Coming to Oslo

I will skip the ten hour plane trip from San Francisco. It was as normal as one could expect. I was sitting next to a nice young woman from Oakland who had just graduated in Theater from UCLA. We mostly kept to ourselves but conversed a few times along the way. I watched a bundle of films as there was no Internet service. I would like to say that I finally fell asleep, but I didn't. Maybe it was the great espresso that I had in San Francisco with Truckee and Donna. Maybe I was just excited to be going on a trip again. But the plane came in on time, and I thought enough to order meals on board which was very nice. I am still debating whether I should review Norwegian Airlines.

Somewhere between 1 pm and 2 pm London time the plane arrived. I looked at my ticket: Boarding for London to Olso at 18:20. Plane leaves at 19:10- six hours to kill before boarding. It was then that I should have written in my blog, but I didn't have so much to say. I was now nodding in and out and perhaps managed to get an hour's sleep.  I hung out at the far end of the South Terminal, because there were a lot of Norwegian flights there and a big line of phone chargers. There was an Italian girl next to me, waiting for the flight that never came- back home. She was seeing a (perhaps new) boyfriend in New York City, and was exhausted like me.  She finally went to the Norwegian Airline people who told her flight was canceled, but would be taking off at 1 am in the morning. She was in tears. I felt bad.

My flight to Oslo turned out to be 20 minutes late. Also either Gatwick or Norwegian has the annoying habit of not telling the gate until 15 minutes before loading. I got an unvarified tip early that our terminal would be 15. It turns out that it was Terminal 3. The flight took an hour and 15 minutes to land in Oslo. Immigration passport checkers were as nice as could be. I had to dodge dozens of high school students and instruments to get my bags, but it didn't take long, and a bus was waiting out side. The Information desk was helpful.  The ATM was easy and the bus left within minutes of the time I got on. The airport must be about 30 miles from the city. From the air I could see lots of mountains, lakes and forests between the city and the airport. By midnight I was approaching DeLucca Dele where my keys were being held by Sharebox.no.

The boxes are meant to be opened from your phone.  I had all the information, but there were no numbers on the boxes and no ability to anything without Internet. The deli had Internet, but the clerk later told me that it didn't work, which was why I couldn't get the keys from the box. Finally the clerk let me use his phone, and I called the customer service number of Sharebox. They were able to remotely deliver my keys and send me on my way.

Now I had an address- 56 Collette's Gate (pronounced "gotta" meaning street in Norwegian). Again the clerk at the deli looked it up on his phone and pointed me in the right direction- north. It was suppose to be five or 10 minutes away, but I walked 10 minutes and didn't  find the street. (Note: it's 45 minutes past midnight.)  I backtracked and interrupted a couple making googly eyes at each other. The guy looks it up on his phone and sends me in the other direction.  I walking now farther in the other direction- South and when she looked at her phone, she was about to send me even farther south. She did come up with the bright idea of calling a cab. He did seem to know what he was doing, but I wasn't sure at the time, because it was dark and I certainly couldn't see the numbers.

It was tricky because the street curved in a totally different direction after a big thoughfare, but I was hopeful. I think that is where my negative thinking started. The cab left and I went to the front door and it was bells for eight apartments. None of them had the name of my host on it. I am thinking "Even if I get in and this is the place, how in the heck am I going to figure out what apartment it is?"There were two locks and I tried them both and was convinced neither fit.

I am now thinking that I am not on Collette's Gate anymore and start walking up the hill. It is probably after 1 am and there are still people around- regular people- nice people and out of the shadows walks this guy, and I am in a really dark part of the street. He says, "Sure, I'll help you."
"I live on Collette's Gate- and his place was right across the street. He tried his phone and it was dead. We tried his Internet on my iPad when we got to his door. He wanted not to wake his girlfriend so we did every thing outside. For some reason I  couldn't call my host Hans.

He went inside, got another iphone called Hans, spoke to him in Norwegian, confirmed that we had the right place. Then he actually walked me to the door to make sure that I could get it. What a guy!
Sure enough the key worked and on the inside of one of the mailboxes inside the door weren't the names Hans and Suzanne. I shook hands with my helper friend and thanked him perfusely. Hans texted my friend that the flat was on the fourth floor on the left side- how would I have ever found that. I find myself finally ready to sleep. I am greatful for the kindness that I have been the receiver of in my first few hours in Oslo, Norway.

Anybody Out There? An Update

I have had this blog for perhaps ten years and it has gone through various stages. It has been at least 2 years since I have written anything on it, and it came as a bit of a surprise that I have at least a few readers. I made it a travelogue, because that is the time where I do the most unfettered writing. I believe that I stopped on my second day in China. I did write the entire time, and perhaps at some point will publish what I wrote. I will be no surprise that the Great Wall and the Terra Cotta Army at Xian were high points.

I also took a trip to San Miguel Allende about a year ago and took a one week painting class. I found the painting class challenging partially because my teacher was always emphasizing basics, and I think that I felt like I had "done the basics".  I am certainly open to the possibility that I have missed some things along the way. It is actually a surprise email from Felicia Rice that causes me to begin again.  Her dad and mom, Ray and Miriam Rice were close friends of my uncle, John Lynch and his wife, Phyllis. John and Ray were part of the 1948- 1949 class at Bellas Artes in San Miguel.

I think some of my blog posts discuss this school. Ray and John created a mural somewhere in San Miguel, and when I was there, I tried to track it down, but with no success. I have some drawings that John did and a photo of him working on the mural. If I am not mistaken, it was Ray's mural, as I believe he was the one studying with David Alfaro Siqueiros.  You definitely should see his unfinished mural in Belles Artes. I believe that I have written here the reason that it was never finished.

For five years I have been participating in Sebastopol's Art at the Source, an opportunity for artists to show their work to the public. I decided to take a year off- for many reasons. Perhaps I will devote a post to those reasons, but not today. Suffice it to say that I have enjoyed the break, and I am trying to take a fresh approach to my drawing and painting. I have just started a portrait of my older son. If I like it, I will post it here, when I finish. I fortunately still have a few fans of my painting, most notably, Harvey Mandelson at the Red Shoes Gallery.  I have been watching many YouTube videos both about artists and technique. I love the resource.

I am three weeks away from another trip to Europe. This June I will be visiting 3 countries that I have not been to: Norway, Sweden and Denmark. Then I will take a week in Berlin. It may be that my next post I will be writing from one of those places.