A VISIT TO THE NUTTY NORWEGIANS
- or -
HOW TO MAKE A FOOL OF YOURSELF IN TWENTY LANGUAGES
- or -
A TRIP UP NORTH WITH CRONOS WARCHILD
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OH BEAUTIFUL NORWAY I LOVED THEE...
- or -
CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF A FEMALE KIND
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HOW TO MAKE A NERVOUS WRECK OUT OF YOUR BIORHYTHM
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SHIT, WHAT'S THAT TOWEL DOING IN THERE?
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WHERE DID ALL THOSE OSES COME FROM?
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A NUTTY IMPRESSION OF A CERTAIN PART OF NORTHERN EUROPE
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ON THE RUN FOR THE GREENHOUSE EFFECT
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NIGHTMARE ON BJØRKEVEGEN PART XIX
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INTERLUDE TO THE ENCYCLOPAEDIA NORWEGICA
- or -
A FIRST LESSON IN NORWEGIAN FOR TRAVELLERS
- or -
THE HITCHHIKER'S GUIDE TO NORWAY
- or -
ENGLISH FOR NUTTIES
by Stefan, Richard, Ronny, Lars-Erik, Torbjørn, Karl Anders,
Frøystein, Gard, Elin, Ole J., Morten, Bent, Kjetil, Bjørn,
Simen, Knis (the cat), Hanne-Mari, Anne-Grete and Bjørge
All individual people writing in this article are entirely
responsible for what they have written. No responsibility
whatsoever goes to the editorial staff of ST NEWS, unless where
they have written themselves.
You might at times be left wondering about the rather strange
setup of this article. Please remember that this article was not
only 'real time' typed, but also recorded on a walkman and later
typed out. This might result even in two stories being told at
the same time...
Part I - Wednesday, December 27th 1989
My car just entered Schiphol Airport, Amsterdam, Holland. It is
at the moment filled with Miranda, Stefan, yours truly and a load
Now all we have to do is carry all our luggage to the Airport
buildings, check in, and OFF WE ARE!
I just parted with Miranda. A sad feeling clasps my heart as I
see her back disappearing in the crowd. I will have to go through
the next ten days without her tenderness at my side...
We pass through customs.
After having searched unsuccesfully as long as we could for an
Atari Lynx (you know....the portable game thing), which various
sources claimed to be available at Schiphol's tax-free zone, we
are now in the plane. It's a DC 9 that's called "Guttorm Viking",
which will soon be heading for Fornebu airport, near Oslo in
Since we didn't find the Lynx, I bought an Atari calculator and
a Casio calculator annex alarm and phone diary (yeah....my money
always burns in my pockets...).
We just took a Norwegian newspaper, and Stefan is momentarily
zealously trying to decypher the weather forecast with help of a
pocket traveller's dictionary he brought with him.
The plane just started to move. We're on our way to Ronny and
the other Nutties!
The usual amount of G's is being forced upon our beings as
usual, but we survive since we know this will eventually bring us
to a place where we desperately want to be (though I am not all
too sure myself, especially with regard to the absence of a
Stefan is drooling on an article (with some good pics) about
Food is being brought. It is located in an ergonomically
designed package, and consists of e.g. bread, cheese, ham, a
small salad, some pudding, and something with a filthy olive
(YUCK!) on it.
"Bwuurgh...plastic cutlery! At Lufthansa this is iron!"
Drinks are now being brought.
What's that strange, big shape in the front of the plane, with a
rather rectangular build, a rectangular face and long sideburns?
We've been playing with Richard's Casio DC 850 Datacal. Miranda
and yours truly are already contained in the telephone diary, and
it's a nice thingy indeed.
As we look down the portholes (are airplane windows actually
called that?!) we already behold some fjords and rugged coasts.
It's magnificent, mega, super, duper, WOW!
Everybody looks rather wondering at us as we talk all this into
the Aiwa hyper-stereo-Dolby-B-whatever Walkman.
No matter how hard we look, we cannot distinguish even a DROP of
snow ANYWHERE on the ground (not even a FLAKE, as a matter of
fact)! Ronny had spoken of minus twenty degrees Celcius and thick
layers of snow....there seems to be something wrong?
Does the pilot know where he's going?
Orgasmic drooling becomes devastatingly evident as we see the
first snow tipped mountains scrolling under us.
"Vast forests and icy gletchers...snow covered tundra's...hill
tips covered in fluffy white clouds...magnificent...a couple of
Laps run after their reindeers..."
"No Slartibartfast autograph to be seen anywhere..."
Yours truly quote
Thoughts about pouring enormous quantities of the Plantiac Vieux
we brought with us down the throat of Gard (one of the Nutties)
are lingering through our minds, connected with some blackmail
(he'll have to pay us his pocket money for the next 42 years
otherwise we'll tell his parents that he had alcohol).
We just saw a house.
We have touchdown!
The eagle had landed!
This is but a small step for a man, but a quantum leap for the
ST NEWS editorial staff!
We just left the plane and are now in the reception hall of
Fornebu airport. We have decided not to resist to some of our
papal (or is it 'popal'?) tendencies and we WILL kiss the ground.
After having to wait a devastatingly long time for our luggage
to finally appear to be collected, we meet Lars-Erik Østerud who
immediately takes us to his Lada (that's a car, ED.), as was
arranged earlier by Stefan (all credit for this voyage and all
arrangements go to him!).
We are surprised by the dirty cars, the smog and the stench of
Norway. It's filthy, the roads are bad and it stinks like hell.
But I guess that's the fate of every crowded area (like Oslo and
Lars-Erik is a very quiet guy with a funny English accent, but I
guess he'll be talking more before soon...
On a quest for stamps and Norwegian money (henceforth to be
called Kroner, Kronar or Krones, but mostly NOKs), we have halted
in a suburb of Oslo called Rykkinn. There's a local shopping mall
here, and while I change some money Stefan and Lars-Erik are
questing for some Coke.
Norwegian money looks like toilet paper.
On our way out of the shopping mall parking lot, we see a
Peugeot 205 GTI 1.9, in silver metallic.
An exact copy of MY CAR!
Oh..Lars-Erik just told us that a CD (you know...one of those
shiny silvery discs containing digital information) costs about
170 NOKs (that's a bit less than 60 Dutch guilders, or DM 55, or
about 18 Pound Sterling, or $30)!
We arrive at the house of "Ingrid og Lars Østerud", Rykkinn,
Norway, where Lars-Erik also resides. It's a very cosy house with
Christmas decorations at all sides (including the inside). The
warmth flows towards us as we enter it.
My Gard....er...My God!
It is not yet four o'clock and darkness is already crawling upon
us! It's getting dark! This will be a blow to my biorhythm!
It is now almost perfectly dark, as if we were in the midst of
night. Lights pop on in the Rykkinn night. We have entered the
Lada again, though I am not sure what we're actually up to. I've
heard the words 'food' and 'postcards', but further I don't know
Lars-Erik just told us something about the rather strict traffic
regulations here in Norway. Driving without your safety belt on
can cost you 3000 NOKs, whereas driving through a red light can
set you back 6000 NOKs. At the moment, so he told us, the
Norwegian government is introducing a system where you can only
violate the traffic laws four times. After that, you lose your
driver's license permanently (!). And even forgetting to blink
your lights or driving too close to the car ahead of you is
considered to be one of these violations...
The maximum speed is 90 in Norway (it's UNLIMITED in
"Great..I love Norway!"
Yours truly quote (slightly sarcastic)
It's nocturnally dark, and on top of that we have just
encountered what seems to be a preternatural fog. Lights send
their beams through the haze from all sides.
None I can see
Only that fog
I cannot sense
I cannot touch
Trapped in this mist
Body my senseless being..."
Slightly adapted Metallica quote
"Normally it's just dark..."
Pictoresque little houses pass us by, with little Christmas
trees in their gardens, covered with a minute layer of sparkling
snow and ice. Snow and ice are everywhere, though only thin. I
look through a valley with many little houses that fade away in
the distance - now THAT's something else than the flatlands!
Our friend Lars-Erik seems to be a gay young man, who talks all
the time about topics ranging from traffic regulations to the
construction of politics here. He lives in a cosy, wooden house.
We haven't seen much of his parents, but he proudly showed us the
enormous collection of electric equipment he had (CD changer,
satellite television, filmnet decoder...the works!).
We just drove past a rock from which ice hung in major
We're listening to Norwegian Christmas carols, and I must admit
they sound a slight bit old-fashioned. We have just made a
tourist detour, but it's a shame that it is too misty and equally
much too dark to see anything.
But we're not going to let that spoil our fun!
I am getting hungry, and I could eat a whole MacDonalds empty!
Lars-Erik just told us of a couple of tunnels that they're going
to build under the city of Oslo. Principally, this means that
everybody entering Oslo will have to pay 10 NOKs. The only way
from South-to North Norway goes through Oslo, so that should earn
'em loadsa money.
Further, he told that there are automatic sensors in the road in
many places in Norway. This means that, if you drive too fast,
you will get a neat picture of your car sent home to you,
together with a ticket of 3000 NOKs....
"All Norwegian drivers are stupid and insane!"
We keep on amazing ourselves about this country more and more.
They have speedbumps ("Road tits!" Stefan quote) IN THE MIDDLE OF
A NORMAL ROAD!! (Not even in a dense living area)
We are now driving along one of those hairpin-roads, and (even
in this sightobliterating fog) we encountered a couple of
joggers. The Norwegians are definitely Nutty.
We left the car at the local Oslo skijump (Holmenkollen). It is
entirely shrouded in thick fog, so we can't see much of it except
for what seems to be an orange ghost image of it. Next to it,
there is a statue of some kind of King (actually Olav V of
Norway) with his poodle (Is this English? It is a dog, anyway).
We have risen above the fog border after getting in the car
again. We now see stars, stars, and even more stars above us. It
looks like it is midnight, really!
Our biorhythms are now entirely trashed.
We just left the car and are now standing before something
called Frognerseteren Hovedrestaurant, at 435 metres height. Lots
of lights can be seen on it.
In the valley before it, Oslo lies. You cannot actually see it
due to the heavy fog, but the reflection of its lights can be
seen on the clouds.
We had a look at the menu that was hanging outside, that was
strategically not supplied with any light. Maybe the prices were
too high and would scare off customers, so we decided to find
ourselves something else.
We're now driving to the highest point of Oslo and its direct
surroundings. There's a big radiotower called Tryvannstårnet
there, made ghostly due to lack of proper lighting. There are
some smaller towers as well.
The radiotower was so breathtakingly interesting that we left it
be and went to get some fuel for the car and food for us. So
we're now standing at a Norol fuel station (Norol is the biggest
- and probably only - Norwegian oil company). Unleaded fuel costs
5.50 NOKs here.
We just had a couple of Norwegian hotdogs at the Norol fuel
station. It ain't a typical Norwegian meal, I know, but at least
we paid a Norwegian amount of money for it: Over 70 NOKs (that's
almost 25 Dutch guilders, or 8 Pound Sterling, or $12, or DM 22).
For that amount, we had four hotdogs and four rolls of Mentos
We have gone to the Oslo University; the Institute of
Informatics. When we got out of the car, we almost drowned in
deep snow that had discovered a neat way of disguising itself as
Lars is now typing in his password, and we enter the building.
Lars-Erik urges us to whisper.
We walk through the cold, long corridors of the building. We
just saw a room that was entirely unlit but in which we could see
a great many MEGA STs located. The corridor leads to another
room, quite lit, and filled with Sun Microsystems 3/50 terminals.
The computer that Lars-Erik uses to modem with is called Roftaty
(which is a Norwegian God, I think he said).
We have already left the University again, and water just
manifested itself in our orifices as we beheld a large MacDonalds
branch in the middle of Oslo. Sheer thoughts of fat hamburgers
and milkshakes fill our minds (even the part that's normally only
filled with pinguins).
But we couldn't park nowhere, so he to watch and drool without
getting anything to eat...
Life is tough (and then you die).
We crawled out of the Russian cookiejar, and have once again
arrived at Lars-Erik's place. To battle the intense Norwegian
cold he plugged a heater in the mains socket so that his car
will start tomorrow when we go to Ørsta (YEAH!).
While hacking (or doing whatever you do when sitting behind a
computer system), a talking clock in the Østerud residence just
told us it was 'Seven PM'.
My God. A talking clock no bigger than a packet of cigarettes
(with built-in alarm even)!
We're looking at some slides of Norway and something called
"Orienter-galoppen" (staying in tents with some more people and
running through the forests at times). Lars-Erik's slide
projector has a peculiar means of auto-defocus, which is quite
Anyway, at least we have now seen some beayutiful Norwegian
skies (be it only on slides). The real one, outside, is merely
misty and dark.
Mrs. Ingrid Ø. just prepared a couple of pizzas. They surely
look enough to fill us beyond our heart's content. They are now
located on the table, ready to be devoured.
We're also drinking some real Norwegian Coke (Grans Cola, with a
proud U.S. flag on the label). The beer is pure filth here (but,
then again, it's pure filth anywhere in the world except for the
'bitter' in England).
"The beer is GREAT!"
Grans is made by Grans bryggeri (Grans brewery), in Sandefjord.
They were established in 1899.
(Just in case you were interested)
An alarm just went off. We were already dashing for the
shelters, with visions of Mega Nuclear Devastation burned on our
Lucky enough, it turned out merely to be an overzealous smoke
detector in the Østerud kitchen (where mum was burning some
Yet more pizza is thrown on the table. I am afraid we will blow
ourselves up if we're gonna eat that all!
The pizzas have disappeared (at least most of them), and we will
now go and compute a bit more.
I just opened my suitcase, and found out that my bottle of the
Divine fluid (Plantiac Vieux, of course, dumbo!) has been
LEAKING! Three entire small glasses of the precious substance
must have been lost, and have been absorbed by some of the
clothes that I am supposed to wear later during this Quest.
"Now, this is someone who is really crazy!"
The room is entered by a small boy with a remarkable knowledge
of English (when I was thirteen, which turned out to be the
thwart's age, I could barely say 'daddy' in Dutch). He's called
Anders Norås, and he's drooling over the Lost Boys "Mind Bomb"
preview that we were showing Lars-Erik...
That little thwart just burped.
We're going to bed. Tomorrow, the Divine and Utterly Holy Quest
for the Nutty Norwegians will start.
The text of the articles is identical to the originals like they appeared in old ST NEWS issues. Please take into consideration that the author(s) was (were) a lot younger and less responsible back then. So bad jokes, bad English, youthful arrogance, insults, bravura, over-crediting and tastelessness should be taken with at least a grain of salt. Any contact and/or payment information, as well as deadlines/release dates of any kind should be regarded as outdated. Due to the fact that these pages are not actually contained in an Atari executable here, references to scroll texts, featured demo screens and hidden articles may also be irrelevant.