Author: eskaftun

Postcards: Of monsters and mammals

eskaftun
Image of colorful petroglyphs and a grazing animal
Dear Janka,
Multi-headed dinosaurs, titanic snails, plodding yet hungry cave bears, and giant humanoids used to maraud into our village, stomping homes and eating whoever they came across. No one knew where they were coming from, until one day a group of us stumbled upon a rock face and saw the monsters in the rocks going about their slow lives. As we watched, a hungry head on a long neck emerged from the wall and swallowed up George in one crunchy bite.
Now we send animals out toward the rock face to graze. Some return, and some do not, but the attacks have stopped. It’s a good trade.
Visit soon! It’s safe now!
Paula
Image of two whistle pigs, apparently cuddling
Dear one,
I’ve returned home, to Narnia, to our little burrow, at your request. I hope you’re enjoying the rest of the vacation we saved and scrimped for all our lives. It does not bother me that you sent me home so early. After all, you did tell me to check one last time that I hadn’t left the gas on. “I’ll worry the whole trip,” you said, and I laughed at your silliness and hurried you into the cab to the airport.
What bothers me is that you were right to worry. Stay in Austria. Of our burrow, only ashes remain.
Love,
Your loving husband
Black and white image of an alpine horn blower at Mt. Pilatus, Switzerland
Dear Klaus,
I’m writing in regards to our community’s alphorn blower: please send a new one. I’m aware this is the 7th such request we’ve made in two years, but it’s not our fault that two of the fellows you sent were drunks, another took a nasty tumble getting up to his station, one fell ill, one rushed off to care for an ailing relative, and the last simply abandoned his post. There is no truth to the rumor that we have a yeti problem around here. But send a replacement post-haste, because only music can calm the
Viele Grüße,
Emil
Image of a furry creature with antlers and wings, holding a pipe and a walking stick, in an alpine meadow.
Dear Vicki,
Hiking in the Alps, I come across a fox, a pheasant, and a deer smoking from a glass pipe. Naturally, I joined them. The smoke was strong, and soon the clearing spun. I woke some time later with an itch in my wings, flapped them, and with horror realized they would no longer bear my weight. For I had clear memories of flight. And of digging deep into burrows my antlers would now prevent me from entering. And what would the owners of the hostel think of me? I wondered. It wouldn’t do to dwell on it. Fortunately, though my woodland companions were nowhere in sight, the pipe remained.
Peace!

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Experience is the new luxury

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Tired of cruises? Try an expedition aboard the MS Roald Amundsen

Photo courtesy of Hurtigruten
Hurtigruten’s newest vessel, MS Roald Amundsen, is an “expedition ship” built for the extreme environments of the Arctic and Antarctic seas.

If your image of a cruise ship is a floating monstrosity the size of a city block, full of casinos, colorful iced drinks with bendy straws, and overblown attractions like waterslides or ziplines, housing thousands of drunk travelers on their way someplace tropical—in other words, if you’re the kind of savvy traveler who scoffs at the idea of cruises—it’s time to take another look at Hurtigruten.

Continue reading “Experience is the new luxury” →

Catching the Arctic Illness in Svalbard

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Are people nuts to love the high north? I go to (almost) the end of the earth to find out

Arctic Illness Svalbard
Photo: Elizabeth Bourne
A mural in Barentsburg with a portion of the poem “Arctic Illness” by Russian poet Robert Rozhdestvensky.

Emily C. Skaftun
The Norwegian American

“Why are you going to Svalbard?” was the most frequent question I got when talking about my summer travel plans. In the way of many adventurers, I had no very compelling answer to the question. Because it’s there!

I have a friend in Longyearbyen now (Elizabeth Bourne, whose name you may recognize from this paper), who was willing to let me crash in her spare room and eager to show me around the place that she loves to a suspicious degree. Mutual friends tasked me with determining whether Elizabeth was entirely insane.

Continue reading “Catching the Arctic Illness in Svalbard” →

Postcards: Transformations

eskaftun
image of salt pillars from the Dead Sea
Dear Nancy,
Nothing lives in the Dead Sea, right? No fish, no plants, not even any microbes, or so they say. So when the … masses … started to rise, we were assured that it was only salt, that it had been there all along, formations growing just under the surface. But we could see them changing, shooting up faster than the water level was dropping It’s as safe as ever, they said. Just protect your eyes.
By the time the scientists arrived it was too late.
The rest of the tour group will not be coming home. But the good news is that we’ve discovered a new species.
Saltily yours,
Sally
Image of the baby Jesus in a church in Bethlehem
Dear Kris,
Peter always had a thing for Baby Jesuses, stealing them from nativity scenes. The one from Bethlehem would be ultimate souvenir, he said. I worried about him getting shot. Ha!
Despite the crowd of true believers, Peter grabbed Baby Jesus and started to pull him away. But the thing didn’t move. It stretched until there were two heads and two sets of prayerful hands and when the mitosis ended there were two Baby Jesuses. Peter tucked one under his shirt.
Outside, he tried to move his prize to his pack, but it had melted to his flesh, which now seemed made of plastic. He screamed as we pulled on Baby Jesus’s legs, but they just sucked into Peter as plastification spread. In the end, the rest of us stared in horror at the plastic Baby Jesus lying beatifically where Peter had stood.
With regrets,
Mary
Image of brightly colored sheep grazing near the Ireland coast
Dear Rachel,
Easter started out pretty much as expected. Religion, brunch, an Easter egg hunt. I let Millie join the other kids and enjoyed an Irish coffee. But she returned crying that the eggs had run off. Run off? Had someone given her an Irish coffee? We went onto the field and where there had been colored eggs, now there were colored sheep. Pink ones, yellow ones, green and blue and orange spotted ones. One egg remained, and on closer inspection it clearly didn’t come from a chicken. It was huge, and getting bigger. Until—you guessed it!—it hatched into a fluffy sheep. Who knew?
Love,
Jacob

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Why is Seattle Parks and Rec hip-checking roller derby?

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Emily C. Skaftun

Amid all the bad news for women and other uterus-having people, the smaller-scale tragedy of Seattle’s roller derby apocalypse might understandably have slipped your radar. Why complain about something as mundane as losing a warehouse lease or some lines on a community center floor when from Alabama to, well, Washington state, legislation is being proposed to send women, barefoot and pregnant, back to the kitchen?

But while fighting the big fights, the little fights remain important, too.

Roller derby empowers the (mostly) women and girls who play it; just ask any of the thousand-some participants in the Seattle area. Yeah, it’s big. You know someone involved in derby, and it might not be who you think: We are students, tradespeople, professionals and parents; we are school-age children and old enough to be grandparents; we are queerer than average, with a quarter of players identifying as something other than heterosexual; we are all genders, one of few sports welcoming trans and nonbinary players.

To keep reading, head over to Crosscut, where this piece was originally published.

Postcards from strange days

eskaftun
Image of impressionist painting
Dear Laurie,
The fires burned for so long that we prayed for rain. Flooding drowned other countries and states, but here in the west we burned. So despite having lived through the most depressing winter of punishing gray, drizzling and pouring precipitation that stole all color from the world and sapped our will to live, we collectively turned our faces to the heavens to beg for its return.
Did the heavens smile on us? It’s hard to say. The rain is … different from before. At least it’s not gray.
Best,
Lucy
Image of Mette Tronvoll's "Isortoq Unartog nr. 6"
Dear Alma & Stacy:
The locals have myths about spirits that inhabit the swimmin’ holes here, with specific gifts you’re supposed to bring them. Jimmy sought a beautiful sprite who, according to legend, would “make the world seem infinite.”
The sprite didn’t look like we’d imagined, and it regarded Jimmy with disdain. Maybe the candy he brought was the wrong kind. “I’ll grant your wish,” the being said with utter scorn.
Jimmy started shrinking rapidly. His tiny head dipped below the water, and I tried to scoop him out before he drowned, but he shrunk so fast that soon I couldn’t see him. If he’s alive, I’m sure the world seems a lot bigger to him now.
Regards,
Ellen
Image of the inside of a room in Bergen's Bryggen
Dear Claire,
We’ve seen the unimaginably bright flash of ignition, so I only have a few seconds to write you this pointless postcard, which will surely turn to dust even if the time machine’s flux field deflects the nuclear blast around us. So I’ll just say this: they found us. Even the past is not safe from the invaders, and running to it will only further disrupt history. Already I fear we’ve destroyed the Hanseatic League. Stay away from Mohenjo-daro!
Sincerely,
Dr. Brown
King Oscar Sardines label
Dear Darryl,
When I was a kid caught a magic fish. It wasn’t very big; it could only grant small wishes. I wished to be friends with it, and after that I caught it again and again, wishing for things like sandwiches and good weather and luck as a fisherman. As the years passed, technology let us catch millions of tiny fish, but I stopped seeing the magic one. I did, however, once release a magic dolphin from our nets. In return I asked him about my fishy friend. The dolphin said, well… he’s in one of these tins.
Will we know him if we eat him? I’ll keep trying until I find out.
Love,
Eli

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Christmas the European way

eskaftun

Take a Christmas Markets tour to find seasonal spirit

Emily C. Skaftun
The Norwegian American

Christmas lights in Innsbruck's Christmas market, with impressive Alpine peaks in the background
Photo: Freddy Alexander Bugueño / Wikimedia Commons
Innsbruck is a fairy-tale town dominated by the Alps on all sides.

Nobody does Christmas like Europe. I learned that just a couple weeks ago while taking a badly timed—but magical—tour of “Christmas Markets of Europe.” A number of companies offer these kinds of tours, with varying itineraries through northern Europe and even Scandinavia, but the one I took, offered by Trafalgar, started in Vienna, Austria, and finished up in Lucerne, Switzerland, by way of Salzburg, Austria; Munich and Oberammergau, Germany; Innsbruck, Austria; and Lichtenstein. In the end I chose this one because it was a good value, while also seeming the most classically “Christmassy.” I mean, what’s more Christmassy than the Alps?

(Technically, I suppose the Middle East is more Christmassy, but that’s a whole ’nother article.)

Continue reading “Christmas the European way” →

It’s not jul without karamellpudding

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Emily C. Skaftun
The Norwegian American

A caramel custard with three portions served into glass bowls
Photo: Daytona Strong
For me (Emily), karamellpudding is one element of Christmas that never disappoints.

Growing up, I didn’t always love Christmas. Shopping for a family of Norwegians was an annual challenge, Dad was a little bit Grinchy about the whole holiday, and sometimes our family gathering on Julaften felt so unchanging that it may as well have been scripted. Plus, I never liked lutefisk (I know, I’m sorry!), so I’d usually end up eating some ravioli or something for the main course. Bah humbug!

But there was always at least one thing I could count on: dessert. At the end of the evening, after opening all our presents from the family and julenissen, Tante Lise would brew some coffee, and we’d sit down around the most important part of the meal—karamellpudding (caramel custard).

Continue reading “It’s not jul without karamellpudding” →

Think globally; gift locally

eskaftun

Editor’s Notes: A message from Editor-in-chief Emily C. Skaftun

Cross-stitch in a Nordic pattern that reads "hygge as fuck" (though part of the word "fuck" has been blurred
Photo: Emily C. Skaftun
One of my craft projects that may or may not end up a Christmas gift and a pretty good expression of how I feel heading into the holidays—cozy but also grumpy and sometimes foul-mouthed.

Sitting here in my office, a week into into November, it’s hard for me to believe that the holiday season is upon us again. It is, though. In my local Safeway, Halloween candy was shunted aside on Nov. 1, with candy canes taking its place. Starbucks holiday cups are out.

And so, the holiday onslaught begins, at least corporately.

I mean, here I am producing a large issue full of things you can buy, things you can wrap them with, ways to decorate the tree you’ll buy (or cut?) to put them under. They’re available online! They ship right to you!

And yet, there’s a part of me that wonders whether buying and shipping objects to give to everyone on our list is the ideal way to celebrate the holiday that is the very essence of hygge. It’s not a radical thought. Many have bemoaned the commercialization of the holiday. But what can we do?

Continue reading “Think globally; gift locally” →