den kasakhstanske blockbusterfilmen

I just got back from Oslo, after a long weekend mixing work and pleasure. All of Monday I spent in a workshop, but the three days prior I explored Norway’s capital city. Middle of November might not be the best time for tourism high up north, but I was lucky. It was not colder than a German would expect this time of the year, and the sun shone. Granted, light lasted for less than eight hours each day, but that was still enough to see Holmenkollen’s bright white structure rising high into the clear sky, take a trip out to Lillehammer, and perambulate through town till my legs got tired.

With tired legs and a setting sun accompanied by dropping mercury, there is only one place to be, a coffee shop. Oslo is full of them. There are chains like Kaffeerösteriet and Deli de Luca, but also countless small unique places. The first afternoon I chose Stockfleth, a hole in the wall in downtown with three small tables and a handful of bar stools. It was warm inside, and there was light. They had coffee and walnut brownies. The day was reborn.

After a while I got bored looking through the window watching people hurrying by, disfigured by heavy coats, scarves and hats. Thick clouds of condensed breath concealed the ethereal faces of too many nordic beauties. I grabbed a free newspaper lying on the counter and flipped through it absentmindedly. Norwegian makes some sense to those speaking English and German (see the title of this post), but it’s not enough to read articles (or follow conversations). I came upon an interview with Borat. The answers were in English.

Starting to read I burst out laughing almost instantaneously. This guy is funny. I had so far kept away from the hype and taken a skeptical approach. What’s the point of ridiculing Kazakhstan, a country whose only claims to fame are a bunch of combattive cyclists and the aging space port Baikonur. Done with the interview, I was still unsure what the point was, except that making fun of something can indeed be hilarious. Maybe I’ll even go see the movie.

The magazine I had grabbed purported to be a treasure chest of nightlife and events suggestions. I didn’t find them. Thus I spend most of the dark hours in my hotel, reading, relaxing and catching up on sleep that had been sadly neglected over the last few weeks. By the time Monday came around, I was fit. And the workshop turned out to be totally worth the trip.