#strandvik

I wake up early and take my morning coughing fit outside to avoid waking the house. 20 breath seeking minutes later my lungs decide they are sufficiently clear and I settle into my now routine dessert breakfast/lunch. I take it easy while Charly drives to the ferry to pick up the two new workawayers.

The mid 20’s French Canadian couple arrives and look a little bewildered. I can empathize having taken the similar drive just a few days ago. They quietly introduce themselves in a thick french accent and I immediately forget both of their names. We all stand around awkwardly looking at each other while I attempt to make some conversation. Efforts failing I take them on the condensed version of the tour as though I am some sort of spokesman. They don’t say a whole lot and even though they are fellow countrymen I still need to use my slow basic english that is becoming the only way I can speak. I fear for my return to the english speaking world.

This is their first workaway so they don’t seem quite sure what to do with themselves and Charly and Systa don’t really have a plan or an agenda or a timeline or a schedule or any of the things that help to orient them in their new work/living arrangement. So I wander from room to room devising a work back plan and inform the team what’s going to happen. It is today that I get upgraded to ‘supervisor’ and start commanding the troops. We sort through boxes and boxes of cables, electronics, circuit boards, hard drives, laptops, scrap metal, kids toys, antique electronics etc.

A few hours later Charly tells me to drive the 2 new Canadians to the nearby bird sanctuary island while they take the trash to the next town. We wander around for an hour or so making light conversation but it doesn’t flow very well. All I really want right now is to be sarcastic and make a quip that someone gets and doesn’t correct me thinking I’m not understanding their english. I want to complain and commiserate. I want to talk nonsense about nothing and find it hilarious. I want to judge things! Is traveling forcing me to be a better person? Is not being able to use complex english forcing me to use more authentic forms of communicating? Is it making me nicer? What is happening to me!?!

Anyways, I kindly offer to show them the village and we stop just in time to see an old man on the pier reeling in a feisty pollack. If I had to guess the man’s accent it would be a mix between Australian, Scottish, Norwegian and part hearing aid shoutian.

I start the day with a coffee and write a blog entry. Fueled by a healthy breakfast/lunch of pastry and cookies I start my day of sorting, sniffling, shuffling and sneezing. Systa is at work today so I am hauling out the majority of the garage on the my own and figuring out what to do with it. When I ask Charly a question he tends to change the subject and take me to see something like a pretty flower, a family of ants or will tell me about a plan he has for the garden. I see the wandering hippy spirit in him.

Later in the afternoon we drive 1/2 hour to Systa’s recycling place and drop off a ton of packing materials, mainly packing peanuts. I have never seen anyone so torn about giving up a styrofoam bits. We manage to get rid of it all but end up taking back a steel railing, 3 nested side tables and 3 other mystery boxes that she didn’t want me to see. 3 steps forward, 2 steps back, but still progress. Oh, and we also collect 2 single mattresses for the 2 new workawayers arriving tomorrow. It is then I am informed this is where they got my bed. I take a deep breathe, remind myself this isn’t New York and there are no bed bugs. It is fine. No biggie. Just don’t think about it.

Charly drove me around to look at some of the local highlights or as he puts it ‘tourist stuff’. First up was the Jettegryter, otherwise known as the holes a hard swirling stone makes in softer stone over millions of years. We stop at a channel in between two fjords and watch the trout jump for the flies as the sun starts to set. This is followed by a stop at an old Viking church from 1200 called Holdhus Kyrkje.

On the drive home Charlie’s new diabetes monitor keeps beeping to tell him his levels are low so he keeps shoveling in cookies and apple juice. He warns me that when his blood sugar gets low that he gets very quiet and loopy. A reassuring thought as we are driving along the windy mountain roads. Eventually we stop for an emergency chocolate bar and all is well.

Since I don’t know the morning routine yet I silently start off with some instant coffee and a self-guided tour of the greenhouse with Emile the sheepdog in tow. My hosts come downstairs around noon and Systa makes pancakes while Charly starts to give the tour. He point out every tree, berry bush and piece of stone, all of which have stories to go with them. He has many plans that he wants to do ‘someday’, Japanese gardens, fences, stonework, sitting areas, kitchens, mezzanines, porches, overhands, storage spaces, hidden bunkers, etc.

In addition to the big greenhouse he also has a two car garage, large storage room below, tiny greenhouse and another tool shed. Now yesterday, on our drive together, he mentioned briefly that his girlfriend was a bit of a collector and that she worked part-time at a recycling center. I didn’t think a whole of it at first but now I understand. The rooms are PACKED with reclaimed treasures that someone might want or might be valuable someday. They both look at me with a knowing smile and a joke about ‘the American TV show, Hoarders” is made. After two hours of potential projects I can tell they don’t quite know what to do with me or where to start and in this moment I know exactly why I’m here.

Immediately I start suggesting how we can set up the rooms, organize the spaces and start prodding to see how willing they are part with things. I enquire why they need 37 old laptops and I’m told its to mine for the gold and silver parts. Why do you need 4 sewing machines? “Someone might want them”. Why do you need 13 french horns? “Someone gave them to us and they are nice looking”. I can see I have my work cut out for me but immediately get into my bossy mode and get to work.

We spend about 8 hours sorting piles of misc stuff, moving boxes, sorting everything into recyclable categories. It’s funny how individually they both say the other one is the bigger collector and how they’ve been wanting to get rid of things for years but they argue it so stopped trying. I have to laugh because this is a very common occurrence anytime I’ve done this with other people. I think I play more of a therapist/mediator than an organizer.

We haven’t really eaten since pancakes at noon so we sit down for a pre-dinner snack of more pancakes around 8:00. Systa begins making pulled beef dish for dinner. Charly takes me on a walk around the property, points out various islands, plants, farms, animal tracks and the big glacier in the distance. There is always one more “I want to show you…”. I can certainly tell the difference between being their first workawayer instead of their 47th. They are very keen on sharing informations, giving me local foods to try and also showing me the sights. It’s nice.

We sit down to a spicy beef dish that translates to ‘old clothes’ at 11:30. After dinner as I am about to collapse in my bed, Charly asks if I want to go for a walk ‘later’ and my first questions is “How later?”. He tells me there is a special meteor shower tonight so we walk around in the dark with Emile while he points how houses he’s built, we talk politics and religions with shooting stars overhead.

The night was as expected, an endless parade of bunkmates rolling their ginormous overstuffed suitcases or tipsily crashing into things as they returned. My favorite though was around 3am when the blonde one stood in the open doorway macking on a dude while occasionally stopping just long enough to peer into the room, undoubtedly to assess the chances of getting lucky in her bunk. Luckily the outspoken American below me put an end to that with a curt “Get out and shut the door!”. With the heat, head cold, fear of missing my flight and 2 iPhone with forgotten early morning alarms on full blast I did not start the day feeling my best.

I grab the free hostel breakfast and watch in amazement as the guy in front of me loads up his tray with enough food to feed a family. Seriously. 4 slice of bread, 4 kaiser rolls, 4 apples, 2 oranges,1 pear, 4 hard boiled eggs, about 30 slices of lunch meat, 15 slices of cheese, 1 tomato, 1/2 cucumber, bowl of yogurt, bowl of cereal, juice and coffee. I can only hope that he was planning on squirreling away for lunch but it made it very clear to me why at most hostels free breakfasts consist of toast and cereal only.

Traveling in the EU is much less stressful than North Americe, they don’t treat you like you’re a terrorist. In fact, not once during in the day, in 3 countries, was I asked to show any sort of ID. I’m grateful for the prompt flights and generally easy journey as I feeling like death. I managed to sleep on every bench and available chair I came in contact with but with my current sinus issues was unable to regulate my ear pressure. If you’ve ever flown while sick you know how painful it can be. When I landed in Copenhagen I could only hear at about 30%. In the bathroom stall, tired, overheated, deaf and only able to breathe from my mouth I blow my nose with substantial force. I almost pass out and have to grab the stall door for support. The sound of my eardrum squealing to release the pent up pressure can only be described as a scratching record playing the sound of a car that needs a new fan belt.

I regain some hearing in time to eavesdrop on a conversation between some americans who have just met and the middle aged man in a wheel chair with his family tells the younger couple “I’ll give you 5 guesses why I’m paralyzed”. The look on the face of the young guy was terror and confusion at the suggestion but with the eager urging of the family and 5 clues later we find out it was from a common flu shot, just 4 years ago. I immediately make a mental note to avoid all flu shots.

10 travel hours later, I arrive in Bergen, Norway to find my workaway host Charly waiting for me. He looks like an older hippie version of Weird Al Yankovic. He speaks very quietly in an accent with mixed parts Norweigan, Argentian, German and hippie. With my once again plugged ears I struggle to understand why his is carrying a large king crab in a plastic bag. After a few attempts I ascertain that he randomly ran into a fisherman friend from Finmark at the airport who gave him it as a gift. This is a theme that continues throughout the day.

I meet the very large, very shaggy and also very wet sheep dog Emile when we get to the car. He is shooed from the front seat where I am left with a very wet seat cover to settle into. I can feel the wet dog water soaking into my jeans as Charly and I settle into the always awkward get-to-know-you chit chat that happens when you are sizing up the person you are about to share a home with. Feeling like a pile of sheepdog shit I give a valiant effort to be cheerful and interested in what is being said to me for the 1.5 hour drive to his village of Strandvik.

Charly is very kind, full of stories and eager to show me around. First stop is  monastery ruins from the 1200’s then one of last remaining workshops still creating traditional viking boats called, Oselvars. A historic hotel, a farm owned previously owned by the first Prime Ministers of Norwary and a small botanic garden. With the sights seen we pull up to the ferry just in time to see it pull away. In that moment all I can think is “What. No. Noo! I’m so tired. Sleep… ”. Out of sheer necessity I rally and we chit chat for 40mins until the ferry returns. Almost every person we see or building we pass he has a story to tell which I am most grateful for as I am not a great conversationalist at this point.

We drive through 2 or 3 tiny villages before we get to Strandvik which is a most picturesque village on the Bjørnafjorden. It has one shop and one small restaurant and about 200 inhabitants. Every house we pass was either once inhabited by one of Charlies family members or currently occupied by a good friend. I get a quick tour before we get to the old timber house which once belonged to the mayor of the one of the towns but had to be taken down to build a wider road. It was given to Charly and he rebuilt on his property (He’s a carpenter). This is the main house, but there is also a garage and a very large greenhouse that has multiple coi ponds, aquaponics, and general living room space. The view of the fjord is amazing.

Around 10:00 I meet his girlfriend of nearly 40 years whom I can call Shista or Kirsten, whichever I can pronounce better. She has long white hair, is more timid than Charly and I think a little more weary of a stranger in her home. Having not eaten dinner yet we sit down for bread and a medley of Norwegian spreads and schmears. Cod fish caviar from a tube, traditional ‘brown cheese’, liver pate, prawn mayo, beet mayo, mayo, cream cheese and a bevy of jams. And the fresh king crab. I think I will be able to reclaim my scurvy status here.

We chat until around midnight, when I excuse myself to go to sleep thinking it a reasonable bedtime but they look a little surprised  and inform me that they don’t usually get up until 11/noon so if I’m up ‘early’ to just help myself to breakfast.