Men stemningen. Du og du. Alltid like imponert. Det samme gjelder om du tar turen innom Stadion i Bergen og et par andre steder. For ikke å snakke om Anfield eller Filbert Street.

Det synges sanger alle kan. Det er unisone brøl. Det er et solid fellesskap. Men hvorfor skjer dette kun på klubbarenaene? Har du sett Hareides menn i utfoldelse er det ikke mange felles sanger å høre. Oljeberget prøver så godt de kan med å lage liv på landskamper i fotball, men det er vel ikke helt det store.

Hva skal til for å få et fellesskap og en stor fanskare på en nasjonal idrettsarena? Hvem skal ta ansvaret? Er det arrangørene som må starte opp en fanklubb? Må de forskjellige forbundene gjøre noe? Eller burde kanskje et firma starte opp en fanklubb som et PR-prosjekt? Norske firma bruker store summer på sponsing av idretten, men får de nok ut av det?

Kanskje Norge ikke er stort nok for masse fanklubber. Kanskje vi skulle hatt en som reiste rundt til Kollen, Ullevål, Vikersund, Kvitfjell, Vikingskipet og sandvolley i Sandnes.

Noen må gjøre noe. Jeg er så utrolig lei av "seier'n er vår".

Tomorrow is my last day at Kvitfjell before flying to Malta.  I'll be packing and cleaning, and with any luck posting a Heading > North farewell.  Internet access through the summer will be sketchy....

It is now ten-thirty Saturday morning, and I am drinking coffee at my window before driving to my last shift at Koia. Closing day of the season is tomorrow, and then it's time to start packing. I met with my new bosses from Sognefjell yesterday, who drove into town and met me at Koia to fill out the forms for extending my residency. I will be starting there on the eighth of May after returning from a week's vacation in Malta.

Which is why I had a bad feeling when I got a phone call on the evening of March 22. I hadn't had a chance to do those things yet, and on my way down the mountain after a late shift at work, a friend of mine was on the phone needing a ride from Fåvang. The bad feeling I had at this point came from a combination of circumstances:

Numero Uno) It was Easter. Normally, there aren't a lot of patrol cars around these parts. But I had heard that they tend to show up during holidays, especially Easter.

Numero Dos) I started driving much more carefully and infrequently after a friend of mine convinced me of the consequences of driving an uninsured vehicle, even on the mountain. I had successfully avoided those consequences to this point, and now I was only days away from getting Snow White on the right side of the law.

Numero Tres) It was late Saturday night. If I was gonna see a cop, it was now or never.

Numero Cuatro) I knew I might not pass an alcohol test. In fact, I had even called up my neighbors who work at the hotel to hitch a ride down. But after getting no answer, I took the risk of driving home. Disclaimer: You should understand that I was nowhere near being under the influence. Much earlier in the day, I had a few tastes of drinks that had been accidentally prepared or turned down by the guests at Koia. Had I been driving in the States, I wouldn't have thought twice about my condition, but the limits in Norway are next to zero. Even certain non-alcoholic foods can put you in dangerous territory.

So I was on my way down the mountain when I got the call, and sucker that I am, I didn't want to turn down a friend in need. I made it to my driveway at the bottom of the mountain and heard the angel whisper in my ear, "Stop here." I continued towards town. As I approached Fåvang, I considered parking and walking the rest of the way, but since it was what turned out to be the coldest night of the year (nearly ten below), I ignored my better judgment and continued the last few hundred yards to where my friend - and a parked police car - were waiting for me.

They nailed me for a headlight that has been malfunctioning for months. I replaced the bulb once in Oslo, but it still only works when it feels like it. That cold Saturday night, it didn't feel like it. So I drove past the police car, into the parking lot, and went inside to get my friend. Five minutes later, we walked out:

Good Samaritan: "So, why do you think that cop is parked there?"

Carefree Swedish Chick: "Well, you know, sometimes people get into fights."

We got in the car, buckled up, and pulled out. Followed immediately by the police.

Victim of Murphy's Law: "I hate when police follow me."

At which point, they flashed their lights, I pulled over into a gas station, and we waited.

Officer: "Førekort og vognkort, takk." (...license and registration, please.)

Ignorant American Tourist: "Hello! :)"

Officer: "Oh, yes. You speak English?"

Fluent Norwegian Speaker: "Yes."

I had to resist the instinct to respond in Norwegian or let on that I understood every darned Norwegian word he said. But I did my best to play dumb. Not that I expected to get off scot-free, but this was my maneuver of damage control. The ensuing conversation consisted of me telling him I didn't have registration, him telling me I didn't have insurance, me telling him I was working on that, and him telling me that it was cold outside.

He stripped Snow White of her plates while my friend and I watched him in the headlight, and he told me to park the car at the gas station. I wouldn't be driving another kilometer without insurance, and though he initially offered to arrange a ride home (which was thankfully not appearing to be an escort to the county jail), my friend and I eventually found ourselves walking back to town to hail a taxi.

After leaving Snow White behind, naked and cold, the first thing I could do was laugh about it. I mean, I wasn't going to jail, my car wasn't being impounded, and my license wasn't being confiscated. Plus, I didn't have to take a breathalizer, and I didn't even get a ticket. This whole thing was bound to happen, but instead of landing me in a heap of trouble, it was just going to make a good story. My enthusiasm faded as soon as the -10° weather permeated my jacket, or about two minutes. It took another thirty to get a cab, by which point I was pumping out jumping jacks to stay warm.

The rest is history. I had to manage a while without a car, but after two trips to Lillehammer and a $235 fine (yup, they got me), Snow White and I were reunited. I still consider myself lucky, and now I'm 100% legal. No more wife-beaters, no more Spanish accent, and no more black money. The next time I have to talk to the cops, they won't even recognize me.

As the picture above shows, I now live in a small place near the towns of Fåvang and Ringebu, which are about the same distance apart as Pullman and Moscow. Lately, I've had enough time to do a little exploring. Last week, I posted pictures from an "Ice Church" that I found at the end of a half hour hike outside Fåvang. It forms naturally every winter and is so enchanting that couples have even held their wedding ceremonies there.

Today, I needed to drive to Ringebu.  I brought my camera along and decided to stop by the Ringebu Stave Church. I had seen it before from a distance, but it was impressive to see up close. Norwegian history is not as extravagant as the Roman conquests or their towering cathedrals. It is more reserved and subtle (except for that Viking thing), and the stave churches represent a unique example. I imagine that people still get married here and found evidence that folk are still buried here. I didn't have time to go inside, but here are the shots I took around the churchyard.

That was the message Nicklas sent me on Friday after watching the first race of the World Cup at Kvitfjell. We kicked things off the night before with a VIP party hosted by Ole Kristian Furuseth; and the races lasted until Sunday, during which Austrian skier Matthias Lanzinger took an extremely unfortunate fall that has resulted in the amputation of his left foot. His was the worst in a series of falls taken by the racers throughout the weekend; and the Lanzinger video features commentator and American skier Scott Macartney, who also sustained injuries from a serious fall earlier this season.

Apart from the disappointing reports about Lanzinger, the World Cup was a success, with American Bode Miller making a strong showing and spectators packing into Koia. When I wasn't manning the bar, I managed to get a couple videos including one of Werner Heel, who ended up winning Friday's downhill.

več

Behind the bar, we have a hinged paper towel dispenser. No matter what we do to keep it closed, it is always swinging open.

Today, when the dispenser fell open, I put two and two together. It wasn't until later in the evening, after I had closed, that this realization scared me to death.

...

It has been warm and sunny here the past two weeks. I have been looking forward to the lunar eclipse that is happening tonight, hardly considering the fact that a lunar eclipse is often regarded as a bad omen.

This morning, however, I woke up to new snow, and the skies were overcast all day. By nightfall, the clouds had sunk to become a thick fog blowing in with force and noticeably lowering the temperature on the mountain. It was the kind of fog that made me feel like I was in a movie.

...

I closed Koia by myself tonight and told Lars that I would be staying late to upgrade the sound system. Our amplifier is on a high shelf above the paper towel dispenser; so after the usual cleaning routine, I was standing on a crate changing some cables when it first happened - a noise I hadn't heard before - somewhere I couldn't see. It could have been something falling off the wall, it could have been someone knocking to get in, or it could have been something blown over by the wind. Whatever it was, I looked for it, but found everything on the walls, no one outside, and my heart rate up just a bit. So I went back to work, alternating between the amplifier and the speakers outside to check their output and adjust the volume. Outside - in the fog and the wind and the cold.

Then it happened again. This time louder. This time definitely inside. And after frantically searching through and around the entire building, still no sign of what could have caused it, until I was frozen in my tracks. I thought of the paper towel dispenser, not because the noise could possibly have been the paper towel dispenser, for the noise was far too loud. I was petrified by something else I remembered:

Three hundred fifty years ago, long before the building was "Koia," a girl who lived there was killed. In fact, she was suspected to have been slain at the exact location of the paper towel dispenser, directly below the amplifier and beside the panel for the alarm system. She was killed precisely where I was standing.

...

The last thing I do before I leave Koia at night is turn on the alarm, which has a short pre-delay. I do this immediately after I turn off all the lights. As soon as I engage the alarm - before it goes off - I have to walk to the front door on the opposite side of the building. In the dark.

Spooked, I finished my work as fast as possible and, after turning on the alarm, headed as calmly as I could for the door. Halfway there, I realized I had left my hat and gloves in the back. I knew I might have just enough time to retrieve them before the alarm would sound, so I turned around, reached blindly into the back room, raced for the door, and SLAM! The door shut behind me. I had already locked it before realizing that one of my gloves had fallen to the step below and that my hat was no longer in my hand or on the ground.

It was on the floor inside. And it still is. I was not going back for it, no matter how cold my ears might get on the five minute walk to my car. The dark, cold, foggy, windy, frighteningly endless walk back.

Once I finally made it, I peed in the parking lot. I had to, but it was foggy, and nobody was watching.

Nobody, except her.

Tim Hagen
c/o Nicklas Lindqvist
Mæhlumgard
2634 Fåvang
Norway

As I was walking towards the city center, I dropped into a store named Carlings because they had sale signs in the window. I walked in to the tune of "Rosetta Stoned," a welcome surprise after not listening to any Tool since getting to Norway. I took my time picking out three cheap shirts, trying them on, and making small talk with the associates so that I could finish out the album.

I ordered fish and chips for lunch at Cafe Sara, where the music again caught my attention. They played "One Headlight" by the Wallflowers, which wouldn't have been much to notice, except that before walking into the city, I had driven Snow White to the garage to have them fix (you guessed it) one headlight.

That night, Karen and I went out for Thai. The place was called YaYa's Thai Beach Bungalow, and it is a must if you like Thai and ever find yourself in Oslo. It would be difficult to say which was better - the food or the atmosphere - but I hope to have another chance to decide. Dinner was followed by a chilly evening walk through Oslo's famous Frogner Park, aka Vigelandsparken.

Today was warm and sunny. The mountain didn't get much overnight accumulation, so instead of snowboarding, I took a stroll along the river. I live between the mountain and the river and am on the mountain every week. However, this was only my second time visiting the shores of the frozen Lågen, even though it's just five minutes away. I took my camera along and posted some of the photos on Flickr.

I quit one of my two jobs before leaving for Christmas. I had nothing against the hotel, worked with some cool people, and though few others would have enjoyed it, I didn't mind working as a dishwasher. When combined with Koia, however, my schedule was becoming all work and no play, with little opportunity for reading, blogging, emailing, socializing or snowboarding. Work at Koia is more diverse, more flexible, more social, and just plain more fun, so the choice was easy.

A very blessed Christmastime was spent with the Frestad family, distant relatives but very close friends in Feda, near the southern city of Kristiansand. The distance from Fåvang to Feda is, according to Google, a portentious 666 kilometers, but me and my trusty '87 Honda Civic (aka "Snow White") managed the way there and back, making stops to visit other friends and family in Lillehammer, Oslo, and Skien. I was overwhelmed by the Frestads' generosity and hospitality, reinforcing my impression of Feda as a little piece of heaven.

Since the New Year, I've been following through on my one and only resolution of bringing my online self back to life - facebook, emailing, and now finally blogging. I've also had a chance to refocus on why exactly I'm here, evaluate my expectations for the rest of the season, and contemplate what I'd like to make out of 2008.

Apart from that, it seems like the snow has barely stopped falling since January rolled around. We did have a couple of crystal clear days with pristine snow conditions last week, which are the only days I now manage to get out of bed before 10am. But the clouds moved in again this weekend, bringing more snow and warmer weather. Prior to moving here, I wouldn't have called thirty-two degrees warm, but after acclimatizing myself to an average temperature of ten to fifteen, this week has been mild. As a result, the feet of snow we're getting are occasionally rain at the bottom, heavy at mid-station, but still to die for up top. Lars and I will be riding tomorrow, bright and early.

That meeting was the highlight of this past week. Karl Sigve lives in Kristiansand on the southern tip of Norway, and occasionally his work takes him on the road. Providentially, business brought him north on Wednesday, so I didn't hesitate to make the hour long walk into Fåvang that morning to catch a bus into Lillehammer and another to Gjøvik, where I awaited Karl Sigve's arrival. We found each other in the city, then connected with his colleague and close friend, Henning. The three of us went out for a steak dinner, enjoyed a great conversation, and finished the night around the hotel fireplace praying for one another.

The next day, I had the privilege of accompanying Karl Sigve in a series of meetings he had in the area before driving to my apartment to spend more time catching up and praying together. We said good-bye that evening as he headed back to Lillehammer to meet up with Henning, and I attended the Kvitfjell employee Christmas party. The story of Karl Sigve's life and work in the church has been a blessing to read about over the years, and the prayer we both share is that I will have a chance to become a part of what the Lord is doing in Kristiansand before my time here is over. For the time being, I can say that my immediate prayer for fellowship here was answered, if only briefly, through my time with Karl Sigve, an old friend and a true brother.

Other highlights of the week were shopping for new work clothes with Maria, playing Trivial Pursuit in Swedish with my neighbors, shopping around for a new car with the help of Lars and Niklas, and enjoying a smörgåsbord of classic Norwegian food at the employee dinner. The search for a car, by the way, is still in progress. I am scheduled to test drive a 1990 Mazda 626 2.2i on Sunday, hoping that it doesn't sell before then, so if anybody can recommend for or against this model, please let me know.

I made a quick cup of coffee and took a few minutes to appreciate the landscape as I considered my options. I had two reasons for coming to Lillehammer, neither of which appeared ready to happen. The first was to meet a friend of mine, Wenche, whom I had known for years via email. Her schedule wasn't matching up, and she wouldn't be able to drive into the city this week. The second was to find work. Before leaving the States, I had been on the phone with a guy named Lars who owns a café at Kvitfjell, a ski resort famous for hosting the '94 Olympics. He sounded optimistic about giving me a job and told me to get back in touch with him once I arrived in the country. Despite multiple attempts to contact Lars since arriving, I had not heard from him during my first week in Norway. Still, hope drove me north, but after a night of camping, my determination was fading....

Until I got a call that morning. It was Lars:

"Hi, Tim."

"Hi, Lars."

"So you've made it to Norway?"

"Yeah, I'm in Lillehammer."

"You're in Lillehammer!?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to come up to Kvitfjell? I'll show you around."

"Um, yeah. Sure. Is there a bus up the mountain?"

"No, not really. But take the bus to Ringebu. I'll come down and pick you up."

"Okay. I'll call you when I get there."

"Great. See you then."

"Cool."

I was off to the station. Within ninety minutes, I was on a bus with my bags, a cucumber sandwich (made from a vegetable I found on the sidewalk the night before), and more adrenaline than is healthy for someone that just went through a night of hell. Like the mountains above the fjords, I had - in one short conversation - gone from the Valley of Death to the pinnacle of anticipation in what was finally coming true. I was euphoria. I was disbelief. Then I was in Ringebu, and Lars was late. When he made it to the station, he noticed my bags and asked where I was expecting to stay. I told him I had no plans but that a hotel would do. He informed me that there are no hotels in Ringebu, and I told him a bus back to Lillehammer would do just as well.

When I met Lars, I met a true man of the North. Tall and in his forties with short blond hair and piercing blue eyes, Lars could have been a Viking. In contrast, from our emails and phone conversations, I knew him to have an amiable personality. He had already invited me to come from Idaho. Now he was welcoming me to his mountain, and as we drove up, we began getting to know each other. It turns out he's been snowboarding since the seventies, and after the mountain opened, he started up his own café on Kvitfjell. He named the place "Koia", and when we arrived, he showed me in. Koia is a centuries-old wooden building transformed into a one-room bar, framed by a fireplace and a set of massive tree stumps that Lars hand-polished into bar stools. Antique skies, World Cup jersies, and pictures of old friends decorate the walls and rafters, while the bar itself is squeezed into the back corner ready to serve up a fresh hot dog, cup of cocoa, or glass of cold beer to the day's hungry skiers.

From there, we walked outside, around the deck, and up a short set of stairs leading to the penthouse: a loft outfitted with a couple of mattresses, a kitchen, bathroom, and living room with a couch, which Lars offered to me for the night. I gratefully accepted. Rather than endure the cold for a second time, I would overnight above the bar, but not before driving back down to Ringebu with Lars, joining him and his family for pizza, participating in an after-dinner staff meeting with Cato, Ståle, Anette, and Silje, as well as being introduced to Ane, managing director of GudbrandsGard, a four-star hotel that dwarfs neighboring Koia on Kvitfjell.

Ane stopped by to meet me after she heard from Lars. Knowing that I needed work and that the hours he could offer were to be mostly weekends and holidays, Lars made some calls to see who else might need extra help. Ane and I discussed what the hotel and I could offer each other, and by the end of the evening, we had agreed on my employment at GudbrandsGard, with a meeting scheduled for the following day to discuss the details. Considering the day's work accomplished, Lars transported me to Koia once again, and as I looked at the snow machine outside the penthouse window, I again found myself in disbelief. Agony was my lot only twenty-four hours ago. Now I had made company with new friends, landed myself not one, but two jobs, and was about to spend the night practically under a ski lift in the comfort of a warm blanket. Am I dreaming? No. I am living the dream. But had I not suffered the night in Lillehammer, I would not have made it this far.

I awoke to the dream the next morning and shoveled snow off the deck in return for the night's stay. Lars arrived about ten, and we went into town to get a freezer. After loading it up to Koia, I walked over to Gudbrandsgard to meet with Ane. She showed me around the rustic, yet luxurious hotel and introduced me to many of the staff. We agreed that I could start in the kitchen, and as I was introduced to the chefs, I told them they could put me to work as soon as needed. Marit, a young Norwegian, and John from Malta agreed that my services were required immediately, so I spent six hours that evening washing dishes, had dinner on the hotel, and slept another night at Koia.

Reporting to the kitchen at ten o' clock the next day in the same Hurley t-shirt, Diesel jeans and Asolo boots that were my uniform the night before, I put in my second shift at the hotel. I had met with Ane earlier that morning and was introduced to Magnar, who was to arrange for my employment as a foreigner in the country. We signed a contract, and I received instructions on obtaining a permit to work legally at Kvitfjell for the rest of the season. This was a primary concern of everyone involved and was one of two imperative objectives I now had for myself since arriving at Kvitfjell less than forty-eight hours before. The second of these objectives was to find a permanent living situation, and halfway through Friday's shift, I took a break to join Lars, who drove me to bottom of Kvitfjell. There, he showed me an apartment he had reserved for the first Koia employee to lay claim to it. He let me in, handed me the key, and agreed to sign for the place in return for my work. Perfect.

Well, almost perfect. The apartment is a studio, with the living area, kitchen, and bathrooms shared between several units. It is located directly across from the ski lift, which will serve as my ride to work in the morning. The hitch is that the lower lift doesn't start until December, so to report for work at Koia yesterday - Kvitfjell's opening day - I found myself hiking up the mountain through freshly falling snow, trekking poles in hand, stopping for water from the icy mountain streams, and relying on my GPS and own sense of direction to lead me to Koia's front door.

Once I made it up, Lars showed me the ropes, and we spent the next three hours serving the first guests of the season. Once the lunchtime rush was through, Lars gave me leave to go, and I stopped by the hotel to see how things were going in the kitchen. They needed a bit of help as they prepared for dinner, so in return for food (working for food from a four-star hotel goes easy on the taste buds), I washed dishes for about an hour until I caught a ride down the hill from Tomas and Lenke, a couple from the Czech Republic who run a café in the hotel. Less than half an hour after getting to my apartment, I got a call from Lars. He needed my help back at the top for a dinner party that he was hosting at Koia, and more guests than he anticipated were expected to arrive.

Lars schedules this sort of weekend event on a regular basis. After the day of skiing is done, he cleans up, puts out a couple of long wooden tables, and serves to groups of twenty or so that reserve the place for candle-lit, gourmet dinners. I told him that getting back up the mountain would be my only problem, but after forty-five minutes of standing on the road with a thumb out, I asked Maria for a ride. Maria lives in the apartment next to mine and is on staff with the hotel. She obliged, and when the evening was over, Lars dropped me off in Fåvang for Cowboyfest at Kvitfjell Pub & Pizza. Anette had invited me, and by the time I arrived, the party was in full swing. A live band was playing country hits, and nearly everyone was decked out in leather boots and cowboy hats. I ran into Falko there, a German chef from the kitchen, and we played wingmen through the night until I caught a ride back to the new digs from Anette and Hans Ola.

Today, with a break from work, I decided to make the five kilometer walk back to Fåvang to get some groceries. I had been living off hotel food and a loaf of bread for the past couple of days, so I took advantage of a gorgeous afternoon to get some more exercise and explore the area I'll be calling home for the winter. It won't take me long to settle in, but it's a day - sometimes even an hour - at a time right now. I have been sustained thus far, and if there is a blessing in store for me tomorrow, then hopefully tomorrow will be the day I find a snowboard.