Little Pixy Boots on Love: The Shovel's in the Ground!

Now that yours truly's Norwegian language standard has risen above the kindergarten level, I've started reading more and more newspapers and local magazines that I can get my hands on - from the leftover newspapers in the trains to local municipality magazines - I'm always hungry for more brain-food.

It is common to have a hut for kids (barnehytte)
built for the kindergartens in Norway. This one is the
kids' play-hut at Fredly kindergarten near Trondheim.

The most interesting observation to a city girl like me is the love that Norwegians have for nature, so much so that they use many farming terms and natural phenomenon to describe their daily life. Every time I discover a new expression, I chuckle and it brings a warm feeling to my heart that my adopted country has such down-to-earth closeness to their environment.

For example, I was flipping through my local municipal magazine when I came across this expression that puzzled me : "Spaden er i jorda!" I was thinking, ok, so the shovel's in the earth/ground.....so....?

Spaden er i jorda

I turned to my ready-made organic translator, a.k.a. Viking Man, next to me and asked him the significance of this term. Apparently this term expresses something new is on its way, a new beginning, a new project starting, which in this case, a multi-purpose hall is going to be constructed right below the new Vestby school. The hall will encompass "international goals" and there will be sports for everyone. What a wonderful open attitude towards incorporating foreigners in their midst!

Another place I came across the same expression "to stick a shovel in the ground", was news on the expansion of the Union Hotel - Swiss-style hotel in western Norway - which triggered one of last year's most inflamed architecture debates. The owners were ready to "stick the shovel in the ground" when they were informed by the National Heritage Board to build their planned expansion in the Swiss style - and not in a "modern way".

The Swiss-style Union Hotel Øye on the Hjørundfjord,
a favourite haunt of European royalty since 1891

Just so you know, Norwegians descended from a conservative farming background and they hold on to their traditions very fiercely, especially when it comes to architecture. Yet in the midst of preserving history, Norwegians also maintain a forward-looking stand on human rights for all. Most Norwegians remain positive to the incoming "aliens" into their midst, and embrace a socialist equal attitude towards them, although I hear that some politicians still remain xenophobic to the number of asylum-seekers and immigrants entering their country.


When I turned over a few more pages, I came across another article about the massive success of the Bauhaus megastore, something like IKEA in Tampines, Singapore but sells more of worktools, lights, bathroom, floor, wall tiles, garden equipment, plants and even inflatable water rafts. The caption under one photo went "Ikke høysesong for hage akkurat nå, men snøfresene går unna så det suser" (It's not high season for the garden now, but snow-blowers go as fast as it whistles).

Whistles?

Apparently it's a reference to how the wind "whistles" or "whizzes" when it blows fast by your ears. In this case, the snow-blowers "whistles" out of the megastore like the wind blowing a piece of tissue paper - quickly out of sight and out of mind. In America, I believe a similar expression is "selling like hot cakes".

In case you are wondering what a snow-blower looks like, here it is!

Like the grass-blower you use after mowing the grass, in Norway, they have snow-blowers so that one doesn't have to shovel after every snowfall.

The act of "blowing" by the wind is also used sometimes to mean a whiff of fresh air into something old and traditional. On the Moss Avis (avis = newspaper), I came across a headline which says:

Blåser nytt liv i strikkekunsten

(It "blows" new life into the art of knitting). The article features how ladies - grandmas amongst others - are teaching the art of knitting to fourth-graders or 9 year-olds. Click on the headline to see pictures of Norwegian schoolboys knitting and the full article.

A funny expression that relates to some Norwegian's love for fishing is slapp i fisken ("relaxed in fish", literally). It refers not to fish, but fat on a flabby person whose "rolls" of fat round their middle are probably as flabby and loose like a fish that is dead. Nice.

Some Norwegian expressions (also known as uttrykk) are similar to English ones, like se hvilken vei vinden blåser (see which way the wind blows) or se hvor landet ligger (lit. "see how the land lies", or "see how the cookie crumbles") which is means to wait and see how the course of future would turn out. They are a throwback to the times when a farmer needs to gauge the success of his crops by the weather changes and whether the land is suitable for cultivation.

Another interesting expression relating to sound and nature is the Norwegian equivalent of "you get what you asked for" - hva man roper i skogen, får man svar (What one call for in the forest, will be what they get a response (echo) of). Doesn't that bring to mind a very lonely vast forest where the only voice is your own? It sure gives a picture of the vast land that Norway has in comparison to its population (similar or slightly less than Singapore).


Their love for the sea and sailing is never far from their thoughts. Seile sin egen sjø translates to sailing in one's own lake, which means to be left to one's own devices. Which brings to mind that the Norwegian fish industry and local economy has recently been splashed with cold water by the country with the world's largest population...

Recently on Aftenposten, Norway's most widely circulated newspaper, the main headline screamed "Kina tar hevn" (China takes revenge). The blurb beneath reads, "Næringslivet merker en kinesisk isfront i kjølvannet av fredspristildelingen og ber om krisemøte med statsministeren" (The economy marks a Chinese ice-front in the wake of the Peace Prize allocation and requests for a crisis meeting with the Prime Minister).

A second cold war from a furious republic?

The list of expressions relating to the ice, wind, earth and water are endless. But what about animals? Here's some:

• ikke skue hunden på hårene (don't judge the dog by its hair)
  

English equivalent: don't judge a book by its cover

• ikke selge skinnet før bjørnen er skutt (don't sell the (bear)skin before the bear is shaken) English equivalent: don't count your chickens before they are hatched

Apparently this one harks back to the sport of hunting (which is still carried out by Norwegians today) where the bear might be shot but still alive, and the hunter might be trying to sell its fur and skin before it's dead. I think there must have been one or two such bears that jumped up and ran away before it could be skinned, hah!

• kry som en hane (be as full as a rooster) English equivalent: proud as a peacock

• kjøpe katta i sekken (to buy a cat in a bag) English: to buy a pig in the poke

Interestingly, this quote has similar expressions in many European countries, which originated in the Late Middle Ages, where tricksters would sell cats, rather than pork meat, in a bag as meat was scarce then. A more commonly used English idiom is "not to let the cat out of the bag", which refers to the same scheme because if the cat was out of the bag, the secret is out in the open.

I hope I have given a sense of how Norwegians' love for nature has infused their daily lives. Right now, many Norwegians are gearing up to cheer for their favourite skier and ski-jumper in the winter World Championship (VM - verdensmesterskap), including my boss who catches up on sports news on internet-tv during lunch breaks!

In the meantime, stay warm and we'll see how the wind blows the next time!

pixy

Una Ragazza on Shop: Stranded

I was recently home in Asia to visit family and friends, making pit stops in Singapore and Hong Kong. Bali was attached to the tail-end of the trip for a little alone-time with Un Ragazzo, who was a real sport about all the visiting and eating (what a hard life!).

Over the years, I’d brought home a good variety of gifts for folks, and these days, my tried-and-tested, go-to retailers are Abercrombie (for cousins and friends), Lucky Wang, Scholastic and Baby Gap (for Little Ragazza), Brooklyn Republic and American Apparel (for sister), and Strand Bookstore (for godchildren and Little Ragazza).

A whole series of books dedicated to Little Ragazza

The last on that list, Strand, has been a cornerstone destination to fulfill my shopping list for the last five years, ever since my first godchild turned one.

A New York institution that is nearly 90 years old, Strand is the last bastion of what was formerly a group of independent bookstores on New York’s legendary Book Row on Fifth Avenue. Now in the East Village, it is the largest used bookstore I’ve known, proudly carrying the slogan of “18 Miles of Books” that is printed on its store sign and most of its memorabilia. Any would-be shopper is greeted by shelf-after-shelf of used books priced at $1 along the external length of the store, on 12 Street and Broadway. Browsing these hundreds of random titles can be a fun way to kill time, such as while waiting for a movie at the nearby theater to start.

The one-dollar shelves outside the store

Chic totes for a reading crowd

Strand is known for the chaotic look around its shelves, which carry everything from publishers’ overstock and used books to rare, antique and priceless items (rumor has it that they have a centuries-old, handwritten bible and a letter by a former first lady, Jacqueline Kennedy).

In the basement is a giant section of the latest books to hit the market, all of them sold at a discount after having been read just once by book critics who had received them from publishers for their book reviews. On the ground floor, my favorite table is the one marked “New York” that carries interesting, sometimes quirky, books of all sorts that showcase the city of New York as a protagonist. I have both received and given away books that have graced this table during my years in the city.

The section in which I had spent the most time in recent years is the Children’s Books on the second storey. Almost every birthday and Christmas present for my godchildren (I now have five, three of which frequently make an online appearance), as well as Little Ragazza, has originated from this wonderful selection. Strand carries many perennial favorites (think Curious George, Baba the Elephant, Harold and the Purple Crayon and the Berenstein Bears) for my target audience. There are also many others which I find myself picking up and putting down each time, after rationalizing that the kids are just not yet ready to enjoy them. I mean, at what age does a child start reading Tintin? It’s a comic strip after all; can a five or six-year-old truly appreciate the wit of Hergé?

The world of Tintin et Milou (otherwise known as Snowy for the anglophones)

In any case, Strand is a lovely place to spend half an hour or half a day. Great place to be stranded in a downpour. Perfect place to geek out and learn about a whole new subject of literary interest. Or just to gawk at delicious photos in the top 100 cookbooks in the country. And equally delicious ones from the latest Fashion Week coffee table books.

When the eyes finally need a respite from all the small print and the back needs a stretch, one can always count on Amsterdam Billards round the corner for that little exercise and liquid fuel. Or, for the adventurous and Twitter-savvy crowd, there are surely a few of my favorite trucks in the 'hood. Enjoy.

Strand on Book Row, circa 1938

(Some pictures taken from the Internet)

Rojak Timeout: Una Ragazza this Chinese New Year

Today's Rojak Timeout is by Una Ragazza, who shares a little something passed down from the matriach of her family.

Enjoy the rest of Chinese New Year. Don't forget to go down to the nearest river with mandarin oranges on the 15th day, the Lunar Valentine's Day, where making a wish and throwing them in the river may bring forth a new mate this year. Try it.



* * *

The Chinese New Year is a time of socializing, relaxing and eating. Like every other Chinese family in Singapore I know, mine takes great pride in preparing delicious meals for the many relatives and friends who would come to my house. Why my house, instead of those of other aunts and uncles?

The tradition goes back more than 15 years, when my grandparents moved in with us. It is common for all relatives to congregate in the house of the most senior member in the extended family. Therefore, since the early 1990s, that house has been mine. This practice continued even after my ah-ma (grandma) and ah-gong (grandpa) passed away in the late 90’s and 00’s, respectively.

Having spent half my life growing up under the same roof as ah-ma and ah-gong, I still think of them very much. Chinese New Year is an especially tender moment, as ah-ma was an instrumental part of the celebrations, orchestrating the kitchen to ensure everybody was well-satiated over the multi-day festivities. Ah-gong, although less boisterous, worked quietly to ensure we had beautiful flowers and plants in our little garden as well as fresh fruits as dessert for every meal.

I could go on reminiscing for a good amount of time. Instead, in memory of my ah-ma, I’ll share with you something she’d taught me years ago that will always remain a part of me.

When I was about 13, ah-ma taught me a little poem that lists the animals in the order that they appear in the Chinese zodiac calendar. Because these 12 animals always repeat every dozen years, knowing their order means that you can easily count the age of any person, as long as you know his or her Chinese zodiac sign.

Because I'd learnt it in the Chinese dialect of teochew, I will recite it in that form and include an English translation. Here goes:

Eek tsuh

(1 - mouse)

Gee goo

(2 - ox)

Sa hoe

(3 - tiger)

See tow

(4 - rabbit [2011, 2023...])

Ngo leng

(5 - dragon)

Lahk jua

(6 - snake)

Tsik beh

(7 - horse)

boi ngee-aw

(8 - sheep)

gow gow

(9 - monkey)

chap koi

(10 - rooster)

chap eek gow

(11 - dog)

chap gee du bor dooay nahng tsao

(12 - mama pig runs off with some gangsta pig!)

So there you go. Pronunciation credits go to my test reader, Un Ragazzo.

To my non-Chinese friends: Can you calculate your Chinese zodiac sign?

To the rest of us: Xin Nian Kuai Le!

Watching the lion dance on Hong Kong's Lantau Island during my visit to Asia this winter

Tianni on Love: Our Lives in Boxes

So the day finally came.

From a vague notion of a possible return home in the near future, it had turned into a distant date that was still many months away, and then, as the days flew by in a whirl of living, the day I awaited with a mix of anticipation and trepidation became just a week away, then a mere matter of days, and finally just a day away.


The send-off for Kaela's beloved ayi

In the weeks leading up to it, I thought what I was feeling -- the slowly growing grief for the passing of an old way of life, the excitement and apprehension at a new unknown chapter -- must be rather similar to if the Grim Reaper had given me a calling card with the exact date of my demise from earth. The walk along my daily route to and from work in Beijing, a path I could possibly have navigated blindfolded by now, took on an almost religious veneer, becoming a last rite of sorts for my eventual departure. I would will each of my senses to take in as much as possible of the noisy clogged streets that I had many times sworn at, but which I now gazed upon with a somewhat tender feeling, and try to commit every detail -- the texture of the gravel path under my feet, the dark branches of the leafless gingko biloba trees overhead, the magpies on them, the crisp cold air cutting into my skin which I relished with such masochistic glee -- into my eternal memory bank. I would walk around my apartment of 2 plus years trying to memorize the feel of the place, the furniture, and recall the lives, laughter and tears lived within the walls. Even if I could visit the city again, I knew I would never be able to recapture in the same way, this significant slice of our lives lived here.

Perhaps it was in this way I grew more ready to say good-bye to my adopted city which, like most people we've grown to love in the deepest most permanent way, had become such an inextricable part of me despite all its imperfections and flaws. In a way, I'm glad I left before Beijing's crazy traffic, incessant spitting and cutting of queues (to name just a few) ate up all the fondness I felt for the city and its people, and it still retained the romantic glow of a memorable love affair.

Till we meet again, 北京！ 后会有期！


The sun sets over the familiar skyline from our apartment window on the last day



Our dining room the night before the movers came in, and after


The movers sweep through our apartment, packing our lives into boxes (and the little one makes sure she gets her face into every pix)


Still chirpy now, but I'm sure little K will soon be clamoring to go back to Beijing


The movers take a lunch break and we tuck into our last Annie's takeout pizza


The final count: Our lives in #62 boxes

Little Pixy Boots on Play: The Vikings have come out to Play...

Skiing, anyone?

There is a common saying that Norwegians are born with skis on their feet. A lot of Norwegians are very sporty and have sports that suit all seasons from rollerblading to ski-jumping. To them, any snow sport involving speed would be their favourite. For the less sports-minded, their idea of play would be to barbecue (grill in Norwegian), drink and hang out in cafes.

Grilling potatoes by the typical Norwegian beach

Talking about drinking made me remember a recent event in my life. Just earlier in the last Friday of January, my boss held a julebord (literally translated to "Christmas table"). It was my very first julebord and my expectations were high for it. My boss sure didn't let me down :)

What is a julebord? A julebord is a dinner thrown by the company (or the boss, in my case, because we are a small firm) for the employees to celebrate the season of Christmas. Usually a julebord is held before Christmas in November or December, but some companies choose to hold it in January to avoid the crowded restaurants filled by other companies having their julebord at the the same time. Usually the boss (company) pays for pre-dinner drinks, the dinner itself with drinks and all employees just sit around the table to joke and get to know each other better.

However my boss this year has a nice surprise for us. He is a romantic, I think, who likes to drop ambiguous clues and hints in the company loggboka (logbook) and emails about the event and location, while keeping the rest of us guessing.

On the big day itself, he posted a picture of where we are supposed to meet for the julebord:

All 4 of us guessed that the meeting place was Ice Bar of Oslo because a polar bear is called "is bjørn" in Norwegian, which means "ice bear", which also sounded very much like "ice bar". As for the palace (slott in Norwegian, for you language junkies out there), we just thought that the photo hinted that it was near the royal palace or Slottsparken, which is the palace gardens where the Ice Bar is close to.

So at 6 pm, all of us went down to Ice Bar, only to find it empty, except for two bartenders.

Another surprise? we thought.

Yes, the surprise was...
we got the location wrong!

The meeting place was "Bear Palace", a pub in Aker Brygge I've never heard of, but that wasn't unusual given that my husband and I don't drink much. But I must quantify by saying that from my observation of the parties I have been to here, Norwegians have been tanking up their booze during their leisure time. They first have pre-dinner drinks, dinner wine, then go to the pub for more to hit more beer bottles. I'm amazed at the amount of money the bars and restaurants earn from alcohol itself in Norway as alcoholic drinks are not cheap in Norway.

So after the guys finished their beer at Ice Bar, we trooped down to Bear Palace and found our boss standing in the -6 degree Celsius outdoors for what must have been 15-20 minutes. Then he presented us with another surprise - tickets to a stand-up comedy show next door called "Drit i å danse" (literally "(I don't give a) shit about dancing" ) by a Norwegian celebrity Marit Voldsæter. We also earned two more beers each for our trouble, of which I chose non-alcoholic versions.

The show was such a laugh - even though I don't understand half of it. Voldsæter and her band of boys were hilarious and animated, playing many roles from Taliban terrorists to a drug addicts band to giraffes.

Programme and ticket to my first Norwegian stand-up comedy.
It doesn't come cheap - NOK 420 (USD72) per ticket

One part I found particularly funny was their portrayal of Norwegians watching a cross-country skiing race. One guy decked in Norwegian colours and winter gear came in abruptly while Voldsæter was talking to us. He sat down on the stairs with his thermos and backpack slash stool and waited. Then one after another, two clumsy Norwegian skiers actually skied onto stage, which prompted him to stand up and cheer. After that he packed up and she asked him: That's all? That's all, he said and left. So typically Norwegian to be deeply passionate about a sport but stoic in expressing himself, I thought.

The best part is: the show was 99.95% in the Bergen Norwegian dialect, with a smattering of English and gibberish of foreign languages. The Bergen dialect was hard enough for Oslo-lites to understand, and much less understandable for me. Fortunately, action speaks louder than words and I understood enough body language and words for me to catch the gist of most acts, especially the last one. The closing act was a hilarious, un-sexy portrayal of a sexy pole-dance by Voldsæter in a Playboy outfit.

Afterwards, we had a fantastic 5-course julebord at the famous Lofoten restaurant, which is famous for her fish dishes. The artichoke soup was fluffy with creamy bubbles and tasted heavenly. My colleagues who have attended cabin trips and Christmas dinners for the past five year, recounted some humourous drunken incidents of Tom whipping girls with his belt while dancing and flashing himself; the other becoming Exhibit A on a Harry-Safari (names changed to protect privacy) because he rushed out to the bushes outside a cabin in the middle of the night to throw up, and ended up sleeping beneath some rocks on the beach.

Other than partying, Norwegian life is filled with practical tasks that take up a lot of their leisure time. For one, Norwegians are garden-proud people who love digging into the soil, getting their hands dirty and trimming their trees. I've been party to a few of that, having trimmed pine trees, mowed grass and plucked cherries and redcurrants in the summer. Shoveling the snow has become a crucial task in winter too. But one important task we had accomplished last autumn was the laying of cement and stones in preparation for our new recycling bin corner...

Get ready for the bogus serial-killer! Dangerous only to herself and unassuming metal poles.

The female 007 agent in unflattering "I'm-here-to-work-not-look-pretty" wear

Hard at work with a metal cutter

The eventual damage.

Such physical dirty work had never existed in my life in Singapore. Usually they were kept at a distance, separated by safety fences and nets, in a construction site where one could observe the sparks without goggles. But since coming to Norway, I've learnt the joy of getting down and dirty with digging, heavy lifting and changing car tyres. I like to think of myself as a tough independent woman learning to put on different masks and goggles for practical needs. I was quite proud of myself for sawing off that metal pole that was obstructing us from putting down the cement tiles for the new recycling corner.

Other than physical labour, there is of course the usual TV, movies and cafes to keep locals entertained. I found more time for my art too, during my quiet down-time. Unlike the noisy hustle and bustle of Singapore, Oslo and the seaside kampong ("village" in Malay) I'm staying in now has much silence to feed my creative imagination. Click on the link above ("my art") if you are curious about the latest illustration I've made in the Land of the Midnight Sun.

Until next time, take care!
xoxo
pixy