Jeg er for øyeblikket i Oslo for å møte andre nerder, og på vei til Oslo paserte jeg deler av Asker, Sandvika, inkludert deres i overkant moderne Sandvika Storsenter, og en del forsteder til den såkalt hovedstaden. Disse forstedene er virkelig fascinerende. Hvert hus er relativt stort, antageligvis dyrt, alle har en liten hageflekk inkludert en plen som er for liten til å kunne brukes som fotballbane og dermed er to av tre dekket av en svært trampoline. Alle har to-tre trær, litt hekk og to bilder, en liten og en større. Mor og fars. Denne typen steder gir meg frysninger, og jeg kommer på hvorfor jeg liker å bo en sentrum av en by, eller tettsted som alle andre enn nordmenn vil kalle Bergen, i en leilighet, i et langt fra ensidig nabolag.

Men en dag kommer sikkert min kjære og våre 2,1 barn å overtale meg til å kjøpe et stort hus ved siden av et annet nesten kliss likt hus i en eller annen forstad et eller annet sted. Er jeg heldig skjer det i utlandet, og med på kjøpet følger en stasjonsvogn. Jeg kommer til å tilbringe resten av mitt liv med å jobb 12 timer dagen for å slippe å se det nitriste nabolaget der den eneste moroen jeg får bedrevet er ukentlige møter med et par andre like deprimerte menn foran den største tven i mils omkrets. Der spiser vi pizza og drikker øl mens vi ser på overbetalte menn som bedriver fotball eller en annen meningsløs sport som virker som verdens viktigste hendelse mens det pågår. Hver natt kommer jeg til å ha lykkelige drømmer om det året jeg tilbragte i Italia og hvordan jeg der drømte om å slå meg til ro på en bitteliten klippehylle på Sicilia, der jeg dyrker et par sorter grønnsaker og nok vin til meg og mine nærmeste. Hver gang jeg våkner kommer jeg til å gå i en tung depresjon når jeg oppdager hvor jeg egentlig bor.

Normally this blog is in Norwegian, the beautiful language of weegies everywhere, but I shall deviate from this to ease the understanding for all Norwegian-impaired people out there. This means that this post will be filled to the brim with bad language, grammatical and misclicking errors as well as misspelling. It has been unsuccesfully proof read.

Recently my girlfriend's house has been occupied by myself and two american tourists. I stay there mostly because I can't stay away from her, but part of the reason at this point was also the fact that it's easier to stay in the same house as your guests if you are to entertain them, and I put them in her house because there was more room there at the time. Anyway, on to the story.

Robyn is a girl I've known online for about five years. A rather long time even in my soon to be thirty year long life. Not as long as I've known Kåre (about 17 years, which Giso finds cute, but she finds many, in my opinion, uncute things cute, including yours truly), but still a long time.

So earlier this year she and I, or she, or I, don't really remember, we figured that she should come here. Her mother was convinced that I would do unspeakable things to her upon arrival and that she would never see her treasure again, so she insisted that Robyn came with a friend, which of course just would make my catch bigger. Her friend was the, at that time, unknown Diana. I had no idea who this was or even what her interests may or may not be. For all I knew Robyn might have paid this girl to be her chaperone.

There's always some level of uncertainty connected to aquainting oneself with people who one have never met before, but with Robyn I didn't think much about it. After all I've known her for five years. Originally we started talking about music, but eventually food has become a rather large shared interest. Her chaperone on the other hand was a different story, but I trusted Robyns judgement, and her friends are my friends and vice versa.

It was a nice and sunny day, and I spent part of it eating and drinking coffee with Kåre. At some point Robyn called from the airport and told me she had arrived and was ready for the airport bus. About half an hour later I went to the stop I had instructed them to get off at and there they weren't. Then I went and looked in a shop and came back for the next bus. There they weren't. Then I went home with some groceries and came back. There they were! They were here! In Bergen! It had happened! (I had half expected it to never happen.)

So what did we do once I had lured two unsuspecting americans to the absurdly proud city of Bergen? Of course I showed them around. A short list of what I did to them:

Fed them icecream of the Italian kind.

Pushed and shoved them onto the Fløibanen funicular.

Lured them back down the scenic route aka the route that is occasionally dangerous to those not accustomed to physical activites in the semi-wild. Aka city dwellers from New York and other American cities, suburbs and states that starts with New. Nobody died, but I did get to show them my giant rhubarb.

Took them grocery shopping for Norwegian foods, American foods dressed in Norwegian packaging and the occasional bacon in a tube. To much amusement all across the globe. Nobody died from food posioning. Slight stomach aches due to overeating did occur as did the education of taste buds to new tastes and textures that would constantly be compared to Asian-American foods. At some point everything was eventually compared to something either American or Asian or both. Quite enlightening.

Took them hiking from Ulriken and over a couple of peaks, down some valleys, through forests and ponds and eventually along roads back to civilization. Nobody died, broke a foot, sprained an ear, lost their hearing or became incapable to return to their homeland. Sprouts of asthma and the occasional outburst of whining did occur. Someone may hate me in secrecy for this.

Exposed them to all sorts of Norwegian foods (and some that aren't) like mashed fish, raspeballer, lefse, crabs (the edible kind), waffles, ridiculously fresh fish, my famous sandwiches (I'm the king!) and melkesjokolade. Oh, and there was even bacalao followed by homemade rhubarb tart. Some of which were down right hated, others were put on clothes, some were ruined by ignorrance and others were enjoyed so much that they were brought back to the homeland. Safely. With their new owners.

Put them on a boat and went fishing. Almost lost a finger, but all others remained safe. Even though some, names shall no be mentioned, can't swim. Can't swim. How is that possible? Ask Diana. Oh, sorry about that one. I blame the American educational system. The fish was barbecued and eaten. With something as unnorwegian as barbecued corn. Couldn't just let them have all foreign tastes for a full week, now could I? There's got to be a law against that.

Took them to see animals in captivity while pointing out how good those animals most likely would taste after being boiled, fried, deep fried, baked or steamed. Some would need a sauce.

Exposed them to the colourfulness of art and Norwegian houses. None was blinded.

Oh well, eventually the trip was concluded with unsuccesful attempts at pouting and sobbing that will convince just about anyone of our lack of acting abilities. Still nobody was seriously injured. Though a slight feeling of loss may occur upon return to the homeland.

What can I say? I tried it all, and still they had a good time. So good, in fact, that I will most likely visit them at some point.

Jeg har besøk fra USA og de dokumenterer alt gjennom bilder og blogg. På forhånd var det bare Robyn jeg kjente, men hun tok med seg en venninne. Ikke veldig overraskende er begge veldig hyggelig. Om du vil ha en titt på hva som foregår og hva vi driver med kan du se her:

Robyns flickr (bilder)
Dianas flickr (bilder)

Robyns blogg