by Val and Jana
"This is tieten met haar", our festival friend Bendik introduces us to the Oslo comic people. We are sitting in the Drinky Crow café, a room under the roof in the public library where the Oslo comics expo is taking place. Somebody thought it was a good idea to paint the place black : it's like a dark, friendly oven. We sweat and shake hands while trying to register the norwegian names in our brains.
We had arrived earlier this friday and were taken on a walking tour around the city by photographer Ena Kreso. "That's the ugly part" she said, pacing fast through the streets, although we can't really tell, everything seems gorgeous to us. It's summer in Oslo. When we arrive at Ena's apartment, Jana installs herself in a chair in front of a huge open window "I'm making up for months of Belgian winter"
On saturday, we prepare ourselves for the market place. We get some coffee at 7-Eleven, our food-provider for the next couple of days. We are so excited to be there that our hunger has disappeared : we survive on a couple of greasy bread products. In the library, people are already taking books out of enormous carton boxes.
We have brought with us the stickers of TMH#1 contributor Dries Warlop, wonderful detailed penis drawings that contrast with the usual dick-doodles you can find on typical bathroom doors. We were a bit unsure of the norwegian response to this, but once again it's our best selling item and the source of many giggles. Only one man seems slightly shocked "Okay, so who's to blame for this?" he asks. "Is there a blame? Aren't they nice?" I ask, but my question remains unanswered.
A swedish man with crazy facial hair named Stefan buys a couple of them. Later on, we have a chat outside with him. "He's a magician", his friend Svante says. To prove this, Stefan imitates a bird with his moustache. The impression is stunning. In the evening, we are so privileged as to witness a mini show with many tricks : ballpens disappear and reappear out of pockets, cards are flying from one hand to the other at the speed of light, a shoe appears behind an ear : we feel like small children with gaping mouths.
"Hey, Tieten met haar - this is my language!" a woman dressed as if she lives on a farm in the country says, flipping through the second edition of our fanzine. We are surprised to meet fellow Belgians who are busy cooking bread on a canoe oven (yes, a canoe oven) outside of the festival. They are part of something called the Flatbread Society - Flatbread Society is a growing constellation of farmers, oven builders, astronomers, artists, soil scientists and bakers aligned through a common interest in the long and complex relation we have to grain, their website reads. Another woman of their group sports a straw hat and a tanned face. "They are people of the earth", we concur.
After the market, there is a party in the library. We are taught to say tieten met haar in norwegian. "pupper med hår. pupppper med hår" we repeat, conscientiously. Everybody is so lovely and friendly that it makes up for the expensive, warm beer. Who said scandinavian people were cold and distant? It's not just comic book people : on the bus, at cafés, we find everybody talkative and easy-going. The evening ends on a roof, where we notice the lack of darkness in the norwegian summer : there is barely any night.
On sunday, we visit the exhibition of Sindre Goksøyr at Briskeby Gallery, whom we have met with Bendik at several comics festivals. Together with other artists they founded the collective Dongery. Sindre's silkscreens are wonderfully funny illustrations. Our favourite was this huge image of what we imagine is a typical norwegian day at the lake.
In the evening, we go to a popular venue called Blå, where a cover band called Frank Znort Quartet plays every sunday of the month since the 90's. 'We fuck up your mondays', they proudly claim on Blå's website. "They start acoustic, and after ten they go electric", Svante explains. The club is packed and people are dancing and drinking, ignorant of any notions of personal space, pushing each other around in a clumsy fashion. We would forgive those cute norwegians almost anything, including an elbow in our face.
It was the perfect end to our stay, which has been nothing but good times. We take the plane on monday morning after a sleepless night and end as we started : sleepy, on the floor of a belgian train.
Next stop: Crack! in Rome!
"This is tieten met haar", our festival friend Bendik introduces us to the Oslo comic people. We are sitting in the Drinky Crow café, a room under the roof in the public library where the Oslo comics expo is taking place. Somebody thought it was a good idea to paint the place black : it's like a dark, friendly oven. We sweat and shake hands while trying to register the norwegian names in our brains.
We had arrived earlier this friday and were taken on a walking tour around the city by photographer Ena Kreso. "That's the ugly part" she said, pacing fast through the streets, although we can't really tell, everything seems gorgeous to us. It's summer in Oslo. When we arrive at Ena's apartment, Jana installs herself in a chair in front of a huge open window "I'm making up for months of Belgian winter"
On saturday, we prepare ourselves for the market place. We get some coffee at 7-Eleven, our food-provider for the next couple of days. We are so excited to be there that our hunger has disappeared : we survive on a couple of greasy bread products. In the library, people are already taking books out of enormous carton boxes.
We have brought with us the stickers of TMH#1 contributor Dries Warlop, wonderful detailed penis drawings that contrast with the usual dick-doodles you can find on typical bathroom doors. We were a bit unsure of the norwegian response to this, but once again it's our best selling item and the source of many giggles. Only one man seems slightly shocked "Okay, so who's to blame for this?" he asks. "Is there a blame? Aren't they nice?" I ask, but my question remains unanswered.
A swedish man with crazy facial hair named Stefan buys a couple of them. Later on, we have a chat outside with him. "He's a magician", his friend Svante says. To prove this, Stefan imitates a bird with his moustache. The impression is stunning. In the evening, we are so privileged as to witness a mini show with many tricks : ballpens disappear and reappear out of pockets, cards are flying from one hand to the other at the speed of light, a shoe appears behind an ear : we feel like small children with gaping mouths.
"Hey, Tieten met haar - this is my language!" a woman dressed as if she lives on a farm in the country says, flipping through the second edition of our fanzine. We are surprised to meet fellow Belgians who are busy cooking bread on a canoe oven (yes, a canoe oven) outside of the festival. They are part of something called the Flatbread Society - Flatbread Society is a growing constellation of farmers, oven builders, astronomers, artists, soil scientists and bakers aligned through a common interest in the long and complex relation we have to grain, their website reads. Another woman of their group sports a straw hat and a tanned face. "They are people of the earth", we concur.
After the market, there is a party in the library. We are taught to say tieten met haar in norwegian. "pupper med hår. pupppper med hår" we repeat, conscientiously. Everybody is so lovely and friendly that it makes up for the expensive, warm beer. Who said scandinavian people were cold and distant? It's not just comic book people : on the bus, at cafés, we find everybody talkative and easy-going. The evening ends on a roof, where we notice the lack of darkness in the norwegian summer : there is barely any night.
On sunday, we visit the exhibition of Sindre Goksøyr at Briskeby Gallery, whom we have met with Bendik at several comics festivals. Together with other artists they founded the collective Dongery. Sindre's silkscreens are wonderfully funny illustrations. Our favourite was this huge image of what we imagine is a typical norwegian day at the lake.
In the evening, we go to a popular venue called Blå, where a cover band called Frank Znort Quartet plays every sunday of the month since the 90's. 'We fuck up your mondays', they proudly claim on Blå's website. "They start acoustic, and after ten they go electric", Svante explains. The club is packed and people are dancing and drinking, ignorant of any notions of personal space, pushing each other around in a clumsy fashion. We would forgive those cute norwegians almost anything, including an elbow in our face.
It was the perfect end to our stay, which has been nothing but good times. We take the plane on monday morning after a sleepless night and end as we started : sleepy, on the floor of a belgian train.
Next stop: Crack! in Rome!
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