Hey! Hey! And a Huda from the snow-capped mountain oasis of Tromso, Norde known affectionately to the locals as Polaria. When I perused the pages of my Lonely Planet Scandanavia and discovered I was traveling from politicoland to 300 km NORTH of the Arctic Circle, I prepared my distinguishing tastebuds for reindeer tartar and packed the best and bulkiest parka North Face had to offer. Both provisions put me in good Raouls Amudsen stead!

While filled with glee over the prospect of exploring this tundriatic, fiord-filled playground before me, I have to wonder why, in the name of Eric the Red, the European Union would pick one of the Northernmost habitats on earth for their annual e-Health junket. Tromso’s panoramic Alpine views and reputation as the Land of the Midnight Sun just might have cinched their bid over sandier, more continental locales. Given its unique geographic seat at the virtual top of the world, Tromso is blessed with nearly three months of pure, uninterrupted solar and UV rays every summer. All hail melanoma! And as the tourism website says, simply put Tromso parties; complete with a mayor who dons a shiny discoball of a necklace in ALL public addresses and yodelers who sing l’etrange electronica Euro hits like Big Butter Belly. Run don’t walk to download Bel Cantor’s CD! I guarantee you will find no another band like Bel Cantor and no other land like Tromso on this Earth. Where else are Kit-Kats called Kvikk Lunsj and is whale watching, fur slipper-making and singing the praises of Ibsen, Grieg and mid-20th century modernism a regional pass-time? How many adventure outposts, population 56,000, can play host to top health ministers and the world’s best marathoners one month and Nelson Mandela the next?

As the luggagecheckers at the airport warned me upon entry to Norway, Uh, Miss this is NOT Washington DC; which became hilariously clear as I traipsed through Tromdenhiem’s masterfully designed Museum of Polar Exploration seeing the likes of Svarlsbad’s little auks (penguins) and trained bearded seals barking for their dinner, as well as learning about the migratory mating patterns of Artic eels and the eco-consequences of being downwind from the Chernobyl disaster. Note to self: check that Rusky globe again. Exit information on the miraculous Coldwar Antartica Treaty cooperation and a giftshop brimming with funky Norse scarfwear and authentic fur polarbear masks topped off the museum’s icecold good time. I am sure I speak for many a TLRG reader when I say that seeing Mr. Q in his newly acquired bear hoodie and costume will be worth its weight in Kroners (6,000 to be exact)

Stay tuned for the Flickr photos:pigtails:

Signed,
LMSB (Lil Miss Sunburn)

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Guten Morgen! For the purpose of full disclosure and to incite just an ample amount of righteous jealousy amongst my family, friends and fans, I relay that I am tickling my Toshiba Portege ivories from a new perch; the cappuccino joint in the Munich airport which is quite inappropriately named the Piazzo Monaco. We are one world indeed! The late Prince Rainier would be so proud that his Kingdom reigns gloriously on in Munchen Terminal G.

While the Piazzo’s choco muffins may be dry as the Sahara, it’s good to know that there are some places left on our fair planet that put real, honest to goodness sucre and crème in their coffee drinks. Equal and soy milk be damned. I’m certain my beloved Mr. Q would agree. Mmm…mmm…God bless the (post-Weimar)Republic!

Jumping from bean consumption to my emotional state, I admit to being a bit weepy this morning as I touched down in Deutchland. You see, this little farmgirl has dreamed since she was a wee frauline of coming to the Rhineland one day and excitedly walking village to village, amongst those quaint little churches nestled in the mountains. Well, dream may be an understatement; actually looking at pictures of these villages no more than twice a day with intense pastoral longing might be more accurate. Today, on my way towards the Artic Circle, the EU Health Ministers Summit and the land of the northernmost Burger King on Earth, my girlhood longings became reality. Snow-capped mountains, gorgeous, antiquated vert plots of land and the beacon-like steeple of a model village worhsiphouse seen so many times in my worldy, wanderlust dreams came into crystal clear view upon airport approach. I’m getting downright misty just thinking about it now. I feel a sense of homecoming here and not just because all the older ladies scadding about look just like my Grammy Alice Gerber!

The cumulative effect of my journey across the pond thus far drives a disputive nail right into the theory that as we get older, we have less magical moments of discovery; you know, when eyes pop wide out of your head and life seems to stop cold for a moment so that all you can hear is the beating of your own heart and the anticipation of an entirely new experience? Most of my friends are far beyond these days with glee found in getting a ritzy thumbs-up from the home appraiser, cultivating a backyard garden and thinking of children to come. God bless ‘em! Me, I feel like my a-ha, life-expanding moments are only multiplying in the most glorious way, like a beautiful chorus’ collective voice rising higher and higher. These interludes are also requiring me to speak many, many more languages. I’m a very lucky woman. All of these dramatic professional and personal developments have me so overwhelmed at times, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. So instead, I’m keeping my mind off of emoting and am instead chomping on Munchen’s version of the hotdog. Not exactly Oscar Meyer tasty. But, I must keep up my quest to consume questionable pork in every EU country, come what may.

The only thing negative I have to say about Germany thus far is the native children are a tad too energetic. I had a wonderkid next to me on my flight that jabbered in his native speak all the way from IAD to the land of the ‘72 Olympics (with the exception, of course, of the internationally-recognized phrase “playstation” which he uttered every 15 minutes.) Aye! Never have I been so inclined towards Kindsmord and glad to blast the in-flight collection of pop music courteously provided to us by the soundboard mixers of Starbucks. Bucks really is taking over the world one frap flavor and remastered Sinatra ditty at a time.

And speaking of the bean, I must get back to my cup of crème and mocha. But never fear. You have much to look forward to in this week’s roving reports from the Northern front, as I excitedly head to the land of the Vikings, reindeer and the midnight sun.

Auf Wiedersein Lieblings,
TLRG

And to my Charlie B I say Mein herz schlägt nur für dich mein schatz der liebste!:kiss1:

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