If We Ran the World

I would like to begin a new section of the blog entitled “If We Ran the World.” Given the perpetual circus going on in the American political system, Jiro and I have concluded that the only option will be for us to take matters into our own hands. As Jiro says, “If you want an efficient government, hire an Asian,” clearly he is the man for the job.

Jiro

Since the odds of me being assassinated as vice president are much slimmer, I concur.

Today’s focus is on what we should do with the people that will not agree with us or that we just don’t like. Our conversation went something like this:

Jiro: I caught up on the Daily Show and things are such a mess here
Me: When we are in power we should have a place to send all the really bad criminals, terrorists, Wallstreet executives and political prisoners (which we will have, namely any members of the Bush administration or Congress).
Jiro: You mean like Australia for the Brits?
Me: Exactly
Jiro: Let’s give them a territory like Puerto Rico
Me: No, I might vacation there, let’s send them to Guam.
Jiro: Ok, so we will send all of these people that we don’t like over there, and it will be survival of the fittest, which we will film, and put on tv and the money we make from advertisements can go to education and healthcare.
Cassie: Yes, except it can be more like Hunger Games and we can stage periodical fires and have them all competing for a single water source.
Jiro: Yeah, but we can be nice and send them packages on holidays.
Me: Sure and we can thrown down some weapons from time to time and see what happens.

We also propose that any prisoner will be forced to relinquish all possessions and the money will be distributed to social services. We may consider rehabilitation and integration back into society when the country can handle it.

Furthermore, Jiro suggests “we treat corporate accounting tricks like witchcraft and burn them at the stake.” I think it best as well.

Ok, that’s all for now.

UPDATE: Tore has expressed his wish to be Secretary of State when we are in power so that he can make announcements like “We just upgraded to Defcon 3” and drive a tank. If these aren’t good reasons, I don’t know what are. Position granted.

Ich Freue Mich Sie Weidersehen!

All my life, I’ve had a lot of guy friends. They’re easy friends to have because they’re laid back , they say what they mean and there’s no drama. Not to mention I’m a bit of a tomboy myself. The fallback is that if they decide to bro out, I’m perpetually outnumbered. This is what happened in Berlin.
Marc had been going on and on about this great movie we all had to see. I was less than thrilled when all the boys decided, yes indeed we should watch “Hobo with a Shotgun.” We can thank the Canadians for this gem. After seeing a fake Quentin Tarantino trailer, they took it upon themselves to make the accompanying movie. I grumbled a little bit in dismay but didn’t put up much of a fight because I have to admit I was a tad curious, and as I mentioned I was tragically outnumbered. To reassure me, Marc said, “No, no it’s artistic.” HA.
I knew I was in trouble when about 10 min into the movie I couldn’t figure out if I had nodded off without knowing because all the sudden the scene switched to a random guy being hung in a manhole while another man put a barbed wire necklace attached to a car around this neck and the drove off with his head for no apparent reason. I looked at Marc and asked what in on earth was even happening and he just told me to keep watching. I thought maybe it would get better but with lines like, “How many people have you killed?” “I dunno, what, do I look like a mathmetician?” I learned it would only get much, much worse.
Once the movie was over I told them that was the worst movie I’ve ever seen. And I’ve watched Gigli. But they liked it and I was left rolling my eyes as they discussed, “I think it was really creative when she killed that guy with her broken bone.” A few minutes later I went to the bathroom and when I came out they had started a new movie. “Oh no, what did you put on? You didn’t even ask me!?” I said when I came back and I was told, “Human Traffic”. I argued and Marc once again reassured me, “no, no this one is more of a quality film, it actually has a trailer.” I sighed, sat back in the sofa and thought to myself…Oh hell.

Aside from the theatrical abominations I endured, I really enjoyed my trip to Berlin and I think it is a cool city. We got to see a lot of the historical sights, just wander around, and drinking beer throughout the day was considered perfectly expectable. I can’t say I was a big fan of the traditional Berlin currywurst, but it was nice to be able to try new food and drink cheap beer.
When I was walking to the bus station on that last day, I thought to myself that there is another reason I really like Berlin but I couldn’t put my finger on it. As I stopped to take a picture of this

Marc said to me, “I like Berlin because it’s fucked.” While I wouldn’t phrase it the same way, that was when it donned on me, I like Berlin because it has character. As someone that grew up in a town where people commonly have “Keep Santa Cruz Weird” bumper stickers, I learned early on that normal is boring. So, Berlin with all it’s different types of quirky people, huge murals and amusing street graffiti reminded me in a way of home. I realized that is one thing I really miss in Norway. Back home there’s the surf bums walking around barefoot, the hippies sitting downtown smoking weed and playing bongo drums, the goth/punk whatevers sitting in front of the used record store trying to look hard, the Mexicans playing mariachi music at the flea market, the crazies on the bus yelling at imaginary people. While I love Norway, in contrast it seems too tame and cookie-cutter. I’m not saying they need a hobo with a shotgun or anything, but maybe atleast some hippies to lighten things up. I’ll call my cousins. :p

Ps. I love and miss you, Asa, Jarrett and Kyler.

Beklager!

Bah, ok! I have been exceedingly bad at keeping this up...but I leave for Berlin for three days tomorrow and I PROMISE I will write one (even if it about sauerkraut) before the weekend is over.

Ps. Updating my blog was a lot easier before my internet decided to change to Dutch.

Swimmers Only

Well, it seems that California and Oslo have switched climates and I am certainly not complaining. It would be a shame if the rain persists and I come back from the Arctic tanner than my Californian friends (cough, Jiro)…..

Anyways, as it was 80F, yes 80, today I took to the lake to lay down in the sun and read. All was pleasant, the birds were chirping, the leaves were rustling gently in the summer breeze, when a big, fat 60+ man walks by and parks his towel about 4 feet from mine. Now, for those of you that are unfamiliar…the grassy areas around lake Sognsvann are large. So, this is equivalent to a stranger taking a seat next to you on an empty bus. I decide it’s too nice of a day for me to worry about it and I go back to my reading. It’s when an unbelievably large ant bites me in the armpit that I sit up and see the same man has shed all his clothes except for a tiny, red speedo, which is being engulfed by layers of fat. Now, I have strong opinions about this.

In the US, the only men that wear speedos are competing in swim teams or water polo games and in these cases, no one is complaining. The only time we see older men without cut bodies in speedos is when European tourists grace our beaches. We roll our eyes, and in the case of my mom and I we discuss how you should have to pass a test before you are allowed to wear one in public. After all, I would never wear a thong swim bottom unless I am sure my butt is Sports Illustrated worthy. Now, I hope there is no Norwegian friend of mine sniffling and staring at his beloved speedo, but I doubt it and if so, someone needs to tell you that there are just some things that people shouldn’t be forced to see.

In my case, as I look over at the heavy intruder, I can’t help but think how unlucky I am. First of all, Norwegians in general are a fit people, I think a bit genetically gifted. Furthermore, Norwegians are generally (again) reserved people but in this instance I have the once in a blue moon fat person that is extroverted enough to rock a speedo 4 feet from my face. I try to continue reading, but the reflective rays from his belly are blinding me so I look up to see him watching me. He continues staring at me and I decided it is time to go but as I walk away I must admit that I was little bit relieved. While Norway may have the best quality of living in the world, a great healthcare and education system, cushy jails and an overall happy public, they still have fat creeps just like the US. I smiled to myself as I left.

Danish Surfing

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GOfPyLxhYCY

Baby Got Back

Don’t thank me for the blog today. Thank the genius that ran and hid in a train tunnel when asked for his ticket at a traffic control downtown, ultimately leaving me waiting one hour for the train in the first cold morning in weeks. The silver lining: as my mind weighed the risks of taking a bus and hoping the train doesn’t come right as I leave the station, it also drifted to ideas for a new blog….

As many of you know, my days sitting around in Spain, eating fried restaurant food every night have taken a toll on me. I think Spain is the only season of Survivor where the contestants actually gained weight. In Badajoz, if food isn’t fried or drenched in 2 inches of oil, it’s not served. So naturally, My, Maria and my waistlines suffered. While we were able to joke around and sing “I don’t think you are ready for this jelly” wherever we went, I thought to myself this is alarming for a number of reasons. First, before you roll your eyes, I know I’m thin. But this weight-gain marks the age at which it appears my black hole metabolism has finally thrown in the towel. I don’t blame it, and we’ve had some good years, but I can’t help but worry to myself, “How big can I get?” Well, despite how much I know Jiro would love the fat jokes, I don’t intend to wait and see. Second, my clothes don’t fit. I don’t particularly mind a few extra lbs, and my mom thinks I have the face of a cherub now (thanks mother cherubs are fat) but the biggest problem is that Norway is about as expensive as Donald Trump is annoying. So I can’t buy anything new. Not to mention the fact that simply buying one size up is a slippery slope. As the current situation entails me having to scope out my jeans to determine which ones are looking most forgiving and then hop around, eventually making slithering motions to squeeze into them, I am aware that something has to give. Since my wallet isn’t expanding like my ass there is only one other option because let’s face it, no matter how small you are, muffin-tops look good on no one.

So, I now know what death feels like. Never ask a competitive weightlifter to write a workout plan for you, and if you are dumb enough, do not be too stubborn to quit. On the bright side, I keep missing Maria on campus, but I sure enough get to see her everyday at the gym fighting the fight as well.

With how worn down I am on a daily basis, it is no surprise I keep losing at ping-pong. Surely, that’s my problem. My department on campus as an X-mas gift received a ping-pong table which has provided hours of entertainment. Recently, a tournament has started and as I feared it appears everyone is about as competitive as me (or more). So, of course, we have been practicing for the last couple weeks. I started out doing well and winning some (particularly satisfying) games against my phd student supervisor Jo. But then something changed. While I spend the end of my day at the gym, he has been spending his nights hunched over his computer looking at tips on youtube. Now he has been using me as a punching bag building up his confidence for the tournament and turns out will be my first match. Suck! He is so cocky now that he even made a one-way bet where “if somehow you beat me, you can have something with a value up to 300nok.” Barf. He should be careful because everyone loves an underdog story and I’m holding him to the bet. I’m just hoping he wears his murse to the game and then I like my odds. Anyways, what will I buy with my 300nok you ask? Booze…or new pants.

Ps. A special thanks to my editor Marc.

And Cows

I have a love-hate relationship with cows. I love that they provide me with milk for my cereal, but on the other hand, I don’t trust them. This is problematic because they are everywhere on the farm I am working and give us girls a hard time when we want to lay down in the sun as we must first shoo them away. This is intimidating because these cows have big horns. I am fairly certain our moo-cows back home don’t have horns. Anyways, the other day I walked toward them and they backed off. I then unraveled our blanket in the air to put it on the ground and they all moved. “Oh crap” I immediately thought to myself, Matador Cassie might as well beg them to charge, but I dodged the bullet that time. Of course, then once we are lying there, I am never fully relaxed. I always have this sneaking suspicion they are plotting something. “They’re surrounding us!” I told My and to my surprise she was not alarmed. I look around and stare at the closest one in the eyes and tell My “death by cow is not a way I want to go.” As I continue to tell her how I would hope my parents would have enough sense to lie and not put ‘death by cow” on my obituary if I succumb to a stampede, I continue staring at it. I tell the cow in my head, “I know you’re up to something” and it continues to stare at me, then lifts its tail and plops a big one right close to our blanket which is soon swarming with flies. Touche moo-cow, touché.

My Thoughts on Birds

While I still have no idea what the mate preferences of female sparrows are, I have learned equally as valuable insight into myself. First, I have learned I strongly dislike going to the bathroom in the wilderness and second, I should never personally pursue a career in bird research.
I joined this research group because the biology interested me, not the birds themselves. In fact, as my mom will tell you since she had pet birds when I was growing up, I have never been particularly fond of birds. This makes me the odd man out in the research team because everyone else is an avid birdwatcher and really passionate about birds (which is great). But, I do feel a bit guilty when they all rush to get their binoculars to their face in time to check out some special bird while mine are aimed at a patch of grass I am considering for my next tanning locale. The best is when we are sleeping in the car and are abruptly woken up by a sudden stop. I bolt up, bleary eyed, and frantically look around thinking, fire?! No, just a bird. I’ve found it convenient to forget my binoculars some days.
But I try. I try and grapple with this love they have for birds, though I find it so hard to understand. Sure, they are nice here and there up in the sky but when it comes to holding them, they bite and they poo. My god, do they poo. My favorite move they do is poo and then flap their wings so that it sprays all over me. I have half a mind to leave them in the nets a few extra minutes when they do that, but I fear it might be a tad unethical. Apparently they have no qualms about going to the bathroom in unusual places.
Anyways, I am not saying this because I regret my research group, because on the contrary, I think they are great, I’m really lucky, and very excited about my thesis. I bring this up just to point out that I have never and will never be a bird person.

Ps. I miss Marc.

Maria's House of Horrors

I suspect the title caught your attention. Oh, I hope I can do this justice. Quick intro: The purpose of me being in Spain is so I can help Maria with her mate choice experiments for master’s thesis research. For these experiments, we have set up arenas so that a female can see (hopefully, the carpenter used a low grade plexi-glass) three different individuals in separate chambers and (again hopefully) exhibit a preference for one. We began our first run today and let’s just say it was a rocky start.
So, once Maria removed the sheet enabling the female to see her choices, we promptly sat in our secret hideout position. Maria had a binder on her lap, timer and pen in hand and was wearing her glasses. One thing you should know about Maria is that without her glasses, her vision is fuzzy at best, but she hardly wears them because she doesn’t think they look good on her. Never and I repeat never, choose to be her teammate in a ping-pong game. Anyways, I mention this to illustrate how seriously she was taking the experiment. Peeking through the holes in our hideout, she sits up straight and with deep concentration turns on the timer and prepares to carefully watch. As soon as the timer starts, the female without warning quickly flips over on its back, feet in the air and just remains like that.
Maria and I then look at each other and I say, “Ahhhh I think it died.” We spend the next three minutes discussing what to do as I am stifling laughter at the thought of her having to do her thesis on suicidal sparrows. Turns out the bird wasn’t dead, which she discovered only when she walked up and it freaked out and then spent rest of the experiment spent hiding behind its water dish. At this point Maria was terrified for the sake of her thesis and yelling at me for laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation and my brilliant ideas for alternate projects (while she was struggling not to laugh herself). She then looked at me and said, “You can’t blog about this.” HA
The icing on the cake was when our supervisor agreed we should swap the females out. See, the arenas were designed with sliding doors, but the only visibility you have for the chambers is from the top. So, as I take the coffee filter net…yes coffee filter net to catch the bird we discover that with our head looking down from the top and our arm on the side reaching in the cage, our arm/net was not long enough. This meant that I had to crouch down, open the sliding door not just enough for my arm, but for my eyes to see in as well. The problem (one of many) with this is all you can see as the bird is hopping around like crazy is when it lands on the ground and then by the time you move the net there is has already jumped somewhere else. So I sat there for a few minutes swatting at the bird as it frantically hopped around hitting bird seed in eyes until it finally flew out the hole, at my face, and is now flying around the rafters in the barn somewhere. It was like a scene from the Three Stooges.
Immediately after this, we check the other six birds and found, well..another one bit the dust. With four out of our six initial birds remaining, we thought…maybe we’ll just call it a day. Maria was less than amused when I suggested that her experiment was more like gladiator arenas where only the strong survive. She told me, “Cassie, in Norway I started drinking to stay warm and I told you I thought I was going to become an alcoholic. Your response to me was ‘Well atleast you will have a master’s degree.’ Now I will become and alcoholic AND I won’t have a degree.” Had to chuckle. She’s now thinking over other projects in her head such as how sparrows play dead like mammals, while I on the other hand do believe this makes My and me (haha) the Survivor finalists. Sorry Maria, the tribe has spoken. Anyways, all I can say is I am glad my research will take place in a lab.

Survivor Spain: Battle of the Scientists

As many of you know, I am now spending my days tromping around Spain, catching birds and doing research. You may think this sounds awfully cushy and to tell you the truth, I expected it would be…but it has actually turned out more similar to a scientist’s version of Survivor. I have always wanted to be on the show, so who knows, maybe this will be the training needed for my imminent domination once they finally get their wits about them and cast me. Anyways, I’ll give you the breakdown of my first week in Spain; where I intend to outwit, outplay and outlast...or something like that.
The first night, we arrived in the airport in Lisbon and had to drive two hours to Badajoz, Spain (shelter) while we were all starving. Take note of this, because starving is a central theme in our trip thus far. Anyways, we had to split up into two cars and Maria and I had a sneaking suspicion that we should be in a particular car…so we looked at each other and broke into a run to keep up with him and slip into his car. Turns out we were right, because 45 min into our car ride we got a call that someone had left their suitcase at the airport and lo and behold it was a member of the other car. So, they had to drive all the way back and begin their trip again, missing any hopes of dinner, while we continued on. We genuinely felt bad, but it was slightly amusing to us (as we were taking bets on whose suitcase it was). OUTWITTED
Like any game of Survivor, the leaders of our tribe have tried to get into our heads, but the women ultimately banded together forming a fierce alliance. When we arrived at the apartment, we quickly found out two things that disturbed us: The gas line was broken so we could only take ice cold showers for a while, and there wasn’t and never would be internet in the apartment (gasp). The latter caused quite an uproar in camp but was quickly stifled when its futility became evident. We were quieted, but held strong. The most daunting mind game has been the constant scavenging for food. Us women eat well and frequently, while it seems our leaders may have a Snus- suppressed appetite leaving them impervious to the stomach churning hunger we feel daily. This strategy has worked against them though, because (men take heed) a hungry woman is a cranky woman; and the only thing worse than a cranky woman is multiple cranky women. This was a battle we chose to fight. Where we once suffered in silence or gave gentle hints, we now yell out “hungry!” or “I am in a really bad mood!” and more often than not we get our way. Strength in numbers…and bitching. Furthermore, just to show that we are unphased by the persistent challenges being thrown at us, we have taken to dancing in the streets and enjoying Carnival in Spain at night. Only for appearances of course…OUTPLAYED
Though initially, with the lack of internet and long work hours ahead of us, we secretly hoped for an illness bad enough to get us sent back to Norway; Maria, My and I are in it for the long haul. As usual, the women’s alliance shall prove most enduring as we will be the only people in Spain for the entire time, thus making us the true survivors. Unfortunately, there is no million dollar prize waiting for us in the end, but I suppose a master’s degree will do…OUTLASTING

Lean, Mean, Sleeping Machine

Yeah, yeah, yeah, after many people hounding me (you know who you are) to actually write a blog rather than haphazardly slapping some pictures together, I ever so kindly caved and decided to please the masses.   My excuse has been that I haven’t been doing anything interesting since I had been spending my days in the lab, but recently a friend informed me that the beauty of my blog is that I take relatively insignificant things and make them entertaining, the example being how Norwegians walk in the snow.  Point taken, and now that I am sitting in a café in Lisbon I have officially scraped the bottom of my bucket full of excuses.  It’s ok though, because the better I am about writing on this, the more wrong Jiro was about how long I would last….and that makes me happy. 

So, I left early this morning for Portugal with my research partners Maria and My while the rest of our group took later planes.  I sat by My on the first flight to Frankfurt and warned her before we took off that I am really bad company on airplanes because something about the sound or feeling of the engine is like a lullaby to me and puts me straight to sleep.  I’m pretty sure at this point she was worried about having to spend 5 weeks with this crazy American, but I told her a story about a friend who when she was a baby her mom would vacuum to put her to sleep so she would know I am not alone in this sort of thing.  I’m not sure it helped my cause, but I felt validated.  I also told her she might be in the clear because I was stuck in the center and let’s face it, anyone who can sleep well in the middle seat (aka bitch) deserves a ribbon.  Well, it turns out I am a ribbon contender because as the plane was rolling onto the runway I went out like a light.   The only thing that woke me was the flight attendant to give me a sandwich and a drink.  It is usually a dangerous thing waking me up but if you come bearing food you are typically in the clear.  I thought to myself about how there on Lufthansa for a 1 and a half hour flight they give you sandwiches and a drink but if it were on an American airline they would wake me up and say “Would you like a drink?” I would say “yes” and they would reply, “That’ll be $3” and then my bleary eyed self would glare and say “Nevermind.”

For the second flight, I yet again got stuck in the center (I suspect sabotage) between My and Maria.  I told Maria the drill, which she was already well aware of, “When they come with food, take the food for me and put it on my tray but DO NOT wake me up.  I woke up an hour later to Maria crying out, “Nooo!” as My had reached out to shake me because the food was coming.  I had to laugh at the desperation in Maria’s cry.  Turns out it was for the best because Lufthansa for a 2 hour flight gives you actually decent pasta, a mini-Toblerone bar, and mini-water bottle and bread.  I reflected back to the U.S. and thought…what would they feed me for a 2 hour flight?  NOTHING.  Even on a 6 hour flight in the U.S. you are lucky if no one is allergic and you get peanuts, otherwise everyone loses and you get unsalted almonds.  If I ruled the world that wouldn’t be allowed, and I think to mix things up a bit, the people stuck in the center seats should get better food as compensation.  Then people would actually have to think a little when considering if they want aisle, window OR center seats.  Genius.   Also, there would be a law that if the width of your rear is wider than the width of the aisle you are not allowed to be a flight attendant.  It is not discrimination if it just works out better for everyone.  Oh yes, and  on a side note, if I ran the world there would be no Norwegian “chicken tacos” or caviar in a tube.  Thus, sitting here in the café, I can come to two conclusions about the day.  1) I deserve a ribbon for supreme sleeping skills and 2) I should rule the world. 

Ski Break: The Pony Saga

Click to enlarge photos if you want. (cough, mom)

"A pony! Take a picture of me with the pony!  I want a picture of me with the pony!"

"Haha pony tried to bite me."

"Fucking a, pony slobbered all over me!"

"It is an evil pony.  It should remember Europeans eat horse."

"I don't like ponies."

The End. 

Lillehammer

This weekend, Maria, Yngve and I went on a three day trip to Lillehammer which is a little over 2 hours by train North of Oslo.  We were lucky enough to be able to stay with Yngve's cousin, Rita and her family and we spent the first two days downhill skiing and the last day around town.  I'm tired right now so I will just post some pictures and give you some highlights in list form, but you should know we had an amazing time.  

1.  Lillehammer is a really cute, very cold and beautiful town. 

2.  Maria went downhill skiing for the first time and I improved dramatically while Yngve was doing backflips off ledges. 

 

3.  In the ski lodge if you want ketchup or mustard for your fries or burgers you have to milk it out of a bladder.  I kid you not.  I can think of a many different, better ways to dispense condiments many of which are utilized back home, yet Norwegians prefer to milk it out of a phallic ketchup filled utter. (see below)

4.  1/2 English Mastiff/ 1/2 Rhodesian Ridegeback dogs are awesome. (also below)

5.  We were treated to a really great Brazilian food buffet dinner and the waitress explained that we can help ourselves to the appetizers and desserts and they would bring the meat out and if we wanted to pause the meat from coming we should flip this metal coin thing on our table to red.  I looked at Yngve and said "Why would you ever stop them from bringing food to you?"  I lived to regret those words because as course after course came out and we were all too proud to pause it and wound up top button-undone, writhing in pain, trying not to laugh or breathe deeply.  I can honestly say I have never been so full in my life and that we didn't walk home, we waddled.  Yngve's cousin Tommy later said he has never made it through all the meat courses.  No one needs to see pictures of this. 

6.  The athlete holding the torch design from when the winter Olympics was there, is everywhere..even the trees.

7.  It's really easy to trip someone when they are wearing ski boots.  (Sorry Yngve....but not very)  Sadly, no pictures of this...landscapes instead. 

 

7.  Maria's snow gear consists of a waterproof army green Russian pilot suit.  When we first saw her in it we sang, "Flying into the danger zone...." and Yngve lent her his helmet which when it wasn't on her head she carried it at her side between her hip and arm like a true pilot.  When she plowed into Yngve while skiing we affectionately called her our little kamakaze. 

That's all for now.....ha det! 

Foreigners Go Skiing

Finally, I feel like I have something mildly entertaining to blog about.  The first couple weeks in Oslo have not been particularly exciting...mainly I am just on campus during the day and then at the gym and then home.  Maria and my New Year's resolutions are to work out and eat healthy so that of course, we are more healthy and to combat the imminent weight gain from Spanish fried food coming up in March.  We have taken on gym exercises, floorball (which we have yet to attend), and we tried...ahem boxing class for a week.  It's funny we joined boxing thinking it would be a fun workout and then after seeing a girl getting pummeled in the face by a guy during the second class we thought...maybe this isn't for us.  So today we woke up and saw how beautiful of a day it was and knew there was no other option.  We went skiing.
Maria, Yngve and I decided to go out skiing just a little bit back behind our housing.  Yngve had a plan to do a 10k ski session, but it was Maria's first time skiing and my 3rd and within about 2 min of skiing we all realized that was not happening.  Surprisingly, I was much more comfortable on the skies this time around which was encouraging.  Maria did great for her first time, but there were a few rough patches along the way.  It was actually really mean, because about 5 min after her trying it out we had a hill to go down.  For those of you back home that don't cross country ski, it is very hard to go downhill on cross country skiies because your heel is not attached to the ski.  We were a bit nervous about the hill and it was particularly frustrating because little toddlers were going by us as if they have been doing this for years (they probably have).  You should know Norwegians really are born with skies on their feet.  The mothers go skiing by pulling a ski stroller with a baby inside and then when the kids are old enough to walk parents put skies on them and ski with them between their legs.
After we waited about five minutes for all the elderly and young children to clear the way I went down first and I hear behind me "Wahhhhhhhhhh" I couldn't see her but apparently she took a beating and fell a couple of times on the way down.  She's tough though and took it like a pro.   Things went smoother even as we were beginning to realize just how much of a workout it really is.  One of my favorite moments is when we faced yet another hill.  We let Maria go first, which in hindsight was an awful idea because the path was narrow and almost at the bottom, she stacked and was laid out on the path.  Of course, I was following behind her, saw her fall and thought "Oh shit" as I attempted with all of my might to stop in time but it was hopeless..right as I was flying towards her I dove into the thicker snow on the edge of the path.  Yngve on the other hand, had seen this coming and gave us more space.  I wish I could have seen what he saw because it was such a moment from the movies where two clowns collide into each other.  I also wish we had the camera out at that point because the pictures of us laughing there must have been priceless.  So he effortlessly skied down to us and we glared at him.
When we took a break and drank some hot cocoa Maria unwittingly stepped into a heap of horse poo.  It took a little bit for us to realize it and we were like "ah what's that smell?" We look over to see tracks of horse poo ALL around her.  She screams and says "oh, I hope I don't have any on me" and as she gets up we see poo all over her shoe and a little on her pants.  At this point we are dying laughing as she was hopping around, stomping her foot in the snow trying desperately to get it off of her.  Good times.
So we continued on...and definitely improved along the way.  I gave Yngve the camera (see Facebook for the photo album) and he gleefully would go to the bottom of hills preparing to take pictures of us eating it.  Much to our satisfaction we did pretty well...the only glitch was Maria had a problem stopping. I would ski to Yngve and she would keep on going, WAHHHHHs and all down off the track.  It was pretty hilarious.  By the end of the day there were several falls, many WAHHHs (not just from Maria), definite improvement and we had really great time.  Maria and I both agree that this is an excellent and fun way for us to get some exercise, though in the future I think we can all agree that Yngve should go first down hills.