Once Upon A Time In The Fjords

Posted on September 2, 2013 by Eivind Senneset

Dynamite, dames and hard cider. Two buddies from the fjord that God forgot work hard to play even harder.

Cigarettes. And dynamite

I had just returned from a month-long holiday that had taken me through the Southern, Northeastern and Midwestern United States. My first assignment back home took me to the heart of the Norwegian Midwest. There are some similarities between these places. But mostly differences.

There are no flat fields. Instead, fjords give way to mountains that rise to glaciers and plateaus. There are no cities and no highways but country roads and small towns. People here aren’t godfearing as much as God is afraid of them. Okay, that might be a bit much, but there are some tough folks in the Hardanger district. Yes, meet Joar and Lothepus.

Lothepus, at left, and Joar. A 90-year-old fishing vessel is base of operation when travelling the fjords

They grew up in Sørfjorden, infamously known as the fjord that God forgot. They started operating excavators while still in elementary school. They love dynamite, they talk thrash and they drink hard cider straight from the jerry can. They call themselves fjord cowboys and from early next year they will be the stars of a TV-show exploring and celebrating Norwegian macho culture.

Tough guy #1

Tough guy #2. ~~Money~~ apple shot

I spent a weekend in their company producing promotional pics for the show. This included travelling the fjord in a 90-year-old fishing vessel saluting weddings with dynamite and spending the rest of the day drinking and partaking in competitive spitting of sweet cherry stones (national record is 14.24 metres. We didn’t come close).

Dynamite. This is your typical three-stick-wedding-salute

Come Sunday, I was still missing the crucial horseback cowboy shot, which left us with no choice but to chase down the good guys who’d gone into hiding in hope of dealing with their hangovers in solitude. No such luck of course, and soon enough we were traversing a ridiculously steep and narrow mountain road in search of horses. Horses and one hell of a rain shower, that is. You can’t expect it not to rain when you’re dealing with hung over bareback-riding of previously unridden horses, a film crew with expensive equipment and your only way down has the potential to turn into a mud slide.

There ain’t much cattle in Hardanger. There are, however, proper cowboys

The TV-series Fjorden Cowboys is produced by Flimmer Film and directed by Hildegunn Waerness. See the official teaser here.

Closed Views

Posted on August 27, 2013 by Eivind Senneset

These are views both plain and magnificent of alleys and courtyards, city streets and suburban wasteland, mountains and oceans and nothing in particular, hidden behind what I call curtains and you call drapes.

The Parkway Hotel, St. Louis, Missouri

We spent a month on US roads, driving 7.000 kilometres through 18 states. Before leaving Norway back in June, I was adamant that I would produce one series of photographs, besides all the other pictures I took along the way, that would span the entire journey, while at the same time adhering to a set of limitations. Having never before been to the States, I still had this almost romantic fascination for motels of the cheaper variety. For a long time I thought about doing a series of motel exteriors. But we weren’t staying in cheap motels exclusively, some hotels were, well, not exactly fancy, but they wouldn’t lend themselves to such a series very well. And one of my self-imposed limitations – decided upon before even deciding the subject matter – was that I would be photographing all instances of whatever I finally chose, i.e. the façade of every place where we spent the night, in case I went for that idea. So I didn’t.

Hotel 91, New York, New York

Instead I started thinking about doing it the other way around, photographing from the inside and out, shooting out the windows of whichever place we were staying at. But shooting through the windows didn’t work consistently either, for a variety of reasons. And going outside to photograph basically the same view meant losing the window frame as a frame of reference. Not to mention the trouble I’d have when the room was on the eighth floor. So I elected to stay inside. And closed the curtains.

Knights Inn, Niagara, Ontario

Throughout the journey I would thus shoot the curtain of every room we stayed the night in, from shitty Super8 motels and cheap Howard Johnsons to upmarket hotels in Chicago and charming B & Bs in Louisiana. So much did I obsess with the damn curtains that we at one point accidentally tried to check into a curtain store in Boone, NC.

Well, here are the curtains. What’s outside is pretty much left to your imagination.

Super8, Sarnia, Ontario

Howard Johnson, Battle Creek, Michigan

The Tremont, Chicago, Illinois

Hampton Inn, Memphis, Tennessee

Super8, North Jackson, Mississippi

Old Town Inn, New Orleans, Louisiana

Econo Lodge, Tallahassee, Florida

Days Inn, Chattanooga, Tennessee

Smoky Mountain Inn & Suites, Cherokee, North Carolina

Downtown Inn & Suites, Asheville, North Carolina

Fairfield Inn, Boone, North Carolina

Travelodge Bay Beach, Virginia Beach, Virginia

Capitol Skyline Hotel, Washington DC

Courtyard Marriott, New Haven, Connecticut

Fairfield Inn & Suites, New York, New York

Suggested soundtrack: Low – The Curtain Hits The Cast. And remember: a curtain is just a superhero cape that has yet to fulfill its potential.

This is the tenth and final chapter of the American blog posts. Links to the other installments below.

America part nine: DC, Then Dave
America part eight: There Died A Myriad
America part seven point five: Beach And Moan
America part seven: Mountains (woo-hoo!)
America part six: The Place Where They Cried*
America part five: The Heroes of Gator-Aid
America part four: Some People. And Chicago
America part three: A Tale Of Three Cities
America part two: Viva Las Canada
America part one: New York Fact Sheet

DC, Then Dave

Posted on August 27, 2013 by Eivind Senneset

DC / Cherokee / New York / Chattanooga: The penultimate blog post on the American journey in which the author-traveller does a National Mall stroll and reveals his dismal view on the future for an unlucky surveyor in NYC.

DC #1

DC #2

– To the White House, please.
– You got an appointment with President Obama, asks Mr. Abdul Khan, our friendly taxi driver.
– Yes, we’re his nine o’clock.
– Haha – you know I drove Obama once, back when he was a senator.
– Oh really? Was he a nice passenger?
– No, man, he paid the right money – right on the meter!

DC #3

DC #4

So there you have it. The President is a bad tipper. Also, the White House is way smaller than I imagined. Other than that, DC feels extremely familiar to someone who’s never been there before. Okay, the White House isn’t a marble fortress prone to exploding in the beginning of the third act, the Lincoln memorial statue doesn’t rise from his stone throne to run for re-election and the Washington monument (probably) isn’t a camouflaged above-ground missile silo – but other than that the capital handles the transition from pop culture to real life reasonably well.

DC #5

DC #6

PS – Disillusioning Dave

At some point during our travel I think I said jokingly that the US is a big and friendly country that is fond of melted cheese, Jesus and fireworks, in that order. We certainly had our shares of cheese and massive displays of fireworks, but were actually spared any real run-ins with folks preaching the gospel in our general direction. Yes, somewhere in the Midwest we did see a series of billboards proclaiming that adherence to the theory of evolution led to eternal damnation, but that’s so off the charts that it ain’t offensive in the slightest. Actually I think the 20-something hipsters folding hands for a mealtime prayer in a fancy NYC place is almost more shocking to my irreligious Northern European sensibilities. Anyway, my point is that no one had tried to proselytize me or even engage me in a religious conversation. Not until the very last day.

Enter Dave.

It’s the morning of our last day in the US. I’m having breakfast in Bryant Park in Midtown Manhattan and have already had some more or less meaningful conversations with strangers on topics ranging from cilantro to organ donation, when a new guy approaches. He introduces himself as Dave and tells me that he is from some sort of ministry but seems like a nice enough fellow.

Ford Saviour

Dave: – We have some questions that we ask visitors here in Bryant Park – would you mind if we spoke for a few minutes?
Me: – Sure, I don’t mind.
Dave: – How do you think it all began?
Me: – Life, you mean? It originated from a beautiful bio-chemical coincidence – then evolved through a process of natural selection.
Dave: – Oh.
Me: – I gather you and I have quite different opinions on this?
Dave: – Yes. But that’s okay. Let’s continue. What do you believe went wrong for us humans?
Me: – Oh, that’s easy. Our single measure of success is progress, but you can’t have unlimited growth based on a system of limited resources. At the same time we lack the cognitive ability of thinking and planning long-term. Our brains are wired just the same way as when fight or flight were the only decisions of importance, making it very hard for us to actually fathom the consequences of problems such as overpopulation and climate change.
Dave: – Hmm. Is there any hope?
Me: – No, I don’t think so.
Dave: – So how will it end?
Me: – Horribly.

Ah yes. That was Dave’s encounter with the smiling happy and dreadfully pessimistic Norwegians in Bryant Park. And actually also my last really memorable interaction with anyone in the States. Well except for the staff of five at the Irish pub in Newark Airport, who deemed the question of whether or not Vin Diesel is gay as far more important than me having a steady supply of Guinness.

Until next time, America. We will reunite

This is America part nine. Read also

America part eight
America part seven point five
America  part seven
America part six
America part five
America part four
America part three
America part two
America part one

Beach And Moan

Posted on July 19, 2013 by Eivind Senneset

A long day of zombie literature at the beach takes its toll.

Virginia Beach #01. Catching crabs in Chesapeake Bay

The last time my thighs saw proper sunlight was a December morning in 2010, on my first day off after covering the United Nations Climate Change Conference in Cancun, Mexico. I was only supposed to take a morning stroll along the beach, then I happened to accidentally swim in the Caribbean Sea, drink beer and watch pelicans for six hours.

Virginia Beach #02. Fishing for croakers

Yesterday I stumbled upon a beach yet again. Supposedly the longest pleasure beach in the world, our arrival at Virginia Beach’s oceanfront was not really that accidental. And for once we also decided to forgo all of downtown’s delights and just have a day at the beach. This allowed me to catch up on some zombie survivalist literature.

Speaking of World War Z – In a breakfast room.some hundred motels ago, I met a ten-year old kid who was really concerned about post-zombie-apocalypse-gun-legislation: “The government can’t ban guns if there’s ever a zombie apocalypse, can they?” he kept asking his dad. His dad mumbled something incoherent while trying to get the waffle iron to work. But the kid, I’m sure, will grow up to be a fine and vigilant gun crazed paramilitary buff.

Of course – when the zombie holocaust really hits us, it’s not the zombies themselves that will kill most of us. No, most people will die from the lack of clean water supply, from dehydration from all the running. Yep, it’s the little things that will get us. Like forgetting to apply sunscreen to your legs.

Seems my thighs didn’t do the transition from the gentleman’s long trousers to shorter swim shorts quite as well as I had hoped.

This is America part seven point five. Read part seven here, part six here, part five here, part four here, part three here, part two here, part one here.

Mountains (woo-hoo!)

Posted on July 17, 2013 by Eivind Senneset

Enough flatlands. Enough dead armadillos. Mountain-time.

Mountains #1

Unknown, unknown, skunk, possum, skunk, unknown, dog, raccoon, unknown, deer, fox, unknown, armadillo, skunk, deer, unknown, dog, unknown, armadillo, raccoon, armadillo, unknown, armadillo, armadillo, armadillo, armadillo, unknown, armadillo, armadillo, unknown, unknown, deer, raccoon, armadillo, armadillo, armadillo, armadillo, armadillo, armadillo.

Those were roadkill, and about the only things besides asphalt, cars, billboards and endless fields of flat boredom that you see when driving south on the Interstate through the Midwest.

Enough of that, we said, and set course for the Great Smoky Mountains and the Blue Ridge Parkway.

Mountains #2

Mountains #3

Mountains #4

Mountains #5

Mountains #6

Mountains #7

Mountains #8

This is America part seven. Read part six here, part five here, part four here, part three here, part two here, part one here.

The Place Where They Cried*

Posted on July 15, 2013 by Eivind Senneset

Cherokee, NC: damn sad.

Cherokee #1

The town of Cherokee and the areas of Western North Carolina has been part of the homelands of the Cherokee people for centuries upon centuries. And yes – you still see clear signs of Indian presence in the town, even though most of the Cherokees in the 1830s were gathered, dispossessed and made to walk six months, 1,200 miles west, killing roughly one in four.

Cherokee #2

Depending on from which road you enter downtown Cherokee, the first thing you see is either a small stage with a scruffy looking bison and a sign promising Live Indian Shows, a 20 foot Cherokee statue advertising Indian Tattoos – or the Indian casino.

Cherokee #3

Despite my anti-gambling sensibilities, I suspect the casino might be one of the better thing to have happened to this town, in that tribal gambling at least generates a stream of revenue for tribe members. As of 2005, each member of the 13,000+ strong tribe received $8,000 from casino profits. Compared to the times before the casino opened in 1995, when most tribe members “were poor, almost totally dependent on the federal government for subsistence,” the opening of the casino meant dramatic improvements in everything from jobs to education to health care for the tribe, according to then chief Joyce Dugan.

Cherokee #4

But for the rest of the town… Its current motto is “Trails of Legends and Adventures” – how about changing that to “Cringeworthy?”

Well, at least judging by its main street.

Cherokee #5

There is a museum, as well as a reconstructed Indian village, that might very well be decent and respectful attractions, but they weren’t open when I passed through town so I wouldn’t know. There is also a historic play on the story of the Cherokee Indians that’s been running daily for over 60 years, so obviously that’s got something going for itself.

Cherokee #6

But ah, yes, the main street. Here, tribal pride is a commodity, a photo-op, a souvenir – all in the most tasteless of manners. A sign saying “Dance show by a full blooded?” That is so very, very wrong. No disrespect to the tribal members who for whatever reason feel compelled to partake in this, but this has to make more people than me feel uncomfortable.

There are also the bear pens.

Cherokee #7

* The Place Where They Cried – Nu na da ul tsun yi – is the Cherokee expression for the events in 1838 in which they were forcibly removed from their lands in the Southeastern United States, resulting in the deaths of approximately 4,000 Cherokees. Today’s Eastern Band members are direct descendents of those who avoided the forced removal.

Cherokee #8

This is America part six. Read part five here, part four here, part three here, part two here, part one here.

The Heroes of Gator-Aid

Posted on July 11, 2013 by Eivind Senneset

Hand feeding alligators with marshmallows is a desperate measure to save a species on the brink of extinction due to abrupt changes in the food chain.

Is that a wild alligator in the middle of the swamp? Yes. Is he swimming around with a marshmallow on top of its head? Also yes

Is that a wild alligator in the middle of the swamp? Yes. Is it swimming around with a marshmallow on top of its head? Also yes

Long-term ecological complications from hurricane Katrina have all but decimated many important species of plants in the Louisiana marshlands, severely disrupting the natural food chain. Among the species as good as extinct is the wild marshmallow, the main source of nutrition for the Louisiana alligators. In a desperate measure to save the species, swamp rangers set out to hand feed starving gators with rations of aid marshmallows. As there are an estimated two million gators in Louisiana, this is an arduous and labour-intensive job, demanding large numbers of volunteers and hundreds of thousands of bags of marshmallows every week.

Swampscape 1. Not a marshmallow tree in sight

Alligator 2. Misquoting Nixon: I am not a croc

Swampscape 2. Would you look at that complete absence of marshmallow trees

Swampscape 2. Would you look at that complete lack of marshmallow trees?

Why not use airdrop you might ask? Well, that would leave most of the marshmallows floating in the swamp waters, like they were windfall. Alligators are accustomed to jumping out of the water and nipping wild marshmallows straight from the branches of the marshmallow tree. A proud gator simply won’t touch soggy marshmallows. Thus the need for human hands tempting the gators like the marshmallows were fresh off the branches, allowing the animals to act on their hunting instincts.

Alligator 3. Of course there are dangers associated with hand feeding alligators. If you forget to remove your wristwatch, they can easily snag a fang, in worst case breaking the tooth off completely

Swampscape 3. Wait – is that a marshmallow tree over there on the right? Could it really be? Nope. My bad

Swampscape 4. Marshmallow tree. Dead, sadly

While visiting Louisiana my girlfriend and I felt the obligation to do our part, and joined a party of first time volunteers on a barge set out to distribute aid rations in the Barataria area south of New Orleans. We are proud to say that at least a dozen gators won’t be starving for marshmallows before the weekend at the very least.

Swampscape 5. Not a single marshmallow tree. Really, this is an ecological disaster

Swampscape 6. I mean – have you ever seen a swamp south of the Arctic Circle with this few marshmallow trees?

Alligator 4. My girlfriend having just completed the course “Caring for your alligator.” Lesson 101: The belly rub

Disclaimer: Let’s just quote the great pirate W. Shakespeare: “Do not trusteh all that thou readest on the Interneth.” Alligators are not a threatened species, and I just read that feeding them actually is against Louisiana law. Huh. Seems that our tour guide was breaking the law. Not too surprising really. After reading this article on disaster tourism I must admit a certain distaste for some of the practices of the New Orleans tour industry.

This is America part five. Read part four here, part three here, part two here, part one here.

Some People. And Chicago

Posted on July 9, 2013 by Eivind Senneset

Brief encounters with nice folks. And some mostly unrelated pictures from Chicago.

Trump Tower, seen from the El

When the Republican Convention came to Chicago in 1944, this tavern posted a sign saying "No Republicans Allowed," thus cramming the joint with Republicans demanding to be served. Savvy as hell

When the Republican Convention came to Chicago in 1944, The Billy Goat Tavern posted a sign saying “No Republicans Allowed.” Soon the joint was crammed with Republicans demanding to be served. Savvy as hell

Welcome to Illinois

Jeff – the Billy Goat bartender since 1981
“My god – you’re Norwegian? I’m so sorry.”

Motel-clerk in Battle Creek
“Why would you spend a night in Battle Creek?”

Oh, look. Another skyline

A dive bar owner, drunk, profane, lovely
“What can I get you motherfuckers? Draught beer? We ain’t got no draught beer here. Choose again. Where you from? Norway!? Okay, you like it strong, I’ll get you some bottles with some oompf. See that couple in the corner? They’re from New Fucking York so you ain’t the only ones who don’t belong here. Where you going now? South? Okay, you gotta stop by this church I know of. It’s the nicest motherfucking church in the United States’ hemisphere.”

Every time the Chicago Blackhawks win the Stanley Cup, Post-It expences are off the charts

The entire population of St. Louis, trying to cram themselves into one MetroLink Car on the night of July 4.
Really, I don’t think I’ve experienced public transport this packed outside of an African minibus (you know the kind, registered to carry 16, modified to carry 24, carrying 36).

Would you like the lucky horse shoe or the diamond encrusted American flag cuff links to go with your loafers?

Would you like the lucky horse shoes or the diamond encrusted American flag cufflinks to go with your loafers?

Two drunk girls with a camera
“Hey gorgeous – we love your hat. You have the best shirt we have ever seen. Please will you let us two girls take a picture with you?”
(No, I won’t. While my hat is brilliant, my shirt is only so-so. Besides, you threw a whiskey cork at me to get my attention.)

First time in a coin laundry. Damn exciting

The five year old at the zoo searching an empty rhino pen with her eyes, finding only the stray rabbit
“That’s not a rhino is it?”
(“Yes,” I told her, “it is. The Northern, white-furred mini-rhino is extremely well adapted to the barren, snowy landscape of the Chicagoland winters.”)

The Green Mill. Come for the jazz, stay for the restroom wall prose

The Green Mill II. When singer Joe E. Lewis wouldn’t take his act here during the Prohibition Era, owner “Machine Gun” Jack McGurn cut out his tongue and slashed his throat

The Chicago waitress taking my girlfriend’s order
“You have the best accent. Would you mind a lot if I tried it?”

Whether you’re wearing cargo pants or tuxedo – neon head bands go with everything

The restroom vandals at The Green Mill (the place is classy, their prose less so)
“Baa baa raa raa doo da your face!”
“Hemingways you’re favorite band (sic)”

July 3. Warming up with some light firework

This is America part four. Read part three here, part two here, part one here.

A Tale of Three Cities

Posted on July 4, 2013 by Eivind Senneset

It was the beginning of times, it was the end of times, and somewhere in between a rabbit stole the mayor’s parking space.

City One: Oil City, Ontario

Oil City, Ontario

Oil Springs, Ontario. America’s first oil well

Or rather, the trio of adjacent towns: Oil Spring, Oil City and Petrolia. The first American oil rush took place here from 1858 and onwards, after an asphalt producer set out to dig a water well but found free oil instead, sparking what was to become the oil industry.

Population:
Oil Springs – 704
Oil City – 2930
Petrolia – 5528

City Two: Flint, Michigan

Flint, Michigan

Flint, Michigan. The gospel

Flint was the center of the Michigan lumber industry. Lumber money funded the establishment of a carriage-making industry. Horse carriages gave way to automobiles. Flint became the birthplace of General Motors and a major player in the nascent auto industry. At its height GM employed 80,000 workers. Then the industry collapsed. NPR describes Flint as ground zero for the decline of American manufacturing. For the past decades Flint has suffered from disinvestment, deindustrialization, depopulation, urban decay and high rates of crime. FBI recently ranked Flint the most violent city per capita in America for the third consecutive year. According to FBI’s statistics, Flint had more than 2,774 violent crimes in 2012. They included 63 murders, 108 rapes, 673 robberies and 1,930 aggravated assaults.

Population: 102,434 (down from 200,000 in 1960)

City Three: Sarnia, Ontario

Sarnia, Ontario

Back across the border to Canada, midways between Flint and Oil City, in the city of Sarnia, a rabbit sat on the mayor’s parking space on a summer evening.

Population: 72,366

This is America part three. Read part two here, part one here.

Viva Las Canada

Posted on July 1, 2013 by Eivind Senneset

Welcome to Niagara Falls. Would you like a really, really big bed?

~~House~~ Casino on the hill

They are

Falls #1

Poncho Town.
Smurf City.
Disneyland Ontario.

Everyone’s blue, poncho’ed
against the mist and spray
of the friendly neon-lit natural splendor.

Schlock romance!

Honeymoon suites with
heart shaped beds,
heart shaped tubs,
heart shaped towels.

Cosmic dinosaur mini golf championship.
Big screen wrestling at the Hawaiian bar.
Wax museum upside down house of horror resorts.

And on the American side:
21,000 tons of toxic waste
dumped in Love Canal.

Girlfriend in disguise

Margaritaville. Certainly

Motel #1

Motel #2

Neon is a colorless, odorless monatomic gas under standard conditions. That and kitschy

When dinosaurs roamed the earth, miniature golfers roamed too

Motel #3

Motel #4

~~Eye of Sauron.~~ Revolving restaurant

Falls #2

This is America part deux. Read part one here.
Also: This is fantastic.

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