Waka waka Norway

I booked the flight on the Monday. I flew on the Wednesday. To Norway. To Bergen. To a town with whale meat in the fish market, brown cheese in the supermarkets and where, a few years ago, there was 85 days of consecutive rain. The people say that is normal.

I swapped planes in Oslo. I forgot my baggage on the turnstile. I was in disarray because I realised I had double booked the flight. I arrived in Bergen. The lack of baggage made it easier to wonder the streets looking for a place to stay in the dark light of a dwindling evening. Preparation, as they say, is a hinderance and a nuisance to spontaneity, adventure and peace of mind.

I found a hostel. A friend found me on facebook. She is a local. She told me to go out to a club with her. She said she would introduce me to all her friends, and buy me drinks, and pick me up in five minutes. I said yes.
We went out to a club and she got me drinks and introduced me to her friends and explained the social nuances of Bergen. The people are shy she said, they treat friendliness with scepticicm and binge drink as a social lubricant she explained. I understand I said. Her friends said where are you from? I said South Africa. They said waka waka.
Why did you come to Norway they said. For the rain I said. And the whale meat.

At the end of the night in the kebab shop she said you can sleep on my couch until you find a place, that hostel is expensive. We will find you a job and an apartment and you will like Bergen. Thank you I said.

She gave me a sheet for the couch and a phone and a sim card and scrambled eggs and rolls on a plate waiting for me on the kitchen counter in the morning and lasagne at night. She was the kryptonite to my unorganisation.

We have to find you a job she said. Go to Finnegan's, the Irish Bar, there is a guy from South Africa there, speak to him she said. I went. He asked me what I wanted. I said a job. You can start tonight he said.

Three days later I moved into an apartment in the centre of town. This is easy I said.