#4: Done!

Dang! Done! Cherry blossom in Bonn.

Dear God, what did I have to go trough, in order to see these trees. First, I had to get to Berlin on an overnight coach route. The combination of factors, such as unnumbered seats, including only four VIP ones on the front of the bus, with extra leg space, and the prospect of 9 hours on the bus, made me fast, agile like a lynx and ruthless towards old ladies.

On the German bus, for a change, everything was in Ordnung, seats had numbers and I got the VIP one, next to the driver. It turned out, however, that together with the extra leg space, one gets also 7 hours of free forced conversations in German, the language of love, with the captain of that vessel, who in the same time, was very outspoken about the skills of other drivers. 

When I knocked the door of Kirsten's, my CouchSurfing host, apartment, I was able to tell every German driver what I think about their driving in their mothertongue. Kirsten soothed my linguistic-automotive trauma with a pile of asparagus with sauce hollandaise, which I don't think was a coincidence. Kirsten pays her bills with rummaging into people's brains, I'm pretty sure she must have read some neuroscientific article about the positive influence of asparagus on treatment of traumas. 

I fully recovered after I saw Bonn's Old Tow, so pink, so cute, so kawaii, full of the candy floss of cherry blossom, that I was a bit dissapointed that no one started singing and dancing to the choreography that everybody knows. Maybe it's because we were there with half of Singapore and Singapore doesn't seem like a very dancey place. 

Still. It was totally worth it. So pink, that the six-years-old in me was getting crazily happy. 

On the way to Bergen

After three wonderful days in Oslo, filled with meeting with old and new friends, puppy-like excitement, small heart-attacks over the prices of everything and complete lack of understanding of spoken Norwegian, I finally embarked on the train to Bergen. The ride was supposed to take 5 hours and 30 minutes, so I had a book with me. 

I barely opened it. What was happening outside of the windows was absolutely amazing. I got on the train on one of the cloudy Oslovian afternoons (panting, because hey, who would have thought that car number eight is in the end of the train). We went slowly past the suburbs, green hills and wooden houses painted in red. Few hours later we were speeding trough big, white, empty wilderness. I swear, I've never seen so much snow in one place in my whole life. We were passing by villages with names, such as Gol or Huk, apparently made up in a way that's easier to hear over a blizzard. At least easier than, let's say Tissvassklumptjønnin. We have also stopped in Finse (population: 10), a village that is connected with the outer world by only one way, that is - railway. I saw houses almost completely buried in snow and turquoise glacial lakes. I saw walls of the tunnels covered with a layer of ice so thick, that it looked like there were build of it.

Apparently, the best thing in Oslo is a train to Bergen.

Task 20: Hike in Bieszczady mountains

(You may want to read the previous post to know what I'm talking about)

I got my sudden clarity moment on my way to our grocery store, when I sensed a smell of sawmill. And then a smell of wet pine forest. And many other smells that are far away from all these artificial, civilized smells that became so familiar for us. Out of sudden I felt an urge to leave everything and go to Bieszczady. Which is peculiar, because I've never been there. 

When you look at the map, Poland has a shape of a pentagon. The bottom, most southern corner, bordering Ukraine is Bieszczady mountains region, wild and remote, a true borderland. Not really fully Polish, but not Ukrainian either. A bit catholic, a bit orthodox. And it's really wild. Like wolves and bears wild. A hut in Bieszczady is a synonym of not giving a crap about civilization, Sex And The City, glossy magazines and holidays in Dominican Republic. If someone buys a hut in Bieszczady, it means that a) he's going to grow a beard, b) from now on you can reach him only by sending a pidgeon. 

Now, imagine Poland in eighties. No, really, go ahead. Google Chris Niedenthal pictures, they tell a lot about this time. Think about constant lack of everything, about long long queues to a shop, where the only thing being sold is toilet paper (and you must be quick, because there are only 500 rolls available!), about every stupid thing being such a big deal. About needing special permission to go abroad or move to another city. But most of all, think about constant misinformation. On one hand there was the official propaganda and no one believed it. On the other hand, there were gossips, much more trustworthy but still, gossips. And, obviously double standards, some people could have exotic holidays and quality food, some couldn't. You and your family couldn't. And you never knew which one of your friends is actually a secret agent, so you better don't tell that hilarious joke about how stupid the government is, because you don't want sad gentlemen in grey coats to knock your door one day. And this ubiquitous sense of hopefulness, a feeling that your reality is grey and difficult, you can't see the world and it's going to be like this forever. 

It's said that all the tradition of Russian author song was born, because of the crisis in the USSR. People could find truth only in open air activities, such as hiking, kayaking or canyoning. After all day of hiking, they would set a bonfire and songs would just come, out of nowhere. I believe, that this is what happened in Poland in eighties. People were just tired with being bullshitted by the government and the thick atmosphere of Martial Law, so they were just escaping to remote parts of Poland to find, well, truth. Authentic experiences. Freedom. Because the rules are clear in the mountains, there is no bullshitting. If you piss a bear, then you need to run fast. No misinformation, no double standards, no bullshitting. 

That's why Bieszczady mountains started attracting young people. Unpretentious bearded guys with backpacks, fit student girls with checked shirts. Lumberjacks, poets, wanderers, sheperds and artists. And Bieszczady. Wildlife, Simple conditions, shelters with cold water only. Sleeping on the floor. Hitch-hiking. Vodka. Quite a lot of it. Guitars. Young, well-read people. Wolves and bears. Quickly a very particular subculture arose. They started composing music for poems and this is how sung poetry was born. If you ever  find a Polish song for guitar, harmonica and violin, talking about wolf's fangs, lost love, sunrise, wanderers and połoninas, then you know that the authors probably were having beards.

Okay, this is not even Bieszczady, it's Barania Góra, but it gives the vibe, right? You can totally imagine a hot bearded lumberjack with a backpack taking this picture. (The truth is that it was probably taken by one of our scouts, long long ago, but still, it's all about the vibe)

Recently I found old pictures of my scout troop. So old, that there is no chance I could remember them. They were taken in early nineties, at the dawn of culture of Bieszczady, but still, had this very special vibe, that made me long for leaving everything, get some old style backpack, a train ticket and just go to Bieszczady. Wear checked shirt and sing poetry about sunrise in Połonina Caryńska and morning dew and golden icons in empty wooden orthodox churches.

I've never been there, there is a whole ethos of Bieszczady, based on the respect towards nature, people and heritage. At least there was. I've heard that it's kinda difficult to find accomodation there in high season and if you manage to find it, it's expensive. I was told that there are more and more tourists wearing flipflops and 'hiking' in Połonina Caryńska. I may go there and then get a Bieszczady version of Paris syndrome. Still, I'd like to go. I'm stuck at home, doing some work that has to be done and I'm super broke. The weather is beautiful, it's Polish summer at its peak, and I'm dying to hitch-hike to some remote part of Poland, see the countryside and sleep in a tent. I was a scout for 13 years. It means that at this time of the year for most of the summers in my life, I was in some remote part of Poland, sleeping in tent for 3 weeks and hiking in the countryside. I'm pretty sure that one day psychiatrist will research on this urge for leaving the civilisation that comes in July to all those who were involved in scouting and they will call it "post scout camp syndrome" or something like this.

If you want to know more about Bieszczady:

• Look it up in the old National Geograpics, there were some good articles, at least in Polish edition. They might be translated, and even if they weren't, you can always see the photographs. 
• Find a book Axing, or the Winter of Forest Folk written in 1971 by Edward Stachura. It's a Bible of people of Bieszczady and a beloved book of generations of poets, lumberjacks and wanderers.
• Listen to the music

Task seventeen: Dance tango in Buenos Aires

First watch this:

(Antonio Banderas is the best proof that God exists and she is a woman)

So, now it's clear why, despite making a strong resolution of staying at home till I'm done with my thesis, yesterday I ended up at a milonga with a newly-met Greek guy. His name was Periklis, (which is super cool, it's like meeting an Egyptian named Tutankhamun), so waiting at him I was imagining what would happen if I welcomed him with "THIS IS SPARTAAA!!!" and I was wondering if he's going to wear a chiton. (He was actually wearing a cap and a very warm coat and turned out to be a super nice guy. Dear Periklis, if you are reading it right now, please, don't feel bad, I blame popular culture and history of ancient culture course, that I took at the 1st year of studies for my very particular image of Greeks. :-) 

Our destination was a place called Złota Milonga in Krasiński Park, and loud "welcome, beautiful madame" that I heard from an elderly gentleman at the entrance made me sure, that it was a good choice. I was expecting  to feel clumsy in the beginning, probably stepping on my partner's feet and having an epic fall at one point, but surprisingly everything went smoothly. Periklis turned out to be a patient teacher, great dancer and simply a cool guy to hang out with, he taught me some basic steps and even asserted, that I have a potential and I should develop it :-D. Well, who am I to fight against my potential? As soon as I'm done with my thesis Im gonna take a tango course. It's already decided. Yesterday I had so much fun, apparently dancing tango is the only moment when I enjoy to have a guy deciding what I do.

Under one of tango films on YouTube I found a comment: "Men should take a lesson here: take time to learn to dance. Dancing is clothed intimacy and powerful in creating connections with a woman. It is romantic, daring and very masculine. It makes you seem larger than life. I'm amazed at the men, who claim they don't like to dance yet say they love sex. There is a very little difference between the two". True story.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

Najpierw obejrzyjcie to:

(Antonio Banderas jest najlepszym dowodem na to, że Bóg istnieje i że jest kobietą)

No, to teraz jest jasne dlaczego, pomimo mojego twardego postanowienia, żeby siedzieć w domu, póki nie napiszę pracy, zupełnie nieoczekiwanie wylądowałam wczoraj na milondze z nowo poznanym Grekiem. Grek nazywał się Perykles (co jest absolutnie fantastyczne, to zupełnie jak spotkać Egipcjanina o imieniu Tutenchamon) więc czekając na niego, nie mogłam się opędzić od różnych "Co by było gdybym na dzień dobry powiedziała THIS IS SPARTAAAA!!!" albo "Ciekawe czy przyjdzie w chitonie". (Przyszedł w czapce i bardzo ciepłej kurtce i okazał się przesympatycznym gościem).

Naszym celem była Złota Milonga w Parku Krasińskich a głośne "witamy piękną panią", które przywitało mnie kiedy przekroczyłam próg, utwierdziło mnie w przekonaniu, że był to dobry wybór. Byłam przekonana, że zaliczę orła na parkiecie a przynajmniej okrutnie podepczę mojego partnera, tym czasem wszystko poszło zadziwiająco gładko. Perykles jest bardzo cierpliwym nauczycielem i dobrym tancerzem, nauczył mnie podstawowych kroków a nawet stwierdził, że mam potencjał i powinnam spróbować rozwijać się w tym kieruku :-D Kimże jestem, żeby walczyć z własnym potencjałem, jak tylko napiszę pracę, zapisuję się na kurs. Postanowione. Prawdopodobnie tango jest jedyną sytuacją kiedy mam frajdę z tego, że facet decyduje co mam robić : )

Pod jednym z filmów na YouTube przeczytałam "Men should take a lesson here: take time to learn to dance. Dancing is clothed intimacy and powerful in creating connections with a woman. It is romantic, daring and very masculine. It makes you seem larger than life. I'm amazed at the men, who claim they don't like to dance yet say they love sex. There is a very little difference between the two". Cóż, nic dodać, nic ująć.

How to go to Norway, have fun and come back with both your kidneys / Jak pojechać do Norwegii, mieć z tego frajdę i wrócić z obiema nerkami

When Chodak (who happens to be my ex scout leader and a friend) and I decided to go for a spontaneous hitch-hiking trip to Catalunya, we had quite a limited budget. Frankly speaking we were in the red, so during ten days of our trip, sleeping in Couch Surfing and hitch-hiking, we managed to master a useful skill of budget travelling. We mastered it so much, that one day, when we spent 1,35 EUR per person in total, Chodak granted me with a honorary Scrooge scout badge.

It was slightly more difficult with Norway, however, with reasonable planning, it's possible to limit spendings without selling any of your internal organs.  

1. Transportation
The maneuver I performed may be difficult to repeat. For a flight from Warsaw to Oslo I paid 1,02 PLN, which is 0,25 EUR. For a flight to Tromso and back I paid 60% of what it should cost, because Norwegian put their tickets on sale. It's good to follow newest Ryanair promotions, Warsaw-Oslo flights often cost around 39 PLN (10 EUR). It's slightly more difficult to get to Tromso. The cheapest airline that can get you there is Norwegian, and when I write "cheap" i mean "Norwegian cheap" not "Ryanair cheap". There is no railway in the far North and getting there by car will take 21 hours. I decided to stay for a night in Oslo, the rest of our group joined me on the next day after a short intermediate landing in Gardermoen. If you want to stay in the city, you have to take into account:

• Getting from Oslo Rygge to the downtown by a shuttle bus, probably with a Polish driver - 120 NOK (I paid 80 NOK, just because the driver seemed to have some sort of a paternal instinct towards me. I really hope it was paternal instinct.). 
• Getting from the Oslo Sentralstasjon to wherever you want to go by public transportation -  30 NOK for a single-fare ticket, 50 NOK, if you buy it on board. You can buy them in every Seven Eleven (I chose walking, Oslo is small)
• Getting from Oslo Sentralstasjon (central railway station) to Oslo Gardermoen airport with the national railway operator NSB - around 90 NOK, unless one decides to take a super-duper Flytoget train named Airport Express. For a 170 NOK you will have a luxurious 22 minutes journey by train that has flight attendants and safety instruction cards (true story!). Norwegian railway accepts non-Norwegian students IDs, NSB would give you some discounts and Flytoget charges you half price, if you're a student. 

Timetables and prices are accessible HERE

Unmistakeably Norwegian

2. Food and stimulants
Even Lonely Planet says, that it's wise to take your own food when going to Norway. It may not be healthy, but it's budget-friendly to live on pasta with instant sauces, instant soups and other instant crap for ten days.

Luckilly, there is First Price. First Price is a kiss from the God to all budget travellers in Norway. They sell all basic products in prices comparable to ours. You can find it in EuroSpar supermarkets and probably also in REMA1000. The discovery of our trip was a brown cheese called Flotemysost, that smells like sour toffee mixed with peanut butter, looks like plasticine and tastes good with literally EVERYTHING: 

Booze is super expensive and alcohol sales law is very strict. Low-percentage alcohol can be bought in grocery stores Monday-Friday till 8 pm and on Saturdays till 6 pm. Liquors and vodkas are sold only in special stores (weekdays till 6 pm, on Saturdays till 3 pm). Alcohol sale is prohibited on Sunday. Instead of buying cigarettes, you can act like a local and use snus. It's tobacco in small, celulose bags, you have to place it under your upper lip and it really kicks. It used to be popular amongst sailors, it's traditionally a 'guys thing' to use snus. If women use tobacco in Norway, they smoke it, that's why the lung cancer rate is higher amongst Norwegian women than Norwegian men. A pack of snus is around 70 NOK.

Booze is behind that curtain. Don't get tricked, contrary to what it says it's
 not "Arctic Water". Unless it's Arctic-you-know-what-I-mean-Water.

3. Accomodation

Couch Surfing in Tromso simply doesn't work, especially during Northern Lights high season. I wrote nice personal couch requests to fifty people and I got only three answers, all of them negative. I sort of understand it, surfers can be really pushy and demanding these days, no wonder that hosts don't want to deal with them. There are also just too little hosts and too many surfers. Accomodation is really expensive here. There are no hostels and the cheapest place, that we managed to find was a city camping. We paid around 230 NOK per night per person and we got really lovely and neat wooden cabin with fully equipped kitchen, bathroom and TV. Good value for money. It's a bit far away from the city center and a walk takes around 4 minutes, but it's a nice walk and  we had no problem getting there and back by foot.

The best Norwegian cabin ever. 

4. Admission fees and additional attractions

Museums in Tromso are not mind-blowing. Okay, maybe they are for fans of stuffed bears and styrofoam-y ice blocks. However, it's worth to see them anyway, because let's face it: in a town with 60 thousand inhabitants, there is very limited amount of attractions. It's good to come to Tromso around National Saami Day (February 6th), mostly because of accompanying events, such as Midnight Sun Marathon including Reindeer Racing Championship, Norwegian Lasso Throwing Championship and Saami Market. (More about Midnight Sun Marathon)

• The Polar Cathedral looks nice, but come on, we come from a country, where  churches look like hens, so you need more than a pretty cathdral to impress us.
• Polaria Museum - a whole variety of tickets. Adults - 120 NOK, students - 70 NOK. 
• Polar Museum (property of Tromso University) - Adults 50 NOK, students 25 NOK. I particularly recommend seing Hjalmar Johannsen's long johns:

You never know when you become a famous polar explorer and parts of
 your  underwear will be worshipped by crowds of foreign tourists.

5. Aurora chasing

You can't see the lights every night. Even if they appear, the sky may just be too cloudy to see them and the glow from the city lights may be too strong to see them properly. If you're ready to pay 1200 NOK and have super cool pics, you can subscribe for an aurora chasing trip. It's a night bus trip and basically the bus is   chasing clear skies and Northern Lights. No one can guarantee that there will be aurora in the sky, but your chances significantly grow, when you have handsome and charming guide Francesco by your side. It takes few hours and for most of the time the team looks for a right spot, either on the coast or in the mountains. On the spot guides and photographers hired by the company will help you with the camera settings. Temperatures can get as low as -25 C, but you can always come back to the bus and have a cup of hot chocolate and cookies provided by the tour company. There are plenty of trips like this. You can combine aurora chasing with dog or raindeer sledding, ship cruise, staying in a traditional Saami lavvu tent, riding Icelandic horses and many other things. The price is a killer, even my Noregian friends said that it's expensive (if Norwegians say so, it really means something), but you can live with it if you don't think about it too much. For photographing aurora we were adviced to set our cameras for ISO 1600, aperture f/4 and shutter speed 15''.

6. Internet and information

Computers with Internet access can be found in the public library (Grønnegata 94) and in tourist information office (Kirkegata 2). Tourist Information also provides up to date Northern Lights forecasts. During our stay, it was stage 3 on 10-stages scale and it looked like this: 

7. Packlist

• Mandatory: skipants
• Hiking waterproof boots
• Tripod. Snowpod won't work, trust me
• Food
• Woolen socks
• Vacuum flask
• Student ID

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Kiedy pojechałyśmy z Chodakiem na zupełnie spontaniczny wyjazd autostopowy do Katalonii, miałyśmy dość ograniczony budżet. Konkretnie obie byłyśmy pod kreską, toteż w ciągu dziesięciu dni, podróżując stopem i śpiąc w CouchSurfingu, udało nam się do perfekcji opanować trudną sztukę budget traveling, do tego stopnia, że kiedy pewnego dnia wydałyśmy po 1,35 EUR na osobę, Chodak przyznała mi honorową sprawność Scrooge'a. 

Z Norwegią było trudniej, ale mimo wszystko z rozsądnym planowaniem da się ograniczyć koszty na tyle, żeby nie trzeba było sprzedawać organów wewnętrznych:

1. Transport

Manewru, który zrobiłam, nie da się raczej powtórzyć. Za bilet Warszawa-Oslo zapłaciłam 1,02 PLN, za lot do Trømso i z powrotem 60% ceny, bo Norwegian ogłosił promocję. Tym niemniej, warto śledzić promocje Ryanaira, bo często loty do Oslo kosztują ok. 39 zł. Trasa z Warszawy do Oslo to ta łatwiejsza część, bo do regionu Nordland, w którym leży Trømso, nie dojeżdża prawie nic. Nie dojeżdżają tam pociągi, ani nie latają tam żadne niskokosztowe linie oprócz Norwegiana, (którego niskokosztowość można, mimo wszystko, kwestionować), jazda samochodem zajmuje natomiast 21 godzin. Ja zostałam na noc w Oslo, reszta grupy doleciała następnego dnia z krótkim międzylądowaniem w Gardermoen.

Jeśli chce się tak jak ja nocować w mieście, trzeba wliczyć w budżet:

• Dojazd z Oslo Moss do centrum miasta busikiem z polskimi kierowcami - 120 NOK (zapłaciłam 80, ale tylko dlatego, że panu kierowcy włączył się instynkt ojcowski). 
• Ewentualne jeżdżenie po mieście - ok 30 NOK za jednorazowy bilet komunikacji miejskiej, 50 NOK, jeśli kupi się go u kierowcy. Bilety do kupienia w Seven Eleven. (chodziłam na piechotę, Oslo jest małe)
• Dojazd z Oslo Sentralstasjon (centralnej stacji kolejowej) na lotnisko Oslo Gardermoen narodowym operatorem NSB - ok 90 NOK, chyba, że weźmie się ekstra pociąg Flytoget, czyli Airport Express. Podróż zajmuje wtedy 22 minuty i kosztuje 170 NOK. Norweska kolej honoruje polskie legitymacje studenckie, przy czym w NSB zniżki sięgają kilkudziesięciu procent a we Flytoget płaci się pół ceny. 

No i oczywiście warto pamiętać, że 1 NOK = 0,54 PLN.

Ceny przejazdów pociągami do sprawdzenia TU

2. Jedzenie i używki

Nawet Lonely Planet twierdzi, że najlepiej brać ze sobą własne oprowiantowanie. Przez tydzień da się jeść makaron z sosami instant, Gorące Kubki i Słodkie Chwile, chociaż w połowie piątego dnia zaczyna się świecić w ciemności. Na szczęście istnieje marka First Price, która jest przyjacielem każdego turysty i sprzedaje podstawowe produkty w cenach zbliżonych do naszych. Można ją znaleźć na pewno w supermarketach EuroSpar i chyba w REMA1000. Odkryciem wyjazdu był dla nas brązowy ser Fløtemysost, który smakuje jak toffi, pachnie jak ser, jest konsystencji plasteliny i pasuje do wszystkiego:

Alkohol jest okrutnie drogi i objęty restrykcyjnymi regulacjami dotyczącymi sprzedaży. Niskoprocentowe alkohole można kupić w sklepach spożywczych w tygodniu do 20:00 a w soboty do 18:00. Wysokoprocentowe alkohole są sprzedawane w specjalnych sklepach monopolowych, w tygodniu do 18:00, w soboty do 15:00. W niedziele alkoholu nie sprzedaje się w ogóle. Zamiast papierosów warto być jak prawdziwy wikiński twardziel i kupić snus, tytoń w torebkach, który wkłada się pod górną wargę i który dość mocno trzepie. Kiedyś był popularny wśród marynarzy, tradycyjnie to męska rozrywka, kobiety jeśli korzystają z tytoniu, to palą papierosy, dlatego odsetek raka płuc jest znacznie wyższy u Norweżek niż u Norwegów. Paczka snusu kosztuje około 70 NOK.

Mimo mylących napisów, za zasłonką jest zakazany po 20:00 alkohol

3. Zakwaterowanie

W Trømso nie działa Couch Surfing, szczególnie w sezonie na zorze. Na 50 osób do których pisałam osobiste Couch Requesty odpowiedziały mi trzy, wszystkie negatywnie. Problem jest taki, że jest tam mało hostów a masa turystów, więc dla mieszkańców jest to dość męczące. Z reguły zakwaterowanie jest dość drogie. W mieście nie ma hosteli, najtańszy nocleg, który udało się nam znaleźć był na miejskim kempingu. Za równowartość ok 115 zł za osobonoc dostałyśmy bardzo przyzwoitą "value for money" - schludny drewniany domek dla 5 osób, z łazienką, w pełni wyposażoną kuchnią i telewizorem. Polecam rezerwowanie chatki z łazienką i kuchnią, to żadna frajda wracać spod prysznica z niedosuszonymi włosami przy -15. Kemping jest oddalony od centrum miasta o 3 kilometry, czyli około 45-minutowy spacer. Wbrew pozorom nie jest to dużo, nie miałyśmy problemu z pokonywaniem tego dystansu nawet kilka razy dziennie, a widoki z mostu, który łączy wyspę z lądem są niesamowite.

Najlepsza norweska chatka ever.

4. Bilety wstępu i dodatkowe atrakcje

Muzea w Trømso nie powalają. To znaczy być może powalają fanów wypchanych niedźwiedzi i styropianowch bloków lodu. Tym niemniej stanowią ciekawe urozmaicenie, bo spójrzmy prawdzie w oczy, w 60-tysięcznym miasteczku istneje ograniczona ilość atrakcji. Warto trafić w Saami Week, tydzień kultury lapońskiej, który jest zawsze w okolicach National Sami Day (6 lutego), głównie ze względu na malownicze wyścigi reniferów i lapońskie targowisko.

• Katedra Polarna jest owszem, estetyczna, ale jako, że jesteśmy z kraju, w którym kościoły wyglądają jak kury, specjalnie nie rzuciła nas na kolana. Na pewno nie na tyle, żeby płacić za oglądanie jej od środka.
• Muzeum Polaria - cały wachlarz cen biletów (dorośli, studenci, dzieci, rodziny). Dorośli: 120 NOK, studenci 70 NOK
• Muzeum Polarne Uniwersytetu w Trømso - Dorośli 50 NOK, studenci 25 NOK. Szczególnie polecam kalesony Hjalmara Johannsena:

Nigdy nie wiesz, kiedy zostaniesz sławnym polarnikiem, a twoją bieliznę
z nabożną czcią będą oglądać turyści.

5. Aurora chasing

Nie każdej nocy można zobaczyć zorze. Jeśli jednak są, może się zdarzyć, że zachmurzenie jest zbyt duże, żeby je zobaczyć, a łuna nad miastem psuje efekt. Jeśli chce się mieć super zdjęcia i jest się w stanie odżałować 1200 NOK, można zapisać się na aurora chasing, czyli nocną wycieczkę autokarem w poszukiwaniu czystego nieba i zórz. Nikt nie może zagwarantować obserwacji zorzy, ale szanse znacząco rosną, kiedy ma się pod ręką przystojnego przewodnika o imieniu Francesco (przy czym nawet, jak zorzy zupełnie nie będzie, to widoki i tak są atrakcyjne, zwłaszcza dla damskiej części grupy). Wycieczka trwa kilka godzin, przez większość czasu szuka się odpowiedniego miejsca na obserwację - na wybrzeżu albo w głębi lądu. Na miejscu przewodnicy i fotografowie opłaceni przez organizatora pomagają ustawić parametry aparatów. Temperatury sięgają -25 stopni, ale można schować się do autokaru, organizatorzy zapewniają też ciastka i gorącą czekoladę. Takich wycieczek jest masa, można połączyć zorze z jazdą zaprzęgiem reniferów/psów, rejsem, popasem w tradycyjnym lapońskim namiocie lavvu, nocną jazdą na kucach islandzkich i innymi cudami na kiju.
Nasz organizator ma biuro w hotelu Radisson Blu i generalnie byłyśmy zadowolone z jego usług.
Zgodnie z radami przewodnika zdjęcia robiłyśmy na ustawieniach: ISO 1600, 15'' i f/4.

6. Internet i informacja

Komputery z dostępem do Internetu można znaleźć w bibliotece miejskiej (Grønnegata 94) i w informacji turystycznej (Kirkegata 2). W informacji można też dowiedzieć się o aktualne prognozy zórz polarnych. Podczas naszego pobytu były maksymalnie 3 stopnie na 10-stopniowej skali aktywności, w praktyce wyglądało to tak:

Prognozę zórz, również dla Europy, można sprawdzić na stronie Instytutu Geofizyki Uniwersytetu Alaski w Fairbanks.

7. Packlista

• Obowiązkowo spodnie narciarskie
• Buty z bieżnikiem (nie wszystkie ulice są odśnieżane)
• Statyw - a must
• Jedzenie
• Ciepłe wełniane skarpetki
• Termos
• Legitymacja studencka

Nine: done! (part one)

Goal number nine: to see the Northern Lights achieved! Champagne please! Skål!

First of all: Oslo is beautiful. Norway is beautful. You get out of Oslo Sentralstasjon and you can see all those old houses with lamps hung in small windows. Well-groomed people. Trees loaded with lights next to Nationaltheatret. Moominvalley-like architecture. Lack of ugly billboards, leaflets, trashy tags on monuments, shodiness and mess. I was walking down Karl Johans gate, enjoying beautiful, wintery Oslo, carrying my backpack, smiling at everything: lights on trees, pretty small cafes, at that guy wearing wedge-heeled shoes or that lady, who wooshed me by on her bicycle.  

And then, just few hours later, you are taxing over Tromso and everything looks like it's a Discovery Channel program: snowy mountains and Arctic Ocean behind them, fjord, Tromsoya island. Peaks covered with glacier and the sun, shining very shyly, since the sun has risen just an hour before we landed, around 9 am. In India, when you walk trough the door of an airport, the heat just flares into your face. Here, the cold air freezes even boogers in your nose.

There was no aurora on our first night in Tromso. According to Northern Lights forecast, it was a two on 10-points scale and the sky was cloudy. We were just sitting on a couch in our lovely wooden Norwegian cabin, in our lovely Norwegian camping, stuffing ourselves with instant puddings, watching Sherlock and knowing that no amount of Benedict Cumberbatch would recompense the lack of aurora.

This couch and this table are made for watching TV series. Just look at them.

And then it began. One evening I looked out of the window and I saw a tiny green streak in the sky, so tiny that it was easy to confuse it with a cloud. We rushed out of the cabin, tying boots and loosing gloves. Streak was growing, getting more intense, creating most incredible shapes and suddenly it turned out that it could make girls screech and get excited faster than Ryan Gosling's sixpack. On the next night we decided to go to a serious expedition to chase Northern Lights. Our bus, filled with a half of Singaporean population, cookies and hot chocolate vacuum flasks took us to the middle of nowhere. Our guide, Francesco said, that it would be great to see "dancing curtains", because it's the most desired shape, but on the 10-points Aurora Borealis Activity Scale we could count on maximum 3 points,  so we shouldn't have too big expectations. There were auroras, very weak ones though. We were waiting either in the bus or outside, gazing at the sky, freezing in -20 degrees, with our cameras and tripods prepared. Theoretically, Northern Lights appear between 9 and 11 pm. It was 10.30 pm when I was on the bus, saying something like "Gee, if it doesn't get better soon, I dont think we'll see anything more spectacular toni...", when Francesco plunged into the bus and screamed "Everybody get out of the bus!".

Whole sky was glowing green and waving and we were gazing at it with our mouths wide open. Even that half of Singapore put their cameras away for a moment. (Which was actually very reasonable, since Norwegians believed in the past that waving white cloth at Northern Lights may simply piss them off so much that they would kill you, just stand still and don't make rapid moves, okay? I guess that's why there are not many cheerleaders in Norway)

Posing for a picture when you need  15 seconds of shutter speed  is not cool.
Or actually it is. It's something like -20 degrees cool.

[To be continued]
_____________________________________________________________________________________________

Przede wszystkim: Oslo jest przepiękne. Norwegia jest przepiękna. Wychodzisz z Oslo Sentralstasjon i widzisz kamienice z lampami zawieszonymi w małych okienkach. Dobrze ubranych ludzi. Drzewka obwieszone lampkami przy Nationaltheatret. Architekturę jak w "Muminkach". Brak billboardów, ulotek na ziemi, gówniarskich tagów na zabytkach, bylejakości i syfu. Szłam tym pięknym zimowym Oslo z plecakiem na plecach i micha mi się cieszyła do wszystkiego, do lampek, fajnego wystroju knajpek który widziałam przez okno, do pana w butach na koturnach, do pani, która śmignęła obok mnie na rowerze.

A parę godzin później kołujesz nad Tromso i wszystko jest jak z Discovery, białe góry za którymi jest Ocean Arktyczny, fiord, w fiordzie wyspa Tromsoya i wcale bym się nie zdziwiła, gdybym usłyszała gdzieś w tle Krystynę Czubównę. Szczyty białe od śniegu, słonko mocno nieśmiałe, bo  wzeszło zaledwie godzinę wcześniej, o 9:00. I tak jak w Indiach przy wyjściu z lotniska w twarz bucha upał, tak tutaj mróz ścina nawet smarki w nosie.

Pierwszej nocy nie było zorzy. Prognozy wskazywały 2 na 10-stopniowej skali aktywności, do tego zachmurzenie. Siedziałyśmy w naszej ślicznej drewnianej norweskiej chatce, na naszym ślicznym norweskim kempingu, faszerując się budyniami w proszku, oglądając "Sherlocka" i wiedząc, że żadna ilość Benedicta Cumberbatcha nie zastąpi zórz. 

Ta kanapa jest stworzona do oglądania seriali. Serio.

A potem się zaczęło. Kolejnego wieczoru zupełnie przypadkiem przez okno łazienki zobaczyłam na niebie smugę, taką, że trudno było ją odróżnić od chmury. Wypadłyśmy na dwór, na śnieg, po drodze wiążąc buty i gubiąc rękawice. Smuga rosła w siłę, nabierała kolorów, wywijała się w niesamowite kształty, i nagle okazało się, że doprowadza dziewczyny do pisku i ekscytacji szybciej niż klata Ryana Goslinga. Następnej nocy wybrałyśmy się na poważną ekspedycję w poszukiwaniu zórz. Autokarem, z zapasami ciastek i gorącej czekolady dwie godziny (nas pięć i chyba połowa Singapuru) jechaliśmy w jakieś miejsce pośrodku pustkowia a nasz przewodnik, Francesco, opowiadał, że w sumie ekstra by było, gdybyśmy zobaczyli "dancing curtains", bo to najbardziej pożądany kształt, ale prognoza przewiduje słabą trójkę, więc mamy się nie nastawiać. Zorze były, ale bez rewelacji. Siedzieliśmy na zmianę w autokarze i na zewnątrz, w 20-stopniowym mrozie, z głowami zadartymi w górę i z aparatami przygotowanymi na statywach. Teoretycznie zorze pojawiają się między 21:00 a 23:00. Była 22:30, kiedy siedziałam w autokarze mówiąc właśnie, że jeśli się jakoś znacząco nie poprawi, to chyba nic tu po nas, kiedy Francesco wpadł do autokaru i ryknął "Everybody get out of the bus!".

Całe niebo było zielone i falowało a my wpatrywaliśmy się w to z otwartymi buziami. Nawet połowa Singapuru odłożyła na moment aparaty. (Co było w gruncie rzeczy rozsądne, bo kiedyś Norwegowie uważali, że machanie białą szmatką na zorze może je wkurzyć i wtedy cię zabiją, więc po prostu stój spokojnie i nie rób gwałtownych ruchów. Pewnie dlatego w Norwegii nie ma cheerleaderek.)

Zorze polarne są trochę jak niedźwiedzie polarne.
Oprócz tego, że są polarne, łączy je jeszcze to, że  lepiej ich nie denerwować.

[To be continued]

Thirteen: Come back to Japan

I have managed to spend 20 hours in Tokyo, while I was having a very complicated trip from Chiang Mai to Mexico City. The trip was a part of a pretty big adventure, a week before I changed my plans totally and decided to quit a year-long trip in Asia and go for the Unknown. In a strange country engulfed with a civil war, with a man I loved madly. Well, it's a long story. 

I managed to set my foot on a Japanese soil which was a unique experience. There are places in the world, which make you feel like in a different reality. I remember feeling like this on my first day in India. After I left my hotel, suddenly I felt like I am in the middle of 4D National Geography documentary. 

And Japan is just different.

It's silent and clean. And people are super nice. And I managed not to get lost. And everything was clean, did I mention this? It was so clean, that you could lick pavements. There are ladies wearing real kimonos, and there are real hand-pulled rickshaws. You go to a country, having all those stereotypes in your head, knowing that these are only stereotypes you shouldn't follow and yeah, surely all those tales about cows in India and kimonos in Japan... let's be serious, no one does it anymore. And suddenly, it turns out that they actually do it. Surprise.

A Lady wearing kimono! Just like this, going to a grocery store or I dunno, to buy a new katana or to rake her zen garden.

A hand-pulled rickshaw! And it's not even a Hokusai's print!

I felt so zen there. Super calm, no hurry. Probably because I was just high with a drug called love, but I bet Japan itself had something to do with it too. I want to see Hanami, and sleep in a house with a paper walls and go to Kyoto and just get lost in Tokyo like Bill Murray and Scarlett Johanson in Lost in Translation. 

Things I actually did: Go to Cuba

Bad news: No pics. My camera died just before I landed in Havana. Which actually made my trip even more retro. A week without a digital camera, Internet and a cellphone, can you imagine? My dream was to see a communist Cuba before Fidel dies. Cuba without McDo's and Coke. Without iStores, Zaras, H&Ms and Wallmarts.

All my stay in Cuba was sort of a lucky coincidence. When I was coming back to Poland from Mexico, I managed to  find a super cheap (300 €, 400$!) and super complicated (Mexico City - Panama - Havana - Moscow - Warsaw. Long live Aeroflot!) flight with a 4 days stopover in Havana. Cuba is amazing. It's everything you imagine about it multiplied by 100. I managed to find an accomodation in an empty-ish former St. Clara convent. An old lady, who turned out to be a receptionists greeted me with perfect Polish. It turned out later that she came for some time to Poland for a student exchange, when both our countries were still trying to manage to survive having the best of the political systems...

This is what I noted down in my travel diary:

"(...) Shops here are pure poverty and just a sorry sight, one can choose between only two types of toothpaste - the green and the blue, there are portraits of Che at every wall and in a warehouse a female voice from the loudspeakers asks companera Hernandez to come to the backroom. Even buying stupid ice-cream appears to be a problem. You have to go to a huge ice-cream shop, Coppelia, and stay in a queue. No one knows what is in the beginning of this queue, but I remember my mom's memories from the time of communism in Poland, and I know that if there is a queue, there is surely something desirable to buy on the other side of it. I join it. When I manage to move to the beginning, I meet a gentleman, who tells people where to go: upper or ground floor, depending on tables available. I have to go upstairs. A grumpy waiter seats me with a three-persons family, and the fact that I'm not with them has no meaning. Coppelia has a wide variety of desserts: two, three, four or five chocolate scopes. Well, I choose two, I eat, (I pay) and I run away.

There is also a heat. A heat that you can't escape from, because there is almost no AC here. There is a moderately acceptable temperature only in a bar in Obispo street and few warehouses, which I enter in order to research on differences between two types of shoe polish, when the heat gets unbearable. Restaurants look great, however the food they serve is terrible. It doesn't matter if it's a dingy bar in Obispo street or a beautiful newly-renovated house in Plaza Vieja, in every single one of them you'll find  different combinations of a cardboard-like bread, plastic cheese and some other ingredients.

The atmosphere however, is mind-blowing. In every square, in every cafe and from every radio - salsa, mambo and rumba. Chevrolets and buicks from fifties and stunningly beautiful people. People, who in Europe would drag people's attention instantly. Dark, fit boys with perfectly shaped chests and long-legged doe-eyed beauties. And the feeling that time stopped here. Almost no one owns a cellphone here, no one has an access to Internet. Life goes on in the streets and an old-fashioned pianist, just like Sam from Casablanca plays elegant songs in a cafe of hotel Europa."

I would totally love to come back one day.

Tanabata and things I actually did

Do you know what day is today? It's Tanabata, a Japanese festival of "pleading for skills" and I think (I'm not sure however), "pleading in general" :-) People in Japan celebrate it by writing their wishes on small stripes of paper. Isn't it awesome? I wish we had such festival in our culture, I think that it could help people keep on track to make their dreams and plans come true. This could actually be a good habit. Tanabata means "evening of the seventh", and is celebrated only once a year, but imagine how useful would it be, to have a day in a month, let's say an evening of the seventh to sum up everything you did last month to achieve what you want to achieve. Not bad at all, huh?

I think it's a good day to start sharing things which I had done before I came across the idea of this project, dreams that already came true.

I had my moment of bollylove. I love India, I went there twice, and I could go there any minute. I've never felt like something bad can happen to me there, I love the crowd, cows, smells, monkeys, pushy salesmen, all the guys who want marry me instantly, all those beautiful women, kitsch, drama and tikka masala. And Bollywood of course. One of my big dreams was to be an extra in a Bollywood movie. In the end of my second trip in 2010, my friends and I went to Mumbai (which is a mind-blowing city by the way). We were travelling in a group of six, and it happened that I was going to depart few days later than my friends. I was spending those days strolling down the streets of Kala Ghoda, playing cricket in Oval Maidan, window-shopping in The Bombay Store, looking for Shah Rukh Khan's villa and hanging out at Leopold Bar. One day, I was standing in a queue of a Coffee Day cafe, and a stranger approached and asked if I want to be an extra in a (dramatic pause) Farah Khan's movie. Oh boy, I wanted. Even though this guy could potentially cut off my kidney and leave me in some narrow street instead. 

I was supposed to come to Colaba Causeway on the next day at 4.30 am. Sleepy crowd of backpackers awaiting a bus made me sure, that no one is interesed in my kidneys. They took us to a fancy shopping mall, which was playing a role of an airport, and gave us clothes. Stereotypical clothes of white Europeans, which made us look like hookers and pimps. I'd never guess, that a stereotypical European woman wears super high heels, embarassingly short skirt and a heavy make up while taking a long-haul flight. Indian movie industry dispelled my doubts. I got a (very) small black dress, an orang-y make-up and terribly uncomfortable shoes in a size 39 (I wear 36). We were walking back and forth in front of the mall, some blonde Swedish chicks were chosen to be the main character's psycho-fans and loop their arms around his neck. God, I swear, it was the only moment when I wished I was blonde.We were working for few hours, got something like 200 rupees (no contract of course, I could potentially sue them for using my image without permission :-), and a chance to see Farah and Ashkay Kumar. And a chance of taking a picture with him, which I didn't use because I was too shy. 

But I took a picture of Farah, Ashkay and two Americans playing French (?) policemen in a shopping mall in India, which was playing an airport:

So... if you ever happen to watch Tees Maar Khan, focus on the airport scene, that little hooker with black dress and superhigh heels is me!

It's not the only dream I made come true, so... to be continued!