Kristiansand

Everything coming into my life I am attracting into my life by virtue of my thoughts…



Two weeks ago I returned from Kristiansand, Norway where I was attending the International Narrative Therapy and Community Work Conference and a workshop with Michael White.



The trip gave me time to think although the days were long. I was woken around 5am by the glare through my guesthouse windows, then in classrooms from 9-6 and before wandering prolonged midsummer evenings characterised by bored locals fishtailing their cars in the streets.



During the workshop days I thought a lot about the role of normative judgements in controlling people. I was surrounded by psychologists (expert professionals highly trained in diagnosing deviance from these norms). One of them asked me:
“But how can you use these narrative practices in social work?”



I was reminded of 2 reasons why I did not pursue counselling or further training as a therapist on graduation from social work school. The first of these came to mind after thinking about Tom Andersen (widely regarded as a founder of Narrative Therapy) who died suddenly in May. At social work school we were told that if we trained as therapists we would be watching clients from behind a 2-way mirror. I was always uncomfortable with this concept. I found it deceptive and intrusive. Tom Andersen has been attributed with bringing reflective teams out from behind this mirror and putting them in the consulting room. Apparently 2 way mirrors aren’t used much anymore in therapy.



The second reason I avoided therapist training was the notion that I needed to go through therapy myself first. As a student I could not understand this, I certainly didn’t believe it possible given all the psychological ‘stuff’ I would have to rake through and sort out. But even though I did not support this view myself, it was such a dominant principle at the time and supported by most academics and other therapy students that it did not seem possible to me to subvert it in any way. What disturbed me most then (and still does) is that the notion assumes that therapists are somehow above the people they work with: they have resolved all of their problems, reconciled their inconsistencies (worked through all of their “issues”/ dealt with all their “baggage”- choose the metaphor you like most!), and maintain some kind of pure state where as qualified experts they are sanctioned to “do therapy” on others.



Anyone who has personal associations with therapists/ counsellers/ psychologists (doctors!) can attest that like the rest of us, they are hardly free of personal difficulties or “baggage”…



The university where the conference was held was modern and had the sterile appeal of the school featured in “Elephant” (Gus Van Sant 2003) or something out of Orwell.



One of the highlights of the week was going to the house of Esben-Esther Pirelli Benestad and her partner Elsa. Esben-Esther is a GP, therapist and Associate Professor at the university who happens to be a transperson. She has helped many people and their families across Scandinavia. The night after meeting her I had vivid dreams of collecting butterflies.





I did not have a lot of time to explore the town but did manage to visit the Kunstmuseum with my friend Kari. I also swam at the cleanest pool I have ever visited (which is next to the university). It was lined with stainless steel and the water totally without smell or taste. It is a rule that everyone must wash properly before swimming.



On my final full day I discovered Baneheia, a wooded park elevated above the town. For 2 hours I walked this park and did not see another person.



I did find some interesting slugs with a cavity on one side. I wondered how the defenders of “intelligent design” would justify these creatures.



Kristiansand is Norway’s 5th largest city. How grounding and peaceful it was to be walking in nature here. This was really me, I decided. I’m not a city boy.

Jeg lige Danmark

LLDS has been out of the water for some time now. Now it’s time to get our feet wet again.



In December it is dark and cold in Copenhagen so the natives string up lights and eat a lot.

Wait a minute, they do that all year actually.



It’s all part of the hygge but Jul (Christmas) is a particularly hyggeligt time. I love going to Danmark because the Danes look after me so well. There is never a cow on the ice anywhere…



After both winter and summer experiences in Denmark, I feel I am getting to know the customs pretty well. I just have to remember to bring my sucking shoes with me next time.


.



Being indoors prompted more exposure to Danish cinema which involved watching Mads Mikkelson in many guises and becoming familiar with the Dogma classics. With all the eating and drinking and watching of dvds, it was nice to get out for a walk.


.



I spent Christmas day on Møn. I think the sheep remembered me from last time.



Hours of schnapps and good Danish food (lots of herrings!) and wine necessitated more walking. It was windy and cold.



I was getting wild. In another 5 days I would be back in Australia in the heat of summer, and 2006 would be no more.

why i like spain

To escape the cold in our respective countries, Thomas and I went to Spain. I had only just been to Copenhagen to see George Michael in concert (yes) and I was about to return for Christmas. Air travel was destroying the environment and in each case I only had a few days free. But sand and sangria were calling. And I was so so tired of the English.

In marbella you park where you want. You drive on whichever side of the road you like. No one worries about things like that.



The beach was not hot but the sun was shining which was more than I could say about Haslemere. African men offered to sell us bootleg Hollywood films and fake Gucci sunglasses. I read a novel set in New York and remembered Bondi.



Thomas put me behind the wheel of a rented Corsa.
“It’s just like driving on the left hand side,” he insisted, “but it’s the other side.”



We found an entire town that was painted white. An old woman with no teeth came to speak to me and touched my hand. We went into a shop.

“Where is the castle?” we asked. But no one spoke English.



On the open road I felt more confident. I just had to remember to keep to the right. The locals overtook me. We stopped and captured the scenery.



Within half an hour we had driven up a hill that was higher than anything in Denmark. It was so quiet and still, a peace that could not be found in england. It was here that I stopped and wondered again what it would be like to live in a country where I could not rely on my own language. I decided it was something I had to do.

Back at the hotel we asked the receptionist where we could get churros.
“That is not what healthy people eat for breakfast. Too many calories.”
“Tell us anyway,” I replied. “We are having a holiday from caring about that stuff.”



Costa del Sol was colder than I imagined it would be in December. But we did get some sun. And had some great food. Yep, mostly we ate. And drank. And watched some bad reality TV in German. Too soon it was time to go.

why the english are rubbish

To make up for the tiny laneways that count for roads (known as B roads) here the english drive at very high speeds on their motorways and tend to tailgate on the B roads anyway. Carparks have a one way system and if you dare go against it you face the wrath of kerchief-headed women and polyester-trousered men. Somehow it remains acceptable to park in the wrong direction on any road. Go figure.

Which brings me to rules and regulations generally.
The english are obsessed with rules. And they feel the need to behave like police at every opportunity.
I was chastised by the cleaner at the local pool for driving the wrong way through the car park. It was 9pm at night (the pool closes at 10) and there were about 5 parked cars and no people about.
“You can’t do that,” he said walking away from the vehicle he had just parked in the disabled bay. “It’s one-way”.



“There is a schedule you know”.
On tuesdays the Herons pool shuts to the public between 7 and 8pm so half a dozen women can splash about in a corner doing ‘aqua fitness’.
“Can’t you open just one lane?” I enquire.
“No, the ladies have booked the whole pool.”
‘Teen fitness’ means leaving the gym for an hour. Those are the rules. Age discrimination is quite in vogue here. I suppose if lots of little groups came along and each booked an hour no one else would get a go.
They might have heard of rules but they haven’t heard of cleanliness. The changing facilities are disgusting!



It amazes me what companies get away with here. If you want to call a phone company or a bank or the council you are likely to find yourself in a queue paying a premium rate to listen to a recording telling you that your custom is valued. The Carphone Warehouse sold me a service and promised free voicemail. Three weeks later I was still unable to retrieve messages.
“We’ve had some problems with it but it will be fixed soon.”
“Well can you offer me some credit or something as compensation for the thing not working?”
“It will be working soon Sir.”
Sir? Yeah right.
Then Vodafone sells me a ‘pay as you go’ SIM card account they insist I can retrieve billing data from.
A month later: “Well whoever told you that was wrong”.
“Can you do anything for me?”
“No Sir.”



Does anyone here give a shit?
No Sir.






The Cooperative Bank
What a joke! The name alone is misleading advertising.
They put a 20 year old in charge of their flagship branch and she fails to order a credit card for 3 weeks in a row and then does not see why she should apologise. The next week her boss repeats the mistake (although he does apologise) claiming the suburban branch where he works is short of tellers and he has to do the counter thing instead of dealing with my card.
After 5 weeks of failing to deliver they finally decide to make amends and reluctantly agree to courier it to me. But is it any use without a PIN?
“Oh, we didn’t think about that.”



While you are waiting for a train (most likely a delayed one) you will hear constant messages about security and reporting suspicious behaviour to the staff. There won’t be any staff to report to as the one person working there will be behind a window serving a queue of people who don’t want to report anything, they just want tickets. Later that night you will find yourself on the train stopped at a station with the doors closed and locked. After waiting like this for over an hour you will call the “24 hour” customer service line for Southwest Trains and hear a recorded message telling you that the office is closed and you need to call back during business hours. You ask the guard what is happening and he suggests you call the 24 hour number. After 2 hours the train starts moving again.



The english are not a healthy nation. Filthy sports facilities that cater to ‘splash and giggle’, frustrated drivers, queues on the phone, in the bank (and for what?), everyone so pent up and restricted and then they insist on serving bacon with everything. These porkers like their pork. White bread and saturated fat is favoured as are artificial sweeteners. It is almost impossible to obtain soft drink without sucralose or aspartame or saccharine and a lot of juices have the stuff added as well.



Forgive me. Some of the english are nice. The staff at Sainsburys are very polite and helpful. Even the Liphook store. When they are not under siege from drunken locals.

I love cake.

Britain Britain Britain!

LLDS took a 2 month break at the end of my Scandinavian adventure. The last 3 weeks I was unwell with a sinus infection and struggled back through Sweden on my Scanrail pass, failing to enjoy myself until I asked the good and merciful Prince Thomas to take me in. Our trip to the zoo was about all the excitement I managed before taking the bridge to Malmo and seeking the services of a Swedish GP (the Danes are reluctant to distribute antibiotics).

“Oh you English,” the doctor whined, “here 2 years and can’t speak a word of Swedish and you demand us to speak your language.”
“Actually I’m Australian and I’ve only been here a few weeks. I’m staying in Copenhagen.”
“Oh the Danish, they always want more. They always try to get a better deal.”

The consultation lasted about 3 minutes in all and most of it continued like this. But I did manage to get my drugs.



And then it was over and suddenly I was in London. Tired and dislocated, waiting for the medicine to kick in, I found plenty to complain about. But what struck me most was the poverty of the place: the crowdedness and meanness and ugliness and abrasiveness. This is why I left Sydney, I thought. What am I here?





Australia was not calling and I was not ready to return. But my Scandinavian adventure had, for the time being, come to an end. I have some fantastic memories…
…spontaneous nudity in the Lappish forest
…swimming in a lake of sublime beauty in Vaxjo
…cycling escapades on Bornholm
…staying with friends and meeting new ones everywhere I went
and… discovering more about myself through it all (apparently I also look like some guy from the film “Legally Blonde”).



Now I am living in a small town about one hour south of London. Autumn is with us and I am trying to keep in touch with friends and remember what is important to me. I have been enjoying the countryside with visitors and developing an English accent. I am avoiding London.

grizzly man

Back at Thomas’ place again and outside it was windy and a little cold. Amager was so flat I couldn’t see beyond the neighbourhood. I was feeling unwell again and desperately trying to feel better so I could enjoy the last of my Scandinavian adventure.

Some people watch porn before they go to sleep. Thomas watches ‘Animal Planet’. Since staying with him I have seen a lot of neglected dogs and dressed up pets.

Thomas managed to tempt me out of his apartment with a visit to the zoo. We were taken on a VIP tour by his friend Brian who is the keeper of the predators. grrrrr.

The lions were not so friendly but Maria was. Maria is a Tasmanian Devil and was a gift to Princess Mary and Prince Frederick on the birth of their first child. Somehow I don’t think Maria is representative of devils generally. She likes to fall asleep on your shoulder and dribble. She doesn’t even smell too bad. Here is Thomas having a cuddle with Maria.





Brian explained that in the wild the predators would avoid humans but zoo animals are different (a fact I had gleaned from seeing “Madagascar”) and therefore potentially more dangerous. So we remained behind the bars to feed the bears both grizzly and polar.



The anteater however was just like a friendly dog. I don’t know what was worse, the feeling of the worms in my hand or having his long tongue and snout intruding into my semi-closed fist.



We went to see the documentary Grizzly Man and somehow I identified with this crazy guy who preferred animals to people (no offence anyone!)



I woke the next day to learn that Steve Irwin had been killed during a freak encounter with a sting ray. Sure being pricked by a fish is an ironic way to go but maybe better than pneumonia at age 86?

the venice of the north

In Oslo I came down with a ’flu and spent the next week there and in Bergen trying to recover. By the time I arrived in Stockholm I was feeling well enough to go sightseeing.

Marcus and I were invited onto the bridge of a ferry for a better view of the Stockholm waterways…



The weekend involved a lot of Swedish style eating…



Swedish boys eating waffles…



and young men both naked…



and clothed…



My travels in Scandinavia were coming to an end. Soon these experiences would recede into memory.



I was savouring the last few days.