Island hopping in Oslo, vibrant sunsets and a happy country

27/3 - How does one describe Oslo and the country of Norway?

According to the World Happiness Report, Norway replaced Denmark at the top of the list this year, closely followed by Iceland and Switzerland. Some of the things that made these Scandinavians so happy were their caring, freedom, generosity, honesty, income, health and good governance.

It came across as a hugely progressive, futuristic city. Downtown is designed around providing footpaths for people. Vehicle and foot traffic have been separated to some extent, as the highways are a snaking system of curvy and smooth underground tunnels.

On and off ramps are spiraling underground tunnels, like an adventure ride at a theme park. Roads entering the city are subjected to an electronic toll and the air feels and tastes fresh and clear because of so many totally-electric Tesla-brand cars (a machine that sells for around 100k USD) using the streets. If someone owns an electric car, they're given free charging and parking within the city. 

Compared to other cities, Oslo isn't huge; it's a little bigger than Sacramento. But its skyline features the 1952 Olympic ski jump which overlooks the city, and steeper-than-they-look mountains which surround the city.

Blond and blue-eyed locals seem to smile more here, despite the fact Oslo is one of the world's most expensive cities. According to The Telegraph newspaper, it comes in as the 11th most expensive city in the world; It was No. 1 in 2014. A half pint of beer from a local brewery costs about $10 USD. The currency is the Norwegian Kroner, and the exchange rate is about nine Kroner to one dollar.

It's so expensive because there are high taxes for many things. For example, you pay tax when taking a taxi, about $10 USD, and that's just to get in the cab. The people who earn the most money are taxed roughly 50 percent. Speeding tickets, given out when cameras on the highhway catch a driver going 10 kph over the limit, are steep and harsh, around $1,000 USD.

Because of the high taxes, Norwegians are known to cross into Sweden, which is about an hour away from Oslo, to buy in bulk because the prices are much lower. There is a large shopping center about 10 minutes across the border into Sweden, and one can see Norwegians load up large shopping carts with multiples of everything, including sugary drinks and candy.

Besides a handful of newer skyscrapers and the new opera house, Oslo is not an architecturally stunning metropolis. But what it lacks in terms of a skyline, it makes up for in practicality and stunning natural beauty. 

It may just be a case of the grass is greener on the other side, but sunsets here seem to be shockingly vibrant. It's like Mother Nature approves of Oslo so much that she smiles each night and gently caresses the city and surrounding mountains with strokes of yellow, orange, red, pink and purple. People, no matter where they come from, stand transfixed by the nightly spectacle.

So, I sit here on the island of Hovedøya, by myself, with a perfect view of the city and surrounding islands. It was just a six-minute ferry ride, but I have successfully found solitude within a capital city. The sounds of traffic and construction have faded into the distance, and have been replaced by the squawks of seagulls, chirps of birds high in the trees and the dull moan of the occasional boat.

I shed my jacket, shirt, shoes and socks, rolled up the bottom of my pants and soaked up the warmth of the sun on my own little spot on this planet at this moment of time. This was my holy-shit-I'm-doing-this moment, something that was absolutely free yet invariably a moment of my own.

I meditated on this spot for 10 minutes, focusing on my breathing. I felt the warmth of the sun, listened to the birds and splashes of water. I felt the slight breeze greet my face and chest, and the hard rock against my ankle. The slightest of bluish-purple hues enveloped the world.

28/3 - The adventure on the islands of Oslofjord was one of my favorite times of the three days in Norway because it let me explore out in nature and in solitude. 

After hiking around Hovedøya in total solitude and chatting with a Filipino woman named Janice, the ferry unexpectedly set off for the other islands in the chain, much to my pleasure. 

The boat made six stops in all, but I decided to hop off on the island of Lindøya where I had one hour before the ferry returned. This island is home to a miniature neighborhood of red, green and yellow summer cabins. As I walked between the structures, I was struck by the apparent lack of other humans in the general vicinity. Curtains were drawn and the only sound of footsteps came from my own. 

As I explored a small, private dock complete with the smallest lighthouse I've ever seen, expecting to hear a voice warning me to back away, I found a rickety garden bench at the foot of one crooked and faded dock, along with a small coffee table. I took a seat, put up my feet and had an unobstructed view of Oslofjord.

I was speechless at the sight of the setting sun and its reflection in the water, straight ahead of me. I was also amazed that I had a portion of a Scandinavian island, in early spring, with a beautiful view all to myself. I never expected to find myself in that spot, but it's funny how traveling goes sometimes.

My maiden voyage into Norway was a success, despite the fact I've once again missed my ultimate goal: the Northern Lights. I will visit Oslo in the future but the next time I will head farther north, into the icy, rugged, jaw-dropping arctic Norwegian mountains, for a chance to catch a glimpse of one of the most spectacular natural events.

Until next time.

Valentines Day memories, another fear and a Friends reference

My head spins. Writing this was difficult. I wasn't emotional, but rather it's a subject that floats just outside of my understanding. 

13/2 - Politeness is a gag. Social pressure ties our shoelaces to each other and our hands behinds our backs. The expectations of others form the quicksand in which we're trapped. The high expectations of ourselves form the blindfold which shields our eyes. Guilt is oppression, comparison creates an invisible barrier and falsehoods are landmines, because they harm both ourselves and others.

The willingness to avoid expressing feelings is actually a self-destructive device attached by a tight chain around the throat. Societal "normalcy" is a farce. It's a costume the theater production in which we all have a role.

Remove all of it. What remains?

This is the question I face. Who am I? How do I describe that unencumbered feeling I have while riding a motorcycle, other than it's the greatest high I can think of?

I cannot answer definitively because I'm too wrapped up in self-shame, guilt and impossible expectations of myself. I'm held down by the societal "norms" with which I have been conditioned since birth. I'm limited by learned connotations of certain words.

I have said that I'm selfish. That I'm ashamed of myself and my past actions. That my trek to France was selfish in nature. That I wish to experience selflessness! But as Joey Tribbiani once said to Phoebe Buffay much to her disagreement, there is no such thing as a selfless good deed.

Everything we do is selfish. We wander through life searching for the warm and fuzzy feeling that follows when we do a good deed for another soul, thus making it all about ourselves.

The vicious circle.

But there is good selfish, and bad. My decision to come to France was selfish, but because it was something that I needed to do for myself. It was essential, a need, like water, food and shelter. The way I describe my own selfishness, though, has been tinged with the negative connotation due to my tendency to beat myself up.

Because of this, another question comes to mind. How can we truly know who or what we are when we are hopelessly contaminated by self-bias? How do we know what's actually true and real about ourselves? How do we actually know if we're generous or courageous? Loving and adventurous? Brave or cowardly? What is actually real?

And a thought just hit me. Specific details about something I can't fathom are unimportant. What matters is what I know, right here right now.

So, my name is Michael. I'm 26 years old. I'm a writer. I'm a lover. I'm a man who has visited 20 countries and is still immature in many ways. I have trouble expressing myself, particularly with positive emotions, but they're there! However, I'm learning about myself and what I'm doing in this life. I am who I need to be and everyday I will be better at becoming the person I am meant to be.

14/2 - My next flight has been booked. After two previous failed attempts, I'm headed to Oslo, Norway next month. Finally.

I first tried to fly to Oslo in 2015 while I lived in England, but my dissertation got in the way. I tried again a couple of months ago. This time I wanted to fly to Tromso in the far north of Norway in an effort to catch a glimpse of the Northern Lights, but alas I was indecisive.

Norway is one of the most beautiful and mysterious countries I can think of. It's the one place that keeps eluding me, like a thought that's impossible to put into spoken or written words. Its sharp and jagged mountains and fjords are like a silent, majestic beast, forever guarding Scandinavia. Like the Isle of Skye in Scotland, the wildness and ruggedness represent me at my core being. Wild. Primal. Beautiful yet chaotic.

The wildness of Norway will grace me someday, but not this time. I will spend three days in Oslo visiting one of my parents' old exchange students and his family.

15/2 - Yesterday was Valentines Day. As a part of my effort to let the past go, I thought back to one such Feb. 14 when I lived in Visalia, California. Instead of feeling awful, I laughed at my younger self and his severe lack of compassion.

I had been on a couple of dates with a woman that January. She took me to a couple editions of the Loud Mouth Poetry Slam, which was held in a back room of a pizza parlor. She was a beautiful woman. Gentle. Peaceful. Kind. Smile for days. She deserved nothing but the best.

She had even shared one of her poems in front of the whole room. She was a total Goddess for doing that and much stronger than me. I never got the balls to stand up and share my own poems.

I'm writing in hindsight. At the time I didn't feel a spark. I wasn't attracted to her.

On our final date, which was right before Valentines Day, I decided to break it off with her so as not to lead her on and play with her feelings. In my mind, I was doing something to protect her from me. But I was also doing it knowing that her grandfather had recently passed away. She was emotional. She needed a rock to lean upon. She needed a comforting presence. That person...was not me.

I gave her the gutless go-to line we spineless men always use in this situation. "I hope you understand, but I think we should just be friends."

She was rock-solid in the moment, playing it casual. But even then I knew she was crushed into a million tiny pieces because I could see it in her eyes...I never spoke to her again. Think about it. I broke up with a woman a day before Valentines Day who had just lost her grandfather.

This memory came back to me because I wish to make peace with it. It's part of my past and I accept it. I accept that I was (and am, to an extent) cold. I don't mean to be. Sometimes my actions just signify that I'm a jerk. So, please, laugh at my past. I definitely am.

And recall to the first paragraph in this post when I wrote about "the expectations of ourselves," because this is important. I have such high expectations of myself that I'm afraid of letting myself down. It's a fear! 

I write about myself as if I'm a scumbag who hasn't even remotely come close to minimum expectations. There are ideas in my head about what I should be doing at this point in my life, and none of them feature me in my current situation. I do compare myself to others and what they've accomplished.

Discard all of that. Time to rewire my thinking.

This is not a race. I'm exactly where I should be, nowhere else. I was meant to move to France and meet the most interesting person in the world, to know him on a deep level:

Me.

Suddenly, the sole purpose of learning French seems so shallow now.

Until next time.