Keeping Peace In The Jungle

As some of you may know, in early December of 2007 I climbed on board an SAS A340-300 and headed to Norway. And I’ll be honest, I was scared out of my mind.

Not just because I’m not a particular fan of being cooped up in tin cans with wings, not because I had never been to Norway - or even Europe for that matter, not because I was traveling alone, and not even so much because I was going to surprise my girlfriend who had no idea I was coming.

No, it was mostly because I was completely mortified that I would somehow loose the engagement ring in the front left pocket of my jeans.

I had already tried to “forget” it at home just before leaving. Thankfully for mother’s intuition, on the way out the door to head to the airport my mom asked, “Do you have the ring?”. At that point, I said nothing, calmly walked downstairs, and picked it up from my desk. Thanks, Mom!

We took off 20 or so minutes after our scheduled 18:45 departure time, in the middle of winter. Our course set north-east, the so called “polar” route. We crossed over nearly all of Canada, Greenland, Iceland, and eventually landed in Copenhagen, Denmark for my layover.

Once arriving in København, as they call it over there, I had to pretty much race to the other side of the airport to catch my connection flight to Oslo (or shall I say, “Oooooo-slow”, as I was corrected at the SAS desk in Seattle). After arriving at Gardermoen, the big airport in Oslo, I made contact with the one person I knew - even if from only just a few E-Mails back and forth.

Inger, Nacole’s teacher during her study abroad trip, was the only person who I had any substantive correspondence with. I didn’t dare tell any of Nacole’s classmates because I didn’t want there to be any chance whatsoever of someone “hinting” to her about my plan. That being said, I knew it would be entirely stupid to just “show up” in a country I’d never been to, where they speak a language I’ve never learned a word of, without at least “one” point of contact.

Inger was awfully excited that I was, well, at least “close”. Oslo, where I landed, is about an hour’s train-ride south of the city (well, town) Nacole was in, Hamar. One problem - I somehow lost a bag.

Even though it was “checked through” to Oslo - and the connection between Denmark and Norway included me - they forgot one (1) of my two (2) bags. This is exactly why I put “half” of the stuff I needed in one bag, and “half” in the other - so If I lost a bag, I’d only be “half” screwed.

Even though you might think that having a bag in a different country would be quite an issue - flights go nearly every 15 minutes or so between Denmark and Norway, and within an hour I was reunited with my luggage.

Then it was on to the train area, thankfully right in the basement of the airport. After a few “uh, um, English?” encounters with some of the indigenous folk at the info booths, I was able to get on the train that I was at least “pretty sure” I needed to be on. Considering it’s an hour ride north, I was still somewhat concerned that it wasn’t the right one - but there wasn’t much more I could do. If I was getting to Hamar, I was determined that the train I was on was the one to get me there. But, I still had my doubts.

This is where I ran into my first big confusion. There is a nice little town called Lillehammer.

Let me further explain why this is confusing:

I’m in “A”, Oslo. The train is heading to “C”, Lillehammer. I want to get to “B”, Hamar. Drat. The one thing I guess I didn’t do my research on well enough. Fortunately the train simply “stops” in Hamar along the way - I was fine. But I didn’t know that, then.

So the entire way up, as we’re stopping in little podunk towns, I keep freaking out thinking I’m going to some city called Lillehammer; instead of Hamar. Now, some of you might ask then, “Well, why did you get on that train in the first place if you weren’t sure?”. C’mon, I’m a GUY… But, I did at least ask.

The lady I spoke with at the airport said that if I wanted to go to Hamar, I need to take the Lillehammer train. It never really occurred to me that there were stops on the way (I know, I’m dumb). So the only thing I could piece together is that Lillehammer = Hamar. I thought that maybe the town’s full, proper, name was “Lillehammer” - and that they just called it “Hamar” for short. Like, “Frisco” for “San Francisco”. I don’t know.

But luckily for me the Vikings decided long before that on the way to Lillehammer you’ve got to go through Hamar first. Nacole had always told me that Hamar was about an hour’s train ride, and I had studied the train route very well before I left. So once we hit about 45 to 50 minutes in, I started to “recognize” things, such as the bends in the track (I’m not kidding) and the bridge crossing the water of Norway’s Largest Lake, Lake Mjøsa. Needless to say, I was pretty overjoyed when the conductor got on the PA and announced “Next stop, Hamar” (yes, after Norwegian, they announced it in English too - Bonus!).

Once I got off at the train station, I got a feel for just how cold and icy Norway in December really is. Up until that time, I hadn’t really been “outside” since Seattle (well, a short, “undercover”, jaunt from the airport terminal to the train didn’t really count). It was pretty cold. And there were thick sheets of ice, everywhere.

Per Inger’s advice, I hailed a cab instead of the bus I had originally planned on taking. It just made more sense with the bags and all. And it’s a good thing I did, because the more I think about it, I may have just went right by my stop on the bus (even though I had looked up the proper routes ahead of time).

Like the nerd I am, I brought my GPS with me - preloaded with Norway maps, no less. Within a few seconds (even faster than here in the states, arrrrg) it found me. I was in Norway.

Next step was to flag down a cabbie. I lucked out and the first one I found spoke “a little” English. I showed him the printed map I had, and asked him if he could get me to “the red X”. He stared at it for a moment, nodded that he could, and we were off.

Now past 20:30 (the next day, mind you) we made our way up the hill. I explained that I was just in from the states, and that I was here to “surprise” my hopefully-soon-to-be fiance. I also told him he had better “hang around” for a second, while I made my surprise entrance to the back door of her host family’s house - just in case I somehow got the wrong one.

It was really eerie as we drove the short 3 - 4 minute drive from the train station to the house. I was expecting every turn. I guess that’s what I get for all the nights studying the route (so if I lost the map I’d still know where I was going).

But the best feeling of all, was when we pulled up to the house. Even though it was pitch black outside, snow and ice everywhere, I knew it was the right place. I had studied enough pictures Nacole had posted on MySpace to know exactly where I was. Even though I was ~4700 miles away from Seattle, somewhere I’d never before dreamed I’d be; I was exactly where I needed to be.

As I walked around the side, I heard the voices in the basement. They were having their last “Taco Tuesday” (which they celebrated every Wednesday, apparently) and that further told me I was where I needed to be. I knocked on the door, and Kyle, one of the guys on the trip, answered. I asked if Nacole was there, and he was witty enough to realize it was a surprise. He told Naocle she needed to come to the door because “the landlord is here”. At that point Nacole’s newly-found BFF came up and started crying on the spot. I held up my finger - “shhhhh”!

Nacole came to the door, and said words I’ll never forget:

“Oh my God… You had to get a passport!”

After that, I spent a few days (just shy of a week) running around Hamar and Oslo with Nacole and her group. We saw lots of interesting things, CNN’s Al Gore-post-Nobel-Peace-Prize “sit-down”, not withstanding.

And on December 7th, 2007 at around 05:20 AM (Pacific Time, that is); I asked Nacole to be my wife. She said yes, and I was the happiest man in the (just south of the) arctic.

Here are some pictures of the trip: