US uv A

Tuesday, April 17th, Atlanta, Georgia

(Monday):
The vastness of the northern regions of Canada, the neverending ice and snow and forests and rivers, was a magnificent view from the sky coming down across Greenland and the Atlantic; this spectacle was well mirrored by more manly institutions upon arrival at Atlanta international airport, to be sure; anyone trying to catch a "connecting" flight the same day should allow at least five hours inbetween, or you're fucked. Luckily I was at my final destination for the day, but still with the 17 hrs of travel behind me without mentionable sleep I was really rather grumpy when I saw the immigration line, stretching beyond what any man can comprehend, much like the Universe or the aforementioned Canadian Northern territories. When you actually get to the counter, they're like; left index finger. Thanks. Right finger. Thanks. Look at the camera. Thanks.

So the real travesty here's not, as I thought it would be, the scrutiny by immigration officials - that's actually taken care of before departure and by the filling out of forms - the real test is whether you snap or not in the fucking line, sleep-deprived and perhaps knowing you are already late for your next flight, the line never-ending, hardly moving.

Anyway, I made it through that, then customs, then the rechecking of baggage, whatever the point of that is (you personally pick up your luggage on one carousel and put it into the huge security system, then pick it up AGAIN at another carousel; beats me). What remained now was a place to sleep for the night. I was a bit nervous about this, because my Couchsurfing friendly stranger Josh had not gotten back to me and the other one, Adam, wasn't expecting me until Wednesday. Feeling tired and a bit nervous, having never seen the couchsurfing system in practice before, where you actually trust a total stranger to take care of you and your things for free, and he trusts you, a total stranger, into his home and onto his Couch.... Anyway, feeling somewhat American by virtue of having landed or something, I changed a dollar bill into quarters, found a payphone and phoned Josh, who I knew a) didn't want me there (which was sort of strange, having been positive in our first correspondence) or b) hadn't checked or gotten my mail. Either way I felt like I was intruding, and I have to tell you, the remainder of my childhood fear of calling strangers was conquered then and there, jet-lagged and hungry, the phones situated in the noisiest spot inside the terminal, having to ask a stranger what the hell was going on in a foreign language I haven't practiced for real in years.

Anyway, he was real busy and a bit confused about this business with me and I said I'd call Adam in the meantime and get back to Josh if THAT didn't work out. Adam was wonderful, just come right on in, and in I am, central Atlanta in a really nice neighborhood, sitting in an apartment more fancy than my parents' in Oslo on a Mac that's built into an old arcade game, listening to Modest Mouse while my clothes are in the washer in the closet beside me. Meeting Adam was like "thank you, Lord" and "this is to good to be true", looking over my shoulder for hidden traps, all at once. The level of trust involved in me getting a key and code, him going off to work, have washed away the remainder of any doubt. His doubts, if he has them, will be washed away by his Macs and stereo still being here in the evening, along with me.

Closing notes; Last night we had burger & beer at a local place, and participated in a quiz there afterwards. Americans are really friendly so far, and my prejudiced view on beer (making love in a canoe and all that) and whisky selections have been thoroughly crushed. We had three brands of dark, delicious American beers and a Macallan cask strength, the top shelf of the bar being filled with Scotch delight as far as the eye could see. Thank thee, Lord.

Closing notes II; heard in immigration line, loudspeaker: "Spanish to 32, Spanish to 32".... three minutes later: "Italian to 47, Italian to 47".... some time later: "Jap to 31....er.... Japanese interpreter to desk 31, please".

Closing notes III; See the cartoon series Aqua Teen Hunger Force, it can probably be found on the net for resourceful people. I saw one episode, and was close to death by laughing even though the English went a little fast sometimes. See it. Jaksland, Mikkelsen, Bjoerkheim and similar people especially.

Closing notes IV; why the hell am I writing in English? Next to none of the (possible) readers will be English. Hell, I don't even know, but it has something to do with getting into the travelling frame of mind. Besides, you'll be spared the aa ae oe, which can be somewhat taxing even to the aesthetic of such an illustrious writer as Sveinung Mikkelsen. By the way, some photos are already taken, but I'll need to buy a memory card reader to get them published. So long, y'all.