A much-need romp in the woods with the dog. Nice day…yesterday. Lots of sun and warmth. Just getting around to writing about it now as my packed schedule of eating and visiting (not necessarily in that order) has interfered with my journalling. Was going to walk in the river valley along my old trails in Mill Creek this morning, but the wind is blowing something fierce and my skin is not in the mood for a dermabrasion. Good day to stay inside, ruminate about the closing of 2011 and make plans to do…oh I don’t know…better stuff in 2012. Also, eat. And visit. I despair at my lack of communing with nature in the latter months of this year. So few long walks, and almost nothing at all during weekdays. I’ve lost touch with the river. I no longer interact with the birds. From a walking/fitness/nature point of view, it’s been a strange four months.
I’m not who I was.
However, my temporarily altered walking life has improved in one major respect-I now have a dog to accompany me on my strolls through the woods. It’s hard to imagine a more joyful walking companion. Maggie, you’re the best.
No words can describe how beautiful it was in Whitemud Creek today. My camera could not capture it. And yes, I am blaming my camera. After a busy weekend, a walk with the dog in the woods after a night of fat-flaked snow was exactly the right thing for my depleted soul, as it was too early in the morning for another gin & tonic. With the temperatures hovering around zero for most of December, the ‘pretty’ snow was long gone, leaving exposed ice and brown grass. Nothing lovely about that, but the snow last night has made everything gorgeous again. In fact, the trail along the creek this morning was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen some fantastic scenery in my life, very recently in fact, but nothing stirs me more deeply than a forest in snow. All the branches were leaning in toward the trail, heavy with frost, creating a canopy of sparkling white against the blue sky. It was extraordinary. Maggie was in heaven leaping through the snow, plowing the fresh flakes with her snout. I was with her all the way, metaphorically.
Deep into the sloth portion of December. Not for lack of things to do, but because of it. Swamped, in other words, and the walks have been few and far between. Nevertheless, in between baking my annual batch of chocolate gingerbread, and preparations for a small get together tonight, Maggie and I slipped out for an hour’s frolic in Whitemud Creek. Wonderful. A little windy, but otherwise perfect for walking. -5C is my favourite winter walking temperature; no sweat, no slush, no hat. Had the creek to ourselves, so Maggie was off leash the entire time. Other than the peeing in snow and eating rabbit shit, I’d like to change places with her for a moment while we’re walking. She is just so happy.
Looking forward to 10 days off at Christmas. Oh boy.
When I left, it was autumn, and I had just finished the last of the raking. A light rain was falling on my way to the airport. When I arrived in Gothenburg, the grass was (and still is) a deep green. Many trees were holding on to their leaves. Now I’m back, and everything is white. What happened?
I shouldn’t complain. From what I heard (over and over again), I dodged a weather bullet, both here and in Sweden. It stormed in Edmonton, while I was basking in the balmy breezes of the Baltic. Historically, the weather in November in Gothenburg is rainy, windy, and often snowy. It rained my last day there, but all the other days were perfect. Mostly overcast and humid, but perfect for all the walking and sightseeing we did. Thank you Odin.
After staying up almost 24 hours travelling from Sweden to Edmonton yesterday, I am still a little crazed by the time change. Nevertheless, Maggie and I went for a walk in Whitemud Creek this morning. Pleasant and refreshing in every respect, and I gotta say…there’s nothing more jolly than a dog in the snow, or this particular dog in the snow. The sudden presence of the white stuff in my life has added to my discombobulation, but perhaps a little more sleep and the cruel slap of reality at work tomorrow will, in theory, put the mountain standard time back into my circadian rhythm.
Not that there’s anything wrong with getting up at 3:00 AM.
Well, that one’s off my list. I’ve always wanted to visit Norway. As a connoisseur of Expressionism, one must pay homage to the painter who brought the angst to the canvas-Edvard Munch. This is a man who has had a lot of influence in my painterly life, and in some ways, my writerly one as well. I’m working on a short story about the theft of The Scream and when I workshopped it, the main criticism was locational. Now that I’ve been to the Munch Museum, which by the way DID NOT have The Scream, or any other finished Munch paintings, I have no excuse for sloppy setting details. More Munch later…
A screaming torte
We took the four hour bus ride to Oslo on Wednesday morning. Pretty awesome bus, by the way. Nicer than the train. When we arrived, we exited the station in the wrong direction. Cranes and what appeared to be an interchange under construction. Walked half way over a really cool bridge, and then turned back, and I have to say, my first impression of Oslo was not good. The station appeared to be located in a slum. Lots of graffiti, run-down, boarded up buildings, and very few people, which is extremely unusual for the Scandinavian cities I’ve visited thus far. Of those who were out and about, most were young men, and a few women, most of whom wore veils and scarves. Food signs advertising kebabs. A mosque. This is Oslo? Felt like we had walked into a ‘situation.’ The lack of people around was quite eerie, and the grey skies and light rain didn’t help. Couldn’t check into our hotel for several hours, so we made our way through the streets to the Munch Museum. The museum is located beside a big park, and is quite modern, not like the crumbly old buildings housing most of the other art collections I’ve seen in Gothenburg and Stockholm. Tons of security. Had to take off our purses, and remove all metal objects. Once again, my leather shoes set off the machine. I was kind of surprised by all the to-do and then I remembered, oh yeah, they’ve been robbed multiple times.
Anyway, the first gallery had Munch’s sketches and preliminary paintings for the ‘Munch Laboratorium: The Path to the Aula.” This was a competition for the centennial celebration of Oslo University (Aula) in 1915, which included a festival hall with monumental decorations and paintings. They were interesting, and even in his sketches, Munch was Munch, with the curvy lines and crazed expressions. However, when we asked about another floor, or gallery, we discovered that this was essentially it, and that The Scream and many of his ‘famous’ paintings were in the National Museum, our next stop. Fine. We bought a shitload of stuff from the shop, or I did, and had a bit of cake at the cafe. The cake had The Scream on the icing. Heh.
The streets leading toward the National Gallery got a bit nicer. A few more people, but still strangely deserted. The flags on the old gallery were advertising a show of Giacometti, Hodler, and Klee. Whaaattt? Could this get any better? Huge fan of Hodler, and the other two. We saw this show first. Much to my delight, I was treated to a couple of huge canvases by Arnold Bocklin, another painter I love, and then up the marble staircase to the 19th Century.
Harald Sohlberg-Winter Night in the Mountains
As I’ve come to expect, there were many little galleries, the ubiquitous mass of school children being lectured by a tour guide, and that weird sort of anxiousness I feel in galleries like this…afraid I might miss something, and yet overwhelmed by all the beauty. Found my beloved Caspar David Friedrich in a room dedicated to the Romanticist landscapes. Just a few canvases; they seem to prefer Dahl. Harald Sohlberg’s paintings were achingly gorgeous. I was very impressed with his blues. And then Munch. A room of bloody reds, haunted faces, and predatory moons. Just like home. Unbelievable. Am I really here?
Of all the galleries and museums I’ve seen, the National Museum of Art in Oslo was my favourite. I’m such a huge fan of 19th century art, especially of the northern, Romanticist variety, and this gallery was full of things to love. There were other artists, but by the time I finished with Munch, I was almost overwhelmed, and could barely see the other paintings. Blinded by beauty, I guess.
After this, we found our hotel and chilled for an hour or two. In the evening, walking around the area, we found the people. Seems they were hiding, and the next day, the sun came out and we discovered Oslo anew. It is a beautiful city after all, with that same sort of Gamla Stan architecture, although smaller, and more subdued, like Gothenburg.
Before the bus
Took a bus to Bygdøy (pronounced Big Day) and visited the Fram Museum, the ship that sailed to both the north and south poles. Read some interesting stuff about Nansen, who is a national hero in Norway, but I confess I’ve never heard of him. We went to this museum because a friend of Sharon’s is a distant relation to Admundsen, the arctic explorer also featured in the museum. We then walked up to the Viking Ship Museum, which has two full ships and a frame of a third. Very graceful, beautiful designs, and the artifacts found with the ships were incredible, some of which I’ve seen on the covers of books about Vikings.
The last excursion of the day was to Vigeland Park, the biggest park in in the world devoted to the sculptures of one artist. Unfuckingbelievable. So gorgeous. As far as sculptures are concerned, I prefer a Giacometti over a Vigeland, but it was really something to see so many monumental sculptures of human figures in one place, often atop one another. So many naked bums, so many schlongs. Many different kinds of groupings, ages, poses, most sculpted in granite, I think. The main sculpture is an obelisk, a kind of human totem pole, or a big
Son, have you seen my pants?
orgy, depending on your perspective. It’s in the centre of the park, on a giant platform surrounded by many other groupings of humans. It would be very interesting to see these sculptures change in different light, different weather. The park itself is massive and stunning. Waterfalls, a beautiful bridge with even more sculptures, broad pathways with gardens and long groves of trees. The grass was still deeply green. Just amazing. Simply amazing. I’d love to see this park, and all of Oslo, in the summer. However, on a sunny day in late November, it was still beautiful.
on the way to central station
We were both dog-tired by this time, so we headed over to Central Station to wait for the bus. The walk down to the station was gorgeous. Lots of embassies and lovely, old mansions. Found another Christmas market in the square. Spent a few hours drinking a variety of caffeinated beverages at the station and then headed home in the dark. Must say, it gets dark early here, and in Gothenburg. I guess that’s to be expected.
When we arrived around 10:00 in the evening, it was heavily misting outside. My last big adventure in Scandinavia. This morning, we went to the market to buy some more swaddled bread, and my last Kanelbullar. Tomorrow, planes, trains and automobiles. By the way, it’s raining sideways today, and yet the Swedes still look beautiful. What the fuck?
