The Art of Awkward

Finally, I can feel good about my shopping. Enriched even. After all, the Grand Bazaar is six centuries old, and who am I to pass up a historical experience?

The Grand Bazaar has nearly 60 lanes with 4,000 shops selling almost entirely the same items – gaudy gold, factory made pottery, hookahs, leather goods, fake purses and scarves. Rinse and repeat. The Bazaar involves heavy negotiating, and only a sucker would pay full price. (This is called foreshadowing, ladies and gentlemen.)

My first foray into negotations is tepid at best. I manage to negotiate a couple lousy lira off a sheep. (Felt sheep. Although buying the baah baah kind would certainly add merriment to my sister’s house this holiday season.)

I then hone in on the scarves. I confidently ask the price believing my negotation skills on par with a UN treaty broker. He wants $10, and I demand $6. He snorts and walks away. I am ready for this game. I too will walk away. Slowly. Ever so slowly. To my disbelief, he is letting me walk away from the best scarf I have ever known. Doesn’t he know what he had? What we had, the scarf and me.

I am crushed. I am dejected. I am in the biggest pit of despair.

I try my hand again with another scarf. I make the purchase (a frothy pink scarf that will look excellent against grey), but again only knock a few scant lira off the price.

I decide to try my hand with clutches. He asks for $15, I say I’d take $9. This translates into him thinking I’d take NINE clutches. A comedy of errors as he fetches more and more clutches. But it leaves me shaken, so I take it at full price.

At this point my negotation skills are so shaky, If I were an actual hostage negotiator, I’d probably be offering to send over more hostages instead of getting them back.

“Ok, so we’ll give you 10 million dollars AND we’ll throw in an extra 10 Americans. And a tote bag, free of charge!”

I give it one last chance.

“How much?”

“35.”

“I’ll take it for 20,” and this time I’m resolute. I’m running low on lira.

“30. Your eyes are so beautiful. Where do you get them from?”

“Your mother or your father?”

“Ummm…my mother?” This isn’t true in the least. I look like the postman’s child, and my sister repeatedly told me I was.

“Your eyes are so beautiful and will look lovely with the scarf. I’ll give you the scarf for $20.”

Now herein lies the problem. The scarf is hideous, and I finally got around to realizing it. I do not want this scarf. So Mehmet (or MattMatt as I hesitantly pronounced it) sent around someone to look for it in black and white.

“What are you doing tonight?”

“Drinks with a friend!” And by drinks with a friend, I mean sitting by myself in my hotel room, eating Toblerone and trying to get the courage to grab dinner by myself.

“Forget the friend. Call me, and we’ll do dinner or drinks,” he whispers into my ear. And thus, he invades the 10 inches of space I like to reserve for the Holy Spirit.

He then proceeds to hand me his card, which shows the longest pinkie nail I’ve ever seen. Either he is a forgotten member of the Lost Boys or he is shoveling a lot of coke into his nostrils.

I say I’ll call him and leave with my scarf of questionable taste.

And that concludes the Grand Bazaar portion of this trip. Shopping here is similar to gambling in Vegas. The house always wins, and the consolation prizes offer little comfort.

In the Scandinavian countries, everyone speaks English. Everyone. I have yet to meet a true Norsk who doesn’t speak practically perfect English. This makes it immensely easier to navigate foreign cities by yourself. Yet, there are a thousand Awkward American moments occuring daily.

It can’t be helped. While I can frantically Google whether you tip the waiters in Oslo, I didn’t even think to look for a ticket system similar to the DMV at the Opera houses. You pull a ticket, and then you get to go to a window at the box office. While I was thinking, “Come on, Norway…get a move on,” they were patiently waiting for their number to appear. This ticketing system is everywhere from the baker to the post office.

Europeans use coins for literally significant chunks of change. My first approach was not to bother with coins until I learned that many exchange agents won’t accept coins. So that was an expensive mistake. Now I sit there flipping through coins while the sales clerk or street vendor stares on in exasperation and disbelief. And stares on. And stares on.

“Is this a five? I think I have a two. What was the total again?”

“Why don’t I count it out for you?,” the postal clerk in Copenhagen asked.

Yes, why don’t you just count it out for me?

I can’t read maps. I had forgotten this because of the iPhone. I’d use my iPhone, but I can’t get it to work the majority of time. So I stare at maps and misread maps. Sometimes people come over to assist me.

“Can I help you find something?”

“I’m looking for the Church.”

“I think you just need to turn around.”

“Yes, alright then. Well thank you.”

Movie theaters come with assigned seating, which wouldn’t be hard to navigate if I knew the Norwegian words for row, seat and theatre. Operas have assigned coat check stands. A thousand minor frustrations a day face me, and I have no one to bounce off whether I’m headed in the right direction or not. But I’m facing these frustrations in Europe! Instead of a job and somehow that makes it all bearable.

My Copenhagen hostel has the audacity to charge for WiFi by the hour, so I’ll upload most of my pictures at a later point. Also? You can follow my adventures at 90 Days in Europe and Everlater!

Stockholm was my first religious pilgrimage. Birthplace of IKEA & H&M, I got to visit the country where it all began. I was practically shaking with anticipation as I dumped my bags at my hostel and asked reception to help me find the nearest shops. Religious fervor is a terrific adrenaline, I tell you. In addition, to H&M, Stockholm is also home of cult favorites Cheap Monday jeans and Acne. I’m not skinny enough for Cheap Monday, and my pocketbook isn’t big enough for Acne. But when visiting shrines shops, it’s ok to look and just touch. Even if you don’t get to bring everything home you want with you, it’s a worthy cross to bear. I did get a fabulous cape at Zara. Like Batman, but with style. Zara is actually Spanish, but that is neither here nor there.

So did I do anything but cavort around in shops that carry the exact same items that can be found in Chicago, New York and LA? Actually, yes.

My first full day I practically skipped with anticipation to take the ferry to Drottingholm, the best of the Swedish royal places.

“Does the next ferry leave at 12 pm?,” I asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “On May 1st.”

Well then.

So I visited Radhuset, which is where they hold the Nobel Ceremony on Dec. 10. In a complicated Scandinavian twist, they announce the awards in Oslo and hold the ceremony in Stockholm. Albert Nobel had roots in both countries, and it seems to be a point of tension that neither country owns it entirely. Thankfully, they award something called the Peace Prize, so now Obama can get in there and sort it all out. Interestingly enough, it also showcased the China setting they use at the ceremony. This setting must be quite a point of pride as I saw it four more times. If you meet a Swede, be sure to compliment them on the place setting. You’ll be a big hit, I assure you.

I also visited Gamla Stan, which is their old city, complete with cobbled streets, and every tourist shop possible. Gamla Stan also holds the official palace for royal family. It’s like a second place palace for those tourists who missed the May ferry for Drottingholm. I got to see the official state rooms and the crown jewels. And pick up multiple postcards of Prince Carl Phillip. While the crown jewels are a yawn compared to others, their royal family rates a 10 in looks. Their national gallery holds late nights on Tuesdays. Swedes aren’t apparently aware of this, as I was pretty much the only one there most of the time. Well and the guards who followed me around, convinced I was up to no good.

My hostelmates this time around were lovely Americans, Kelly and Bridget, and they introduced me to fellow travelers. This was a highlight, and renewed my faith in hostels. Jeremy, Jonathan and Jess worked hard to convince me that hostels were the only way to go, and the best way to meet interesting people. Jeremy, Jonathan and Jess aren’t aware of my limited and rudimentary people skills.

We were also informed by Oscar, a Swede, that New Zealand (home of Jonathan) is the world’s best place and Colorado second. This declaration being the result of New Zealand being the home of Jermaine and Colorado being home of South Park. Colorado represent! We bonded over the magnificence of Casa Bonita.

My new friends and I went the next day to Vasa Museum. Everyone recommended the Vasa Museum to me. EVERYONE. It didn’t disappoint. It is a ship they received from the 1600s that sunk in its initial sail around the harbor, as it was too top heavy. It was straight Pirate of the Carribeans with some of the best exhibits I’ve ever seen in a museum. We went back to Gamla Stan to pick up some boots Jess wanted. Then we literally couldn’t leave the island of Gamla Stan as the Russian president was visiting the palace, and they weren’t letting anyone off. Dmitri apparently required that tourists not be allowed to walk across bridges. Pedestrians walking across bridges are a horrible threat akin to traveling with more than 3 oz of liquids. Once we voted Dmitri off the island, I went to see a performance of Coppelia at the Operan, and then met everyone back up for drinks. Their performance of Coppelia was an awesome twist, and really well done.

I was determined to make my last full day count, so I made it to three museums and their gardens. Everyone said I must visit Skansen, an open air museum, but in the off season, it’s not that great. Similar to the Norsk Folkemuseum, it has all these houses or ways to show how Swedes lived thru the ages. It was deserted, and meh in the winter. They also had animals, who seemed miserable to me. The seals, or as my friend Bruce refers to them, the big fat sausages of the sea, were kept in this gross, dirty green water. I was ready to cause an international incident and lead them on a march to the sea, but Bruce assured me that as long as they’re wet and fed, I should save my international instances for another time. I also made it to the Nordiska Museum, which had great exhibits on the Swedish culture and history. I did a cultural driveway of the Nobel Museum too.

And that kids concludes the religious pilgrimage of this trip. I definitely recommend Stockholm if you get the chance. Currently in Copenhagen and Istanbul on Sunday. Hit me up with any recs. if you have them!

View of the Oslo Opera House from the ramp that leads to the roof

Oslo was a whim. I read an article about how Norway was on the uptake due to its income from oil several years ago, and it stuck in my head. Norway is actually the fourth largest oil producing country in the world. Who knew? Well I guess the Scandinavians. At the time of the article, they were building one of the top opera houses in the world, and I put it on a mental to-do list of things I thought I’d never actually see.

Oslo and I got off to a rocky start due to my hostile hostel situation (blog post to come). But we recovered nicely, and I fell in like with the city.

As I did with Reykjavik, I spent the first night walking all along, until I was too tired to go any further. (For concerned family members reading at home, I turn around if it starts to feel too deserted.) I love getting lost in each new city. Which is convenient, as I can’t read maps very well, and am not able to use my iPhone easily. There is something about walking along cobbled roads glistening with rain and around every corner is a cathedral or courtyard or…H&M. In this case, you can take Karl Johans Gate, a pedestrian road, from the main train station to the palace, which isn’t gated. Then I walked to Aker Byrgge, a redone shopping complex on the edge of the shipyard. People are still sitting outside, cuddling up in fur skins with candlelight, and it looks cozy.

Hansel and Gretel came out and served me cookies at the Norsk Folkemuseum

Day two was touristville. I hit up the Norsk Folkemuseum. Think Colonial Williamsburg, with less Colonialists and more Norsks. It recreated all these different houses and periods of living from before the Vikings to current. The tour guides say to spend half a day here. Let’s Go Elaine says spend an hour if it’s winter and muddy, and no one else is around. That said, Stave Church (a type of Medieval wood and beam Church) was an incredible sight to see. The second

And then at the Norsk Folkemuseum Vikings came out and plundered Hansel and Gretel (ok, not really...)

stop was the Viking museum with ships dating from 900 AD. I have no idea how they actually plundered villages with those boats. No motors to be seen. I then walked down the rest of Bygdoy Peninsula to the Ron Tiki museum. To discover the Ron Tiki museum was closed. *Shakes fist*

The Norwegian bars close at 3:30 am, so the fanny back brigade and I owned the streets of Oslo, when we hit the streets at 9:30 am on Sunday. Nary an authentic Scandinavian in site. I spent the morning at the Askershus fortress overlooking the harbor and then got very lost en route to the sculpture park. And then got very lost in the sculpture park.

And then I did a very American thing before the ballet. I went to National Gallery with 45 minutes before closing, and I asked to see The Scream. I hate when people tear into art museums trying to check off pieces of art off a to-do list without seeing anything else. I don’t intend to do cultural drive bys frequently, but it was a dash-and-see or miss seeing it forever. Fun fact: two versions of The Scream have been stolen and recovered.

Oslo Opera House

Norwegians treat the Opera house as an all-hours playground, which is because you can walk up a giant ramp to the roof and walk around. The roof holds 8,000 and they hold performances there as well too. After the performance, the mist was rising from the harbor and the opera house was aglow. It was one of the most romantic activities I’ve ever undertaken. By myself. And I should know, since I’m single a lot, I do a lot of romantic activities. By myself.

The performance I attended was, “A Evening of Dance With Nacho Duato.” The title

Wall Inside the Oslo Opera House

seemed akin to a movie Will Ferrell would star in, along the lines of Blades of Glory. And…the opening sequence began with dancers in near tighty-whities and ended with the dancers pouring sand on themselves and the stage. But, the ballet dancers were beautiful and incredibly athletic. Even if it did veer a little too close to performance art for my unsophisticated taste. Needed less sand, more Jon Heder.

The next morning I got to a later start then I meant to and had to forgo the ferry ride I planned on taking. But I got to have coffee with a college friend, Erin Riley, who is currently living in Oslo. I only found out about a week ago that she was in Oslo, and unfortunately, she was at an Athens conference for most of the weekend. But it was great to catch up and grab travel tips.

I wish I had more time to see the outer cities of Norway.

As children, my parents, specifically my father, was obsessed with all things Christmas. The Christmas Tree and all its trimmings was always put up the Friday after Thanksgiving, a ceremony embraced with joy until my sister and I caught onto the fact we had ungodly amounts of Christmas paraphernalia and that putting it all up took the better part of eight hours. No amount of egg nog or even incense and myrrh could incite me and my sister to grasp Christmas decorating with joy.

My father’s proclivity towards Christmas harnessed itself throughout the year as my father would proclaim to my mother, “Maureen, this would make a fantastic Christmas ornament.”  The definition of fantastic had only two requirements – you could stab it with a hook and it was small enough to somehow fit on the tree.

One year as a child of six, we were vacationing in DisneyWorld, and while sitting down to a meal at Little Mexico in Epcot, my dad snatched the straw toy giraffe from my McMexico meal out of my small chubby fingers. After all, he told my sister and I, they would make fantastic ornaments.

The debris that ended up on our tree created a dazzling sight as our tree tipped more to the right year after year. It was a Chrismukkah miracle that the tree never actually tipped. Towards the end of the tree decorating ceremony, we’d hang each ornament while holding our breath in, waiting for tree to collapse on our Lhaso Apso puppy hanging under the branches. We had wind up toys, childhood art projects, neighborhood children’s art projects, Hallmark ornaments galore, baby’s first Christmas and baby’s 16th Christmas ornaments and ornaments from every place we traveled.

My own adult Christmas proclivities have leaned strongly towards the minimalist side. I only decorate with the lobster my sister gave me. If you don’t recall the meaning of the Christmas lobster, please refer to “Love Actually.” One of the children proudly proclaims to her mother that she plays the part of Lobster number one in the nativity scene. To which her mother responds, “I didn’t realize that there was more than one lobster present at the birth of Baby Jesus.”

And thus, Lobster #1 is my only Christmas decoration.

Until now.

I’ve decided to find an ornament in each city to commemorate the trip. Ornaments seemed the perfect tourist oddity to collect since nothing makes you reconsider big purchases like having to strap your purchases onto your back along with the rest of your belongings for three months.

Someday, I too, will also possess a Christmas tree covered in oddities that tips far more than the law of  gravity realistically allows. My first purchases for this future tree includes a cookie cutter and a key chain. Dad would be proud.

From my sister:

So this morning Xander was playing with his new calculator/phone he got in his happy meal. So I pick it up and I said, “Hi? Aunt Elaine? How are you? I miss you…..Uh-huh….you want to talk to Xander? Okay here he is” So Xander got on the “phone” and said, “What? What? What? What? What? What? What did you say? Oh. Oh. Oh. Huh? FUCK!”

I’m just wondering in your imaginary conversation what the heck you said to him to say fuck.

I think Xander was referencing the Paula Abdul story myself.

For various reasons involving technical incompetence, I can’t upload my photos yet. You can see my photos from my iPhone on my Tumblr, 90 Days in Europe.

First stop on the trip is Reykjavik, Iceland. It’s pronounced rek-je-vik, but I was going with ray-jav-ick for a good month. Say it with enough confidence and people wonder if they’ve been pronouncing it wrong.

When booking a flight to Oslo, they had a two-hour layover in Reykjavik, and I thought, why not make it a two-day layover.

With only 300,000 people, Iceland is one of the most educated countries in the world. It also used to be one of the wealthiest until the economic crisis and the country Bernie Madoff-ed everyone. Wikipedia declares, “Iceland’s banking collapse is the largest suffered by any country in economic history.” Not to make light of an awful situation, but doesn’t it sound like the entire country should be on sale? Like a giant outlet of a country? As in, “Yes, I would like to purchase your parliament building for $25.” But the plus side IS a weaker Iceland Krona and a government really encouraging tourism.

Visit Iceland also taught me that, “Team handball is a sport which is popular on continental Europe, but has yet to catch on in America. It is the team sport in which Iceland has achieved the most success, including a fourth place finish at the LA Olympics in 1984.” Well done Iceland. Also? When I ran junior varsity cross country in high school, I once had a 356th place finish. And now we are equally impressed with each others sports cred. Which is to say not at all.

The Infamous Northern Lights in Iceland. That I didn't see. But they sure look nice.

One of the most exciting aspects to me was that I would get to see the Northern Lights in Iceland. Yet one blog had the foresight to warn me, “Okay, listen. We’re really, really sorry, but we have to tell you something. The northern lights are not really on all the time.” So I was hoping to do a tour with Reykjavik Excursions the first night but the chances of seeing them were slim, so the tour was canceled. While walking around Reykjavik the first night, I saw something glowing in the sky that I was hoping would to be the lights. But nope, that was just Yoko Ono’s Imagine Peace tower. First she ruined the Beatles, and now she ruined the Northern Lights for me. Thanks Yoko.

Geysir (photo courtesy of the Geysir Center)

Day two took me on the Golden Circle tour with what I’ve affectionately dubbed the fanny pack brigade. This pretty much all-day tour takes you to one of their geo thermal plants, the Gulfoss waterfall, Geysir, Thingvellir National Park (home of one of the first European parliaments and you also get to see the Great Atlantic Rift. For all of you not paying attention to Mr. Smiley in Field Geology, apparently it is a crack between two tectonic plates – the American plate and the Euro-Asian plate.) You can see my pics on Tumblr.

Back to the fanny pack brigade. I have a long history of listening to my music so loudly you can hear what I’m listening to from far away. At one point during the tour, a motherly type turns to me and loudly says, “Ahhh….Paula Abdul.”

Busted.

Now, I am NOT a Paula Abdul fan. I just really love the violin intermission in “Rush, Rush.” But as she danced around singing lyrics, “Straight Up Now Tell Me,” I felt marked. I was a Paula Abdul loving American in inappropriate footwear, and even amongst the fanny pack brigade, there is a place of shame for that person. If only she overheard the next song, “Get Buck in Here” by DJ Felli Fel, I could have retained an ounce of dignity. Life is a cold-hearted snake.

Photo Courtesty of Blue Lagoon

The second night seemed unlikely to field the Northern Lights as well, so I opted for a swim in one of their geothermal pools – the Blue Lagoon. Swimming in these pools are very important to the people living in the country. Four percent of the energy from their geothermal power plants goes to swimming pools, and two percent goes to industry. (Guess who paid attention during the Geothermal plant tour? This blogger!) I like your priorities, Iceland.  Despite it being freezing outside, the pools have these warm currents running through them. It’s like how the pool gets warm in spots when someone pees in the pool, but it’s actually just mother nature here. You also rub this silica mud all over yourself that is supposedly great for your skin. I suspect I’m headed for break out city tomorrow.

How can you not love a country that casually claims that the Icelandic national food is the hot dog? And a delicious one at that. Hot dog stands are all over the city, and are tasty and cheap.

The people of Iceland are uber-friendly. As I sat there staring at my giant blue map with my giant backpack, a universal synonym for either “mug me and take my money” or “can you offer me directions,” the people of Iceland chose the latter. Also, the first time I looked at a geo thermal pool website, I figured they were models and only a couple of people would look that gorgeous. But as I woke up in a pool of my own drool as we were landing, I realized that the people of Iceland are that beautiful. And are probably not impressed with drooly Americans.

Next Stop: Oslo, Norway. Any suggestions?

The beautiful people of Iceland. Who probably don't wake up in their own drool on airplane rides. Photo courtesy of Laugar.

My friend Jacqueline has absolutely been killing it on her blog recently. Jacqueline frequently posts about her culinary adventures. After seeing one of her Orzo salads, I had to make my own. I suspect hers was a lot better. Check her blog to learn how to do braised pork loin, apple pie, chicken tortilla soup and other amazing treats. And I’ve been dreaming about her chocolate mousse for a week.

Chocolate Mousse (photo courtest of Jacqueline Malan)

Several of my friends have gotten engaged recently (congrats Laura, Liz and Kristy!) and had amazing heartfelt proposals. Proposals in French, trips to Seattle and Napa. Incredible. But this proposal really struck a chord in my heart. Adorable. (Thanks Meredith for sharing!)

If you were worried that I would be too busy blogging my trip to post gratuitous pictures of Robert Pattinson, then you are wrong. I’ll see New Moon in Europe. See earlier gratuitous pictures here and here.

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