Ceci n'est pas un blog

Every Saturday there is an open air antique market in the Majorstuen/Frogner area near the big park. I've been to the flea market in Grünerløkka, the more Bohemian part of town, and was interested to see how this would differ as it's in a fairly posh area near the equivalent of 5th Ave.

In some ways, there was very little difference. They both basically sell used items and much of it is very nice but not in the quantities and quality you would find in an upscale market. One had more immigrants selling and more old records and lamps from the 60s while the other had more incomplete sets of crystal and several sets of nice old gloves. But basically they are both fun flea markets with potential goodies for our new flat, wherever that may be.

But today's did have one advantage, hot waffles. A family had pulled in their pop-up trailer and was selling hot waffles with jam or nutella and coffee. Shoppers were drawn by the steam rising from the fresh pastry and the smell. The owner smoked and chatted with a customer as she busied herself, unhurriedly, with cleaning the wafle-irons. Some picnic tables had been set up and several folks sat quietly with their hot waffles rolled into a cone and filled with jam.

From there I walked the very busy main shopping avenue back toward St. Hanshaugen where I had another apartment viewing lined up. Bogstadveien, the 5th Avenue of Oslo, was packed with people in boots and scarves carrying bags of new clothes and looking, mostly, fashionable or young or sometimes both. Several people were walking their dogs, mostly small ones (the dogs), but also a really cute black and silver Huskie father and son.

After a very nice visit with the young couple who own the apartment (they were the sort of well travelled, pretty, and highly educated young people that only exist in movies) I headed home for an impromptu dinner of fishcakes (hey, it's Norway) and remembered that I wanted to share this sign from outside the office. Cracks me up.

I also had another coup today, my first transaction where a clerk didn't imediately switch to English when I spoke. I ordered something like "to vårroll kylling" and he confirmed that I wanted 2 and told me the total and counted back my change all in Norwegian. I should mention that kylling (chicken) is incredibly difficult to pronounce because 'ky' has a bizare and uniquely Norwegian pronounciation. Imagine trying to make a 'k' noise while saying 'shh'. Not 'shkilling'. You have to do the 'sh' and the 'k' together. Anyway, I got my two piping hot chicken egg rolls.

Even better in the language aquisition department is our little miss H who had lined up all her coins and was counting them, correctly, in Spanish. She's never had a Spanish class and must have picked it up from Dora-the-incredibly-loud-and-annoying-Explorah. Either that or she's been watching telenovelas on Univision when we aren't watching. Having been praised for this she calls counting coins the "uno dos tres game".