It’s that time of the month again. Time for me to pack the sleeping bag, gas cooker, thermos and MP3-player, and camp outside the local newsagent. Waiting for days in eager anticipation. This is not like camping out for U2-tickets. This is big. What am I waiting for? The next edition of Pondus magazine, of course!

OK… I don’t really go to such lengths, but I would if needed.

Pondus is by far the most popular Norwegian comic strip to have emerged in the last decade. The strip, named after the main character, was the brainchild of cartoonist Frode Øverli and set a new standard for Norwegian comics. The style is fresh, the characters are well-developed and the jokes hit you where it hurts (meaning, your sides will split after reading a few strips…)

Pondus is the reflection of the average Norwegian male. He is a lovable family man with slight homophobic tendencies and a supernatural knowledge of English football. His motto is: “A sport without a ball is for questionable people!” Although the comic is highly football-themed, the sport gets ridiculed as much as it gets praised. So it also appeals to non-football fans (such as myself). I became a fan from the first strip, so much so that I have religiously bought every issue since.
The lead character is not afraid to speak his mind. Hip-hoppers, old ladies, computer geeks, goth-rockers, metrosexuals, law students, country music, men with hats, in-laws, Manchester United-supporters… nobody is safe from being the butt end of a joke. L-Jay says that this is not at all what Norwegians are like, but I think one reason for the comic’s popularity is that Pondus says what most Norwegian guys think. Like when an old lady unintentionally makes Pondus’ baby cry, and he simply responds “maybe it’s because of your ugly face”. It’s beautiful in its political incorrectness.

Pondus first appeared in newspapers in 1996 and graduated to its own monthly magazine in 2000. The strip has been translated into several languages, including Latin and Esperanto (forcing me to ask: why!?). I have come across a few strips in English, but I have yet to see an “official” English publication. I guess a lot of the jokes may simply be too crass for the English-speaking audience and would lose their spark when censored.

Below are a few “G-rated” strips, with my own translations added:

- Oh boy. Tough time of the year for some. You allergic to anything?
- Alcohol. I react by dancing!
- Oooh… that’s a little gross!
- I know! After an outbreak I have to stay indoors for days. Bright red in the face!

Norwegians love sausages – nearly anything that has meat on it becomes a sausage in Norway. Horse, moose and reindeer can all be found minced, dried and wrapped in plastic. Even though smoking and curing were originally just a way to preserve meat for the long winters, the ’spekepølse’ is now a choice deli product. With a modern fusion of flavours such as wild garlic, cheese and red wine, cured meats are used for pizzas, frys, soup, pancakes, sandwiches and appetisers.

You usually find a Norwegian cured meat stall at every street market. We stumbled across one last Autumn in Alta – Rekedal Pølsefabrikk. I was a little shocked at some of the meat products on sale (as you’ll see in the video – I tried to play it cool coz Farmor was with us) and only opted to buy a small sample. But since then I’ve become a big fan of the Norwegian Sausage. Once you’ve had the real stuff you’ll never go back to the store brand! At Christmas we always buy a couple of sticks (more like batons) and Farfar always gets his Elgpølse (Moose Sausage).

I’ve always liked flowers but I never became interested in them until I lived in Norway. I guess its because Australian flowers have always just been there. It was only when I moved to the other side of the world that flowers became fascinating. The colours are exciting, the shapes are curious and I just can’t stop photographing them. Flowers are everywhere here – wild and delicate – along the streets, in the woodlands, on the mountains and by the waters. They grow because they want to, free and unbothered by the world. The winters may be long and harsh but the flowers always wake from their slumber to coat the landscape in vibrant colour.

Flower picking is a summertime activity here and wild bouquets often decorate tables, doors and windows. (Whatever happened to flower picking in Oz?) On my birthday last year my niece picked me a bunch of the most beautiful wild flowers. I was very touched by the gesture and Farmor smiled ‘Children are always the best flower pickers’.

The Harstad Kutlurhus is the largest arts complex in Northern Norway. It was opened in 1992 by King Harald V and is the home of the North Norwegian Arts Festival Festspillene i Nord-Norge. The Kulturhus is one of three in the area – Tromsø and Narvik have one too which makes for steep competition in securing popular international shows. However, the triangle route between the Kulturhus’ makes life easier for the smaller national touring companies.

It wasn’t until 2005 that the Harstad Kulturhus had its first female member of the production team – me! I was the resident Scenemester (stage manager – come Mechanist, come set desinger). I thoroughly enjoyed working at the Kulturhus. The production team is fantastic and are active in their fields (the sound engineer regularly goes on tour with Kaizers Orchestra). I got to work with some amazing artists – Maria João, the Jo Strømgrens kompani and Leif Ove Andsnes to name a few. The funny thing being an ‘outlander’ is that I had no idea how famous people were. It was only afterwards when seeing their faces splashed all over the TV that I realise ‘Hey, this person really is famous’. It goes to show just how down to earth Norwegians really are. If my production manager didn’t tell me they were famous I wouldn’t have known. I love Norwegians.

The design of the Hus is quite unique – all art, no function. The Hus might be beautiful with murals, paintings and mosaics (the works remind me of the Australian artist Ken Done) but it was designed without storage so it can be a logistical nightmare for the crew trying to fit everything in. When the Hus first opened the main stage was painted light grey – which is a complete no-no in theatre. (Well, at least it wasn’t as bad as Tromsø – the arch around their main stage has light wooden panelling that stops the hall from obtaining complete darkness.)

Harstad Kulturhus is very big on music. Classical, jazz, rock, folk and choral music are all enjoyed. The Forsvarets Musikkorps Nord-Norge (Army Concert Band) and Landsdelsmusikerne i Troms, “Arctimus” (string quartet) are residents of the hus. Morning Tea concerts, Cafe concerts, string quartet and classical concerts are regular features on the program with annual performances by the local Kulturskolen, Thon Gospel Choir, Bel Chorus Men’s Choir and Trallongan Childrens Choir. The Kulturhus also produces youth and cultural events and is active in supporting local artists and productions.

One of the more popular productions at the Hus is comedy-cabarets. North Norwegians love taking the mickey out of themselves and so a whole generation of ‘Revys’ travel the country with slap-stick and musical send-ups. The energy generated from the crowd in one of these shows could light a whole city for a month. Norwegians are usually a placid people but boy do they love to laugh.

One of my most favourite customs of Norwegian theatre is the applause. The crowd starts clapping individually then half way through they get in sync and clap as one. This rhythmical accolade thunders through the Hus and the performers have no choice but to come out three or four times to accept this honour. It is quite an uplifting experience (even as a stage manager watching from the side).

Norwegians are known for being rather loud. At least when they are outside the state of Norway and in the state of intoxication. Within our own borders we are relatively well-behaved, which is funny since our unarmed police force rarely pose a bigger threat to drunken troublemakers than a night in the holding cell and a fine.

Across the border, in Finland, the police force is a little more, say, liberal in their methods for dealing with agitators. (I do not say this without a sense of “national pride”, as I am half Finnish…)

The story goes:
Two Norwegians from Finnmark went across the border to Finland for a good old-fashioned Finnish style binge. As the weekend progressed, their blood-to-alcohol ratio was moving more in favour of the Koskenkorva. The two Norwegians inevitably started to get a bit rowdy. After some material damage, personal injuries and plenty of obscene behaviour the pair had a rather unpleasant encounter with the Finnish Poliisi.

After taking a good beating the Norwegians were left to sleep it off in a holding cell. The next day the Poliisi escorted them back to the Norwegian border. At this point the troublemakers were extremely well-behaved, having earned a painful respect for the Finnish legal system.

At the national border the Norwegian police was waiting to transport them further. (Apparently they had a few priors back in the old country as well). The exchange was made and the troublemakers were put in the back of the Norwegian police van. Feeling “safe”, the two Norwegians took courage and started to shout, moon and make obscene gestures at the Finnish Poliisi, still standing at the border. Not being allowed to use the same technique as their Finnish colleagues, the Norwegian officers thought of an alternative method to calm down their detainees. They backed the van right up to the borderline, opened the doors and simply booted the hooligans back over the border. The two Norwegians again found themselves at the mercy of the Poliisi, who were keen to reinforce the meaning of “do not insult a public serviceman”.

The troublemakers didn’t say a word for the rest of the trip home…

For such a small place Oslo has such a large amount of statues. Every corner you turn there’s a statue waiting to be looked at. After a while they just become big blobs of stone and metal in the cityscape. But you better watch out – the little Nisse (Norwegian elves) have a habit of moving the statues around the city. What you saw at the wharf yesterday might be standing in the market street tomorrow. I think the Nisse must be playing some kind of giant game of chess – and the city is the game board.

You haven’t been to Norway until you’ve had a Norwegian strawberry. Strawberry season here is late July and very short so you better be quick if you want a taste of paradise in the Arctic.

You can buy Norwegian strawberries from grocery stores however street stalls are nearly on every corner in the cities during peak season (and they usually offer a cheaper deal too). Just look out for the sign ‘Jordbær’ which means ‘earth berry’ to pick up a punnet. Stalls may also sell cherries and raspberries, if you’re lucky.

It is common for city-goers in Oslo to grab a punnet for lunch or to snack on at the wharf on lazy Sunday afternoons and watch the world go by. In the country most Norwegians grow strawberries in their yard. Our family farm in Alta harvests enough strawberries to last a whole year. With what the whole family can’t eat, Farmor makes home-made jam, dried fruit and then freezes the rest for cakes and desserts (as strawberries are often used to decorate or flavour traditional Norwegian cream cakes).

Norwegians are very proud of their strawberries. They always pick them over any import. Whenever Moose sees a ‘jordbær’ sign he gasps ‘We have to get some!’ He tells me that north Norwegian strawberries are especially sweet and juicy because strawberries thrive with cool temperatures and lots of light (and there is plenty of both in the Arctic summer). Well, I can’t argue with him there – Norwegian strawberries are the best I’ve ever tasted. And I think our little Norwegian agrees.

Marshmallows..!

…big, fat, yummy ones. Marshmallows are like a field mushroom that grows soft and gooey in the sun. Farmers need to cut down the grass so the marshmallows have room to grow nice and round. To harvest, a tractor picks and stacks the marshmallows onto a truck. At the marshmallow factory they are cleaned, cut into bite-size pieces, bagged and shipped to every shop across the country. But nothing beats fresh farm marshmallows – Mmmmmh, toastie.

Moose (my hubby) is teaching me how to use my camera. I am shooting straight north to Kvaløya, an island just off Tromsø, on my Nikon D50. For this shot I had to lay on my belly in the dirt. No Photoshopping – this pic is straight from the camera. So… what do you think?