Since I’m writing this at 9:25am you already know something is wrong. I suspected I would have trouble waking up this morning for my Norwegian exam seeing as how I rarely wake up before noon and it was scheduled for 9am. I set my alarm for 7:45 to maximize my snooze-button allowance. What I did NOT expect was to wake up at 9am on the dot with not a peep from the alarm.

So…I’m not even sure what to do. I’ve seen countless people do this before, including two of my roommates over the college years. I’ve just absolutely never done it myself. I have one of those brains that knows what time it is when it’s asleep and always wakes up ten minutes before too late (at least it always did before I moved to Norway). This is what I get for using that tricksy mobile phone as an alarm clock. Ugh. I’m mildly comforted by the fact that Lauren (responsibly, in advance) voluntarily opt out from her much-higher-level Norwegian exam this morning. She explained to me that you don’t automatically fail, you just get some kind of “no show” mark that’s relatively neutral. And it’s not like my marks in a 60-hour intro Norwegian course are the defining detail of my academic career.

Still, my stomach is all knotted up in expectation for an exam that arrived without me. There is absolutely no closure to the build-up of study and worry. The rules are strict, and there’s no getting in now. Anyway, the first part was a dictation, which is sort of a time-specific event. I’ve called my Fulbright people, I’ve done everything I can really do (that is, besides arrive on time for the exam), so now I’m just awake. At 9:30am. Which is wildly early for me. The fact that I woke up EXACTLY at 9 says something to my superstitious mind. It says “calm down, weird things happen and this is going to work out.” Or else, “Your subconscious brain really does know what time it is and it hates you.” Or else, “You can go back to sleep now if you want.”

UPDATE I went to the exam and hour late and they let me take it. It was supposed to last 3 hours but I finished in 45 minutes. It was absurdly easy except that I missed the dictation so who knows if I’ll pass. Note: if the public transit is late you get a free pass and they’ll re-read the dictation for you. It’s the only valid excuse. The nice mediators seemed disappointed that I wouldn’t lie to that effect. Next time.

I just returned from a long, festive day at the Bygdøy Folkmuseet Julemarked. The Folk Museum is the one where they plopped a bunch of old wooden houses and stave churches and token Sami teepees from different times and districts across Norway into a hilly field outside of Oslo. The place is usually populated with costumed actors and artisans selling candles and pottery, but this weekend it was also filled up with booths and real Norwegian people selling baked goods, handicrafts, and Christmas things, as well as Santa’s workshop and pony rides for the tykes. I spent a good three hours wandering around and taking pictures (soon to be posted). After consuming glogg and a marzipan pig, I think I can go home and safely say I’ve experienced the defining features of Christmas in Norway.

Well, I can’t quite say that. I did have the opportunity to purchase a package of rakefisk, but after Lara’s oh-so-lovely summary of the stuff as “salted trout that you stick in the ground to rot for three months and then eat raw,” I didn’t dive in. Lara did invite me over tonight for pinnekjøtt (some sort of steamed Christmas meat), though, so that’s got to count for something. The marzipan pigs are huge — they’re everywhere — and while I don’t usually like marzipan, the nice costumed ladies were handing them out for free. I really like free and, surprisingly enough, didn’t have any problem wolfing down the pig. I was a little less thrilled by the glogg (a hot spiced beverage that involves spoonfuls of raisins and almonds), but that might have something to do with the fact that within 30 seconds of buying a cup I promptly spilled the burning stuff all over my right hand. It wasn’t bad, I just think I’ll stick to mulled cider with no floaties.

It was Lara who recommended the Bygdøy Julemarked, and I could see why she thought so highly of it. Not only were there lots of booths and a lovely festive atmosphere, but I imagine anybody who has gone there as a child would have the experienced etched in their memories just as vividly as Disneyland or, really, Christmas itself. There were kids everywhere, chomping on candied applies and cookies-on-sticks, splashing in the mud, ice skating, riding ponies, filling out Christmas wish lists, scrambling through the old buildings, and generally having a blast. I was getting a little tired by the end (I woke up at the crack of dawn, 9am!) and wanted nothing more than a big stroller with a pair of parents to push it and maybe a cookie to chomp on.

On the way home from the market/museum I stopped at a neat paper store downtown and picked up a few more presents. I think I have all my stocking stuffers purchased at this point, plus Kari’s two-month-belated birthday present (because I’m awful with birthdays and probably a reprehensible sister), plus a couple extra things for Fulbright Secret Santa or other assorted suddenly-need-a-gift occasions. That puts me generally on track, except I need to get real presents now and if anybody wants something Norway-centric (cheese? smelly fish? anatomically correct gummy candies?) for the holidays you should speak now. I’ve got a busy couple weeks ahead of me and then I’m flying home!

Postenote: Lara’s was great, and the pinnekjøtt was a fatty tasty wonder. Paired with some potatoes, a mashed mystery tuber, and zucchini, it was more than enough to stuff me. I learned a Norwegian Christmas food trick, too. When you reach peak food saturation a thimble full of aquavit will burn a hole right through your stomach, making room for two more ribs and a whole bowl of dessert. Also, I was wrong in assuming Lara went to Bygdøy Christmas Fest when she was a kid; they only discovered it a few years ago. Too bad. I wanted to live vicariously through her childhood pony rides. Maybe I should just go back and rent my own pony.

I enjoyed was a warm, wonderful weekend, unlike the time I imagine my parents are having at home. I haven’t heard from them in days and suspect Astoria is still without power. Saturday night I headed to Lara’s house for a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner. The food was marvelous and the company was even better. There were a fair number of Americans, but I would say the majority of the 13 guests were Norwegian — neighbors and friends of Lara’s. Lara’s friends are smart and funny and very kind, quick to notice when I fell out of conversation with somebody else and to usher me back into one.

After working the late shift with Leslie at the bar on Friday night (up until 5am) I slept in until noon Saturday. I was only broiling asparagus, which is a pretty quick dish, but somehow I ran out of time all the same. I ran to catch the last possible T-bane to Nationaltheater to hop the direct train (they only run every 30 minutes) to Slependen. I did an excellent job, if I do say so, of reading the instructions in the dark and navigated straight to Lara’s house on my first attempt, just before 5pm. The party was, as I said before, wonderful. I really appreciate Lara and her mother squeezing me a spot at the packed dinner table. Everybody was careful to speak to me in English, but I appreciated the chance to eavesdrop on Norwegian banter, too. I still can’t understand too much, but I get silly and happy when I make out words and phrases. It’s becoming a lot more like a language in my head (as opposed to a mess of funny noises).

Sunday and Monday were wasted days. I didn’t even leave my room. I have a new hobby that involves re-watching the first two seasons of Battlestar Galactica (I was mostly asleep when I first watched them, anyway) while at the same time studying GRE words. I’m only on list 17 out of 50, but I’m making progress and should be done before I fly home. The TV shows dull the monotony of incessant vocabulary, so it’s a pleasant enough activity. I also have about fifteen million books to read for my paper, which is due in a couple weeks.

This afternoon I went to waffles, where I ran into Kyle and later Jonathan, Lauren, Kirsten, and Abbey. Abbey mentioned the storms in Oregon and expressed her condolences. I responded that I thought wind storms were a fun excuse to clear the freezer of ice cream, skip school, and have wood fires. She gave me a weird look and I sheepishly admitted that might have been how I reacted as a small child. I guess didn’t quite realize how bad the situation was, except that when I spoke to Mom & Dad on Sunday night the kitchen was leaking and the house was shaking. I’ve been reading the news and realize why Abbey gave me the weird look — the damage sounds awful, worse than any storm I remember. I also just realized that I haven’t seen the folks online in two days. Do me a favor and check in when you’re all safe and have your power and telephones back please?

The weather isn’t sunshine and rainbows here, but it sure isn’t hurricane-force winds. Classes are over and I’m just studying through the blustery days. Leslie is leaving on Thursday so we went out to a strange under-the-sea-themed bar tonight and ate pizza while two people danced across the gangway above us and sang opera. Apparently that happens in the under-the-sea bar every Tuesday night. It was weird.