Life at Sixty Degrees

We’ve been in Oslo, Norway (alright, for those who are sticklers: we’ve been mostly in the town of Ask, twenty minutes northeast of Oslo) for a few days now. We’ve experienced enough that I feel qualified to make some observations.

Oslo sits on the surface of the earth at 60 degrees north latitude. For the record, this is the furthest north that Sara and I have ever been. For those of you reading from the United States, some points of reference may be in order. Los Angeles sits on the 34^th parallel; Durango, Colorado on the 37^th; New York City is at 40 degrees; the northern border of the western states is at 49 degrees latitude (the border with Canada); and Anchorage, Alaska is at 61 degrees. For our Canadian friends: the northern border of the prairie provinces and BC is drawn at 60 degrees north latitude. No matter where you’re from, we’re pretty far north.

Oslo’s situation on the globe seems to encourage certain strange behaviours in the sun. Whereas on most parts of the earth the sun follows a path that blesses God’s children with approximately equal parts of day and night, in Oslo the sun seems to enjoy working overtime. (Perhaps it is the beauty of the fjords that causes the sun to dally—but who can speak for the motivations of the heavenly bodies?) In her zeal for distributing light to the blessed land of Scandinavia, the sun rises at 4:45 am and saunters around among the clouds until 10:15 pm. And there is still a month until the solstice!

I need not explain what happens to one’s sleeping patterns under such conditions.

Norway is a beautiful country in spring. Driving from Ask to Oslo resembles very much driving through eastern Pennsylvania with its rolling green hills, patches of farmland, and tall forests. The city of Oslo is small as capital cities go—it boasts only six hundred thousand residents—but it has the air of cosmopolitan Europe about it. The streets are often paved with cobblestones, the buildings boast architecture from the middle ages and art nouveau, and the town is textured with artwork and sculpture. It’s everything you’d expect from a European city: green parks, extensive museums, ocean access, ski slopes, royal palaces, and tasty cheese. If it weren’t the most expensive city in the world, it might be a great place to emigrate.

If you checked yesterday’s post you saw me posing in front of one of Gustav Vigeland’s sculptures. This amazing sculptor designed a whole host of sculptures depicting human life and granted them to the city of Oslo. A huge park, which also includes rose gardens and a cobblestone labyrinth, sits in the middle of the city and acts as a display case for his work. It’s a must-see for anyone visiting Scandinavia.

Two days ago we drove to Fredrikstad, just south of Oslo, and had the wonderful experience of Martin’s mother’s hospitality. Our time there included a tour of the old fort and neighbouring fortified city whose walls and moat were formed in the shape of a star for better defence. We wandered around the old town and drove out to take in the beauty of the crenellated coastline where sailboats drift lazily by in the early summer sun. The ancient glaciers have left the rocks there smooth and perfect for sun-bathing.

Now it may seem to you that we have re-discovered Eden here across the sea from Denmark. But there are other, much stranger, things to be found in Norway. One of these is “Russ.”

Russ is a shortened form of a word that I cannot pronounce meaning “losing the horns.” It is a tradition long held in Norwegian high schools by which students prepare themselves simultaneously for National Day, final exams, and graduation by engaging in unpredictable behaviours, wearing bright red coveralls, and holding large parties into the wee hours of the morning. (It is my unconfirmed suspicion that Russ is the origin of the American college freshman phenomenon known as “Rush,” but further research must be done to provide any substance. However, see below.)

There is an element of competition in Russ that is satisfied by the accomplishment of various feats of derring-do on the part of these near-adults. One of these feats is, of course, public displays of nudity. Or, because of the Norwegian tendency to modesty and reserve, near-nudity.

There are times when one is made to feel as if he stands on the precipice of some strange new reality, or at least upon the uneasy fault line between two radically incompatible states of being. Such a moment I had while wandering through the ancient cobblestone streets of Fredrikstad, admiring the old architecture and cozy medieval feel of the place, when a young woman passed me by. Now the passing of a young woman is nothing of note—unless perhaps she might possess the kind of beauty that would set a thousand ships to sail. Alas, this was not such a passing. What caused my existential compass to quaver were rather the presence of fear and desperation upon her face and the absence of clothing upon her body. Save for a bra and underwear ill-suited to accommodate the physics of a full sprint, she was naked. Then as quickly as she had appeared, she disappeared around one of the quaint old buildings whose façade belied the reality of my experience.

Now mind you, when the sun has been rising before dawn and setting long after a decent person’s bedtime there is a higher-than-normal chance of hallucination. Let us not discount the effect of strange diurns on the human mind and senses. However, with confirmation of my sanity coming in the form of an all-but-naked young man running the same route through cute little old Fredrikstad, it soon became clear that the high school students of this little town were in the throes of Russ.

I wonder how many points you get for streaking through the old touristy section of town?

This is Russ: the last hurrah before you have to get down to the serious work of university study, work, getting married, and wearing clothes every day in public. It is achievement and embarrassment, success and ridicule, creativity and destruction met in the cauldron of tomorrow’s society.

I have to give credit where credit is due, however. Thanks to Russ, I have seen more of Norway than most tourists see.

~emrys