Romance / When Will I Wake Up?-Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Believe it or not the last leg of Josie’s journey had no airsickness on it. As a kid Josie wasn’t found of brussel sprouts at all, but now Brussels was all she could think about. She was far too occupied on having to leave her beloved Brussels behind to focus on anything else. Not only was she more than slightly displeased with such a small sampling of her idea of the “true European experience,” but she had convinced herself that one of the other eleven destinations was undoubtedly Brussels.
She could see it now, clear as day, some little old lady from Dry Bones, Arizona winning her vacation package. Grandma weary carcass would likely waste her entire time staying within the confines of her hotel. The old fuddy-duddy would miss out on all those Dutch accents; they were very memorable in a storybook, Hansel and Gretel sort of way. The French accents, along with the unforgettable flirty savoir-fair Prince Pierres, wouldn’t register at all with her ancient dried-out hormones. At most she might venture out for a nostalgic trip on the Orient Express. That massacre of her dream would be the part the show would cover.
Even though there would be no repeat performance of Josie’s vulgar vomiting opera, it was a good thing the airline still arranged for her reserved rear row seat with empty space in front. Josie spent most of that hour flight kicking the seat before her. The rest she spent kicking herself.
Josie’s self questioning made its way around to her choice of outfits to pack for this voyage. Brussels had been a nice and perfect 80 degrees, ideal weather for shorts and a tee shirt, neither of which were in her luggage. It was probably a good thing she never left the air-conditioned comfort of the airport since she had chosen to fly comfortable and cozy in sweat shirt and pants. Now the sweaty savant was seriously worried her fist foreigner purchased in Oslo would be a scissors. Would she or would she not have to literally cut her wardrobe in half? That was the question that preoccupied her flight time. After all rumor in Brussels had it that Norway, in particularly Oslo was notoriously expensive. A tight-for-cash traveler such as Josie wouldn’t be able to buy a single new ensemble, never mind wardrobe.
Josie used a bit of her last remaining flight time to brush-up on her upcoming itinerary. She finally broke the seal of the gift pack envelope to gaze at the marvels and wonders held within. To keep the blues from spreading through her entire body and soul our downtrodden girl did her best to convince herself the Netherlands would be more of an adventure, a life-affirming rush with a Peter Pan motif. You’re only as old as you feel, and she was desperately trying to convince herself to be 10 years old at heart. Needless to say, she did hit the mini-bottles some more, this time with orange juice to “youthen” it up. Fortunately for her, she kept it all to herself this time.
Landing in Oslo’s beautiful Gardermoen airport at approximately 6:30 am Josie set her first foot upon the land of the midnight sun. Turns out she had picked the perfect time of year for maximizing her sunshine. As it would turn out the more than 18 hours of sunlight per day would bring with it a temperature ranging from the mid fifties to the mid seventies. Not as cold as Josie had originally envisioned, but not nearly as warm as her worse fears. Her apparel was safe and sound, even if half of it would unlikely be worn.
Apparently the current there is tied in with the Gulf of Mexico and therefore whether was more moderate than one would expect so far north. The first thing Josie did after getting the weather forecast was to go to luggage claim for her belongings. Business being as it is, and Josie’s permanent plaque of bad luck not being ready to let up, one out of two of her suitcases was MIA. The one that showed up on the turning beltway, that would be the bigger one, the one with the snow boots, heavy coat, long johns, mittens, cute fuzzy ball stringed ear-flapped crocheted helmet hat, and assorted heavy chill weather gear. To that all she owned in her new world was in her carry-on bag. In it she carried reading and sun glasses as well as her beauty necessities. Her make-up, hair dryer, curling iron, hygiene supplies, perfume, and every other lure she had at her disposal to make certain the glass slipper fit should Prince Charming ever show up. Her war chest never left her side except to go into her overhead compartment.
When Josie switched planes in Brussels only one of her bags followed. The other, being homesick, decided to head back. First Josie’s husband deserted her, now her wardrobe was jumping ship. There’s only so much a girl so far away from home can take. To make things anything but peachy, a teary eyed Josie wrenched her back pulling the pull-along off the conveyor belt, dropping the bag in the process. To insure this would be a moment of legendary bad luck, she bumped heads with a gallant gentleman who happened to be at the right place at exactly the wrong time.
On any given moment on any given day a heart is broken and a heart is healed. Josie had her heart broken in Brussels. Now the healing would begin, whether she realized it or not, when she least expected it, ironically with a lump on her forehead…and his.
Some guys have all the luck and some don’t have any at all. Harold Tjuskjegg was only trying to do a good deed. He witnessed a damsel in distress and as a gentleman merely wished to render some assistance. What he got for his trouble was an introduction to just how many vulgar words and variations thereof the American language contains. Red-faced Josie let him have it, both barrels, full volume, maximum spread and impact. The cleaned-up and sanitized for your protection version translates as follows: “What the hell’s wrong with you! You clumsy oaf of an imbecile! What’s wrong with you? Are you a ludicrous lopsided lunatic escaped from a psycho ward? Got nothing better to do than butt heads with a beautiful woman? If you think that your technique is original, that you’re going to get you some, dream on! You waste of time, waste of flesh, waste of waste!”
No civilized person could possibly bring themselves to repeat exactly what she said. A hardened convict just escaped from prison after 25 years of hard labor after serving with the Marines for a decade would have blushed at Josie’s choice of wording. Red-faced Harold took the broadsided onslaught like a true Viking. He reeled back on his heels to launch a counter-attack in his native tongue, “Du basin cverskriffen Amerikaneren! Jeg var bare prover a hjelpe. Hva var jeg tenking! Du overveie du er bedre…vite alt alt, bortset fra oppdragelse!”
Fortunately for all concerned Josie couldn’t translate near as well as she originally estimated she could. To her all that seemed to register was, “You basic overstuffed American! Jaguar bear proven a help. I was just thinking! You over you do are better…right on, what’s it for object we’ll see!”
The actual translation, cleaned up just a tad, would be, “You fat-headed American! I was only trying to help! What was I thinking! You think you’re better…know-it-all…everything, but manners!”
Make no mistake about some bad language is universal. Harold did understand everything Josie said, he even knew enough English to respond in kind. But he was raised better than that. Still a man can only take so much. The restraint he exercised would have given most men a hernia. He was polite enough to keep his comments to himself as best he could. The language barrier cooled things down significantly.
Josie found what she heard as a one-sided conversation most satisfying. She got her two cents in plus some nasty licks. She could tell he understood her by the contortions his colorful face was making. As far as the word or two she thought she knew, Josie could care less whether or not he felt all Americans were fat, those of us not paid to be on TV are. Besides he was no athlete himself. Harold must have weighed in at a good 250 pounds at least. That begging to be put out of its misery stressed tee shirt of his wasn’t exactly relaxed fit. And those stove pipe school-boy shorts hardly made a favorable impression of those hairy stumps he called legs. That scruffy beard of his was far more “overskriffen” than anything of hers. As far as the rest went, he got whatever that babble was in without actually making any point at all as far as she was concerned. If only all her arguments could go so well.
By the time the blubbery blunderbuss was finished with his counterattack Josie found herself actually kind of enjoying the show. Although not quite Hagar, Harry was quite an animated character. Norwegian, as it turned out, sounded kind of cartoonish; sort of reminding her of Popeye’s arch nemesis the bullying Bluto; considered by Josie to be stout merchant marine braggart with a pinch of blowhard. A little went a long way. Of course it sounded way too butch when women spoke it. So much so that soon Josie would fear she would never find Mr. Right in a country full of skirt-chasing Mrs. Wrongs.
Now that Josie’s temper had simmered down below her boiling point she started to look at this brazen bloke in a whole new light. When he wasn’t yelling, Harry was kind of cute in a jolly John Goodman way. Not well-dressed by any means, not even very well groomed either, but what real man is? Josie, cooled down and amused, asked him politely to point out the way to the currency exchange. She didn’t turn on all her charms, but she fluttered an eyelash or two. She let out a small giggle as well. She even had an elfish impulse to sit on his lap and read off her wish list.
Humbled Harry wasn’t sure what to make of this American upstart. One second a cursing raving rantaholic, the next a charmingly sweet schoolgirl. Did all Americans have such clashing split-personalities? He’d heard rumors of just how crazy we all are. Americans are all a bunch of nuts spoiled rotten by our over-indulgences. With a grin that spoke of possible infatuation Harry pointed the way, but didn’t say another word. He didn’t dare risk setting her off again. By now both parties of the mid-air collision had too much of a headache to talk it out any further.
All was suddenly very quite on the Northern front. The last sound the departing couple would hear was the squeaking of Josie’s rolling luggage as she headed off into the rapidly beating heart of the airport. Josie took a quick look back to catch Harry not diverting his eyes quick enough for her to plainly see he was checking out her caboose. It had been on the tracks for some time, but it was still in good shape. In fact Josie considered it her best asset. Then she hadn’t had any kids, yet. That put a smile on her face; once she was certain Harry wouldn’t see. There had always been a shortage of vaccinations in Josie’s life. She took every booster shot to her self-esteem to heart.
America’s reputation could take the hit. Converting dollars into kroners didn’t involve an international incident. The counter clerk did speak English. Josie had her “real money” changed into “play money” in no time at all. The fine folks at the baggage check counter spoke English too, but that didn’t make the process any quicker. The better part of an hour later, after filing international baggage claim forms to here and infinity, Josie finally left the terminal. She was at last cut free in Norway.
The airport terminal was a stunning architectural wonder. It was almost a shame leaving such a futuristic glass coliseum, but Josie wasn’t into sci-fi, she was into romance. Just like the American side, Josie found no car waiting for her. She also took immediate notice of the lack of Viking gods. In fact there was nothing really different about the people of Oslo, at least not look wise. Other than a random case of bad dental work, they all could have passed for neighbors, at least as long as they stayed silent. Their accents were a dead giveaway to the fact Dorothy wasn’t in Kansas anymore. So were their manners. If she didn’t know better, she’d think she was in Canada.
Once again she would have the distinct pleasure of paying for her own cab. Time to hotel 38 minutes, fare most unfair nearly 700 Kroner-$113 American. This time being driven was even more enjoyable since it was accompanied by the quaint rumble of tires on cobblestone and brick.
Not counting the airport clash, Oslo made a great first impression on Josie. Despite only a handful of short high-rises that many New Yorkers would consider little more than parking garages, Josie got more city for her vacation than she thought possible from such a remote local. The people all seemed so orderly and neat, especially for urban life that Josie felt rude just being there. Nobody seemed rushed, not even the drivers. Norway had a well-earned reputation for safety, the law abiding careful citizens not even daring to drive above the posted speed limits, imagine that in a land of barbarian Vikings!
Even though the advertising industry was obviously flourishing with all the billboards banners, and neon lit signs making the heart of the city seam somewhat like Times Square, Oslo still had an over-abundance of nature sprouting up between the cracks. On this side of the Atlantic there were just as many patches of green as patches of concrete. For some silly reason or not they found no reason to pave paradise and put up a parking lot like most of America. It was far greener than any city she had ever been to. Several buildings even had green life climbing their walls; one was even covered in colorful red flowers. The city itself was nestled cozily between ridges of forest, but within its limits were numerous parks, and between them stretched out trees in just about every direction.
The international experience was beginning to rear its beautiful head. Numerous statues, fountains, and even small family historical fenced in cemeteries turned up as well to snapaholic Josie’s delight. The surrounding hills reminded Josie of Rome, even if she’d never been there. All that luscious grass seemed so emerald green that Josie could swear she was in Ireland. The sunlight itself seemed to have a magic all its own like she imagined the light of Venice to be. Numerous outdoor cafes brought Paris to mind, no Eiffel Tower necessary. Whenever they got near the water it appeared the most vivid shade of Royal blue Josie had ever seen, a little dark for what she pictured the Mediterranean must look like, but marvelous just the same, although she didn’t spot any white sand to squeeze between her toes. Actually the shoreline did seem a little steep and rugged for Josie’s tastes, but the romance of the tall wooden sailboats and ships in the harbor quickly distracted her from what was lacking.
In less than no time at all the newbie tourist was enthralled with her destination. The Cochs Pensjonat, Josie’s hotel, wouldn’t have been more than a youth hostel to most world-travelers, but not to Josie. Most of the rooms had no in-room television plus shared a common bath at the end of the hall. However privileged Josie had one of the elite en suite rooms. Complete with moderate birch furniture and even a kitchenette it more than met her needs. Unfortunately their electricity was 230V, 50 Htz, but all that meant to Josie knew was that her hairdryer and curling iron wouldn’t fit into those two round holes. Among Oslo’s other eccentricities were phone numbers written out like lotto numbers in 5 sets of two digits, and mere 4 digit postal codes. The Norwegian signs and writing added a definite foreign flair to everything. The hotel didn’t have a bar or restaurant in or off the lobby, but they did include numerous coupons to local restaurants, no Mickey D’s unfortunately.
Last time Josie had stayed at a hotel it was during her Niagara Falls honeymoon, the tourist trap of a hotel was done up fancier, but you can never judge a book by its cover. This modest streamlined place was far cleaner than that, and friendlier. Cleanliness would turn out to be a major memorable theme to Oslo and the surrounding hills. In fact the city wasn’t grimy at all, no graffiti, no vandalism, and no sign of juvenile delinquents anywhere as far as Josie had seen. Manners would be another reason Norway would seem so much warmer than Josie had anticipated.
Nature was another major draw for outsiders. Mother Nature had done it right and this Garden of Eden still seemed very much intact. The scenic and pristine landscape was the reason for the majority of tourism at this time of year. The darker six months had the Northern lights and the snow sporting fanatics. A world-class deaf-defying ski jump offered the more suicidal their chance at immortality, the hard way. Although the glaciers did offer summertime skiing, winter was still when the best powder fell. Holmenkollen’s 197 foot jump had a wonderful tower for fjord sight-seeing from. This time of year the mountains, fjords, and waterfalls were the panoramic places to be.
Alas paradise doesn’t last forever unless you’re no sinner. And Josie wasn’t as pure as the driven snow like she used to tell her parents in a time long long ago. She was paying for all her sins now, or at least it felt that way. Josie’s bump-and-go intimate encounter at the airport had triggered a whopper of a headache which in turn triggered her long-overdo hang-over. It may have been a good bit after 9am local time, bright and sunny, but jet lag made it clear that it was time for bed. Josie was in no mood to argue with herself, so sleep it was. Best tour her new world with fresher eyes than a zombie. She was scheduled to meet with Miss Elway and company for dinner at their hotel at 6pm, yet again no car would be sent, that was getting old, and starting to add up.
A third taxi ride in as many days and another dig into her savings. This time around the cabbie spoke broken English, so Josie started by giving him the address slowly and then just smiled, grinned, and giggled whenever he did. Standard flirtation is a universal language all its own and best keep the natives happy if you can. This time Josie did watch the meter turn with a hint of worry. A mere 450 Kroner got Josie to the grand entrance of the Hotel Continental.
A mere step out of the cab verified that this was definitely the better side of the tracks. The fancy five-star hotel not only overlooked Palace Park, but the National Theatre was directly across the street as well. Oh la la! Beyond the main entry awaited a level of luxury only seen by Josie before on The World on a Platter. The immaculately expensive Victorian décor was accented with nothing but the finest antiquities. Oil paintings, the likes of which Josie had never seen before outside a museum, adorned the elaborate halls. Unlike her humble lodgings, here there was an in-house restaurant, the Theatrecfeen, where she was to meet Miss Elway. But far more noticeable to Josie was the lobby bar, the Dagligstuen.
My kingdom for a pint of ale! The availability of alcohol in the near arctic turned out not to be as widespread as Josie had hoped. The only other pub she spotted on the way over was one with a red convertible mounted in the wall overhead. Although prohibition wasn’t enacted, the law limited the sale of booze far greater than Josie had ever experienced before. Bars were practically non-existent. What booze was to be found was to be paid heavily for. Aquavit, a Vodkaesque drink would turn out to be the most consumed, by Josie anyway. Seems most Norwegians prefer to do their drinking at home. No doubt to keep those tidy roads safe. Consequently New York’s nightlife had little to fear.
She was in for a rude awakening. Suddenly Josie’s accommodations didn’t seem so damn sparkling fantastic. “Great she gets to have it all, while me, ‘the winner,’ gets second best,” thought a growingly disgruntled cash-depleted Josie. Actually it was more like forth best, but Josie didn’t need to know that. In all of Oslo this had to be it, the place where the beautiful people congregated to be segregated from their inferiors. The lap of luxury was obviously no place for Josie, especially in her current attire, but she didn’t believe that for a second, not in her current state of mind. “And I get to pay taxes on my undoubtedly over-valued hovel!”
Josie took the time to take it all in. The restaurant’s elegant décor reeked of Vienna. Ornate chandeliers dangling from a vaulting arched ceiling created more of an old-world church atmosphere to Josie than a place to stuff her mouth. She felt a bit blasphemous just by inhaling the smell of the food alone. On the walls hung portraits of famous regulars, writers, actors, and musicians, most of which Josie never heard of. Nonetheless it was dressed to the hilt to impress whereas Josie wasn’t.
The girl couldn’t have been more out of place in that elaborate setting than if she had been a crotchety crocodile. Josie hadn’t the time to shop for new clothes, and unless she showed up in parka, snow boots and nothing else, had little choice but to wear the same outfit she exited the plane in. Her underwear hadn’t left her body in over 24 hours. She hadn’t thought to wash it, having not the desire to sleep nude in a strange bed, and a fresh change of undies still supposedly somewhere over the north Atlantic. The puke stains on her outer wear had been rinsed on the plane and again at the Brussels’ airport, but that only assured that the clothes were still damp. And that only made Josie sweat more. So a scruffy smelly sad-faced misplaced middle-aged little girl was awkwardly escorted to Miss Elway’s party. It could have been worse. She could have been on fire! Her hygiene products were in her carry-on so she did have brushed hair, replenished make-up, and a fresh coat of deodorant over the dirt.
The regal restaurant tolerated Josie’s rage rag doll presence, just more proof of the Netherlands’ politeness being much more prevalent than she had ever experienced. Nonetheless all eyes were upon the street urchin. Had the table been absent of all settings Josie would have stylishly rapped herself in the lacey linen tablecloth. At the most formal table sat her majesty, Miss Elway, with her untrustworthy right hand, Miss Cynthia brown-nose, at her side. The first words out of the prissy perfect preppie’s mouth were, “I hope you’re not going to look like that on camera.”
Picking up her menu more to conceal her face than to read it, our pressed pursuer of gourmet cuisine finally got to order some. Reindeer steak did make an appearance on the menu, as did beef tatare, but Josie went with duck confit hoping that wasn’t rare, or daffy. At least it supposedly was French. Fortunately when it came and the domed silver cover was removed, no billed face was involved and no poached eyeballs stared back at her. The fowl in question turned out to be duck drumstick with garlic and spices slow cooked for nine hours in its own fat in a crock pot. Non wide known, especially to Josie, this particular dish was heavily salted, meant to preserve meat so that it could last refrigerated for up to six months. Later when she looked it up, she decided she could do without a second helping.
The conversation was mostly two-sided between Miss Elway and servant, a half-starved Josie eating much of the time. As it turned out Cynthia and Miss Elway were being flown about from country to country having the whole private plane to themselves. At each destination a local camera crew would hook up with them to shoot the segment. In that way the network not only saved on union dues and fuel, they also got locals who knew exactly where the most photogenic locals were. Josie was itching to know if Brussels was one of those cities, but nondisclosure agreements being what they were Josie couldn’t get much more than that out of them, no matter how hard she pried.
Their local camera crew consisted of Svein and his assistant, Olaf. The pair was due to show up shortly so Josie was encouraged to swallow hard and quickly, Miss Elway and Cynthia having more than enough time to have already begun digesting their meals having eaten a good half hour before Josie arrived on time. Once again Josie felt outnumbered and out-classed. At least they would pick up the hefty check, even if it had to be over her dead body. She had spent too much on cab fare to have enough left for one fancy feast, never mind three. And she wouldn’t put anything past those two. She wasn’t about to do dishes. Thank goodness it didn’t come to that. They put it on their expense account without giving it a second notice. Possibly due to Josie’s haggard appearance frightening them.
When Svein showed up it was he that turned out to be the fabulous Viking dreamboat Josie was dreaming would be occupying more than 51% of the country. Sweet Svein was tall, blonde, and had the coolest blue-gray eyes. He was chiseled. He was beautiful. He was gay! Flamboyantly so! Olaf was his life mate. In fact out of the two light-footed lovebirds, Svein would have to be defined as the more feminine half by a widely swooping gesture margin.
First Brussels, then luggage lost, and then this fantastic hotel just for visiting and not for staying; the gods definitely weren’t smiling upon Josie lately. Thor holding his mate’s hammer instead of her was yet another big disappointment for Josie. The dancing dynamic duo was a big enough ambush for the week, but it was just the beginning. As the Tinseltown two would have it, Josie was on camera before she knew what hit her. Svein lent her his pastel scarf to hide the ring around her neck, but that didn’t help much. Dressed in black sweatpants and sweatshirt, with Mary Tyler Moore boots, since her sneakers were still damp, and with sunglasses on her face to conceal her bloodshot eyes, Josie looked like a leftover stale mime from the sixties who had spent the night in a fog of whacky tobacky.
Cynthia quickly explained that the schedule Josie had memorized was now useless. Her unexpected rush to stardom couldn’t be helped. The show had two contestants on their vacation at the same time. Josie was told they were in a time crunch and would only be spending two days filming her Oslo spot. She had her strong suspicions that the other destination had more shopping to offer Miss Elway and that was why it got twice the coverage. Josie put up a bit of a struggle worried about how she looked, but Miss Elway assured her the magic of Hollywood would turn her into Cinderella. In the end it only meant more time to explore without her camera toting shadow, and Josie was fine with that.
Thus the camera began rolling and Josie appeared as a Cheech and Chong groupie on her television debut. Moments before they got some fine candid camera shots of Josie licking her plate clean. Little did she realize that the show would be filming Miss Elway’s hotel suite and making it appear that was where Josie was staying as well.
To make messy matters an international incident, Harold, the head-butter, was part of the audience watching the filming spectacle. Naturally, unlike jostled Josie, he was sharp-dressed to the nines with beard neatly trimmed. As fate would have it, Josie couldn’t resist a little wave and wink to her one acquaintance since she landed; in doing so her elbow initiated a domino chain reaction that worked its way around the room to a waiter carrying some extra wild berry sauce to a hungry gastronomic patron.
As if choreographed numerous times before, one diner lost balance into another until said gravy boat of steamy staining sauce landed right smack dab on Harold’s seated head. The French would have loved it; Jerry Lewis in his prime could have done it no finer. The restaurant patrons weren’t French. Neither was Harold. But the patrons laughed their asses off, whereas Harold jumped up with a roar, the sauce being hot and thick, and his hair being thin thus offering little insulation. The dripping sauce now flowing across his face as if he were a wax figure set out in the sun too long. Pulling frustratingly on his lapels as if trying to peel out an underlying Superman outfit, he pointed directly to Josie, yelling, “You! The American maniac! Why are you stalking me? What have I done to you?”
The camera caught the whole embarrassing episode, every last second of shame. Miss Elway was thrilled. So was Cynthia. A bumbling unbalanced baboon-the ratings would shoot through the roof. Josie, on the other hand was mortified. Guilt had already landed on her head from the airport accident and with the new batch piled on was now utterly unbearable. She went to apologize to Oliver Hardy’s body double, but he had vanished. Josie stormed out, outraged at the lack of compassion and over-surplus of laughter at her expense. But even more upset over not being able to apologize to dear old butt-admirer Harold. She was remembering how that look of outraged shock at the airport had changed so quickly once she had gotten a closer look at the deep concern in his caring eyes. She decided to try to walk back to her hotel. She needed to air out. She needed to cool off. She really needed to be alone.
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I found some of the usual editing errors, but those you will be able to correct.
What I am having trouble understanding is why does this girl experience so much bad luck? I keep looking for a motivation and I’m not finding it. You seem almost more unkind to her than sympathetic. And she seems like such an empty headed victim in a manner that is almost unfair.
Good descriptions of Norway. Towards the end you mentioned the Netherlands—but in context it seems that Norway should have been in its place.
I’m having trouble with the plot. So far it’s one thing after another happening to the hapless Josie—I am wondering how you tie all this together to make your story arc.
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