Tokyo Damage Report

Norway 5


this trip. . . . it is dildos, page 7

 

sunday continued. . .

hiking stories!

 

See the best engrish sign so far, next to a lake:

BATNING AND OTHER SEA-ACTIVITES ARE NOT ALLOWED IN THIS AREA BECAUSE OF DANGEROUS ENORENTS BENEATH THE SURFACE.

 

Norse goats are friendly as hell. Not only do they meeeeh at you but they come up to have their faces scratched and maybe eat your shirtsleeves. It is weird to meet animals that are so friendly even when you got nothing for them to eat.

 

Europeans are kind of rude hikers. Like if you pass them and say hi, they either look at you all grim or ignore you altogether. Maybe it is just because I am, out of habit, bowing my head at them like a Japanese!

 

The only friendly people I met were British ? a regular guy with his wife, who was walking with no shirt, only a bra with just huge glands with the nipples sort of visible for miles through the sweat-drenched polyester. they just come up to me and start talking, asking me where I am going, and then the lady whips out this map and sort of unfolds it right under her boobs and thrusts the whole thing in my face asking me where I am going. I kept my cool because I am not into that scene, but still it was weird ? “Aw, c’mon, Benny Hill! Give me a break already!”

 

Eventually get to a train station in Myrdal. But the train never comes. I wind up walking another 30 minutes to a hotel in the next town over. The hotel is so remote I think there is no car access at all. There is no staff, either! After waiting at the counter for 5 minutes, I finally bust into the kitchen, and discover every single employee, and they are all staring at me like I am 5 kinds of extraterrestrial. I am sure I looked funny at them, too. But I did get a room and a healthy dinner (with vegetables for once!). sleep like a log.

 

 

MONDAY

 

Get up and run into a Danish dude in the lobby who is hiking the same direction as me. he is a scientist doing secret algorhythms for the Danish army! I had no idea Denmark even HAD an army, let alone algorhytms for it. He invites me hiking with him and his mortified teenage daughter. Plus he has an awesome mathematician outfit on: pinstripe oxford shirt, blue basketball floppy shorts and shaved legs with pink socks . . .in 50 degree weather! Plus his legs have a NEGATIVE TAN ! pale down to the knees but tan from the calves down. How do you even get that tan line?? Constant culotte use????

 

Today’s hike has totally different scenery from yesterday. The weather is bleak but I am just grateful to be able to hike AT ALL after yesterday’s 22km thingy.

 

 

I say goodbye to the Danes, keep walking 10 km, take a brief nap, then keep going further, stop to have an awesome bowel movement in “drop-deuce valley” off the side of the road. I go a bit further along and see a cool waterfall. Go to take a picture and my camera is missing. Wtf??? Check all my pockets and backpack. Nothing! This can’t be happening! I had like 200 photos on that thing!! I empty out my backpack and the contents of my pockets. No camera!! Ok, It must have fallen out of my pocked when I squatted to poop.

 

So here I am in the middle of the wilderness, on the edge of panic, searching for my own spoor.

 

I backtrack and with total ranger awareness I somehow manage to locate the turd I dropped 20 minutes ago! No camera! I swear a family of Norse bicyclists was up here like 10 minutes ago. They had stopped. Maybe they were checking out the view. . .or MAYBE THEY SAW MY HUGE TURD AND WENT TO INSPECT IT, AND THEN FOUND MY CAMERA. AND STOLE IT!! PROBABLY TOOK SOME PICTURES OF THE TURD, TOO. ASSHOLES!!!!! Ok, calm down. Maybe it fell out of my pocket when I took a nap an hour ago. With more luck and cunning, I manage to find the exact rock I napped on, a mile away. The whole time sweating and muttering. . but when I finally find the spot, NO CAMERA. After roundly cursing Norway, its folk, history, religion and neighbors, I fling both backpack and coat to the ground in disgust.

 

And I see a strap coming out of the coat. The strap to ? my . fucking. camera! I grasp it gently as if tugging too hard will wake me up out of a dream and cause it to vanish. It emerges from a HIDDEN POCKET I HAVE NEVER SEEN BEFORE. This huge-ass panorak of mine, this ungainly mod jacket, has a pocket directly under the right collar-bone, a pocket that is below the huge fur collar and therefore totally invisible to the wearer. A pocket I have never ever used before, so I forgot it was even there. Instead of being happy to have it I just feel exhausted and dumb. Plus, the punch line? it turns out that in the process of emptying out my backpack looking for the camera, I LEFT MY SWEATER ON A ROCK AN HOUR THE OTHER WAY. By this time I am just, “fuck it” and go back to the hotel without a sweater. The walk back is just exhausting, but near the train station I find a key on the trail. I show it to the people working there and it turns out to belong to the lady who works at the little cafeteria there. I want to tell her, “see, tourists are good for more than just money and stupid questions!” Jesus, it is a day of lost-and-found.


this trip. . . . it is dildos, page 8

 

 

TUESDAY

Drive to a small town which looks like this:

what is so exceptional about this tiny fishing village?

why am i so stoked to be there??

it’s named BAKKA. in japanese, baka means "idiot." naturally i was drawn to it.

bakka tunnel!!

bakka kyrkje, which means literally "idiot church!"

 

baka bunny!

bakka goats!! bakka sheep!! it never gets old!!

This is hella awesome because in Japanese baka means “idiot.” It would have been perfect if they had a big, touristy ‘WELCOME TO BAKKA’ sign with little lion’s club and rotary club emblems attached. They don’t though, because it is just a town of maybe 10 houses. But They do have little signs like “bakka church” and “bakka tunnel”. A lot of the tombstones in the cemetery have the family name BAKKE.

So maybe the “A” of the town name is a possessive. Like adding an “apostrophe S” in English. Maybe bakkA means like “Bakke’s town” or “of Bakk” or something.

and incidentally, the view from the town is like this:

I didn’t even know that this town was a World Heritage Beautiful Scene Place. I was just like, “Huh huh, bakka!” good weather for once. I nap on a flowery hillside in the sun overlooking Narrowfjord. Some rotund German uncle wakes me up, calling , “are you ok?” am I ok?? Dude, can you see where I . am??? Can you think of a better place on earth for a nap??? WTF?? Again, if it was a married couple doing it, it would be ok, but because I am alone I am suspicious.

At the ferry depot is a souvinier shop. the troll here has his nose castrated.

next to him is this motherfucker with a huge- ass broadsword all trying to act innocent.

I drive 2 hours to a port town called GJERMANSHAVN (which sounds like a porno genre, and probably is, knowing how Germans are ( Germany and Japan are the most infamous kinky porn countries. What is it about nations that are obsessed with neatness and order that makes them so pervy? When Singapore finally discovers sex, they are just going to take over. I am scared even thinking about what that industry is going to be like. Snuff films of sidewalk gum-chewing people or something)). Anyway I drive for 2 hours only to miss the ferry by 10 minutes! Whatever, I am just happy to be ALIVE. Norse roads are scary !! Even big highways are up, down, rainy as hell, winding back and forth, steep. But the country roads are just one lane, and they GET NARROWER around blind curves, and . 18 wheel delivery trucks use them. Jesus! I didn’t get out of 3d gear the whole time, I think. The whole thing was an insane white-knuckle ordeal even at 50 kph!

 

Anyway, after the exhausting drive, I still gotta wait 70 minutes for the ferry, which I use all 70 worrying about how I am going to ever find a hotel at midnight in a one-horse town. Drive through the town 3 times checking out anything even remotely hotel-looking-like, but no luck. In fact I am searching for a turnoff to a country road where I can just sleep in my car, when I notice a light on; a guesthouse! With a party still going at 11:30 at night! and I get the last room available!

 

This town is ROSENDAL.

 

I am happy of course, but still pissed because so much of travel involves struggles for basic things? food, shelter, cameras, ferries. If you fail to find ‘em, it is DISASTER but even if you succeed, against great odds , you are still only breaking even! I took all these risks just to have a tiny, cell-like room with no toilet.


 

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