Saturday in Arendal

Wednesday, September 08, 2010

Saturday in Arendal

Saturday, September 4, 2010.

Arendal, Southern Norway

Saturday Morning in Arendal
( This blog is a consequence of forgetting to bring my camera along with me)

The sun’s rays softly peeked itself into my bedroom glass window late in the morning. It woke me up to the realization that I had a list of things to do and planned to spend my Saturday catching up with work I was behind with. I had to kindly refuse a tempting offer to check out a boat in the sea in Tromøy island.


The novel to re-read for my 7th grade class was the first thing that entered my mind. I thought of something more creative to avoid feeling bored, home stuck in a sunny weekend in my flat. I grabbed the novel, put on my sun glasses, hopped into my running shoes and happily started brisk walking towards the town about three miles away. I was hoping to finish the novel by the time I reach the town, from Hisøy island where I live. Thinking that I would be sweating, I left my sweater behind only to be on shady pedestrian side embraced by a chilly morning breeze for about 2 miles. I walked faster thinking that my body might just heat up, but my thoughts slowly drifting with the story I was reading, made me dissolve the cold into oblivion.

I was halfway the novel, but I could already see the harbor with boats and the colored many roofs of the town in ochre, white and red. The sea was glimmering silver matching the white boats and yachts reflecting the sun lining the side. The tower of the brick red Lutheran church of Norway, stood thin, yet tallest of them all in the horizon of exquisite simplicity of Norwegian wooden houses and buildings. The air was crisp yet clean and the morning breeze began to be infused with a bit of warmth by the rays of the quiet morning sun.

It was 10:00 a.m. and the town was still asleep, but, for a shop or two, that sells grocery and ice cream. I checked out an ice cream shop, out of curiosity of its time of opening and what it sells, in a chilly Autumn day nearing winter. There I found an equally curious looking Asian man wondering what this fellow brown skinned lady is wandering about in his store. I grinned, leaned over a bit and asked about the menu. He didn’t look a bit disappointed in telling me that he didn’t have what I wanted on the menu on the wall. He served “samosas” in that ice cream shop for heaven’s sake. So, instead, I grinned, enthusiastically said hi to him and asked him where he was from. He was from Thailand and as usual, I get these surprised faces often when I tell people who ask about my job - that I work in a school in Hisøy. I am not too sure why that sounds surprising (you know the bulging eyes or pointing mouths or both) . I have my suspicions.

Moving along, I found another grocery shop called KIWI and I thought of buying some flavored yoghurt for the bag of nuts I brought along with me. As I sat in one of the benches that lined the pretty stone covered floor in the square, I saw a few elderly men barely walking with their little machines in front of them, living independent lives. One caught my attention, after a group of birds peacefully feeding on crumbs of bread. As astonished and delighted I was of seeing seagulls and pigeons and brown Philippine Maya looking birds all in one space, the inner strength aura of this quiet shaking barely walking old man had my attention fixed on him.

As if time stopped for me when I watched him open his bag and started peacefully and gracefully feeding the pigeons and seagulls in a found manner. With that, the contrasts of the shades from the posts covered with baskets of purple and pink flowers swept the stone floors of its extended shadows.

The town was still. I walked about leaving the elderly sitting quietly in their corners of the town enjoying the sun. The graceful dark blackish green steel sculptures of children in empty streets, the flowers in baskets hanging in every post and doors of restaurants, the still water embraced by the heart of the town, the sun rising higher… all these did not wake up everyone but a few special chosen souls. I saw a father with her two little daughters with covered heads from the cold wearing orange life jackets entering the town in a boat, looking forward to a beginning of the day. Perhaps, it is true that we see what we choose to see, but I only saw fathers with their children that morning. There was a Chinese looking man in that still morning, puffing his cigarette with his toddler little girl and a baby in his stroller taking their morning walks. In another corner was another man with his little child watching the sea from a bench on staircases rolling down to the sea. It never then occurred to me, to wonder about my husband and my daughter in the Philippines. I just wondered to myself , “where are the mothers”? Could it have reflected the “lostness” that I am in, that I am not aware of? I know that I forgot my house keys already a couple of times after a long day’s work these past two weeks.


The sights and sounds of the town continued. There were also a few tall looking “lighter than blonde” haired travelers waiting for the bus in the stands. Oh they were in their so western looking clothes of high heeled black boots, black leather pants, gray shawls, black trench coats and Audrey Hepburn sunglasses and signature looking hand bags laughing while talking on their I phones. In contrast, I saw this young man, in t-shirt with no bag in denim pants all bruised in his face and arms and sniffing in the air. I was feeling paranoid, that he might not have been in his normal state of mind and I had with me my passport and all the cash of what’s left from what I brought with me from home. I brought my passport with me as I hope the banks might be open for half a day so I can change of what remained of my US dollars and Euros for some Norwegian kroner. It has been almost 4 weeks now of waiting for all the papers necessary to come in, so I could get paid for the first time. It’s no one’s fault really, except that this is the rules of the socialist state. I have been a very patient young woman, not until these past few days.


Still moving along, I passed through slowly awakening side walk cafes and their little closed doors. They released this powerful aroma of cinnamon bread with melted butter in cobbled streets of stone along wooden flats, other cafes and shops. The little shops were then bringing out their lines of clothing in hangers saying “SALG” in yellow bold colors. I assume they meant SALE. The prices were good; they would be the same as the ones we would find in malls in India and the Philippines, but not in a SALE status of price neither would it be on the top end.


From a distance I saw this gigantic ship near the harbor just a few meters away from the cafes and restaurants lining the water. Yes, ships and things associated with it are memories close to home having been raised in the coastal Roxas city. I was greeted by a soft gush of strong salty sea breeze. I was transported right at home. The smell of crabs in the crab boat parking at the “Pollen” just tightly knotted it all together just like a fish net trapping fishes of memories.

In my constant steps around the labyrinth of the quaint little town just passing along a shop of flowers and organic food, I found myself looking straight at a line of huge blue buses and a digital announcement on the wall saying “Hisøy at 11:45 am”. I quickly glanced at my watch and saw the time. It was 11:40. I quickly paced and saw an empty bus with a young bus driver ready to leave. I scrambled looking for my coins, signaling him to wait. Just on time, as he was about to turn I hopped right in front of the bus door and he gladly opened the door to his only passenger. I was dropped right in front of where I lived, only to realize it was really a bus stop point after all.


That hour and a half felt like a mini vacation to a small coastal Scandinavian town. I rushed to my door and started cooking my pasta getting ready for lunch as I glanced at the pile of book reports to correct for Monday’s literature class.