Fish, oil, fjords and fur

Drinking games
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After a full day to Preikestolen, (and very little sleep over the past few 10 days in general), it made sense to have a nice dinner and turn in early. Tomorrow I could sleep in, hang out on the model oil rig at the Norske Oljemuseum (I love Germanic root words), explore the surprisingly charming pedestrian centre of Stavanger, and lazily catch my flight back to Copenhagen.

Of course, it didn't really happen that way.  It was more like fish, oil, fjords and fur. First, the fish: Norway is a country with serious sea exposure. About 325,000 km squared, it has some completely farcical number of coastline kms.  85,000 or so, if you include the 50,000 plus islands. This means pretty reliable access to fresh fish. Very tasty fresh fish.

A large crowd of very tall people wearing viking helmets, Norwegian flags and assorted scraps of fur

Flag artistry
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A little bit of research (including a recommendation from a culinarily savvy-seeming guy I met wandering around the park) convinced me that the best place to eat fish in Stavanger was a restaurant called Sjohuset Skagen.  I ordered a traditional dish of marinated salt cod and some simple green herbs. Not bad, but too salty. (Salt cod. Go figure). All in all, the food was a bit overpriced and underwhelming, but I did enjoy the dessert featuring something cake-like with the rare and luscious multer (cloudberries) Yum.

Furry Night revelry
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Less yummy was the extra attention a solo-dining female gets in an oil town like Stavanger. In the course of a 90-minute dinner, several guys stopped at my table. (Lured by the sexy heel on my hiking boots, no doubt). One guy in a particularly unappealing suit topped by a cowboy hat even grabbed & caressed my hand and gave me a breathy "Hi".

"Ew. Who are you? Go away" was the non-verbal message I successfully communicated back.

Another guy was more chatty, and launched right into a long speech. Pleasant, I think. All Norwegian, so I didn't actually understand a word, but he was all smiles. I tried to chime in that I didn't speak Norwegian, but he seemed intent on his speech. (Drunk, I'm guessing). So I just shook my head, and said: "Norske nei". Perhaps not the most grammatically sound statement, but it ought to at least give the impression that speaking Norwegian to me was a lost cause. Or maybe not. (Very drunk, apparently). Finally, after an extended awkward moment or two of studiously ignoring him, he gave up and turned away.

Norwegian flag
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A few minutes later the waiter came by and asked: "Is that your boyfriend?"

"No, I've never seen him before".

"Oh," (surprise),  "Because he said.... well... never mind. I think maybe I'm going to ask him to leave now".

"Ah. Don't think I want to know".

One too many cosine jokes
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Long day, time to get caught up on sleep. Headed back to the B&B to find hordes of very tall people wearing viking helmets, Norwegian flags and assorted scraps of fur massing around the door.

Turns out my B&B was full of Dutch grad students who had just finished internships with Shell. Also it was a Dutch holiday, (loosely translated as "Furry Night, apparently) so they were feeling particularly celebratory. This involved such ritualistic behaviours as face-painting, drinking, singing, belly-dancing, juggling and the telling of long, mathematical jokes. (Click for a song clip here). I seem to recall a trip to the bar, and a bet to swim in the central park fountain, too. So much for sleep.

Pulpit's rock (Preikestolen) from below
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And, since it was my last day in Norway. No time to sleep in, either.  The very ambitious interns had booked a morning cruise and invited me to come along. We were all up & out by 8 a.m. to see the Lysefjord by boat.  We were a rather subdued crowd that morning, so lots of coffee and a low-effort trip like a fjord cruise seemed just the thing.

My favourite part was the odd disappointment of seeing Preikestolen from below. The scary, jagged precipice of yesterday, was just a little rock hiccough from this angle. Perspective. Amazing thing.

Bridge at sunrise
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The moral of this story is perfectly obvious:

If you are in an oil town in fjord Norway, you've just been mildly harassed at a fish dinner, and a large crowd of oddly-dressed people asks you if you want to celebrate an obscure Dutch holiday, then your answer should be "yes".

Definitely.