The Flossy Flossy
Keeping it “on the real” the best I can.Archive for travel
Update!
Okay, I have been seriously neglecting this blog–partly because I’ve been lazy, partly because I’ve discovered the joy of keeping a physical journal to write in.
This past week has been hectic, and I can literally see my grades slipping. I got one paper back and in the three grade categories fikk jeg: D/F, F, and N/A. So yeah, I’m redoing that paper.
Lately, I’ve also felt a huge urge to just get out and do something. For the first time, college is an imprisonment. I feel trapped by all this work; there isn’t enough time to go out and explore Ticino, Switzerland, Europe, the world.
But hopefully that urge will be soon appeased, as I will be going to a Natasha St-Pier concert on Wednesday! (To put things into context, Natasha St-Pier was my inspiration to learn French in the first place. I first heard “Un ange frappe à ma porte” on a flight to Hawai’i a 4 years ago, and from there my interest in the francophone world only exponentiated. [That's probably not even a word, but it felt justifiably fitting.]) I am thinking of taking the train after Italian in the morning to Morges and spending the day in either Lausanne or Morges. The concert starts at 20:30, and the only thing I am concerned about is making the train to Zurich (the last train departs at 22:30); and oh yeah–I will be CouchSurfing in Zurich! This will be my first CouchSurfing experience, so I’m very excited for it.
For Thanksgiving, I will be going down to visit min søte Jessica in Vailate. I’ve been talking to her a bit both on Skype and Facebook, and it will be so koselig to see her in person again. And I’m excited to use the Italian that I’ve learned in school, in addition to picking up some new slang as well.
I met Jessica last year as an exchange student in Norway; she lived up in Gol while I lived in Horten. In the beginning, there was a huge language barrier since I couldn’t speak any Italian and neither of us spoke Norwegian, but as the year went by I feel that we have grown closer despite seeing each other very rarely. (It became also much easier to talk with her as she improved both her English and Norwegian immensely.)
I will be taking the train down to Italy Friday, and since she has school during the daytime, the tentative plan is that I will explore Treviglio (the city where she goes to school) by myself during the day before meeting up with her and spending the weekend in Vailate. An attempt at turkey-baking and a visit to an ordentlig Italian discoteca is also planned in the itinerary. All in all, I’m very very excited and it’s going to be wonderful hearing her cheerful voice and seeing her smile again.
The weekend after Thanksgiving, I plan on going to visit Geneva and doing some exploring there. Even though it is the weekend before finals, I figure I will get some studying done on the train there, right?
And after finals (which seems so far away but is in reality very close upon us), I will head up to Alsace to visit Marie Demeulenaere and meet her family before heading back to the US for winter vacation. (Marie was also an exchange student in Norway; she lived up in Asker and we’ve had some great times together along the Oslofjorden.)
Yep, that’s the news. I guess I should write more about current news, but the upcoming plans seem much more exciting. Til neste gang, ha det så lenge!
Why I Travel
I think one of the main reasons I like traveling is not so much for the frivolity of adding to my list of Been-theres, but to escape. In high school, while everyone was worrying about…who knows what everyone worries about–I was secretly planning my getaway from American High. Away from Fremont and its bountiful nothingness. I never felt at place–everyone seemed to have a group they belonged to, and while I flitted between two, I was never truly part of either. It was terrible; I found myself lacking the patience–and interest–to “stick around” and truly be a part of something. It was as if I had been running while everyone else was tusling, or the other way around: everyone else was marching ahead and while I stubbornly and proudly wandered off to find some shade in Vigelandsparken.
I left for Norway, keen on establishing a new life, planting some roots, and leaving American High behind me in the dust. I figured I would keep in touch with whomever I was meant to keep in touch with.
But even across the pond, school was lonesome, and the social scene was brutal. Granted I had a great group of friends outside of school, but I saw them so irregularly that every meeting felt more like a reunion than a casual hangout.
And now I’ve come back to this half of my life which I’ve let wither for a year. A year of casual how-you-doings and how’s-it-goings. If I was untethered before surely I must be floating away this time ’round. It’s strange to look at the photo albums of my old schoolmates: they seem to have so much fun together still, going to events, doing activities, attending concerts. I would be envious, but I know that even if I had been there it wouldn’t have made a different impression on any of us. You can’t force incompatible gears to mesh. To them, I’ll just be Nobody, or maybe if I’m lucky, “out-of-it” Victor. (And in Norway: Hvem? Og om jeg er så heldig, “Greg, han som synger.”)
I’ve always wondered why it was so hard to talk to people my own age. I would say that I do well and feel more at ease with adults–hence my gravitation toward older guys–but I honestly don’t really know if they talk to me out of pity, like when Veronica danced with me in the 7th grade and made me promise not to tell anybody. (Although I can’t say I blame her, judging by the way I was back then.)
And so here I am again, planning my next escape, scared as hell for what I’m plunging into. I’m not scared of things being different; I’m scared of them being the same. That it will still be only me on this road, my only accompaniment the ground of whichever land or country I traverse. To find myself fremdeles out of place in a community where I ought to belong so well to.
If I were lucky like Katherine, hvis jeg hadde vært heldig som Pappà, I would never have the desire to leave where I’d so comfortably set up camp. Am I swatting away these repercussions of dislocation, or am I simply a fool slashing his hands in empty air? I travel to escape my loneliness. I travel to find some place I can belong to.
Bah Humbug, alt handler om penger…
It’s been exactly a week since I came back, and wow, this year abroad has really opened up my eyes, and in a way–made me really critical about this place and its culture. While it’s good to be back and see old faces again, I can’t really say that it’s good to be home, because it doesn’t feel that way. (Not that I have any idea where home is whatsoever. Nineteen years spread across three continents: home doesn’t feel like a relevant term anymore.)
I miss Norway immensely: Sure, there were grim, ensom times, but there was always something to do, it seemed. I could take my bike out and cycle around town, or take the bus to Tønsberg–finding things to do was never a problem. But now I am sitting at “home” finishing off my hunk of Jarlsberg cheese, trying to be content with my life here in Union City in this doldrummy, disconnected interim. While everyone’s taking summer courses. What is up with that?
Anyway, here’s a thought I’ve been entertaining myself with i det siste: If I had a lot of money, I wouldn’t work (duh). I don’t even think I’d go with my old dream and make a record anymore. (That’s a lie. I’d still make a record.) I think I’d just use that money to travel and wander the world. That’s what I’m really feeling right now: an insurmountable feeling of wanderlust. And the shining star on top of the Christmas tree: a month backpacking across Iceland. And I just found out today Icelandair opened up a new route directly from Seattle to Reykjavik. Ohhh…
But with me not having money, and needing money, that would be a problem. In fact, I’ve been so opptatt by these fanciful images of me frolicking across the Icelandic landscape that I’ve totally been disregarding the fact that I am fucking blakk! So it doesn’t look like Iceland will be materializing itself this year. I really need to be focusing on the more important stuff, like trying to get a job in Switzerland (impossible? Well let a fool have his hopes) and applying for a summer position up in Nordkapp. The thing that’s most bothersom is that I have no working experience, which makes me think back: what the hell have I done in the years that I was in high school besides…school? Slik ting…gah!
Wanderlust, Thoughts
I’ve never seen Lost in Translation, but judging from what I’ve heard and read so far, I think it’d be a movie that I’d really like.
The reason I brought it up—have you ever found yourself in the middle of this huge place, with people shuffling past you in every direction, and the only one that seems to be stagnant is you? I love that: stopping still and watching the world move—anyway, the title of the movie always reminds me of that.
So on Saturday I was Lost in Oslo S, in the interim between Xenia and Eric’s departure and my train to Holmestrand. Usually I don’t think too much about Oslo—it’s not an exciting place—but I guess in these last days here you start to appreciate everything a little more. So on Saturday, Oslo S was an exciting place to be: the hustle and bustle of people, all headed to different places—the airport, Drammen, Vestlandet, Sørlandet. But I was going to Holmestrand.
Of all the possibilities, of all the different trains you can take from Oslo Sentralstasjon, I was taking that particular one. (Actually, I ended up taking a replacement bus because of “tog innstilt.”)
I guess what I’m really trying to say is: I have a really bad case of the wanderlust.
I want to go places, see the world, do things. I want to sleep in a Mongolian ger, I want to bike around Iceland, I want to go Scuba diving again. I want to be in those pictures you see in those DK Eyewitness Travel Guides, not just look at them. Ahhh!
Two other thoughts that have been nipping at me i det siste:
1. What if you’re not who you want to be, but who you’re good at being? I mean, let’s say a person is amazingly gifted at computer programming. It’s not shabby right? A computer programmer earns good dough! So let’s say this person has everything it takes to be the next great computer programmer, but: what if it’s not his dream to be the next great computer programmer? What if he really wanted, more than anything, to be a weightlifter? The typical clichéd advice would be to follow his dreams right? But what if he was really scrawny and sucked at weightlifting. What would he do then? Continue doing something he’s really good at but not really agreeable “with,” or pursue something he wants but never achieving the success that he wants? What would you say to him then?
Sometimes, I don’t like the things I do, and there are many qualities about myself which I don’t necessarily agree with. But I would never want to be a second-rate version of somebody else, even if I admire them profusely.
2. 这个산쟈오…
I’m not even sure what my true intentions are anymore. I know what my role is and what is appropriate and not, but I’m dancing dangerously along the edge and I’m not sure if I can even control myself. When does this stop becoming “no strings attached?” I will not let passion undermine my morality; I have more respect for myself than that.
PS: There was no appropriate place to integrate this into any of the above so I’ll just write it here.
Etter jeg kom hjem på søndag sykla Mamma, Pappa og jeg ned til en privat strand for å se på solnedgangen, grille marshmallows og feire St. Hans (Midsummer) med Hans-Ingar, Christina og Henning.
Og formiddagen idag tok vi våre kajakker ut til den samme stranden og paddla sammen med Mariëtte rundt Mellomøya og Løvøya. Det var kjampedeilig med sjokolade og bølgane.
Solitudine
The new question these days is, “When are you leaving? Are you looking forward to leaving?” I’m always at a loss for words when people ask me that. Am I looking forward to leaving? Yes, I’m looking forward for school to end; I’m looking forward to not having to sit alone in a classroom at lunchtime twiddling with my iPod. I so look forward to having a long, intimate chat with someone I care about and someone who reciprocates my feelings. I’m looking forward to feeling welcomed again. So yes, I am looking forward to getting out of Horten.
But how I am here, I can’t really lie to myself. I’ve roundabouted. I had high hopes in coming here, to make great friends with the Norwegians, to establish myself and immerse myself in their world. I wanted to fit in. But now I realize that the life I had created for myself here is not different than the one I wanted to flee from last year, give or take a few extraneous factors. I try not to have the same expectations for Switzerland; I can’t be quite sure that I won’t.
And perhaps this is it. Perhaps I’m not so much disappointed with this experience as I am with the realization that no matter what city, country, continent I find myself on, I can’t escape the loneliness of my own existence. I guess that’s the most upsetting thing.
I said I could never understand those people who want to live in the same city they grew up in; I think I do now. It’s a blissful life that I can never lead, because the only time I feel truly at ease is when I’m moving.
