For those who live in Moscow, there are a handful of happenings on the horizon that you don’t want to miss. I am writing this because I wish I was there myself, so if I were you, here’s where you would find me (yourself) over the course of the coming week:
Tonight, for example, you would find me at the front door of Mikey’s on Main Street asking how I could possibly be allowed in to hear Pablo Trucker and Laura Gibson perform for a mere eight dollars. I would be posing the question at roughly nine o’ clock.
Tomorrow night at seven-thirty, you would find me at the University of Idaho’s Hartung Theatre, happily paying the non-student admission of eleven dollars to be duly impressed by my youngest sister in one of several weekend performances of Dancers, Drummers & Dreamers.
Fast forward to Tuesday night, and you would find me back on campus, but this time at the Student Union Ballroom a bit before seven hoping Molly could sneak me in to hear former Norwegian prime minister Dr. Gro Harlem Brundtland deliver the keynote address for this year’s Borah Symposium.
Finally, on Wednesday evening, I would be attending a double-header at the Nuart Theater beginning at seven o’ clock, when Graeme Wilson kicks things off with the premeire of Abstract Thought’s latest production, This Contains. After securing my own copy for (as his brother put it) the “cheap as free” price of ten dollars, I would be heading back in as Low Red Land took the stage. Of course, I would be glad they made it after all the bad luck they’ve been having, and I might even tell them how their sticker has been traveling the world on my Nalgene ever since I saw them play with the Magic Mirrors at Mikey’s, which would surely bring back fresh and fond memories of last Friday night.
Spoiler Alert: I am going to write a bit about my favorite book/movie, Into the Wild. If you don’t know the story but intend to read/watch it, go here instead.
It is no secret how inspired I am by the story of Christopher McCandless. By now, some of you have read the book or watched the movie, and there is a good chance your reaction is described by the Rolling Stone review: either you “pegged Chris as a wacko narcissist who died out of arrogance and stupidity,” or “you mourn Chris’ tragedy and his judgment errors but also exult in his journey and its spirit of moral inquiry.” A friend of mine who recently read the book was torn between the two and wanted to know why I was so taken by it. With my friend’s permission, I am recording my thoughts here as an open post. I have neither the book nor the DVD at hand, so references will be made as memory serves. Let me first say that the kind of movies I like most are those based on true stories. It follows, naturally, that I enjoyed this film. Regardless of whether you care about the true story, Into the Wild is a well made, highly acclaimed masterpiece that is worth watching for its compelling character development, beautiful imagery and artistic creativity.
In 1993, Jon Krakauer published an article in Outside Magazine about an obscure death that was discovered by moose hunters the previous summer in the backwoods of Alaska’s Denali National Park. The article generated a large amount of reader feedback sharply divided between praise and disdain for the perished wilderness man. Krakauer himself became enthralled with the details of the story he began to uncover, which led to a book being published in 1996.
Reactions have continued in the same vein ever since. Many are of the opinion that McCandless got what he deserved as a reckless and irresponsible runaway. Others point out – like Krakauers’ original article – that “[Chris] didn’t strike Gallien as your typical misfit. He was congenial, seemed well educated, and peppered Gallien with sensible questions about ‘what kind of small game lived in the country, what kind of berries he could eat, that kind of thing.’” Indeed, McCandless was an intelligent thinker, a diligent reader, an industrious worker, and had graduated with honors from Emory University before embarking on the journey of a lifetime.
I first read about that journey after a friend gifted me with Krakauer’s book as I was making plans for a trip of my own. Needless to say, I was hooked from page one: the story added fuel to the fire that was already burning inside me to get out and see the world. It is a fire that burns deep in the soul of every man, and the story of Into the Wild, if only on a superficial level, appeals to that adventurous allure of wanderlust we men are drawn to. Any piece of good fiction will invite you to vicariously experience some unfulfilled inner yearning; but this story really happened, making the conceivable seem that much more attainable.
There were personal aspects of Chris’ escape that are easy to relate to as well: a troubled childhood and the artificial expectations that come along with a college degree. Instead of appeasing the detached ambitions of his parents or becoming ensnared under the pressures of conventional professionalism, he found liberation on the open road, through new experiences and in the friendships he made along the way. The lasting impression he left on the people he met speaks for itself.
Without ignoring that Chris had ample reason to desire something more than a new car and a ticket to Harvard Law, one could reasonably argue that Chris avoided real community and deep relationship. Of course, this was the case as much before his disappearance as during his spiritual odyssey. Chris perceived himself as the noble savage trapped by western civilization under illegitimate authority. As a result, he reacted fiercely against anything that threatened to compromise his self-made identity (à la Alexander Supertramp), including personal bonds that would own him. At the same time, he cared about other people, and when he tried to convince them of his radical opinions, it was with their best interest in mind. One of my favorite parts of the book is the letter Chris wrote to Ron Franz. (The movie converts the letter into a conversation the two engage in while hiking up a mountain. Since I don’t have the book, I encourage you to look it up.)
It is certain that the story of Chris’ life would have never been told had it not ended like it did. Because he died prematurely, however, his became a story of someone who turned his back on society never to return, and this offends. Yet, all signs indicate that his trek into the wild was never intended as a quest toward suicide. Instead, Chris planned to return from the North and nearly succeeded in doing so. It is regrettable and ironic that he escaped his psychological prison only to become trapped in a magic bus. After surviving for months on his own, he succumbed just weeks before help would have arrived. But it is the short entries that Chris left during those months in the bus that redeem his story. While Chris’ impulsive decisions sometimes hurt others and likely cost him his life, his journal confesses “…henceforth will learn to accept my errors, however great they be…” The lone adventurer also admits to the understanding that “happiness is not real unless shared.” Before crawling into his sleeping bag for the last time, he signed off: “I have had a happy life and thank the Lord. Goodbye and may God bless all!” It is clear that he learned a few lessons over his two years as a leathertramp, and if he had made it out alive, he would have returned home a better man. Do I worship Christopher McCandless? Of course not, but I admire his courage, his sense of purpose, and his passion for life.
Not to the elements, but to the press. The video I linked to yesterday is not only the first for which I have been offered compensation, it is also the first to feature in the media. The current online edition of our regional newspaper, Gudbrandsdølen Dagningen, includes the video. Scroll down to the story titled “Best ever?”, under which you will find a link to the “pudderfilm.” I have also added the video to the VodPod widget on your left.
In other news, I battled my way over the mountain today in hopes of retrieving Snow White, only to be disappointed by what Knut-Arne calls a “Mickey Mouse” ignition system, which apparently drained the battery after he drove it home. The bargain deal for the “repair” means that I still need to hot-wire the car in order to use it. For now, she is still parked at the restaurant.
I am starting to feel better after going on a regiment of antibiotics. I hope to be back in working condition by Saturday in order to put in some hours at Tyri-Hans. We’re expecting a busy weekend at the mountain, and I would be flattered to think that the movie has anything to do with it.
I had given up any hope of finding my balaclava by the time Tobias handed it to me last night. He found it buried on a shelf in a pile of other gear at Tyri-Hans, not six feet from where it was last seen. We have been reunited just in time for another cold snap. After a couple of days with temperatures above freezing, we will be getting back down into the negative teens, and the forecast is even predicting snow for the weekend(!) Everyone here is crossing their fingers.
I am working all week holding down the fort at Koia while Lars is gone on a Swiss ski vacation in Zermatt. Business has been slow, but if the weather predictions hold up, hopefully we’ll get more traffic this weekend. In the meantime, I kick around doing odd-jobs at the café, like stocking the liquor cabinet and hauling in firewood from the pile I helped stack while living at Koia last August.
In addition to more skiiers on the mountain, I hope the weekend will bring another reunion, as Snow White is currently in the shop having her ignition repaired. Through a friend of Lars, I may even luck out on a cheap deal for the work. So far, I have been fortunate in keeping the maintenance and repair costs down.
With my free time, instead of making movies, I have been watching more than usual, including two trips with friends to the theater in Lillehammer last week. The first was for a showing of Baz Luhrmann’s Australia, a long but worthwhile film about life in the Outback, including the arrival of World War II down under. The second evening was to see another war movie – the latest and greatest in Norwegian cinema: Max Manus. It is the true story of Norwegian resistance under Nazi occupation, and it rivals any comparable Hollywood production. I recommend it to anyone who appreciates WWII-era movies, especially those interested in Norwegian history. If you can manage Norwegian, read a review here or view the trailer:
I finished reading the book last weekend and watched the movie this afternoon. The book was a little difficult for me, since without chapters it is more of a short story, and I’m not used to reading short stories. But that was my fault, not the book’s. I had heard of the movie before, but had somehow gotten the impression it was a chick flick. Then Chris recommended the book, which I didn’t know existed, while assuring me that it wasn’t a sappy read.
Chris was right. Norman Maclean, a professor of literature at the University of Chicago, wrote the book in retirement. It is an autobiographical account of his childhood and early adult years in Missoula, Montana. The title alludes to the bond of fly fishing between the author, his brother, and their Scotch Presbyterian minister father, and how that bond served as an analogy for life. The movie was produced and directed by Robert Redford, released in 1992, and stars a young Brad Pitt, which helped to erase my fear of it being a soft movie. On the other hand, it is not an action movie, but it stayed close enough to the original to be worth seeing, even if I hadn’t read the book first.
On this first day of Fall, I coincidentally watched a recommended movie.
It was like eating sugar.
I am sitting in the eco-friendly Tully’s coffee shop in the Seattle airport listening to the soundtrack of a movie I watched with Henry one of my last nights in Moscow. It is a movie based on a book based on a true story. I read the book last summer after Pike recommended it to me, and I saw the movie here in Seattle when it came out the week before I left for Norway.
I suggest reading the book before seeing the movie. A good friend of mine said that after buying a copy, she was bawling and had to set the book down after just one chapter. A couple of weeks later, the same thing happened when she tried chapter two. If reading the book is too much of a challenge, the movie stays true to the story, and the soundtrack is great, too.
My first posts to Heading North were made from the dining room table of my parents’ house last October. Now it is August, and I am sitting at the same table thinking over the past month. Here’s a recap:
Before my sisters arrived in Norway, I spent a week with Karl Sigve on Risøy at a summer camp for Vineyard Norden. It was my first exposure to Vineyard, and I had the opportunity to fellowship and worship with other believers from places like South Africa, the Ukraine, and across northern Europe. It was a refreshing environment after being relatively spiritually isolated for most of my time in Norway and also a great chance to catch up with Karl, who I hadn’t seen since Christmas.
The day my sisters arrived, I drove several hours north to pick them up at the airport, and the same afternoon we retraced the road back to Skien to have dinner and spend the night with Tina and her family. We were off by noon the following day to arrive in Feda and spend a couple of days with Karl Sigve and his parents, where Kristen and Heather experienced new things like midnight crabbing and mackerel fishing, as well as visiting one of the areas of the country where our relatives emigrated from generations ago.
From Feda, it was off to Stavanger, where we spent the night at the bottom of a hike we tackled the next morning, which led us to the famous Pulpit Rock. We were fortunate to have excellent weather and a start that was early enough to beat most of the other tourists who swarm the trails during the summer months. It was my first time there as well, and it provided us with some of the most breathtaking pictures of the trip.
A cruise through one of the world’s most scenic fjords the next day took us to Sogndal, where my sisters had the chance to meet my immigrant friends and experience their imported hospitality. As good as it was for us to see each other again, this was also one of the only low points of the trip, as I learned that David, the Iranian Christian, had been hospitalized just days earlier. From what I could gather, he had sustained serious injuries after being assaulted with a knife and was flown to the hospital in the nearby city of Bergen. My first suspicion was that the incident may have been racially motivated, and it certainly made the rest of my friends even more skeptical of their surroundings.
We spent that night at Sognefjellshytta, which marked the point where I felt like I was introducing Kristen and Heather to “home”. The weather was constantly teasing us with a mix of sunshine and rainclouds, so their view of the mountains in the area was not the best it could have been. At the same time, the clouds created an equally enchanting impression of the surrounding terrain, which included rainbows spanning entire valleys and even a chance encounter with a herd of reindeer.
The last few days of the trip were spent at Kvitfjell, where we attended an outdoor performance of the national play, Peer Gynt, and had a chance to relax a bit in a familiar setting after an itinerary that had been as equally hectic as it was satisfying. An evening in Oslo to visit our childhood stomping grounds, as well as to visit with Bent and his wife, capped off my sisters’ trip to Europe. We spent the last night at a hotel near the airport, where we woke up bright and early to send them on their way back to the States.
At the time they left, I was still unsure about my own travel plans. I had been considering the option of finding work elsewhere in Europe until next winter, but had already decided against that. I had received a tempting offer from my cousin Eric to live with him for his last semester at school in Stevens Point, Wisconsin but still had not decided on a departure date and where that would take me, whether directly to Wisconsin or home to visit Moscow. The answer became clear after I began to miss my sisters and the rest of my family and friends here, so I booked a roundabout trip that took me by train to the Oslo airport, by plane to Vancouver B.C., and by bus the rest of the way to Moscow.
It was smooth sailing until I got back to the most powerful country in the world, then everything fell apart. I found myself stranded in a shady corner of Seattle with dozens of other anxious travelers when the connection to Spokane was delayed by several hours. Ironically, I made friends with Malin, a girl from Sweden who was in the area visiting relatives before planning to spend the next eight months seeing the world. She had arrived in the States from a restaurant job in Oslo and was on her way to Coeur d’ Alene to see a cousin. We were both grateful to have found each other in the midst of an otherwise questionable and unexpectedly large number of people who were also waiting for the red-eye to Spokane. I will most likely avoid another Greyhound trip in the future, though I was pleasantly surprised at the good humor of the staff and passengers alike, especially considering the circumstances.
When I arrived two and a half hours late in Spokane the next morning, it was going to mean waiting the rest of the day to catch the next bus to Moscow. Instead, Kristen was more than happy to play hooky from work to pick me up. We had brunch at Perkins, and then made the drive down, where I managed to see a few friends and even take in my first showing of The Dark Knight before crashing after a non-stop three-day journey.
Since then, I have inexplicably had no jet lag to deal with, and instead have had the energy for dropping into the local hang-outs, visiting with old friends, and spending time with the family. There is no question that it is good to be back, but at the same time, the Palouse feels less like home than it ever has. I look forward to relaxing and catching up over the next few weeks before heading east to move in with Eric and see my extended family in the area for the first time in years.
