Interrail in five days!

I am going to Romania. It will be great. But in order to get there, I will take the train and visit a couple of good friends on the way. Beginning in Denmark, after a nice week with my parents, I try to buy an inter rail ticket in Frederikshavn, but you can't do it that way anymore. I have to take the bus to Aalborg and get it there. No problem, except I have forgotten that I have changed bank and I have a new code on my credit card. No customer service on a Saturday, but I manage to find a free Wi-Fi and fish out the four vital digits from the home page of Møre Sparebank just in time to get the train to Berlin and from there to Warsaw and further on to Krakow in the South of Polen.

Konstancja and Juri in their cool back yard

Krakow!

The journey takes around 30 odd hours, which is far more than I get to spend with my dear friend Konstancja and her great new boyfriend. I have to go to them first, as it is a long gone promise and they will be busy elsewhere later in the week. Our schedules to allow for a good dinner and a stroll around churches and sights in this beautiful town before I leave again, with the following afternoon train.

So ... how cool is this?

A lovely couple of friends and an odd ...

... couple of towers!

Paris is next. Well, after the detour to the Polish capital, where I can not get aboard the train just after midnight, as it is Russian. They are not part of the Interrail-system. I'll have to spend the night on a short wooden bench until the early morning train, then change in Berlin and go on via Frankfurt to Paris.
    I have written about the benefits of train travel before. You see the world go by your window while you tend your own business or get new acquaintances. So far, I am particularly charmed by the Polish staff on the trains. Great sense of humour and fine service.

Perfect. Simply perfect.

The stay in Paris will be for 22 hours, after nearly twice that time on the rails. Alice picks me up on the station and we spend the warm summer night chatting on the grass near the Eiffel Tower. Only Paris is Paris, and no place comes close on a wonderful evening like this. A bottle of red wine and good food among relaxed Parisians on the grass, with the absurd iron-construction towering high above everything. Simply great.

Thanks to the "green" mayor of town.

This is what tomatoes can look like!

Montparnasse...

    I use one of the many city-bikes, and Alice has her own, so getting around is easy. Being with her is always a great pleasure, but it will only be this evening and a quick breakfast, as she works tomorrow.

To me, this is one of the most typical sides of Paris. I love these buildings, and wonder who lives inside...

It is not hard to make people smile, "even" in paris.

Pouring the rosé.

What friends are for... sharing good times as well as the bad. A very good one here!

Always amazing.

When I am on my own again, I visit a fascinating cemetery in between Montparnasse and  Denfert-Rocherau. I never found this one before, and it is huge. Graves amaze me.
    Thanks to the metro, I arrive comfortly in time for lunch with yet another friend, Kristell, who I know from Oslo. She chooses a bar serving great food on tables outside and order a steak for herself. I prefer a big salad and truly enjoy it with the fresh rosé wine poured chilled into the glasses. It is a feeling of excuberant luxury to sit like this, with no hurry or stress what so ever. I have all the time in the world, and happen to spend a bit of it here, on a pavement served by a wonderful readhead.

Spending one afternoon in Paris sounds somewhat stressful, but if you have seen most of the touristy stuff before, you might decide to pop out of the metro near Trocadero and make a slow stroll along the Seine. Thousands of tourists are good entertainment and some touts try to trick you for money. The sun is shining and life is great. Behind Louvre I find a clock shop where a nice fellow I got to know in the north of Finland last year, works. We have a glass of wine before it is time to return to Gare de l'Est and aim for Germany for the third time this week.

As usual I have no reservation. The train is full. Or so they say. It rarely is, really, so I jump on, and find the restaurant carriage. It is not much of a restaurant, but offers four seats and some floor space. It all turns into a kind of a party. Even the German selling the beer is adding his gute Laune and good spirit, claiming I must buy three bottles as he is short of change. So I do.

Wanna cross the Atlantic with this Dude and a shipload of Rum? You can!

    One truly wonderful Dutch Guy has just got of his proud clipper, with which he has the most admirable sailboat project of Tres Hombres. He explains about some hairy plans for sustainable and fair transport in the future and we are joined by two charming Swedish women who are returning from the Santiago de Compostela-experience. It is a perfect night. All I have to do is to remember to get to the part of the train that are destined for Budapest, where I do a quick walk in the park before continuing to Bucharest. I have lost count of hours and days, but something like less than a week have passed since I left my parents in Denmark.

It has been just fine. Now time for Rumania!

Sveagruva, Store Norske Spitsbergen Kulkompani

Disse månedene tilbringer jeg hjemme i Oslo, hvor jeg redigerer heftig på opplevelsene fra i fjor. Resultatet kommer her, men i mellomtiden må jeg fortelle om besøket i Svea, i Store Norske Spitsbergen Kulkompani på Svalbard. Min svoger tok meg på besøk i den imponerende kullgruven...

Rune fører an gjennom Gangdalen

Fra Longyearbyen (som jeg blogget fra sist) kjører vi innover Adventdalen og opp Todalen, som brekker av til høyre. Scooterløypa snor seg i et dypt bekkefar, med naturlige doseringer på begge sider. Jeg skjønner godt at ungdom har vanskelig for å holde seg tilbake når de har slike plasser å tumle på, for dette er skapt for fartslek.
    Vi kommer ut i hva som skal være Svalbards bredeste dal, Reindalen (øverste foto). Kursen er om trent syd, i retning av Slakbreen. Vi passerer et par nødhytter som gruveselskapet har satt opp, for dette er hovedtraséen til gruven, og for en "motorvei" å regne, i Svalbardmålestokk. Løypa er fin den, så det går jevnt mellom 60 og 80 kilometer i timen her på flaten.

En skal kle seg godt...

    Når breen reiser seg merkes det knapt på farten, for den lever opp til navnet sitt. Det skyer til, og når det blå og det røde forsvinner fra fargekartet, er det bare hvitt igjen. Et mektig syn, og uvirkelig å frese over en isbre på denne måten.
    Han som gav breen navnet "Slakbreen" kom åpenbart denne veien, for på bortsiden er den sannelig alt annet enn slak. Jeg får dotter i ørene. Det bærer nedover og nedover, forbi en gruveutgang og omsider ned til fjorden, hvor administrasjonsbyggene og den fargerike brakkeriggen ligger omgitt av mer eller mindre kullsort snø. Et fascinerende sted, men pent er det ikke.

Pussig sted for blomsterkasser.

Svogeren min Rune er elektriker i gruva og gjør dette for meg i sin friuke. Han snakker varmt om arbeidsforhold, miljøet mellom arbeiderne og ledelsen. Det er såvisst ållright av dem at jeg får komme på besøk.
    Vi finner en bil og kjører inn i fjellet mens Rune forklarer etter beste evne. Under taket henger noe som likner blomsterkasser av altantypen, det er vannbarrierer, i tilfelle av eksplosjon.

Kutten frigjør kullet ...

... som knuses og går på bånd ut av fjellet.

Metoden er brutal. Et monster av en maskin river opp laget av sort gull, 80 centimenter om gangen, mens rekker av enorme stempler holder taket oppe, og trekkes etter. På baksiden kollapser fjellet, og blir etterlatt slik. Mellom hver brede gang opprettholdes en bærevegg av kull, som ikke lar seg utvinne. Et fascinerende system.
    Det er fort gjort å kjøre seg vill inne i denne labyrinten, som leder til andre utganger og til områdene hvor kullet krafses ut av fjellet. Ting står lagret i sideganger, vi kjører blant annet forbi potetkjelleren, og jeg får høre at ingen får gå alene det første halve året i gruva. Ferskinger har egen farge på hjelmen.

Rune ønsker velkommen til hvilerommet.

Klikk - og kikk på gruvekartet

Produksjonen følges og kontrolleres.

En uke på og en av, eller to på og to av. Like blide, Jim og Daniel.

Magnus Christenson

Inne i fjellet er noen containere koblet sammen til hvilerom, her støter jeg på Magnus, som jeg kjenner fra før. Han overrasker meg med: "Jammen er det Paul!?" Den ordlyden hadde jeg søren ikke ventet å høre her inne.

Jeg spør og fotograferer så mye at vi ikke rekker lunsjen. Det skal jo skiftes fra ytterst til innerst - og jeg har fått utdelt sikkerhetsutstyr - så tiden går når alt skal returneres. Kantina ser for øvrig fin ut, hele stedet minner meg på sett og vis om Troll C. Høy sikkerhet, mest mannfolk og få naboer - og altså en svært velutstyrt kantine!

Veien tilbake går opp brattsida av slakbreen. Jeg har merket at Rune er litt anspent og skjønner at det ikke bare skyldes at jeg forårsaket at han fikk tørrmat til lunsj. Været er nemlig i endring, med mer vind og avtagende sikt.
    Det blir en opplevelse. Jeg tok helt feil da jeg påstod at verden var hvit da vi kom kjørende over Slakbreen for noen timer siden, for nå er den så utrolig mye hvitere. Fjellene er borte. Konturene av bakken er vekk. Scootersporet er knapt synlig. Bare stikkene forteller oss at vi er på rett vei, og dem ser vi en håndfull av. Det er også alt.
    Vi holder farta oppe, og jeg konsenterer meg om å registrere denne forunderlige situasjonen samtidig som jeg holder kontroll på de innleide hestekreftene jeg har mellom beina. Det er umulig å si om det går opp eller ned og avstander lar seg ikke beregne. Jeg blir helt forfjamset da den første av nødhyttene dukker opp, for jeg trodde vi forlengst var over Reindalen og nærmet oss nummer to.

Nei - dette er ikke hvitt. Hjemturen, den var hvit! Men da fotograferte jeg ikke.

Rett og slett en fabelaktig dag, det er ikke annet å si. Jo, forresten, en ting til: "Tusen takk Rune!"

Svalbard by snowmobile!

Nothing is white in this wonderland, at least not under a clear sky. Click on the photos!

This post will probably be a photo blog more than anything else, the pictures speak best for themselves. I just want to add a couple of thoughts to get you in the mood. Like, you may be the type who looks at snowmobiles with disdain, not understanding how such noisy machinery is allowed out in the wild. Well, then I guess you have not taken a trip to the Arctic Islands at 78 degrees north. Up here the distances are large, and the snowmobile is an important means of transportation where no cars can go.

Rune and my sister, well covered.

     That said, I have never been much drawn towards motorsport, and prefer to move by my own power, when conditions allow. In Iceland, I tested out both monster trucks and ATVs, and must say it's kind of fun, but not quite my thing. But Svalbard, well, Svalbard is different. Normal rules and laws just do not apply here, as it does "down", which is how the locals refer to mainland Norway, much further south.

This archipelago is Norwegian, but not sufficiently Norwegian for other nations not to be able to have activities here. Citizens from all countries that have signed the Svalbard Treaty may stay here without a visa - if they can get here - but you need to cater for yourself. If you can make it here ... you can stay. The space is thus not like other places. None that I know of, anyway.

Where have you been, where you need to bring a gun when you leave town? Nowhere I've been, and I dare say I've been around. But in Svalbard, polar bears are a real threat, and no one must leave the city limits without a rifle and the skill to use it. Well, enough talk. This post is about the beauty, and thanks to my brother in law, Rune Mjelde, I got a series of awesome experiences. I am totally utterly overly grateful!

Do check out this gallery from a previous visit to Barentsburg and this gallery from my adventures around Longyearbyen.

Animal Shelter in Cairo

Touch of Life Animal Shelter in Cairo, Egypt

Vibrant souls are lovely to get by. One of my favorites has more than her soul vibrating, as she is a famed belly dancer, instructor and choreographer in Cairo. She has completely disallowed me referring to her as my dirty dancer, but this is so hard to comply with after our trip to TOUCH OF LIFE animal shelter. That is, you see, what her soul vibrates for - animals. And they are not always clean...

Caroline Evanoff, belly dancer

belly dancer and cat woman

Caroline Evanoff is Australian, but has lived in Cairo lots of years. I met her there six years ago, and wrote about her in my last book. Her nature impressed me. I actually never even saw her perform in front of an audience, but check out the videos on youtube (see her dance here or here) - she is really great. But don't get to exited - this post is all about her affection for animals.
    There are so many people in need of care and funds in Egypt. Why rescue a dog, when there are humans to save? Well... dogs, cats, donkeys and foxes are living creatures in need of love, food and medical care too.
    Caroline is primarily a cat woman, and she spends a considerable amount of her time and hard earned money to rescue and care for cats and other animals found to die in the streets. She is, to be very frank, one of the sweetest and kindest women I ever met.

a safe haven

I came along when she was visiting a refuge for animals just outside Central Cairo. Touch of Life animal shelter is run by it funder Anouchka Mellin, a French woman that has dedicated her life to the well being of animals. She is hard core, all in.
    A canal with smelly discolored water runs along the dirt road leading to the gate, and walls and fences surrounds the plot. Around us is the typical farmland slowly succumbing to residential brick constructions. It is one of many suburbs looking exactly as this one, except for the lucky animals found inside these premises.

 















 Anouchka meets us in the yard in front of the house, a bit ashamed of her looks, as a donkey or something kicked out some of her teeth the other day. We hand over some bananas and a huge bundle of carrots, which are fed to the goats and donkeys behind the house.
    I proudly succeed to find a lost puppy dog that has escaped from the soft nest inside a car tyre and say hello to the only dogs to be put up in a cage. About fifteen others run around freely, but I am told that the big, tranquil looking German Shepard now behind bars will kill and eat if he is let out, due to bad treatment of the previous owners. People can be such assholes.

my dirty dancer ...  :)

Max and his rescuer

Every animal has a story here. Caroline has a special relationship to Max, a dog she saved from the street where she lives. She is teaching the kids in the neighborhood to treat animals with respect, and they now come to her when they find maltreated ones.

Anouchka Mellin and client

    "The animals always remember their rescuer," Caroline claims, while Max, as to prove the point, leaps up stamping his soiled paws all over his savior, giving my belly dancing friend her dirty image.

families wanted

Volunteers make sure food and medicine are distributed according to needs, as Anouchka takes care of a horse that is here for a weeks care. It has been working too hard, with an ugly infection in the leg. Sometimes the farmers even bring buffalos. She asks me if I am afraid of cats.
    "No," I reply, a bit surprised. There are cats around, and I'd say I act pretty much not scared.
    "Good," she says. "Then you can come into the house. You'd better have your camera ready, they'll be waiting for you."

"Who's at the door?"

"Hi. I'm Fluffy. I live here. I'm a ... dog, right?"

I never ever saw anything like this. Cats of all colors, plus Fluffy. He is a dog (later being happily adopted into an English garden with green grass). Some cats are proud. One is blind. Most of them are extremely cosy. A few, recently arrived, are shabby. A couple of them crawl right up my trousers and continue to enjoy the view from my shoulders. They all hope for a kind person or a family to take care of them and give them the affection they deserve.

Affection in its true form. I am a cat person. Fortunately.

If you do not really like cats, you would probably freak out in wild panic in this house, as everything indoors seems to be moving, with fur and a tail. Hitchcock couldn't have designed this better. But I do like it. It is something very good about all this, and the cats seem to be relieved to be here, largely at peace with each other and their caretakers, who bring in bags of yummy cat food. Fluffy likes it too. I suspect he assumes he's a cat by now.

Anouchka Mellin

wanna help?

I think I will let the photos speak for themselves, and I hope this non-commercial animal shelter will continue to get the funding they need from the friends of the foundation, even in these hard times. It does, of course, take more than vibrating souls to feed all the wonderful animals.

If you feel like helping, your contribution will be very much appreciated. The money will be very well spent, I can vouch for that. If you live in Egypt, you might also contribute as a volunteer or by giving an animal a new home. If you live anywhere else - be good to an animal near you!

For Donations, contact: Anouchka Mellin
Mobile: +2010 1963712
E-Mail : Anouchka(a)link.net OR : touchoflifeorg(a)yahoo.com OR Mobile: +20117385650
Follow Touch of Life on Facebook.
Payment can be done here.

Two of a kind. I love them.

miauw