At the Monastery.

It’s Day 27 of being a Norwegian and I’m almost feeling it. But then I touch on-line reality and remember I’m an American with a President Sleazy-T. I’m sad this evening. It usually happens a little sooner on these epic journeys but being in Norway has kept the inevitable down-day during any given month at bay. It’s not exactly depression or anxiety or physical-offness—more like I need a pajama day with eight hours of streaming deep dark drama, drinking licorice tea and not thinking.

But let’s further analyze this feeling. First of all the probable source of my momentary melancholy ….  I spent much of the day with Arne and Aslaug and I like them so very much. The sadness stems from getting to know each other so late in life and living a continent and an ocean apart. I feel close to them, family/friend close, and each time I see them feels like it could be the last since we are ageing people living in an increasingly crazy world. So…I guess this is just a note to self…remember to spend time with people you care about…it is such pleasure.

Aslaug and Arne, when they were married in the 60s. Norwegians still use traditional costumes for special occasions and celebrations. A handsome couple indeed.

And then there’s the next giant cruise ship outside my window. I’ll bet you want to know about this one too? It’s the Aidasol. Big damn boat. Sphinx class. Holds 2,174 passengers. Want to know what Sphinx class means don’t you? Well, it says it’s brightly colored everywhere, focuses on sports/fitness related activities and encourages  togetherness in the way dining rooms and communal areas are set up. My kind of place—just me and my 2,173 best friends. Registered in Genoa, Italy, aimed at German market. For just under $8,000 you can book a junior suite. There you have it. My cruise tips for today.

Whoops, just looked out the window and another giant seems to have pulled in on the other side when I wasn’t looking. Maybe I’m suffering from some version of cabin fever.

Tomorrow there will also be two cruise ships in port. It doesn’t matter though because I’m spending part of my day at the Petroleum museum. I’m determined to find a souvenir t-shirt from Stavanger…but only if it has an oil rig front and center.

There must be something else to blog about—otherwise I will be forced to open MY BOOK file. I give up.

Let me try to find the odd photo from the Norway collection to justify publishing this post.