Lessons in Love ... Trondheim, Norway

Us girls have come to form a pretty tight tribe. Strong, successful, independent ladies, our meetings have a bit of Sex in the City vibe about them ... a secret society of alpha females whom spend their time sipping wine, talking about boys and the challenges of being female in the board room.

Over the course of the last year or so one of our members fell in love with a Scandi, got engaged, quit her job, moved to Norway, and is now expecting.  Whoa - talk about grounds for numerous tribal conventions.  This weekend was their wedding!

So, we packed our bags and jetted off to Trondheim, Norway, a little fishing village about half way up the country of Norway, for the ceremony.  Not many people live there (or anywhere nearby), yet with 100K+ inhabitants it is the third largest city in Norway and the childhood home to the man of at least one girl's dreams. Glad we went when it was green, warm, and the sun never set, because I could envision the frozen tundra this land must be most of the year.  Brrrr.

I was really looking forward to this for many reasons ... a new adventure, fresh air, a country I had not been to yet, time away with a large group of friends, and of course sharing in the wedding of a great friend and witnessing the traditions of another culture.

After a late flight in, I woke up early Saturday morning to cover as much pavement as possible before the ceremony - stopping at the fish market on the docks to pick up some smoked salmon, salted cod and a fish cake snack;  cruising the streets to see the cathedral and the old bridge in front of one of the oldest rows of traditional wooden housing in Norway.

Quick stop to purty up and we were on our way to the church for the short, sweet ceremony followed by a ride in a vintage tram to the top of one of the hills overlooking the town below.  So fun!

The reception ceremony was a delightful surprise (to be fair, I had been warned many times that the monotonous talking in Norwegian would go on for torturous hours and was threatened booze may not be served).

Norwegian tradition dictates that throughout a several course dinner, guests of the wedding give speeches, deliver poems, sing songs, etc.  - appetizer, father-of-the bride, groom, meat course, bride, father-of-the-groom, sisters, cheese plate, best man, friends, wedding cake, two songs sung by first the aunts/uncles then the group of cousins, more sweets.  I loved it!  The five hours flew by.  Their love and support for each other was, in short, inspiring (and I don't think it was just the four course wine paring that had me all sentimental).

Could it be possible I forgot love like this exists?  There wasn't a dry eye in the house as the father of the bride confessed to wishing he spent more time with his daughter and the darling groom fought back tears as he told his bride why he would love her forever and thanked his parents for supporting his decisions.  As I witnessed the whole event, collectively, from the traditional wool dress of the women, the guitars they brought to play their handwritten music, their sensitivity to speaking English, the sheep grazing the peaceful hills outside, to the simple topics they expressed joy for (tractors, skiing, math) it all fell into place.

The complexity we sometimes bring into our lives can be over-rated and needs to be kept in perspective. That night in that room allowed me to witness and once again believe in love ... simple, real love.  It's out there.  You just need to set your expectations, be patient and open to all possibilities.  Having the support of some wonderful ladies to lift your spirits along the way doesn't hurt either!

Oh, and I will skip the details about doing the Electric Slide and the Macarena until the wee hours of the morning.  It didn't happen.

<< SLIDESHOW!! >>
 

Brazil ... Morocco ... London to Ibiza ...

OK, well, maybe just the second half ... this blog we are going to start with a little music motivation to set the tone.

Let's just say that as I embarked on my trip from London to Ibiza, I had faint fantasies of being J-Lo in this video where at the age of 43, she owns the club, looking amazing in a glitter body suit, shaking her boo-tay.  Well, my trip wasn't quite like this, but not far off.

For those who don't know, Ibiza is known world wide as the clubbing capital and home to Electro House music.  There are numerous enormous warehouse size clubs that pack in youngsters from around the globe throughout July and August.  World class DJs like David Guetta (whom we missed), Calvin Harris (saw Thursday), and Avicii (Sunday) rock weekly shows.  The night doesn't get started until after midnight, and anyone seen on the street before 10AM clearly hasn't gone to bed yet.

Me doing my best J-Lo

By day, people pack the beautiful beach clubs, sipping on expensive cocktails and washing it all down with even more expensive bottles of water.  The food is decadent ... lavish seafood paellas and large portions of lobster and sushi ... I'll say, you pay for the food, but the quality and portions are there to make it feel worth while.

Friday we chartered a private sailboat for our group of six ... though the motoring was a bit slow and rolly-polly, we did finally make it to our destination - the beautiful sister island of Formentera.  Certainly the highlight of the trip for me was the gorgeous outdoor restaurant tucked away off the beach, with flowing white curtains and mussels and shellfish to die for.  Yum!  This, my friends, is how to live.

Saturday we spent the day at Blue Marlin Beach Club and then made our way to the most well known club Pacha for another splendid dinner and dancing.  Scantily clad performers kept the eyes entertained in this stunning club.  What a great way to celebrate Angela's birthday!  And, the magnum of French Rose on the beach will never be forgotten.

Sunday, was a repeat ... relaxing on a sun bed like the rich and famous at Ushuaia, then packing in around the giant outdoor stage and pool to sweat it out to Avicii.  Definitely the best musical set for me ... this guy is only 23, coming from Sweden.  If you haven't heard him before, here is one of his most popular, and perhaps a video more exemplary of how our trip really went!



 And a slide show as well!!

Three Years ...

Ride from London Heathrow, July 2010

Three years ago yesterday I boarded a plane with a one-way ticket to a land I had never been to, thousands of miles away.  Three years ago today, I got off that plane with more excitement, fear, and anticipation than one heart should handle - eyes darting about as my black taxi (with the driver notably sitting on the wrong side) whisked me across London past one major site after another, dropping me off at my little corporate housing flat near Chancery Lane.  As I envision that day, I do seem younger then.

Today I reflected on myself, who I am now, and questioned whether I was "changed" from this experience.  Yes, I have grown immensely in my career and this global experience has sling shot me ahead in that arena.  My travels are irreplaceable experiences that have shown me culture, diversity, history, decadence, and of course culinary delights ... but has that changed ... me ... ?

First weekend in London, July 2010

I'm not so sure ... I still prefer solitude, control of a situation, avoid conflict, and voice my honest, direct feedback.  I find peace in simple pleasures each day, such as blooming flowers and setting suns.  I get so jazzed up by a gourmet food store and find few greater pastimes than browsing an outdoor market.  I am neurotic and love puzzles, knitting, counting my footsteps as I run 5K.  The sun on my skin and sea near my toes is where I long to be ... same as in 2010 before I made this journey.

As opposed to changing me, I think this experience so far has enhanced me ... made me more aware and is helping me to truly see those things in myself that make me who I am and bring me the greatest joy ... those situations that no matter my location and experience where I am happiest ... speaking of which, time to pop off to the pub around the corner to catch up on the local neighbourhood gossip over a glass of wine and a delicious meal (indeed, some things never change).

Those who run with bulls ...

This weekend I had an impromptu invite for a road trip to Pamplona, Spain to run with the bulls.  Running with the infamous bulls was certainly a fantasy I had imagined, like many, many others, but I hadn't thought I would actually be there one day.  Humbly, it was such a kind, unconditional offer ...  sooo, yes!  I accept!

The festival of San Fermin as it is known, is a social celebration marking the old transition of passing the bulls from the farm to the arena for slaughter and respecting the "Saint" Fermin.  To me the gesture carries a sense of romance.  It is the largest, most known Spanish festival in the world.

A 4+ hour road trip from Barcelona  - first through the green foot hills of Cataluna into the dry white hot desert and then back into the land of flowers - Navarro.  Every quiet moment was worth more than face-value - the scenery was cornflower blue skies and yellow-gold grain dotted with fields of olive and fruit trees.

We rented a flat from airbnb - which for me was a first, but in this situation it just fit.  Our new mates were a joy - bringing us red scarves and delighting us with their little kitty (whom had her own little attitude and scarf for the day).  Couldn't have been more kind.

Day one at San Fermin starts at12 Noon with rockets and ringing bells signifying the beginning of the nine day festival.  You are not allowed to wear your scarf before this time, so all raise their red scarves in the air and promptly at 12N tie them around their necks.  (Mind you, gallons of cheap sangria and watered down red wine is being chucked into the air at the same time, resulting in quite the scene and those pink shirts you see everywhere).

Anyway, after that massive experience the like-dressed people flood the narrow streets of the historic town, popping into the bars / dancing / eating sandwiches of jamon y queso / peeing / tossing wine / passing out in the parks ... makes very interesting people watching.   And the fact that everyone is in the same outfit does provide for a peaceful, unifying experience.  I had a wonderful time ... and I learned that in some parts of the world Coca Cola mixed with red wine is the #1 drink I want to order.  Don't knock it 'til 'ya try it.

Though a lot of this trip was about fun and adventure, I should mention the bull fight itself, which we made a good decision to attend Friday night.  I am a carnivorous snout-to-tail person, but it is still quite unnerving to witness the torture and death caused in the ring.  {Frankly I had naively questioned whether bullfighting was still legal - yes, it is in Spain apparently}.

From my point of view I can still see a glimmer of the past.  Back in the day the men of the farms did need to lure the bulls close enough so they could be slaughtered by the sword - but in modern times this is a gruesome sport where old women and children alike scream for the matador to cut off the giant fuzzy ear of the bull he just stabbed in the brain.  Gross.  And I suppose I personally identify with the bull, not the matador, so this feels like adding insult to injury.

Back to the fiesta ... Saturday after delightful naps in the park, wondering delis to buy local cheese and wine, doing wine squirt contests from our hip "bota" to our own mouths and those of passers-by, we found a local spot to have a sit down meal and a wonder back to the bus pass the popping fireworks overhead the singing masses stained in pink.

Although we did wake up at 6AM that morning to get to the race (which starts at 8AM each morning of the fiesta) we did not actually run with the bulls ... I know, disappointing, but I am telling you, that is not a tourist activity.  Bulls run very fast, they are humongous, the streets are narrow with tight turns and those horns are reeeeally pointy - not to mention, many have stayed up the entire 20+ hours from the 12 Noon kickoff and don't exactly have their wits about them.  Of all the 1,000s of people I saw run into the stadium, I only saw two girls.

Though I really would have loved to have been straddling the fence as the adrenaline of bulls and young men raced by, my San Fermin experience was a perfect seat right up close in the Plaza de Toros where the bulls and crowd race to the finish.  Exhilarating!  And after the wide-eyed runners get into the stadium there is quite a bit of comedy as they actually release some smaller, less risky bulls back into the stadium.  Oh how the people run!  Ha ha ha.

Anyway, I am glad I had the opportunity to travel across Eastern Spain to breath the air in that round stadium and be one of those that runs with bulls (well, close enough).