Mud wrestling

The sister pair of my black suede ballet flats from StyleSnob. Another bargain. I guess I was not expecting to be wading around in orange (!) mud, touring a construction site in the pouring rain this weekend. These shoes are SO not the right choice for that. Fortunately, the rain dried up by this morning, so the shoes survived.

I have been preparing for the whole house-purchase-business by reading Peter Mayle's novel, "A year in Provence" these last few days. Although his experiences date 20 years back, I guess we might have to endure some of the same. Being - at least mentally - prepared, always comes in handy. The bureaucracy in France is pretty extensive. And as soon as you are done with the paper work, you need to brace yourself for the next phase. Waiting for the building work to be finished. They might come today, they might come tomorrow. OR in three weeks. Oh well. We will cross that bridge when we get there. Hopefully we will find somewhere that does not need to be torn down and built up again to become decent. Looks promising so far.

Have seen five places so far. Of which two could be possible alternatives. House hunting in France sure has its benefits, though. Last night we had a nine-course dinner at our hotel. Tonight we have visited Cannes. Where I did some superfast shopping at the local MR (30 minutes, beat that). Followed by our mandatory visit to our favorite restaurant in Cannes, Astoux et Brun. Jumbo prawns and "sole meuniere". I can not wait to become a regular at that place.

A Year in Provence

Oh, I wish! At least we are in France. Although not in Provence. And - we are here just for a few days. Got here this morning. On the "silver-fox-express" out of Oslo. Apparently, nobody under the age of 60 travels to southern France in February.

I could pretend that I am all "tres blasé" about this whole trip. Like I do this aaaaall the time. But I am not. In fact, I am extremely excited about the whole thing. I almost can't stay still. You see, we are going hunting. For a summer house! In France! Which is, like, a whole different country. Far away. With great food and wine. Where it actually gets warm in the summer (not too bad now either). And where they have AMAZING shoe-shopping! I think this calls for a very loud "yay".

YAAAAAAAY!

Ah. Good to get that off my chest.

So, now the cat's out of the bag. And - if you are fairly good in maths - and are able to put two and two together - you just might understand why I SUDDENLY had the motivation to voluntarily take up French lessons this autumn. That was not a totally out-of-the-blue, mid-life-crisis, I-need-to-realize-my-inner-self thing. As you can now see. I am just being practical. I need to be able to communicate with the gardener. And the pool boy. In a language other than body language. Ahem. I guess that came out a bit wrong. But - you know what I mean.

Speaking of which - I do need an "encore" of my second French course. The little that I learnt is already getting rusty. Merde.

Well. Gotta go. Time for a little Michelin-star-graded lunch. Before being picked up at our hotel by our local Norwegian real-estate agent, Monsieur Tom.

AU REVOIR!


(The title "A Year in Provence" is referring to the novel by Peter Mayle).

A love story

Guess who has worn her new boots today? I am sorry, but you are not getting a price for figuring out which brand. Too easy, hah. Marina Rinaldi, of course. The Pope is still a catholic, you know. Mr. Incredible kindly asked me to pick up our train tickets at the station on my way home from work on Thursday. Bad move. I am not sure if he realized that he was asking me to walk straight into the Lion's den. I mean, our ONLY Norwegian branch of MR is located RIGHT ACROSS THE STREET from where he asked me to pick up the tickets. So, I think, SUBCONSCIOUSLY, he felt that I deserved to go shopping. I can take a hint, you know.

The sale was still on (surprise!). Now with a 60% mark-down. Which can SOMETIMES be a real bargain. Most often it is not. I have ended up with far too many disaster buys in the sales to go completely off the hook. So, I got the new boots, an item that was actually on my shopping list already.

And.
There it was.
The. Dress.

The gorgeous black dress that I fell for this Christmas, but did not even dare to try on, because I knew that I would instantly fall in love with it. A really classical/demure silk dress that is channeling a mix of several timeless style icons:

A touch of Grace Kelly.
A little bit of Jackie O.
Then a dash of Audrey Hepburn (in Breakfast at Tiffany's).
All of these mixed with my favorite character of Mad Men, Joan Harris.

Unbeatable. When they have such a dress left on the sales rack, and it is YOUR size, you just buy it. It's destiny. You are meant for each other. Simple as that. It's luuuuuv.

So. Valentine's Day. I know a lot of people enjoy this day, and I am not going to ruin your day by being negative. We just don't celebrate it at our house. Instead we do our best to show each other that we care, more on a running basis.

I have spent this romantic evening so far in the company of my dear husband - and a (recently) dead salmon. (Working on a project for the world's leading fish-farming corporation has its perks!)

Not a bad combination, really. Adding some fresh green asparagus and some hollandaise sauce it turned out pretty well. Soon it is time for our regular Monday night pastime - another episode of our current favorite series, "Boardwalk Empire".

As far as Mondays go, I'm perfectly happy. Especially since I am having Thursday and Friday off this week. So, technically, it is Wednesday today.

Robbery in broad daylight

In case you were worried, we did make it off the train at Geilo on Friday night. Yay. Well installed in our favorite sofa at The Ski Bar (just below the giant moose with the fascinatingly enormous nostrils), we realized that we were about to be ROBBED this weekend. I have had some expensive champagne in my time, but paying 35 USD for a glass of champagne? As much as I do love champagne, I have a limit. One that I am, of course, willing to cross if pushed, but still. Does this hotel get their supplies hand-delivered by Santa Claus and his reindeer on a sleigh? One bottle - or maybe ONE GLASS at a time - straight from Frrrrraaaance?

Fortunately, I do not stay angry that long. Of course, I had a glass of champagne. There is something special about Dr. Holms Hotel. Maybe because I am a hopeless romantic that loves old things (I guess that includes you, Honey!). Perhaps it is the great food (especially the Friday night buffet), or the very particular atmosphere. Seeing all the old photos of people conquering the elements on their wooden skis. All the old skiing paraphernalia and other bric-a-brac on the walls. The fireplace. And - maybe - in spite of all the dead animals staring down at you from the walls everywhere. We have been coming to this place since we could first afford it. And - although it hurts financially - we keep coming back.

Ok. Norway has breath-taking nature.

Love-birds?

One very entertaining highlight is the Saturday "apres ski" at The Ski Bar. Here you get to watch the face-off between the well-off Oslo "Wives*" competing against the perhaps even more well-off (at least it is OLDER MONEY) Bergen "Wives"*. Over who wears the most jewelry while skiing (pearl earrings are a staple). Or who has the cutest skiing outfit. Which might not have been used skiing at all. Were you aware of the fact that CHANEL makes ski goggles? This is the place to sport them. You need to be present at around 2 PM to get one of the best "see-and-be-seen" spots. Does not allow for a lot of time skiing, no. Yours truly got back from the slopes at 2.30 PM and got the very last sofa (ideal spot if you focus on the "see" part), the only one without a moose. I was very soon surrounded by a whole group of "new best friends". Not wanting to engage in conversation with strangers, I kept staring into my newspaper and drinking my first "lumumba"** of 2011. Waiting for my lovely husband to get off the mountain and buy me some bubbly.

"Boo. I am such a scary-looking old musk. I might dribble in your champagne, so finish it quickly."

Although we had a great weekend. I regret to say that I do not know if we will be coming back to stay again. Apart from the after ski on Saturdays, the hotel seems to be more and more deserted every year. No wonder, really. Last year we SAVED money by FLYING TO AUSTRIA and staying at an amazing hotel there. ONE THAT EVEN PROVIDES ITS GUEST WITH HAIR CONDITIONER!! Can you imagine? Sorry. It is just that my hair still looks like s*** after two nights in this place without any proper hair products. I should have a little chat with the manager. (Has to be a man. Hello? No hair conditioner! And an antique hairdryer that makes even my very limp Scandinavian hair look like a frizzy AFRO! Gah.) I will be happy to tell him about a secret dark place where he can put at least one of his four hotel rating stars. A hint: It might hurt sitting down afterwards. Especially since I suspect that he has his head partly up that dark hole already. I hate seeing this place getting ruined. But with as few guests as seen this weekend, I worry about it's future existence. I guess the strategy for the time being is screwing the few guests left over, until they disappear as well. Well done.

* These are mostly so-called "kept" women. Being a "Wife" is their profession. Although many of them might have an education, they have never bothered to work (must NOT be confused with HOUSE-wives who I truly respect). These simply married well. Instead of whining about problems at work or an impossible boss, they spend hours in the restrooms badmouthing the children from current husband's first or second marriage. And - of course - the poor husband. While trying to fix their hair / arrange their indoor (?) fur hats / skiing goggles in a totally casual, yet chic manner. There is no line to use the actual toilets, ohno, here everyone queues up to get to the MIRROR. Image surely is EVERYTHING.

** Hot chocolate with a splash of rum. Works wonders. Should be given to shy people on prescription.

Norwegian Railway Journeys

"Nesnalobber". Old-fashioned Norwegian winter shoes. Brings back childhood memories. I used to have a red pair back then. I went for the grey ones when I suddenly re-discovered these last winter. In a scary SIZE FORTY-FIVE! I guess we can draw the conclusion that any people from this place I guess is called "Nesna" have really, really tiny feet. Perhaps they are tiny trolls or fairies, I don't know. You may think that these shoes are ugly-as-hell. You may be right about that, but - frankly - I do not care. They are part of our cultural heritage. I would much rather wear these than those unpractical and EVEN UGLIER Uggs. And - you know what? If Kate Moss was one day spotted wearing a pair of these, I would perhaps finally be outed as the closet fashion genius that I really am. Hah.

My lovely husband booked us a surprise skiing trip this weekend. To get up to the mountain in question, we had to take the train. Four hours = two bottles of red wine. Quiche. Jambon noir (French version of Pata Negra, with less lard on it). Smelly cheeses. All-in-all, the perfect start to any weekend. It looks like train picnics are getting quite popular, as we were surrounded with lots of other passengers drinking wine and enjoying cheese, sushi and other delicacies normally not available aboard such means of transportation. Since we are in the high season of winter, we had the pleasure of riding one of the really good-old trains. This sure does make me proud of being Norwegian. Being one of the richest countries in the world - where we practically pump money straight out of the North Sea oil fields - it is good to see that our government invests so wisely in environmentally sustainable infrastructure these days. Orient-Express, anyone?

One of my favorite travel programs is "Swiss Railway Journeys", on the Travel Channel. This may sound weird, but we actually record this series on our PVR (like a Tivo). When I am having a "difficult" Sunday, as I sometimes do, watching this program brings me such inner peace. Watching the green scenery pass by, I get this sense of tranquility (well, that might actually be the Alka-Seltzer). Anyway. Norway is also well-known for its scenic railway journeys. Including the one between Oslo and Bergen. You would not believe some of these amazing/picturesque places you get to see along the way.

Somehow, seeing some of these places makes me want to cry.

Thanks

New shoes! From Danish brand Stylesnob. And. The best thing? They were on sale - at 60% off! Result of accidentally dropping by nice little shop in Grünerløkka after forbidden/carb-ridden pizza date with my sister. Oh, the decadence. PIZZA - AND SHOES! 

Buying suede ballet flats in February is a pretty blonde thing to do, I know. Fortunately, I was able to wear these at my birthday lunch this weekend. The only way I get to wear cute shoes at this time of year is to ask people over. As - when I am invited somewhere, I always forget to bring shoes to wear inside. Unbelievable, but true. 

I so miss being able to wear nice shoes. After returning from our vacation, I have been wading around in some ugly boots, as the icy sidewalks of Oslo are straight out FATAL. Should you actually make it anywhere without falling, you still risk death by icicles falling from the rooftops. No wonder Norwegians might seem odd and unfriendly. We are too busy staring at the sidewalk/up in the air for falling objects to be outgoing. It is all a matter of survival.

I am very ready for spring now. I know how only last week I was whining about time flying, but if we could just fast forward to April, and then maybe go verrrry slow motion from there till September? 

Please?

I was talking to one of my lovely colleagues today about how this weekend we could almost feel spring in the air. Yup. As if. It took a good hour after our little chat, before SPRING (in the air) was replaced by SNOW (everywhere). Although our female intuition seemed to misinterpret the signs of nature at that time, at least there are some signs that spring is really coming. Eventually. The first actual sign of spring in Norway is receiving your documentation for last year's TAX RETURN. Some wise guy once said that there are only two certain things in life. Death and taxes. So true.

Weeks (or sometimes - months) before this yearly milestone you receive all the relevant documentation in the mail. Including the receipts from the charitable organizations that you have found worthy of any financial support over the last year. This summary of payments is always accompanied by a little note saying THANK YOU. 

This is nice.

It makes you feel that you have done something good. 

Something right. 

For once.

Then - you turn the sheet, and there is a letter.

Asking for MORE MONEY.

And they don't even say "please".

WHAT?!

Couldn't these people let me feel a bit good about myself for a few days at least? And not ruin it all immediately by trying to make me feel guilty about not giving EVEN MORE? I know I am not exactly the reincarnation of Mother Theresa. Who I by the way do not think would be reincarnated, as she was such a good person, and reincarnation - I believe - is considered to be some sort of punishment. Anyway. I would be more than happy to pay for the additional postage for that extra letter, I would.

Is this a new trend? Perhaps I should be sending out thank-you notes after last week's birthday saying "thank you", and "I loved the gift you got me - PLEASE FEEL FREE TO SEND ME ANOTHER ONE"?

I know it's not the entirely same setting. But - still.

Birthdayphobia

38.
I know.
Age is just a number. And I am normally good with numbers.
But - OH MY GOD.

When I was young, people of this unmentionable age were ANCIENT. I was so depressed yesterday, not looking forward to today at all. You know you are totally getting old when people try to comfort you by saying "Yes, getting older is bad, but the alternative is worse". Of course. To die would be pretty upsetting. Quite a bummer, yes. I can agree on that. But what about the other alternative? How about SLOWING DOWN - if only just a little? I feel that I am on this rollercoaster now, and it just goes faster and faster, and very soon I will be all wrinkly. (This is - I hear - the stage after my current one - saggy). And I will start going to the bingo salon across the street. And watch "Bonanza" on TV. (Uhm. Well. I actually do watch that already - sometimes). And I will stop drinking champagne. And - develop a habit for sherry instead. Please, someone, help me!

It is a bit of a contradiction, how I ALWAYS need to plan a trip or some other event in my near future, because I need to have something to look forward to. And when you have something you look forward to, you do want time to pass. Quickly. But - now - when I come to think of it, really, all I want is for time to stand still. At least for a little while.

To be honest - (my own) birthdays are not really my cup of tea. There is just too much pressure. When I was a kid, birthday parties seemed to serve as a kind of popularity contest. One that could get pretty ugly sometimes. It was all about who was invited to who's birthday. And - most importantly - who was NOT. Young girls are among the cruelest creatures on this earth. Another problem I have with my own birthday parties are that they were all about ME. And - this might come as a bit of a surprise to some of you - I am actually quite shy.

This does not mean that I do not like attention. Oh no. I LOVE attention. I AM human, you know. It is just that I do not appreciate getting everybody's attention AT ONCE. That just is too much. Needless to say, the nightmare of any of my past birthdays has been:

** THE SINGING **

Imagine all the other kids (some of them pretty freaky) standing around you. Singing/screaming "Happy birthday" or some other Norwegian version of the birthday song - at the top of their lungs. You could not even escape the damn thing in school, as - of course - the whole class was ORDERED to sing for you, there too. Being so utterly brave about this whole thing, I used to HIDE. Under a table. Alternatively, under my desk. On a few occasions, I even started crying. In retrospect, I do find this slightly pathetic, I do. But I just could not take it. One of the benefits of growing up/old, is that you don't have to.

I started the day with breakfast - including birthday cake - with Mr. Incredible. We had our nineteenth anniversary yesterday, but please don't tell anyone. Another proof of how old I am. After all of those years, he knows me pretty well, so he had picked up on my quite specific hints (is an e-mail with product number specific enough for ya?) regarding what to buy me.

Yay! A box like that always makes me smiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiile. Widely.

A cosmetic pouch that matches my handbag - and luggage! What a surprise!

Unbelievably enough, the day continued to improve - even after my little LV moment. And - I very soon had to come to the conclusion that I just LOVE birthdays anno 2011. Instead of the intimidating experience of being sung to by a huge terrifying crowd, I have been continuously peppered with lots and lots of nice little birthday greetings via texts, e-mails, and on Facebook - all day. Completely unexpected, and absolutely overwhelming. Wow. You guys surely know how to make a girl happy.

After fighting with the photocopier at work to get it to scan one of my expense reports for an hour-or-so, I went out to lunch with my sister. More cake! Yay! Since husband has to focus on his second career - as a possible future professional tennis player - we had a quiet dinner at home tonight. So that he could make it to tennis practice. I will make up for this on Saturday, when both my grandmothers are coming over for lunch. "Sherry, anyone?"

I just got off the phone with my three-year-old nephew, who sang "Happy birthday" to me. Very cute. And not scary at all. A perfect end to a perfect day. I guess I am starting to get over my birthday-phobia.

Thanks for making my day special :)