events leading up to him becoming the celebrated English outlaw and portrays him slightly different as he is not from a wealthy family. Personally, I think if that is how you feel than you should stick to all the old rehashes of the same old story, such as the painful Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves with Kevin Costner. We liked it. It is a different take on the legend which places the story in a more historical perspective, although not all the events are historically accurate (but then again, neither is Robin). It has some great battle scenes, an interesting relationship between Robin and Marian and, thankfully, and this is the important bit, makes Robin Hood a commoner and not a nobleman. Because frankly a nobleman in 12th century Britain would not have touched a longbow with a 10-foot pole(arm), let alone be so proficient with it that he could spilt an arrow. A myth which Mythbusters have (wait for it) busted, by the way. Robin does not split any arrows, but does have the obligatory fight with Little John before they become friends, and is overall an entertaining film!

Book-wise I have stumbled across an old favourite I haven’t read (or been read to) for ages: The Wind in the Willows. I really enjoyed both the story and style of narrative by Kenneth Grahame (who is, by the way, a descendant of Robert the Bruce (remember Braveheart anyone?)) along the lines of “‘That’s just the sort of fellow he is!’ observed the disappointed Rat. ‘Simply hates Society! Now we shan’t see any more of him to-day. Well, tell us who’s out on the river?’” A lovely story full of waist-coated animals simply named after the animal they are (I wonder what would have happened if another Badger was introduced in the story), pantries and jovial bachelors with a sense of adventure (as long as they remember to bring a well-stuffed picnic-basket). Also, my mum got me Precious and the Puggies, which is a Scots translation of one of Alexander McCall Smith’s stories about the African detective-lady Precious Ramotswe. Aye, it taks a wee bit o practise as I dinnae ken Scots meself, but it is a awfie muckle treat once ye get the hang o it. It’s aboot somebody in Precious’ schuil pauchlin stuff and hoo she solves her very first case.

Other than that I am of course done with my exams and papers, which went alright I think, and am now cleaning the house while Katrine is finishing her school work. We will be sad to leave, but it will be nice to see Katrine’s half brother and his wife again who will be in London next week, and of course friends and family back home. However, now that Iceland is taking revenge on the lot of us for laughing at them during their precarious economic situation by obstructing air traffic with a bloody volcano (my mum is stuck in Holland, you bastards) it remains to be seen whether we will catch our flight or not.

Tara!

oooooOOOOO-MISS-YE-BASTARD-AAAAAaaaaaaah!

So, it’s been [mutter] weeks since the last update, which, frankly, isn’t terribly surprising. I have wanted to update for a while now, but I’ve been quite busy at the Uni and the more I wait, the more there is to write about, thus the longer I wait again (ad nauseam). I am actually sitting in the Uni library right now (while writing an essay which I have to hand in a day early as we’re going to Bergen for a while to see Immaturus’s Rocky Horror Show), so I will continue this tomorrow, honest to gods. Well, it’s a start, innit? Now, where did I put that fascinating vowel formant scattergram? (What? Exactly.) It is now the day after tomorrow... We are sitting in the airplane on our way to Bergen. For a while we thought we’d miss our flight, but because of a very nice lady at the desk of International Rail (who called me ‘sweetheart’ at least four times) and only one person ahead of us at the check-in desk we pulled through.

Where to start? Leeds. We went to Leeds with a few other people a couple of weeks ago, which, by train, takes about 20 minutes. A few days prior to this, Katrine and I were at a birthday party where we mentioned this to someone (who was from Leeds) and he said ‘Why?’ Well, we went anyhow. Of course, I was the only guy on the trip, so naturally a good deal of the day was spent trudging around in various shopping centres. To be fair, this isn’t Katrine’s cup of tea either when visiting some place new. Before all of that though, we went to see the ruins of a Cistercian monastery, where I learned that they used cabbage leaves as toilet paper. There was a replica leaf (unsoiled) in the museum. Not great brassica lovers apparently, those monks. We further learned that they must have been a bunch of massive party poopers, as they had to be absolutely quiet during meals, could only sit by the fireplace for a miniscule amount of time (in that draughty, dark and dreary place), and, for a long while, only ate vegetables (which brings up interesting questions cabbage-wise). Then shopping rahrahrahrahrah, and then, after searching for a good bit, we had dinner at a Chinese Buffet.

This was a rather seedy place, but it was relatively cheap and 80 per cent of the food was deep-fried. Ever since discovering l’ Art de Buffet as a small boy in a restaurant aboard a large passenger ship (actually I think this was when we first moved to Norway) I have never been able to accurately judge how much would actually fit in my belly (I seem to remember a huge heap of small sausages and two parental I-told-you-so expressions). Because the first time you go around you just grab anything good you come across, don’t you? Instead of scouting out the whole buffet first... So I end up with a big plate of good stuff and then I have to go for another round because somewhere along the way my plate was full. And then, while I am still eating I usually discover someone else in my company who has started dessert, and then I have to try that too. But of course, there is always ice cream AND those standard selection of tinned fruit and cream.

At the end of the day we went to see Leeds –Walsall. Not the most exciting match set-up perhaps, but still jolly good fun. We were seated amongst all the Leeds fans (angry, angry men), the Wallsallers having been allocated to a little corner somewhere. We missed the first goal (Wallsall) because Katrine was being a potty-mouth and I lost focus on the game. Every time a Wallsall player was taking a penalty or the keeper was preparing to kick the ball, the stadium erupted in a beautiful unified ‘oooooOOOOO-MISS-YE-BASTARD-AAAAAaaaaaaah!’ It was marvellous. As was the great cheer that went up when the referee was hit in the head by the ball and bit the dust. This was very understandable, naturaly, as Leeds was losing (1-2 in the end) which was variously the fault of the referee, some new player, some player who was going to leave the club etc. All in all though, (probably because we didn’t care one way or the other who’d win) it was a great experience! And thanks to Stine Mari for organizing the whole thing!

Some weeks later York held its annual Viking Festival, the 25th this year. We didn’t see much of it, apart from hordes of children with the most horrific wounds on their faces (judging by the happy faces this was make-up) and a market with stalls from all over the world. We found a Dutch one and bought some poffertjes (small, Dutch pancakes) and a Frenchman where we bought a pork, a wild boar, a pheasant (well, some bird anyway) and a chorizo sausage. I went into a big tent with Viking traders, who sounded like they were from Eastern European countries. They had lots of swords and pins and little things carved from bone. And that’s about all we experienced, even though they were at it for a week. But the sausages are good.

Sometime after that two of Katrine’s friends, Synnøve and Nadir, stayed with us for about a few weeks. We went to something called evensong which is held almost weekly at York Minster. It was a very stiff and ceremonial happening with lots of reading of passages and singing of hymns. This was all extensively explained on a little card in our pew (rise. sing. read this aloud. turn that way). I went through the motions but, as devout atheist, didn’t feel a particular need to join in on the ‘amen’s’ and ‘I’ve been bad but do allow me to worship you, prithee’ (which was a bit too much for the Lutherans with me as well, I gathered). So been there, done that, although the Minster itself is very nice indeed. I can especially recommend the crypt!
After visiting The Viking Museum (Jorvik) (which was a lot of fun when you are transported through a Viking settlement with Norse-speaking Viking puppets but is more for children really) we went out hunting for ghosts. York is famous for its ghosts and has several Ghost Walks, so we figured we’d go and see what that was all about. We turned up outside a pub by the Ouse where there was already a small gathering of prospective ghost hunters and were met by an elderly man in a black trench coat, black gloves, a black hat and a slight cold. He was lovely and ended every talk with ‘if you would just .......... follow me’. We heard some entertaining ghost stories (including about one near where we live), among others about Clifford’s Tower where, in the Middle Ages, the persecuted Jewish inhabitants of York had withdrawn and consequently committed suicide. According to our guide the walls of the tower look much redder than the walls of the surrounding buildings (which have been built using the same stone, although several hundred years later) because sometimes there is blood seen running down them. To us they had about the same colour... We still don’t believe in ghosts, I’m afraid.

In other news, I now have no more seminars or lectures. Huzzah! This because in England you have three terms while in Norway you have two semesters, so that if I had to attend both the spring and summer term I would have too much school (I guess. Which of course is completely out of the question.). I still have two large-ish essays to write and do an oral and aural exam. So I won’t be completely done until mid May, which is when Katrine is done as well (who has school all the way ahaha).
So here we are then, in Bergen, enjoying the company of friends, stable internet connections and water that doesn’t taste of swimming pool.

Finally two recommendations: See The Lovely Bones. Beautiful movie, compelling story and amazing scenery that made me want to a) photoshop and b) make ships in bottles. It’s received a fair share of flak, which I do not understand at all. And also, if you are going to read one non-fiction book this year (month?), pick up a copy of Bad Science by Ben Goldacre, which I think is not only a very useful read but also a very important one.

I will end with this: Yesterday, as Katrine and I walked home from the University we saw two geese waddling along the pavement. There was quite a bit of traffic and the pedestrian crossing lights were still green when one of the geese calmly started crossing the street exactly where pedestrians, human or goose, are supposed to. As the lights turned red the second one crossed while cars patiently waited. They were in no hurry, let me tell you. When we made it across they were eating grass, one of them staring at us defiantly.

Float Like a Butterfly, Sting Like a Gnat

Katrine and I have joined a boxing class. There is a gym about a two-minute walk from where we live, and they do all sorts of classes. Katrine bravely joined a spinning class as well, but luckilmhm unfortunately I’m at uni then, so I can’t go. But the boxing is great fun! I can finally use my long-dormant karate-skills again (as no one ever jumps me, I never get to test them. I must radiate a sort of quiet menace.), so I manage to keep my elbows pointing downwards although I still tend to forget about my hips. It’s only an hour a week, but we have a great time and have already been invited to their social. They seem to have a social for everything here. And the instructor is just the nicest guy ever!

As I mentioned before, I’ve been hunting for a society to join, so I went to a society fair at the university. But the damn photography society didn’t show up, and it was basically all about politics, foreign country societies, and things like astrology and techno (possibly two of the most appalling things I know of). I did talk to a few groups like the filmmaking, comedy and real ale society, so who knows. The idea of taking the train to a nearby village, invading all the pubs and sampling ale is, of course, strangely appealing. Katrine was considering the horse riding society, but the membership fees and other costs were a bit too steep, unfortunately. The school choir she joined is maybe also a bit too much at the moment as the drama seminars she attends have proved to be so popular that they are continuing, and, what with her upcoming drama auditions, she’s rather invest time in that.

I am also happy to report that I have enjoyed my first fish and chips today. It is one of those things that seems a good idea at the time (especially for us lovers of fatty foods with crunchy bits) but turns out sort of... greasy and floppy? The bag was transparent by the time I got home, which is always a good sign, but meh. At least I got it out of my system. For those who by now may be concerned about our eating habits (mums), I must say that we (read ‘I’) manage to cook quite tasty and healthy meals. Fish and veggies are much cheaper here, and now we’ve even found a nice, little shop with lots of different fruits and vegetables on our route to school (chestnuts, sweet potatoes, lichees etc)! Oh, and we discovered it only takes half an hour to walk to campus (past 6-800 year old defensive walls and guard towers, through gatehouses (or ‘bars’), dodging traffic, which still surprisingly drives on the wrong side of the road (I nearly panicked when my taxi driver drove away from the station on my arrival to York), and finally past a rolling field with horsies), saving us bus money and love handles.

Yesterday we went to the cinema and saw ‘Precious’. My gods, what a film! Absolutely gut-wrenching, yet heart-warming at the same time. If you are going to see one film this year, see that one. We are amazed by the acting. It has received a few Oscar nominations so far, and I hope they win some. It’s about an African-American, overweight, teenage girl living in Harlem, who gets pregnant and is kicked out of school. Struggling with a horrible family life she is offered a chance to do something with her life by entering a special school. See it. Of course, being a linguist (I guess), I spent the first minutes involuntarily analysing the ‘salient features of African American Vernacular English’ (thank you sociolinguistics class).

On that note: As I am here for my linguistics master studies I find myself noticing a lot of that sort of stuff here. For example, my landlady (from Yorkshire) says ‘mooneh’ (or [mʊnɪ] ;-)). On the bus to university the conductor approached me with ‘Hiye! What can I getche?’ Followed by a cheery ‘Taaa!’ once I paid. Another one to a girl who apparently had problems: ‘miluv, are you alright?’ They say a lot of ‘my love’ or even duck here. Not so strange, as there are probably more ducks than people here... The university is infested with them. Arrogant, waddling bastards! And they’re protected too (and they know it). They are like the holy cows of India, it seems. A pity, there’s good eating on one of those... Especially the geese.

Well, I suppose that’s it for now. Scroll down for some pics! I’ve been meaning to post some here. Taaa!


The horsies. This is right next to campus.













Katrine kicking it in our feng shui pensioner's cottage. We love the décor and will try to copy the style in future flats.













York Minster! And free admission for residents!













On Skeldergate Bridge. Two old geezers are feeding the seagulls. Ouze Bridge, our quickest route to the city centre, in the background.













Clifford's Tower in the city centre. This 13th century keep was built atop the mound of William the Conquerer's fortress.